CHAPTER 61
The cave
“I don’t know. He hasn’t gotten better.”
Yousef put his hand on his child’s forehead. Patoo was hot, very hot, and sweating through his pajama shirt. He had held a temperature for two days.
“Has he eaten anything?”
“No. I put some sugar on his pancake. It didn’t help.” The child’s mother looked worried.
“Allah will take care of the child.”
She gave him a look.
“Umarov is in Peshawar and coming soon. I will call him and get some medicine.” Yousef didn’t want to make the call.
Two calls back-to-back. I don’t know.
It worried him.
“I will walk across the valley to the other side and call.”
Perhaps I can use two cell phones.
“Malik, give me the cell phones.”
Malik Mahmud had gone back to sleep after guard duty. He was rolled up in a ball on a small prayer rug at the edge of the cave. Yousef didn’t care if he was asleep.
Without saying anything, Mahmud rolled over and handed him the bag that held a dozen cell phones. Yousef took two and a calling card for New York.
“Let me see the child again.”
Yousef ran his hand around the child’s neck. Both glands were swollen to the size of small walnuts.
“I will have Liaquat get him some antibiotics.”
She looked relieved.
He picked up the AK-47 and slung it over his shoulder.
“I will be back in several hours.”
A man alone would always attract less attention. He was probably safer walking across the valley alone than staying at the cave with the others. But the trucks were well hidden and they stayed inside, out of sight, if the sky was clear.
Perhaps I will cross over the ridgeline.
Yousef started out in the morning light. The ridgeline behind and above the cave was nearly a cliff, so he headed east, down the valley toward the dried riverbed. There was a rough road that seemed more for a mule-pulled cart than a four-wheel vehicle, which paralleled the riverbed. In a mile it crossed over the deep ditch that at that point formed the riverbed and started to circle around the end of the finger of the ridgeline. After crossing the ditch, he cut up the boulder-strewn ridgeline and climbed up the rocky grade for more than a hundred yards. There, at the peak, he pulled up on one large rock.
I can’t lose Patoo. Not Patoo.
Yousef pulled out the first cell phone. He knew Umarov’s cell phone number. The phone was not to be used except in an emergency. Yousef knew the look he would get from Umarov. Umarov, who had given up his entire family for the fight, would never try to understand.
“Hey, brother, I need to speak to Liaquat.”
Yousef hated to use a name. Liaquat’s voice came on the call.
“The child of mine is sick. His glands are swollen.”
“I will get him some amoxicillin.”
No more needed to be said. Yousef closed the cell phone and mouthed a quick prayer of thanks.
The second cell phone required the use of the card. Again, it would be a short conversation. Even though it was late in New York, Masood would answer.
“Yes.”
“Brother, how are you?”
“I am fine, very fine. And my family?”
“We are all fine.”
“Is it cold in New York?”
“It is frigid.”
“How is our cousin in Chicago?”
“He left for home today.”
“Good, very good. I will give your love to your mother.”
They traveled under the assumption that every conversation was taped, every word analyzed, every thought considered dangerous. But Yousef knew that the flash drive had made it to its destination. Chicago’s emergency-response system would be paralyzed.
Yousef put both cell phones on a rock and crushed them with the butt of the AK-47. Those cells were turned on, like a light switch, and were now unstoppable.
I don’t know why I bother. Another person probably will not cross this way again for another hundred years.
Yousef looked out across the valley to the east and then turned to the one to the west. The road etched in the rocks at the base of the ridgeline circled around the point of the finger and then headed up the other valley.
What was that?
He thought that he saw something move for just a moment, a flash of a movement, just enough to make the mind curious. Yousef had a feeling, a sense, and a premonition that someone was watching.
He pulled back the bolt of the AK-47, chambering a round. The metallic sound of the bolt running the round home, into the chamber, seemed to echo in the silence.
Yousef studied the road and the valley. He held his hand over his forehead and followed the ridgeline with his eyes. The sun was starting to bear down, and even though it was deep into the winter, the day was becoming warm.
Nothing.
Yousef leaned on a large boulder that came up to just above his waist. He waited several minutes, constantly scanning the ridgeline, the rocks, and the twisted path of a road.
Finally, he turned, heading down the rocky slope.
She will be happy. She has been a good wife.
The satellite assigned to support the team had picked up both conversations. Scott was relieved that they had selected the right valley.
At the same time Moncrief watched through the optic sight on his M4 as the man turned and walked away. Moncrief focused back on the boulder where the Arab had just rested his machine gun.
After a few minutes he saw movement at the base of the rock. Moncrief wasn’t surprised at the movement. He watched as Sgt. Vaatofu Fury, virtually impossible to see and covered in sand and rock, pulled back away. The sniper had been within an arm’s reach of the stranger the entire time.
I guess that meal worked.
Fury’s smell hadn’t alarmed the man at all. Moncrief smiled.
I don’t know who that Arab is, but he is living on borrowed time.