Pandora's Legion s-1

by Harold Coyle

  Derringer broke in: “Sandy, what happened?”

  “Well, sir, there’s an email from Frank. He’ll send an after-action report but here’s the short version. After the ambush last night, Dr. Smith found some high ground and stayed put. At dawn she started firing a prearranged signal. But the al Qaeda gang got to her first. Evidently there was quite a firefight. She held them off for quite a while and even killed a couple.”

  “You go, girl!”

  Carmichael turned to see Sallie Ann at the door. She had heard the excitement.

  Derringer and Wolf exchanged knowing male glances. Nobody needed to state the obvious: two women affiliated with SSI now had shot for blood. The admiral made a mental note to caution his colleagues against making too much of that fact. Male or female.

  “Anyway,” Carmichael continued, “she was out of ammo so she ran down the far slope of the mountain. That was when Steve Lee’s team arrived. They chased off the terrorists, and Terry Keegan lifted them back to base.”

  Wolf spoke for many in the room. “I don’t care if I have to buy a ticket to London. I want to meet that lady.”

  The sentiment was widely shared as the meeting disintegrated into animated conversation. Derringer decided to let it go for a while. Leaning back, both hands beneath his chin, he mused about the situation. Was it a good idea to take a woman into the field? Was it worth the risk? What if we’d lost her?

  At length, he decided not to second-guess his field commander from the comfort of the nation’s capital. That’s how we screwed up Vietnam. But he was grateful that he could now pass good news to Phil Catterly, to say nothing of Charles Padgett-Smith.

  As he watched his effusive staffers, Michael Derringer defaulted to his commanding officer programming. Yes, there was reason for gratitude, but not for celebration. In a way, the operation was similar to so many Vietnam episodes: a mission with a specific purpose had turned into an SAR exercise. The search-and-rescue phase was successful but the enemy was still out there — still undetected. He had been engaged and defeated tactically, but the strategic objective remained unmet.

  We’ll have to try again.

  BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE

  Ali was happy to see Kassim.

  And angry.

  “I told you not to go,” the doctor intoned. “You defied me.”

  Kassim was prepared. “In fact, Doctor, you prohibited me from the first operation, not the second.”

  Ali grunted, acknowledging the truth of the matter but mentally sneering at the lawyerly evasion. “You were devilishly lucky to escape, Kassim. I have told you that I cannot spare you. I do not expect it to happen again.”

  The veteran fighter accepted the mild rebuke with a slightly bowed head. Two seconds later he locked eyes. “We were within meters of her, Doctor! Meters!”

  “The men we lost would have been worthwhile had they seized her, but they did not. What do you make of that?”

  “It was not a lack of courage or desire, Doctor. The woman chose her position well. We would have needed twice as many men at the crest to kill or capture her.”

  That was not quite true. Kassim knew that if he had been at the peak, he might have directed a successful enfilade. Given the strength of her position, it would have been difficult to capture her, but at least she would have been dead.

  The Syrian was not given to self-pity for the foot he left in Afghanistan. But once in awhile he had reason to rue its loss.

  Kassim decided to change the subject. “Doctor, what should we do now?”

  Ali sat back and sipped his tea. “I have been thinking of your friend — Sial? It is time for me to meet him and his son and nephew.”

  “I shall arrange it.”

  Ali called after his colleague. “Kassim! It must be done quickly. We may have little time, and I must arrange for travel plans and documents.”

  Kassim knew from experience that the doctor seldom allowed himself to be overtaken by events. Most likely the passports were already forged, only awaiting the couriers’ photographs and signatures. As for airlines, Ali frequently made contingency reservations just to keep options open. It was a simple matter to cancel or provide alternative passengers as a continuing check on security measures.

  Few opportunities were ever lost, if one knew how to exploit them.

