American Blood: A Vampire's Story

by Gregory Holden

  Calida propped herself up using an elbow. “Like what?”

  “Never mind.” Ryan swung his legs over the edge of the cot and looked around the dismal room. “I don’t belong here.”

  “You shouldn’t have come . . . it’s too dangerous here, for you.”

  “And this doesn’t have any effect on you, how you’re being used?”

  “It does, but you and I see the world differently.”

  “How so?”

  “Time for me is always in the now. I don’t worry about what might happen. It comes with living so long, I think.”

  “I envy your patience.” Ryan stretched his neck muscles. “I’m too busy worrying about—”

  “Stop.” Calida put a finger to her lips and was silent for several moments. “He’s awake.”

  Ryan turned toward her. “Husaam? What’s he doing?”

  “Fajr.”

  “What’s a fajr?”

  “Shhh . . . .” Calida rolled onto her back and looked up at the bent ceiling. She slowly blinked several times and then seemed to concentrate. “He is difficult . . . very disciplined with his faith.”

  “Can you get the time—”

  “Stop talking.”

  Ryan nodded and gave Calida an embarrassed look.

  “It will be at a place near his home during a peace jirga.” Calida closed her eyes. “He will be there . . . it’s tonight after the isha’a.”

  “When is that?”

  “The time of isha’a begins upon the arrival of complete darkness. There can be no sunlight in the sky.” Calida let out a sudden, short breath. “Amir al-Mu’minin will be there after the evening prayers.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “It’s clear because it’s part of his prayers.”

  “You’re eaves dropping on his prayers?”

  “It’s the easiest time to join his mind.” Calida reached over, grabbed onto Ryan’s shoulder, and pulled herself up. “Why does it matter?”

  “Catholic upbringing I guess. It doesn’t seem right to listen in like this . . . prayers are private.”

  “What if prayers include killing people?”

  “Good question, and I can’t answer it.”

  “Doesn’t America listen in on everything?”

  “Yeah, but this is an even more intrusive way of doing it.”

  “That offensive little man doesn’t worry about how things are obtained . . . so why do you?”

  “Because I’m not an evil maniac.”

  “And what about me?”

  Ryan forced a grin. “Well, compared to him you’re an angel.”

  Calida sweetly smiled. “You’re the second person to call me that in the last week.”

  “An angel? Hmm, who was the first?”

  Calida scraped her upper teeth along her bottom lip. “Just a man who had an unfortunate ending.”

  “It wasn’t—”

  “It was someone else.”

  “The guy on the yacht?”

  “He would have died anyway.”

  “Let’s not have any more conversations about someone you ate.”

  Calida raised an eyebrow. “Then don’t bring it up.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” Ryan stood up and walked over to his three bags of gear. “I’m gonna see if I can get a shower around here and try one of those sandwiches in the conference room.”

  “Why don’t you take a swim? The water is warm and with the cold air it’s refreshing.”

  “That’s where you went last night?”

  “I didn’t have anything to wear, but Sergeant Bob and another soldier—”

  “I don’t need to know any more. As long as you didn’t kill anyone we don’t have to talk about it.”

  Don’t be jealous . . . almost nothing happened.

  “I’m not, and that’s really convenient. I’ll never be able to win an argument with you.” Ryan stopped going through his gear and looked at Calida. “What does almost nothing mean?”

  “You really want to know?”

  Ryan took a breath and relaxed. “No, just—just forget I asked,” and he turned back toward his gear. He took out a set of clothes that were specially prepared by the agency before he left. Each article had a tag with its Pashtun name on it. The top was called a qmis, which was a traditional loose-fitting shirt that reached to the knees. Ryan placed that to the side and held up a pair of shalwars, which were full trousers tied at the waist with a string. There was also a vest and a pair of thick leather shoes called chaplay. The clothes and leather shoes all had a well worn look about them and even had sewn repairs in random locations.

  “Where’s your turban?”

