Pandora's Legion s-1

by Harold Coyle

  “And the other?”

  “They were raised together, much as brothers. The man — the uncle — says they wish to enter Paradise together.”

  Ali thought for a moment. It seemed too good to be true: two volunteers presenting themselves at an opportune moment. No other bio couriers were readily available, and that fact made the veterinarian suspicious.

  “You know these boys?”

  Kassim shrugged. “I have met them; I have broken bread with them. If you ask me what is in their hearts, I cannot say. But I know the father and uncle, and I believe him.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Razak Sial. He fought against the Northern Alliance for perhaps two years, then returned to farming. He has two other sons to help him. The youngest is the weakest but the most devout. For that reason I thought you should meet him.”

  “The father approached you?”

  Kassim nodded.

  “How much does he know?”

  “He only knows that I am a fighter against the infidels. Nothing more.”

  “How old are these boys?”

  Kassim thought for a moment. “Eighteen and twenty, give or take a year.”

  Ali thought again, weighing the options. “My friend, I thank you for your attention in this matter. I will see the father and the boys, but not in context of the jihad. I shall approach them as the veterinarian and feel them out.” He peered at the Syrian. “They must not know of our dealings. Not yet.”

  “Brother, I understand your caution. But you will find that the boys are as I have said. They are willing to die in God’s service. They do not seem to care just how they enter Paradise.”

  SSI OFFICES

  “Mike, J. J. Johnson’s back in Quetta. He’s pretty beat up but okay.”

  The expression on Joe Wolf’s face magnified the heartfelt gratitude evident in his voice. He raised the email printout that followed Mohammed’s preliminary phone call. “Frank and Omar are debriefing him right away. Apparently he wants to tell his story before he goes to the hospital.”

  Derringer shook his head. “If he’s okay why’s he need a hospital? Observation or something?”

  Wolf referred to the printout. “Omar says they used a fan belt on him. Severe lacerations of the back, buttocks, and legs. There’s concern about infection.”

  “Okay, Joe. Thanks.” The SSI executive flexed his fingers, forcing himself to relax. He had been composing a letter to Johnson’s parents, but in truth it would have been used as reference notes for the phone call. Now Derringer scribbled some additional comments in the margin. Wolf could see the relief on his face. When Derringer finally talked to Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, he could assure them that their son was safe and would return to Montana as soon as he could travel.

  The admiral put down his pen and regarded Wolf. “Joe, I’d like to convene a meeting about this episode, maybe as soon as tomorrow. Depending on what we hear from Frank and Omar, I think we should draft a corporate policy for the future. We always anticipated losing people, but hostages and MIAs are another matter. What do you think?”

  “I agree.” The ex-FBI man gave a sardonic grin. “One thing that occurs to me is long-term hostages or, as you say, MIAs. How long can we keep missing operators on the payroll? I mean, of course we’re going to look out for our people, but the board will want to have some input. Undoubtedly Marsh Wilmot and Regina Wells and Matt Finch will all have a say about policy and finances.”

  Derringer almost flinched at Finch’s name. Matthew Finch, guru of the administrative support division, had allies on the board that backed many of his personnel decisions. Derringer and Wolf exchanged knowing glances. We should’ve dumped him when we had the chance. Now he was firmly entrenched.

  Wolf looked for the silver lining. “At least Regina sees things more or less from Frank’s perspective. She almost seems to understand operations lately.”

  “Yeah. You remember how Frank bitched and moaned when the board insisted on assigning him a budgeteer? To tell you the truth, I think she’d approve almost anything he proposed but she has to recommend denying some requests to satisfy the bean counters. Frank won’t say so, but I suspect he’s making some big-time equipment proposals that he knows won’t fly. Then it’s easier to get what he really wants.”

  Wolf winked. “And they say marines aren’t very smart.”

  Derringer raised his hands. “Not me. I never agreed with Sir Walter Scott.”

  “Scott? What’s he got to do with it?”