  QUETTA

  Leopole knocked on the door at the Serena Hotel, a four-star establishment in the cantonment area. Briefly he wondered at Omar’s largesse in lodging CPS in such luxurious digs, but the onetime marine could not begrudge the Briton a couple of nights to recover. There was certainly no lack of dining options: a Chinese restaurant, barbeque, and coffee shop.

  Proper ladies did not dine alone, so tonight Leopole had the duty.

  The door opened and CPS smiled broadly. “Frank. Please come in.”

  He returned the grin. “Wow. If I may say so, Doctor, you slick up really nice.”

  She stepped back and let him in. “Well, thank you, Colonel. Of course, a black dress does contrast with baggy trousers and a vest.”

  Leopole fingered his blue blazer. “I only brought this because I thought I might have to meet with some defense ministry people.” He laughed. “I can’t remember the last time I wore a tie. Must’ve been a wedding or a funeral.”

  Padgett-Smith pondered the American’s appearance. His beard was gone but the mustache remained, and his haircut, while not high and tight, screamed “military.” She had learned that some men appeared uniformed regardless of what they wore. Like Tony.

  Tony. What a story I shall have for him!

  “Carolyn, I’d like to talk to you just a bit before we go down to dinner.”

  She sat on the sofa. “Surely.” She knew what was coming.

  He sat opposite her, across the glass table, and leaned forward, hands clasped on his knees. “I don’t want to discuss company business in the restaurant, so it’s best done here.” He cleared his throat. She thought: He’s nervous.

  “Carolyn, do you really want to stay with us?”

  She blinked. “You mean, complete my assignment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well… of course I do! Why wouldn’t I?”

  Leopole spread his hands-a helpless male gesture. “After what you’ve been through, and no end in sight, I just wondered if you’d like to be released from your contract.”

  “No, of course not.” She recalled the conversation that had gotten her what she wanted — at rock bottom, a chance to be shot at. “Frank, what I said before was based on a lack of activity. As I see it, we’re closer now than ever.”

  He nodded decisively. One time. “Okay, you’ve got it. I’ll inform HQ.”

  “Thank you. Now, may I ask you something?”

  He shrugged. “Shoot.”

  “Frank, I deeply appreciate all this.” She waved a hand at the well-appointed room. “It’s marvelous to have a real bath and tuck up in a big, soft bed. But I was reluctant to accept Omar’s offer because…”

  “Because none of the operators got a couple of days here.”

  She nodded. “And I’m sensitive as a woman receiving preferential treatment.”

  “Okay, I can understand that. So why’d you accept?”

  The corners of her mouth turned up, and he admired Dr. Padgett-Smith’s dimples. “Because I’m a woman who accepts preferential treatment now and then.”

  “Carolyn, if I read you correctly, you’re worried that you might lose some of your trust and good will with my door-kickers.”

  “Exactly. I mean, I made such a good start, and then… well, I made such a shambles of things out there. We didn’t come close to completing the mission.” She bit her lip. “Because of me.”

  Leopole leaned back against the cushion. He almost called her “honey.” Instead, he intoned, “Carolyn, let me tell you something. The mission went away the minute we were ambushed. It was a risky operation from the start: we knew that. Hell, I think you knew that.”

  She swallowed hard, assembl
ing her thoughts. “Yes, I thought so, too. And I should have done. But I learned the difference between intellectual knowledge of what’s possible, and the visceral knowledge that comes…” She inhaled.

  He knew.

  She swallowed again. Outwardly she was composed, those violet eyes steady and focused. But no words came.

  Okay, I’ll finish it for you, babe. “That comes with combat.”

  She looked down, nodding slowly. “Yes.”

  He risked a touch on her arm. “Carolyn, everybody feels that way. Everybody. Well, just about. I’ve known a couple of guys who really were fearless. But they were abnormal. Down deep, they didn’t care if they lived or died.” He squeezed her forearm. “You feel like you do because you have so much to live for.”

  She looked up. “Thank you, Frank. I tried talking to Steve and Omar but… it was hard, you know?”