  “I’m not going to wear one while at the camp. Once we get going I’ll put it on.” Ryan felt his chin. “But I could have used a month to get the beard going.”

  “You don’t have to be a Pashtun male,” Calida said. “You just need to appear like one.”

  “We’ll just have to see.” Ryan picked up the clothes and shoes and left the room. He made his way down the poorly lit main hallway of the bunker and walked into what had been described as a conference room. He placed the clothes down on a ping-pong table, went over to the refrigerator, and grabbed a sandwich along with a bottle of spring water. He quickly ate and finished off the water. Ryan left the room, walked around the bunker, and found a bathroom with cracked walls, but the fiberglass shower stall appeared intact. He reached inside and was surprised when water came out of the showerhead. His elation vanished when he discovered only cold water was available.

  Ryan hesitated outside the stall for a moment, but he then decided that given the circumstances, a cold shower was exactly what he needed.

  The briefing began as planned, although getting Calida to the conference room on time revealed something unexpected regarding her kind. Ryan had tried to wake her at 1200 hours. She wouldn’t come out of her sleep. He then spent twenty minutes talking, prodding, and even splashing water on her face before she opened her eyes. After she did wake up she was unable to get her clothes on so Ryan had no other option but to dress her. He concluded that vampires at rest in the middle of the day, even when they’re forty feet underground, are heavy sleepers.

  Ryan carried Calida to the briefing room and had to keep an arm around her as they sat next to each other just so she wouldn’t fall over. She was semi alert and seemed to struggle to keep her eyes open.

  As the briefing started Sergeant Bob, a second Army Ranger, two army helicopter pilots, and the camp’s commanding officer, a Colonel in the Green Berets, attended along with Ryan and Calida. Sergeant Bob handed out a briefing packet to everyone.

  “At 1800 hours we will take a hop with the Night Stalkers from the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment.” Sergeant Bob nodded at the two pilots with arm patches depicting a winged sword and their regiment number. “Our ride tonight will be aboard a Black Hawk MH-60L and will fly along this southeastern route.” Sergeant Bob traced a pencil on a large map that had been unrolled on the ping-pong table. “We’ll cross the border and egress the Khojack Pass to a point just north of right here.” He stuck the point onto a spot on the map. “We will loiter here until receiving a landing confirmation from our two guests.”

  “That’s not a great place to be in a holding pattern,” one of the SOAR pilots said. “The Pakistani army has a string of posts along the pass. They’ve been taking shots every time I get within a mile of it.”

  Sergeant Bob respectfully turned to the man standing next to him. “Colonel Bullick.”

  The Colonel was a tall, bald, brute of a man with a lower jaw that appeared to have been chiseled out of pitted granite. He eyed the pilot. “Full electronic counter measures will be used.” He then looked hard at Ryan. “You’ll be given five minutes of loiter to confirm the landing. I don’t care if the orders for your mission came from God. I’m not going to risk my men any more than I have to. So you get five minutes.”

  “Colonel is something wrong with her?
” the other Ranger asked.

  The Colonel leaned forward on the ping-pong table that began to creak from his weight. “What’s going on here, Mister?”

  “She . . . she’ll be fine,” Ryan answered. “As soon as it’s dark she’ll be ready to go.”

  “She looks like she’s drunk,” the Colonel said.

  Calida tried to steady her head. “I don’t drink . . . alcohol.”

  “I don’t know how much you’ve been told,” Ryan said. “But she’s . . . she’s different. I guess that’s the best way to put it.”

  The Colonel straightened up and the table’s legs squealed as they recoiled from the strain. “We’ve been told she has some kind of confirmed mental insight, but it sounds like bullshit to me and it’s a crazy thing to risk men and equipment on.”

  “I understand your concern, Colonel, but she will be more than ready in a few hours. It’s a side effect of—of her ability.”

  “She’s talented,” Sergeant Bob said and exchanged grins with the pilot.

  “Knock it off, Sergeant.”

  “Yes Sir!”

