PAKISTANI-INDIAN BORDER
The plan was weak, but there were few options.
Gorman and Maryam would be dropped off close to the checkpoint. Akbir would continue to the border and negotiate as he always did. But this time he would cause an argument, creating a distraction so they could walk around the checkpoint and meet a mile or so down the road.
The truck slowed around the final bend in the road before reaching the border guard station. A few yards from the searchlights just beyond the turn, Gorman jumped out, followed by Maryam. They rushed across the narrow road and around a mound bordering the turn, stopping in twenty yards and pausing to observe.
The truck continued, tires kicking up gravel and dust visible in the intense yellow lights that quickly engulfed it.
Indian border guards dressed in light brown uniforms and armed with AK-47s blocked the way as Akbir brought his truck up to the gate.
The Pakistani smuggler got out, holding up his usual bribe, but as the guards lowered their weapons, he started to shout, picking a fight, per the plan.
Maryam moved out first now, in a deep crouch. Gorman followed, taking advantage of the distraction to attempt a border crossing roughly five hundred yards from the military post. They used the cover of darkness, the sparse vegetation, rocky outcrops—and Akbir’s screams—to mask their movements.
They paused after a minute as the shouting intensified, though it appeared as if the guards were trying to calm down the agitated smuggler.
Surveying the sloping terrain as it rose toward the hilltop marking the border, Gorman stared at the commotion down by the road, under the intense lights. He hoped those same searchlights that allowed the soldiers to guard the road would also kill their night vision, preventing them from spotting him and Maryam.
Only one way to find out, he thought, contemplating the final three hundred yards.
Maryam’s brown eyes flashed understanding. From here to the border there were just a couple of outcrops and no shrubs—nothing to provide cover. But then again, that was the whole point of Indian authorities setting up the outpost at this location. It provided the guards with a good vantage point and line of sight.
They moved as quickly as possible, but without enough stealth.
Shots rang out thirty seconds later, just as they reached the first clump of boulders. A pair of rounds bounced off a rock and whistled skyward.
Gorman pushed Maryam down, but he didn’t return fire, believing that the guards were shooting in their direction but could not—
The 9mm round spun him around to his right, smacking him in the left shoulder.
Damn.
He fell on his side, his shoulder numb.
Maryam began to scream but Gorman stopped her, motioning her to stay low while cringing in pain and whispering, “Trust me.”
Slowly, and while inhaling deeply, Gorman rose above the cover of jagged rocks, only to be hit again, this time in the left leg.
And he still didn’t shoot back.
“Bill!” Maryam screamed as spotlights converged on their hideout.
Instead, Gorman dropped the gun and put up his hand.