  “Well, sometimes it takes awhile to get it out. My god, Carolyn. Some people never get it out. They spend the rest of their lives second-guessing themselves or indulging in survivor’s guilt. So don’t you ever feel you’ve got to be strong all the time. Believe me, even Marines cry once in awhile.”

  “You know, I’m trying to decide how to explain all this to Charles. We talked for ninety minutes last night but I told him hardly anything about what really happened.” She paused, then continued. “I wonder if I have it in me to go out again. But I don’t want to let you down.”

  “Carolyn, whatever you decide, it’ll be fine.” On a hunch, he took a different tack. “There’s something else. I mean, if you’re worried about the guys and what they think. Consider the men you’re working with. Most of them are professionals — full-time warriors. They have what I call the red meat attitude. Believe me — and don’t take this wrong — but the fact that you notched three or four terrorists impresses the hell out of those boys.” He decided not to relate what he’d overheard. Hey, dude! Doc Smith’s a killer babe!

  Padgett-Smith smiled inwardly. Odd, the terminology these friendly, violent men employed. Notched. Greased. Capped. Wasted. Hardly ever “killed.”

  She patted his hand. “Thank you. Again. I’ll get my purse.”

  28

  BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE

  Kassim made the introductions.

  The father was graying in a dignified way that impressed Ali, and they established an early rapport. It did not take the scientist long to push the boundaries of courtesy and address the reason for the meeting.

  “Sir, I wish to thank you for your support of the jihad. Kassim has spoken your praises in such a way that surely you will be blessed.”

  Razak Sial nodded gravely. “Thank you, Doctor. Your own dedication to God’s work and to the less fortunate has earned you a throne in Paradise.”

  Ali sensed something — what? Too early to tell; he bided his time.

  “Before I speak with these young men, I would know more of them. Please tell me of their education and their devotion to The Word.”

  Sial tasted the doctor’s tea again, then set down the cup. “My wife was a good woman who died too young. But she left me with four children of my own and her nephew. It was necessary for me to leave my family for a time and make a living as best I could… on the other side of the border.”

  “Yes, Kassim spoke of your service.”

  “When I returned from fighting the infidels, I was able to pay most of my debts and even to expand my herd. But, alas, honored doctor, the cost of raising a large family is always high.” The farmer allowed the sentiment to dangle in midair.

  Ali shot a glance at Kassim, occupied with the boys outside. Does he know? Does he even suspect that this excuse for a man accepted money to fight God’s enemies? Ali suspected not, but the point would require clarification.

  Sial continued. “Even though I was often absent, I saw to the boys’ religious education, as their mother and aunt desired. These two are the most devout of my sons, and they wish to serve in the holy war, if only my family can work without them.” Ali’s pulse spiked briefly. His reservoir of goodwill was rapidly draining. So! The old goat will sacrifice two of his kids for the benefit of the herd — and himself.

  “And what would you require to complete the boys’ transition to sacrificial warriors?”

  Razak Sial spread his calloused hands in a move so fluid and emotive that it seemed rehearsed. “Doctor, I would not deem it worthy of myself to name a cost. Surely the value of two young lives is measured in more than rupees.”

  You shrewd bastard. Place the burden on me. Ali thought for a moment, then said, “For the worth of two fine young men, whose service will be brief, I suggest the working wages of five years each — a value of ten years labor.”

  In the rude hut overlooking the valley, thus were two souls purchased. They were delivered in the living bodies of Hazrat Sial and Miam Ahmed.

  29

  BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE

  Ali was pleased with his purchase.

  The older boy, Sial’s son Hazrat, was the more devout. Obviously he had given some thought to what was expected of him. “Doctor, The Word prohibits us from suicide, does it not?”

  The veterinarian was well versed on the subject. “Truly. Surah An-Nisaa, Aayah 29 says, And do not kill yourselves. Surely, Allah is Most Merciful to you.’ Furthermore, a noted scholar said that one who intentionally kills himself will suffer the Fire of Hell. However, most of our warriors are already fatally stricken. They will die regardless of what happens, which is why I have selected them.”