  “All right, Mister, you say she’ll be ready and I’ll take you at your word,” the Colonel said. “We’ll carry out the tasking as ordered. Now once she confirms that the meeting is definite and she egresses the Black Hawk, the mission support will go as follows, Sergeant?”

  “Thank you, Sir.” Sergeant Bob rolled out another map that was a blow-up of the mountains to the north and west of Quetta, Pakistan. “This narrow valley here that runs more or less north to south is where our tribal chief, who is called the Sardar by his tribe, or tabar, has built his compound. The buildings are all of recent construction using mud and rocks for the smaller dwellings, but the Sardar’s residence is brick and mortar. There’s about a dozen above ground structures in total and it’s guarded more along the west side than the east.” The Sergeant presented a close up aerial photograph of the site. “The tribal meetings usually take place in this building which is connected to the Sardar’s main house on the south side. Seventy yards to the north are these other buildings that house most of his fighters along with their weapons cache and three Soviet built T-55 tanks.”

  “They’ve got tanks?”

  “Soviets left behind a lot of hardware when they pulled out of Afghanistan in 1989,” the Colonel replied and nodded at Sergeant Bob to continue.

  “Agent Villena will have to hike down into the valley from the drop off point and make her way along this gully that runs down from these hills and skirts the compound to the east.” Sergeant Bob shook his head at the aerial photograph. “It’s tough terrain here, and if you make any noise, or are discovered, you’ll be in a world of hurt. Women are never outside the compound at night.”

  “I . . . won’t get caught.”

  “According to the information we received from you earlier this morning,” and Sergeant Bob looked at Ryan, “tonight’s meeting will take place off compound after the Sardar’s evening prayers.”

  The Colonel winced at his briefing packet. “What’s the time estimate?”

  “Sir, our latest intel has the Sardar taking his prayer at 9:00 PM every night. He never deviates. So the meeting with the Amir will be at some time before mid-night.”

  “That’s damn loose timing.”

  “Yes Sir, but since the meeting is off-site it still must be somewhere close by, which means a cave.”

  “Does it have to be in a cave?” Ryan asked.

  “There aren’t any other structures in this valley. However there are caves peppering the cliff faces on both sides of the valley.”

  “So we just drop her off alone into this valley?”

  “No, Mister. You, me, and Squalls there will jump off with her.”

  “While she goes off toward this compound what will we be doing?”

  “We have our own little cave up along the north end of the valley in these rocky hills. It’s about three miles from the compound. You can set up that tracking equipment of yours there so you’ll have decent line of sight. The important thing is getting away from the Black Hawk unseen. It’ll be too suspicious if three men and a woman in native clothes are observed jumping out of a US Army helicopter.”

  “But won’t the helicopter be heard?”

  “Probably not,” the pilot replied. “We’ll be landing just on the other side of this hill here . . . the 60L has ultra quiet turbo shafts and special rotor blades. You wouldn’t know it’s there until I land it on your head.”

  Squalls loudly cleared his throat but didn’t say anything.

  “The real danger is from Pakistani radar,” the Colonel said. “So expect a low and wild ride.”

  “Now once she separates from us she has to be clean of any weapons or communication devices,” Sergeant Bob said. “Even underneath her garments she can’t try to hide anything. The Taliban are beyond paranoid. They deploy metal detectors all over the place to protect the Amir.”

  “You see,” the Colonel said to Ryan, “it’s not just us they’re fighting. The Taliban do not always trust the autonomous tabar’s and vice versa. Suicide bombings are a common way to settle debts or gain position. If she makes one of their detector’s go off, they won’t ask her any questions first, understand?”

  “She won’t need anything other than her clothes,” Ryan said. “It won’t be a problem.”

  “How will you stay in contact with her?”

  “All I can tell you is she’ll be able to communicate with me whenever she needs to.”

  “It’s the craziest mission I’ve ever heard of,” the Colonel said. “She’s just going to walk right into the lion’s den . . . Ma’am, I don’t see how you get through this alive.”

