Dark Edge: Prequel to the C.O.I.L. Series

by D.I. Telbat

  Chapter Eight – The Rescue

  Corban Dowler sat in a borrowed motorboat two hundred yards upriver from the temple tower in which Kimberly Dench was being held. With more preparation and better resources, he would've had night vision and more backup, but as things stood, he was just glad the Germans hadn't found them again. As for backup, he had Nace "Pyvox" Scanlon, a man contracted to kill him.

  This wasn't the first time Corban had appealed to an enemy's sense of honor to do the right thing against all odds. But this was the first time Corban had recruited an enemy for a purpose that wasn't expressly selfish. He'd invited Scanlon to join him first for Scanlon's sake, and second, to help him free Kimberly.

  According to schedule, ten minutes had passed, and Corban started the motor. In the distance, the Hindu temple tower was lit up by its sparkling lights, which illuminated several gunmen on the walkway above the water.

  What the lights didn't illuminate, hidden in the shadows of the walkway, was Nace Scanlon in the water wearing a dark wetsuit.

  Scanlon had bought a tank of compressed air and attached it to a four milligram vial of lachrymator. The powerful form of tear gas would burn the eyes, throat, and skin upon dispersion. Corban approved of the offensive method since it was a non-lethal weapon system. Scanlon's deadly poisons for which he was known had been lost, the man had claimed, but Corban didn't completely trust his word.

  As Corban slowly motored the five-seat boat toward the tower, he appreciated the quiet water. In a few hours, millions of lost souls would begin to gather again for another day of Kumbh Mela.

  Before he reached the tower, Corban adjusted the dark beard that covered his cheeks and chin. Thick-rimmed glasses completed the disguise he'd used many times. The identity was known in Muslim circles as an arms dealer and sometimes smuggler. But as well-known as his false identity was, Corban didn't like going into a meeting without some sort of defensive weapon on his person. If he survived this op, maybe he would turn his glasses into a weapon like Chloe had done, perhaps with a tranquilizer dart. Even a single-fire weapon would be better than what he had now—nothing but his hand-to-hand skills against men with automatic weapons.

  Two of the gunmen on the tower walkway leaned over the edge and caught the bow of the boat as Corban drifted up to them. They held the small vessel as he received one of their hands to pull him onto the walkway.

  For just an instant, Corban thought he glimpsed Scanlon below the walkway, submerged up to his neck in the calm water. Corban prayed that Scanlon didn't have an ulterior motive for accompanying him on the rescue operation. He had to leave that in God's hands—to watch over what Corban couldn't watch himself: his back.

  Corban held his arms out as one man frisked him. As agreed, he'd arrive with no firearms.

  He was led around the walkway, and a narrow door opened for him. Without hesitating, Corban entered the tower, the small circular room lit by candles, mirrors on the walls giving the room an illusion of being larger than it was. Four more gunmen stood against the mirrors, two on the left and two on the right of Corban. In the center, seated on the floor, was a veiled, bowed person under drab clothing. It had to be Kimberly. Near her, the Sadhus, whom Alan Doutrice had described, sat on a large cushion that looked to be from a sofa. The man wore a permanent scowl, which was disconcerting on a supposed holy man's face.

  "Peace to you," Corban said with an Arabic accent, and offered a low sustained nod that the Sadhus was free to interpret as a bow. "I am Muhammad ibn Affal. I have come for the American vermin."

  The Sadhus, who wore a gold-colored robe, gestured to another cushion. Dressed in baggy pants and shirt bought at the carnival bazaar, Corban seated himself, but he remained poised. In an instant, he could rise and defend himself or Kimberly.

  "Tell us, Muhammad, how you like India?" The Sadhus spoke slowly in heavily accented English.

  "I am honored to be here during your holiest of festivals." Corban spoke just as slowly, knowing he was being tested. Due to Pakistan's war in the north with India, Hindus and Muslims didn't usually ally themselves for extremist motives. "It has been an enjoyable but brief holiday from my homeland."

  "Lebanon?"

  "Egypt, Your Eminence. Alexandria is a rich land, and my home is open to you if ever you should visit, as your hospitality has been gracious toward me this night."

  Everyone from North Korea to Belarus knew Muhammad ibn Affal was Egyptian, Corban understood, but he appreciated the caution of the Sadhus.

  "When we heard there was someone interested in the American Christian, we were hesitant to respond to your inquiries, Cousin Muhammad."

  "The Americans boast of their greatness, my Sadhus, but they only pollute our lands. It is a small matter to express my gratitude by adding to your great wealth—and allow my people to use this woman as a trophy against her own people, especially her father."

  "You are brave to do this thing."