  “He wrote, ‘Tell it to the marines. The sailors won’t believe it.’”

  QUETTA AIRBASE

  Padgett-Smith checked on the patient the next morning. She found him bare-skinned on his stomach, sheet pulled up to a modest level. “You look much better,” she said. “I brought some tea and rolls.”

  Johnson rolled onto one side. “That’s British hospitality. Tea in bed.” Only thing better would be you in bed, Doc.

  “I understand you’ll be transferred to hospital today.”

  Johnson sipped from the small cup merely to be polite. He had never cared for tea.

  “Yes ma’am. That’s what Colonel Leopole said.” He reached toward the plate but she picked up a scone and handed it to him.

  “Jeremy, I probably won’t have a chance to say a proper good-bye later. But I did so much want to see you… alone.”

  Johnson perked up. Then he mentally slapped himself. Down, boy. “I appreciate that. Carolyn.”

  “You’ve been through so much. But I remember that you said you might consider writing a memoir. I hope you do. Even if it’s not published, it could be…”

  “Therapeutic.”

  She glanced down. Then those violet eyes were on him again. “Yes. Quite right.”

  “Well, I haven’t thought about it much. But I’ve learned a few things.

  “Yes?”

  He cleared his throat. “I meant to talk to Dr. Mohammed about this, because of the Muslim connection. But… I, ah…” He coughed, taking his time. “I took a prisoner with me when I escaped. One of the guards. I could’ve killed him no sweat, but he dropped his rifle and… well, there were other factors, but I just couldn’t cap him, standing there with his hands up.”

  “He didn’t try to escape?”

  “No, ma’am. We sort of became, like, friends. It was weird. We couldn’t really talk but we got to understand each other. I shared what water I had with him and he gave me directions. When we got within sight of the border, I said he could go. I tried to chase him away but he stayed with me.”

  “So he’s with his own people?”

  “No ma’am. He was shot protecting me in the firefight. When it was over, and the Pakis arrived, he was hurt bad. I went to him and he grabbed me and said something over and over. One of the guards spoke fair English and he translated.” Johnson’s voice trailed off.

  “Jeremy, can you tell me what he said?”

  A tear tracked its way down the ex-legionnaire’s cheek. His voice cracked as he said, “The debt is repaid.”

  She patted his arm. “Well, maybe you can see him again.”

  “Not in this life, ma’am. Not in this life.”

  23

  QUETTA AIRBASE

  Khan had an idea. But first he had to sell it.

  During an afternoon lull in SSI activities the Pakistani sidled up to Omar Mohammed. Though Khan’s plan had little to do with Islamic culture, he felt more confident broaching it to a fellow Muslim. “Doctor, I have been thinking about our efforts to date. I believe we should consider another approach to finding the Marburg operatives, and I would welcome your thoughts.”

  Mohammed knew when he was being courted but he respected Rustam Khan enough to hear him out. Besides, to do otherwise would be rude. “Certainly, Major.”

  “I know the Chaman border area well — not intimately, but I have walked and climbed hundreds of kilometers in that area. If the people we seek truly are working there, it seems unlikely that we will find them by overt meth
ods. They have eyes and ears everywhere, and they only need a few minutes notice to elude us.”

  Mohammed nodded slowly, pondering the officer’s sentiment. “Yes, I see what you mean. What do you propose?”

  Khan turned toward the map on the wall. “Our intelligence sources have been able to place smugglers and even al Qaeda within areas of a few square kilometers, but finding the exact spot is extremely difficult, especially for outsiders. There is no substitute for boots on the ground. At least, that is my belief.”

  “Do you think we should keep search teams out full time? Obtain greater coverage of the area?”

  “Not exactly, Doctor.” Khan swung back to Mohammed, obviously warming to the subject. “Instead of seeking our prey, I propose that we draw it to us.” He waited for the inevitable response.

  “Yes?”

  Khan’s hand swept the map again. “Since we seek men with medical or biological knowledge, we might draw their interest if we drop some hints that other medical people are working the area. People with pharmaceuticals and other items of interest.”