  “And what about how she looks,” Sergeant Bob said. “Some of these tribal women are real lookers under those sheets, but none of them are quite like her.”

  “Thanks sweetie.”

  “Just land us near this compound,” Ryan said. “You have no idea how much you’re underestimating her.”

  Calida leaned over and placed her arm around Ryan’s neck.

  “Let’s get on with this, Sergeant.”

  “Yes Colonel. Now at this meeting between—”

  “Jirga.”

  “Excuse me, Ma’am?”

  “—Meeting’s called a jirga.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. At the jirga, tonight, the Sardar and his eldest son, Husaam, will be offering three of his daughters as good will to the Amir. You, Ma’am, must infiltrate the group of daughters that the Amir will choose from. Of course you must be prepared to speak fluent Pashto if you’re asked anything, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Gotcha,” Calida said.

  “Now here’s the one you need to replace.” Sergeant Bob handed a photograph across the ping-pong table to Ryan. “Her name is Amina and she also has a scar . . . .” He handed another photograph to Ryan. “There on her right hand.”

  “I’ve seen these,” Calida said, and she now appeared more alert. “I can look just like her . . . even with the scar.”

  Ryan leaned close to her. “Hey, not here, not now.”

  “I . . . I wasn’t going to.”

  The Colonel exchanged glances with the two rangers and looked at Ryan. “Can you bring us into your discussion?”

  “Sorry, please continue Sergeant,” Ryan said.

  “Okay . . . so you need to take the place of this Amina. All of the daughters who are part of the selection group will be wearing traditional blue burqas with a mesh veil and black pants underneath. Don’t show your ankles and no finger or toe polish. Not even a speck. I noticed last night you had pink nail polish on, Ma’am. Make sure you get it all off.”

  Calida smiled. “I don’t wear that stuff, Sergeant Bob.”

  The Colonel looked directly at Calida. “On page seventeen of your briefing packet there is guidance on how women are treated by these tribal groups.”

  “I know how they’re treated,” Calida said.

  “Sergeant, explain it
to her anyway.”

  “Women are denied all privileges within the tabar. So play naive if asked anything. Don’t initiate any social contact for any reason . . . and never speak unless asked by a male. Your role is that of a daughter-slave for the Sardar. If you do anything out of character for a woman you will be—at the very least—beaten by the Sardar personally or by his order. If that’s all that happens you had a good day.”

  “How do these tribal societies even exist today?” Ryan asked. “Shouldn’t the United Nations be doing something about it?”

  “These tribes are scattered all over these mountains for the entire length of the border,” the Colonel replied. “We haven’t been able to root out this Amir for seven years . . . so how is the UN, for Christ’s sake, going to do anything about women’s rights inside these tribes?”

  Ryan felt Calida squeeze his hand and let go. “How does she proceed once she’s chosen?”

  “From that point she’s really on her own,” The Colonel replied. “There’s not much we can do to help. If she makes a request for extraction we’ll take into consideration the situation and if we can get her we will.”

  “None of us want to see you get hurt or be left behind, Ma’am,” Sergeant Bob said.

  “If you can pull this off every soldier in Afghanistan will worship the ground you walk on,” the Colonel added. “This Amir is high up our most wanted list.”

  “Lady you’ve got a pair,” Squalls said.

  The Colonel stared down the young ranger who immediately broke eye contact and looked straight ahead.

  “If you are able to prosecute your target it is imperative that you—you communicate?—with us so we can get the proper assets to you for evac,” the Colonel said. “You were instructed before leaving the states that you must provide confirmation in the form of a tissue sample that the target was successfully eliminated.”

  “You want a trophy I’ll bring you one.”

  “Ma’am, I hope—no, I pray—you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Sergeant Bob said. “These people can spot an outsider just from how you blink.”

  “Now do either of you have any questions?”

  Ryan looked at Calida who had just fallen asleep. “No, Colonel, we’ll be ready at 1600, so for now just leave us alone.”