  Corban nodded low again, but he knew the Sadhus would have used Kimberly Dench for his own trappings if the holy man's coffers had been more abundant, and his courage greater. This meeting had been made possible simply because Corban knew the Hindu man's riches were lacking.

  "I do the work of the Holy One, and you work in your way. We each secure a spiritual reward, Your Eminence." Corban was ready for the transfer, but it would be impolite as a guest to bring up the subject of money. "A common enemy has made us friends."

  "As you requested, she is unharmed." The Sadhus gestured to the figure in the center under the cloth. Even by candlelight, Corban could see she was listening, making small movements as they spoke. "We have our own methods here in India to punish Christians. But this is an occasion to make new bonds, even if it is with a Muslim."

  "You are most gracious." Corban held up his hand to Kimberly. "May I?"

  "Of course. She is to be yours after a small exchange."

  Corban rolled onto his knees and lifted the front of Kimberly's veil. The candlelight illuminated a wide-eyed woman, and not a girl at all. Her face was full of fear, punctuated by a dark bruise on her left cheek. A brown cord wrapped her wrists and attached to her neck.

  "Very well." Corban returned to his cushion. "I will take her before the morning worshippers arrive."

  "Then we have only one more item to arrange." The Sadhus produced a laptop from behind him and offered it to Corban. "I believe ten million Euros was the amount we agreed upon."

  Placing the laptop on his lap, Corban repositioned his feet. In doing so, he stomped his heels hard on the carpeted floor, one after the other. It wasn't much of a signal, especially through the cement structure. But if Scanlon was listening with a hand on the support beam, he would understand the signal.

  Taking his time, Corban logged into a bank in the Isle of Man, then transferred ten million Euros to the Indian account number at the top of the screen. He passed the laptop back to the Sadhus for confirmation.

  Outside the tower, on the walkway, Corban could hear one of the gunmen cough and another sneeze. Evidently, Scanlon had begun to disperse the lachrymator.

  "Perhaps she is worth more?" the Sadhus said, glancing at his gunmen, who seemed to follow every word, especially now. "What is five million more to you, the Great Muhammad?"

  "Too small an amount, Your Eminence, to ruin our new friendship." Corban tensed, sensing the greed in the man's words. "There will be others in the future perhaps?"

  "Of course." The Sadhus waved his hand, dismissing his previous words, but Corban wouldn't forget the man had been tempted to double-cross him. "You have a boat waiting. May you return to the Ganges as a pilgrim one day, Muhammad."

  "Perhaps one day."

  Corban stood as his eyes began to burn. The Sadhus coughed, obviously beginning to feel the effects of the gas as well. With an exaggerated gag, Corban doubled over and took a knee.

  "What is this?" Corban pawed at the air as if he were choking. "Is it coming from the river?"

  Before the Sadhus or his bodyguards could g
ather their wits for a response, Corban gripped Kimberly's arm and dragged her toward the door. He wasn't sure how much she could see through her heavy veil, but they needed to leave now. Kimberly was beginning to cough, and Corban's own eyes were watering, but the lachrymator was still safer than risking a double-cross by the Sadhus before Corban could make his getaway.

  Outside, the chemical was denser, and Corban forced himself to remember he wasn't experiencing any permanent effects. Scanlon had warned him that tear gas was partially effective due to its victims not knowing what was traumatizing them.

  The gunmen on the walkway were both blinded and breathless. Through his tears, Corban shoved Kimberly toward the front of the boat, threw off the bowline, and started the engine. He guessed he could've escaped the tower without Scanlon's help, but including him secured Kimberly's safety as well as implicated him in the safeguarding of Director Dench's daughter. And the operation tied Scanlon to Corban.

  One mile upriver, Corban pulled up to a dock where Scanlon had recently arrived by motorcycle. The assassin smiled at them.

  "Why again does your government want you dead?" Scanlon climbed into the boat as Corban was still wiping tears from his face. The Brit picked up Kimberly, who hadn't said a word, and hefted her onto the dock. With a knife, he carefully cut her binds and left her standing there. "I have generally appeased my conscience to some degree by killing, well, the bad guys. For your name to be given to me, that would usually confirm that you were one of the worst."

  Corban climbed from the boat and went to the street where a car was parked. Scanlon welcomed Kimberly by holding the back door open for her, then he climbed into the driver's seat.

  "You sure you don't want to call her father yet?" Scanlon started the car.

  "Not yet." Corban turned from the passenger's seat and shined a flashlight into Kimberly's eyes to gauge her relative health. Her eyes were alert though puffy, but she seemed fine otherwise. "What do you say, Kimberly? Mind if we take the scenic route home?"

  "Not at all." She smiled. "Thank God for both of you."

  *~*