  “I see.” Mohammed’s attention expanded beyond the theoretical to the practical. It was part of his psyche as a paramilitary trainer. He began to see possibilities. “I think that it might work. But it could backfire — I mean, it could draw attention from people we do not want to find.”

  “Yes, yes.” Khan nodded briskly, sensing an ally. “The main threat would be smugglers — that region has been active for centuries. But I believe we might have it both ways. Field a team strong enough to deter bandits but small enough to seem what it claims to be — medical missionaries or the like.”

  Mohammed was spooling up, growing more enthused. “If we find the people we seek, our field force might be able to hold them or at least pursue long enough for aerial reinforcements.” He looked at Khan. “Major, let us develop a more detailed plan, then we will see Colonel Leopole.”

  BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE

  Ali finished the morning prayer and remained sitting upright on his rug. As leader of the Fajr he had selected a particularly long surah from the Koran. Upon completion of the ancient ritual, he nodded to his colleagues on either side. “Peace be upon you and the mercy of Allah.” They replied in kind.

  This morning Kassim had joined the faithful. It was the first time in many days. After reverently stowing his rug, Ali felt especially good after the devotion. He believed that he was praying more fervently and devotedly than ever. It was surely a good sign.

  One of Kassim’s men appeared nearby, standing aside while the ritual was concluded. Then he approached the Syrian. They walked twenty meters away, and stopped to talk. Ali noted that the messenger — if he was such — spoke briefly but animatedly. Kassim seemed to ask a few questions, then passed some coins, shook hands with the man, and sent him back the way he had come.

  Ali waited for the inevitable report.

  “Interesting news,” Kassim began. “We may have some visitors to interest you.”

  The veterinarian focused his gaze upon his acolyte. “Friends or enemy?”

  “We do not know yet, brother. But Shaukat is usually reliable, and he reports that a medical assistance group is coming to this area in the next few days.”

  Ali rubbed his bearded chin. “Medical assistance, you say? Nothing more?”

  Kassim shook his head. The evening sun illuminated his dusky face in an orange-yellow tint that exaggerated his angular features. “Only a few details. But I rewarded him and asked him to obtain more information. Especially the composition of the group and its sponsoring organization. He has enough money to purchase it if necessary.”

  “What details are known?”

  “The group will likely travel on foot, visiting the remote parts of this district for a few days. It is assumed to be a government program but we have no previous knowledge of such doings.”

  Ali’s mind sorted the myriad possibilities, potentially discarding some while saving others for consideration. He pondered for fifteen seconds, staring at the skyline. Then his gaze returned to his partner. “What is your sense?”

  “I wonder why we have not heard of such a program before. I wonder why this group of Samaritans appears now. And I wonder why they travel afoot, unless they bring only quinine and bandages.”

  “So do I, brother. So do I.”

  24

  QUETTA AIRBASE

  Padgett-Smith had a favor to ask. At least that was how she phrased her demand to Frank Leopole. After a couple of weeks with the SSI operators, she had learned how to work the system. Since she was loath to make overt use of her feminine wiles, she took the road less traveled: the ruck-up, hit-the-trail approach.

  Like any good huntress, she bided her time before leaping upon her prey.

  After softening up her victim with some pleasant dinner conversation, the immunologist followed the former Marine back to his office. She stepped inside and closed the door. “Frank… if I may call you Frank.”

  Leopole’s male receptors extended and locked in the full-up position. She wants something. “Well, sure. Carolyn. After all this time.” He motioned to a chair and she accepted, smoothing her skirt as she sat.

  “Thank you. Ah, Frank… I’ve been thinking about my situation here. I must admit that I’m feeling rather a fifth wheel, you know? I fear that I’ve not really earned my way and was wondering, well, whether I should return home.”

  He leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk. “I don’t understand. I mean, you’ve not had much of a chance to apply your talent yet.” He grinned self-consciously. “And I know that you’d be missed by the other guys.”