  “But, Doctor…”

  “But you are different, my brothers. You have chosen to die while you still may live.” He smiled benevolently. “Yours is the shortest and truest path to Heaven.”

  Sial mused upon that information and seemed satisfied. “Have others done so?”

  Without mentioning the American, Ali cited an example of those who chose self-destruction. “Only one other, and he came to us from a foreign land.”

  The twenty-year-old farmer had a good mind for such an apparently simple boy. “But he — and we ourselves — have chosen our end. Therefore, how do we attain Heaven?”

  The veterinarian was well versed on that point. “There is scholastic evidence that one who sacrifices himself in a jihad may be accepted into Paradise. The choice was Brother Ibrahim’s, for example. Because he chose to die in our cause, I believe it is nothing against the rest of us.”

  Ahmed, reticent by nature, ventured a question. “Doctor, can you tell me — tell us — how our sacrifice will serve the holy war?”

  Ali almost smiled. A naive question from a naive young man. “We are blessed to participate in the origins of this jihad. None but God knows where it may lead, but we may feel kinship with those who brought The Faith to the doorstep of the Crusaders and abided in Spain for eight hundred years. May our efforts lead to success so that eight centuries from now, the true faith will have spread over the earth.”

  Enough philosophizing for now, he told himself. Let us address the main points. “You know what is required of you?” He looked both young men full in the face.

  Ahmed nodded solemnly. Sial almost smiled.

  “There must be no doubt. Say it!”

  “To sacrifice ourselves in the jihad, and with our deaths inflict a greater loss upon the enemies of The Faith.”

  Very good, young man! Ali was so impressed that he neglected to pursue the question with the younger man. He took each by the right hand in turn, welcoming them to the holy war. “My brothers, permit me to explain how you will ascend to Paradise.”

  BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE

  “That’s gotta be the place.” Foyte glassed the farm from a safe distance, noting the layout of the house, sheds, and pens. “Goats and some other animals. The VW bus also fits the description.” He passed the Zeiss to Lee, who adjusted the focus.

  “No visible security, Gunny. You’d think they would have a sentry. At least a rover.”

  Foyte completed his range card and closed the olive drab n
otebook. “I don’t think many places around here have generators, but that one does. You can hear it running. We’ll talk to Major Khan and see what he says, but I think this is our target.”

  Both men bellied down the shallow hummock and jogged the quarter mile back to the dirt road.

  Foyte and Lee returned to the staging area and convened a meeting with the rest of the brain trust. Leopole conducted the session but deferred to Foyte, who explained the layout based on his sketch and laser distances.

  Leopole turned to Khan. “Major, what’s your assessment? Is this likely Sharif’s place, and if not, will we alert him if we break in there?”

  “It is unusual for a small farm to have a generator, and the vehicle looks promising. Therefore, I believe it is his current location,” Khan said in his precise English. “But we should not act hastily. There is a way to confirm if he is there.”

  “Yes?”

  Khan tugged at his uniform shirt. “I will change into my peasant garb. I can stop there and ask for ‘Doctor Ali’ on behalf of ‘my’ animals. Even if he is not there, the other people may have information.” He shrugged. “It should do no harm and may save us time and effort.”

  Leopole looked toward Foyte and Lee, who both nodded.

  “Major, I like it.”

  Khan stood up. “I should return in less than sixty minutes.”

  * * *

  Lee poked his head in the rude doorway. “Khan is back.”

  The SSI leaders crowded around the Pakistani as he stepped inside the building that served as temporary headquarters. He nodded decisively. “He has been there most of the day. He was called away shortly before I arrived but he is expected this evening.”

  Mohammed interjected. “How will we know if he’s back? We cannot risk going before he returns.”

  Khan took a swig of bottled water and replaced the cap. “He is driving his van with the refrigerator unit. He keeps veterinary medicine in it, so we will wait for him to complete his rounds.”