  “Yes, well, that’s just it, you see? I’m feeling like an ornament, or some sort of mascot. Oh, the chaps have been marvelous; no mistake. I’ve actually become rather fond of some of them. Jeffrey and J. J… even Bosco and Breezy at times.” She smiled and flipped her hair in her most engaging fashion. Not bad, eight point five out of ten, she told herself.

  Leopole suspected he was being conned. He enjoyed the hell out of it. “Well, then, what’s the problem with staying?”

  “Actually, Frank, it’s my sense of self-worth. I accepted this contract with a specific purpose — to evaluate filoviruses. The fact that we’ve found so little after so long makes me feel that I’m accepting payment for no services rendered. That’s why I wonder if I shouldn’t go home until…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, perhaps I could come back if you do find something. I could be here in barely a day.”

  Leopole leaned back, hands behind his head. He was not as relaxed as he appeared. “Yeah, I suppose you could. But Admiral Derringer and Dr. Catterly want you on the job. And so do I.” He grinned at her. “For whatever that’s worth.”

  The violet eyes lowered demurely to her lap; she wished she could blush on cue. “Thank you, Frank. I do appreciate it. Truly.” She raised her gaze to him again. “But there’s only so much I can do here. While the lads are dashing about, I’m mostly cooped up here. I can’t go out on my own, and it’s inconvenient to get an escort every time I feel like shopping or sightseeing.” She spread her hands. “Frank, besides the medical inactivity, I’m going stir crazy. I believe that you Americans call it cabin fever.” She found the right tone for the occasion. “If I don’t get some outdoor activity, I shall burst!”

  He nodded, assessing what was coming. So that’s it! She wants to go on the next mission. “Carolyn, I understand your position. And it speaks well of your professional ethics. Some people would be happy to fort up here and collect their check. But you know we can’t send out a crew just for you to climb some rocks or cross some hills. The only way is to send you on foot with one of our teams.”

  She inhaled, held her breath, then pressed the attack. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. Now, the upcoming search of the Chaman area is expected to last, what? Three or four days?”

  “Affirm. But…”

  “That would be marvelous! I’m perfectly fit — ask any
of the boys I exercise with. And if they find something, I’d be right there. You wouldn’t have to fly me in.”

  “Carolyn, are you saying that if you don’t go on this op you’ll take the next plane to London?”

  She shook her head vigorously. Her light brown hair swirled around her ears. “Oh, Frank…” That’s exactly what I mean. She gave him a patented CPS How Could You? look. “I am merely saying that I’m not earning my keep just lazing about here, and that I may as well go home unless there’s something really useful for me to do.”

  Leopole stood up and turned away, looking into the evening. When he pivoted, his mind was made up. “Carolyn, have you really thought this out? You’d be the only female in the most desolate countryside you ever saw. You’d be traveling with some hard cases— Americans and Pakistanis — who may like and admire you, but they won’t cut you any slack. And they shouldn’t. Furthermore, if you get separated from our people, you’d be a white woman, alone in a Muslim country. You need to think about that. You really do.”

  “I have done. Truly.”

  “What would your husband say?”

  Padgett-Smith was taken aback. She felt an emotional bump; it was a legitimate question. She realized that she had given Charles little thought over the past few days. He encourages me to follow my dreams. She rose to face the American. “He would tell me the same thing he would tell you: she’s a woman grown. She can make her own mistakes.”

  Leopole almost flinched. Yeouch. You are one tough lady. After four seconds of locking eyes with the Britisher, he heard himself say, “Alright. I’ll check with headquarters for an okay.” Before she could respond, he added, “I just hope that you don’t regret it. And neither do I.”

  QUETTA AIRBASE

  Leopole had an announcement. “We’re moving to search an area near Chaman.”

  Bosco perked up. “Where’s that, Boss?”

  “It’s the area where J. J. was held. About sixty miles northwest, halfway to Kandahar. You would know that if you ever looked at a map, Boscombe.”