CALI’S HEAD HURT like hell. Each jostling movement of her horse made it worse until it felt like sledgehammers were pounding her brain. Hands tied with rope in front of her, she held the reins in numbed fingers. Her captors rode in front and behind her. Dizzy, she gripped the front of the saddle.
Cali realized she was helpless. It wasn’t something she’d felt often in her life. Just one other time—with Russ. Bitterness coated her mouth as that awareness permeated her foggy state. Anger mixed with fear began to seep through her as she became more conscious of her surroundings.
In the faint light of dawn, she saw other horses in front of hers. A single line of Afghan riders, all with AK-47 rifles slung over their shoulders, moved at a slow, plodding pace up a narrow dirt trail littered with stones. To her left rose a long, smooth slope of rock. To her right was a thousand-foot drop-off to a chasm far below. As she recognized the mountainous terrain, terror radiated through her. Taliban. She’d been kidnapped by them!
Blood trickled down the side of Cali’s head, where she’d been coldcocked by Kabir. She couldn’t lift her hands to touch the area, could only feel the warm fluid still leaking from the wound and dribbling downward. Most of the bleeding seemed to have stopped, and blood was now drying on her left temple and tense jawline.
Horses snorted and breathed heavily, for they were, Cali estimated, over ten thousand feet. It was an effort to breathe, so she knew the elevation had to be high. Eyes squinting from the constant agony, Cali struggled to get her bearings. But each time she moved her neck, pain shot through her skull.
Numbly, she noted that evergreens appeared as scraggly dark shapes on the steep, rocky slopes far below. It was cold at this hour and this altitude, and she was glad of the woolen burka she was wearing. Who had put it on her? She was still wearing her construction clothes beneath it. Trembling, Cali couldn’t stand the thought of being unconscious and having some man or men touching her, pulling the burka over her body. Nausea rolled in her stomach.
Straining to look out through the crisscrossed netting in front of her eyes, Cali tried to determine how many men were in the raiding party. There was no mistake about it: Kabir was a Taliban member. He must have dragged her out to the fence, unseen. Someone had to have cut a hole through it—his Taliban friends, no doubt. Kabir could never have gotten Cali through the security gate; the guards would have discovered her.
How long she’d been slumped over the neck of the horse, Cali had no idea. Her watch was missing. She’d awakened to find her mouth gagged, her hands bound and her body covered in the black burka.
The steady movement of the thin, small Arabian beneath her was somewhat soothing to the fear eating away at her. Where were they going? What where these men going to do with her? She thought of trying to escape, but on this narrow path, it would be impossible. Furthermore, there were several riders behind her, and someone had a lead on her horse. She was boxed in with no place to go.
Her mind gyrated crazily back to Pete. Had he realized she was missing yet? What must he be feeling right now if he knew she had been kidnapped? The metallic taste of blood coated the inside of Cali’s mouth. The rag forced between her teeth was tight around her neck, and her jaw ached. How she longed for water!
Her back molars felt loose, thanks to Kabir’s blow to her head. The son of a bitch. If she got any chance to escape, Cali resolved she would get even with that traitor.
Again, she thought of Pete. For some reason, she desperately needed the handsome Marine, who had always reminded her of a courtly knight from the olden days. They had never kissed, or touched one another as lovers would. So how could she want him like this? Was it due to the terror of dying?
Didn’t everyone need someone in a crisis? Of course. Her heart pounded, underscoring the feelings that now raced with an agonizing awareness through her. She wasn’t sure which was more painful—the threat of dying, or discovering her need for Pete.
Oh, what Cali would give to be free! She twisted her wrists, which were bloody and raw from the ropes. She tried to loosen them, but the coarse strands only cut deeper.
Miserably, Cali closed her eyes, the ache in her heart even worse than the physical pains haunting her. Somehow, Pete had slowly, over time, worked through her armor and touched her.
Cali was sure she had a mild concussion, because her nose had bled off and on throughout the ride. Right now, there was no bleeding, but she could feel caked blood pulling at the sensitive flesh around her nostrils and upper lip. If she got out of here, what was she going to do about Pete? She would still be working with him….
Everything seemed so bleak and hopeless to Cali. If only she got a chance to escape! Right now, she wanted to be racing down the gravelly, rocky slopes of the Kush Mountains to freedom. Back to the building site. Home to Pete….
Rattled by these deep feelings, Cali continued to rock forward and back with her horse’s movements, her head bowed, the hammering pain unrelenting. What she’d give to stop and rest for just a little bit. They’d been riding all night. In the pale light of dawn, she had no idea where she was. No landmarks looked familiar as they made their way across the steep, dangerous terrain. Where were they heading? And what would her captors do with her? Rape her? Torture her? Hold her for ransom? Behead her? The last thought nauseated her.
All around Cali rose the silent Kush Mountains. If only she could find one familiar landmark. Oh, she’d done a lot of riding up in the hills around the site, but never this far or this high. Dizzy and confused, Cali couldn’t even tell directions, except that the sun rose in the east and set in the west.
At the top of a steep rise, the narrow trail flattened out. Cali caught sight of a huge cave just ahead. That’s where they were going.
Twisting her bonds, Cali worked and worked to loosen them. Her wrists were numb and she felt no pain, but fresh, warm blood ran down her hands and she knew the rope was cutting into her flesh.
The string of horses wearily moved into the cave and halted at the rear. Cali saw two men in turbans, with bandoleers of ammunition across their chests, waiting. A small fire deep within the cave lent just enough light to see. The fragrant odors of coffee, curry and lamb wafted, mouthwatering smells that reminded Cali of just how hungry she was.
A posting line was strung across the back of the cave. Cali saw the lead riders dismount and tie their weary mounts to it. She did not see Kabir among them. Was he a mole, a hidden implant in the village and at the site, giving the Taliban information? Cali thought so. It would explain why he wasn’t among this group. Kabir had probably gone on home that night, faded back into village life, and no one knew what he’d done—except her.
She stiffened as the tall man at the front of the group came striding toward her. Twisting her head, she saw four other riders near the opening, waiting. Were they there to stop her from turning her Arabian around and racing out? Probably.
“Get down,” the man snarled to her.
Shock bolted through Cali as she got a good look at his upturned face. It was Ahmed! Pete’s first interpreter! Her surprised reaction earned a cocky grin from the man. He reached up and grasped her arm.
“You!” Cali rasped through the gag. Instinctively, she jerked her foot out of the stirrup and thrust it forward. Her boot slammed into Ahmed’s chest as he tried to haul her off the horse.
He grunted and careened backward. Dust rose around him when he fell.
Another Taliban soldier who had just dismounted ran up and grabbed hold of the burka Cali wore. With one hard jerk on the material, she was wrenched out of the saddle. She tried to brace herself for the fall, but air whooshed from her lungs as she landed hard on her right side. The horse danced around, his hooves barely missing her. The pain in her head was so intense she cried out. Blindly, Cali struck out with her feet, but the man was faster. In the enveloping burka, Cali couldn’t maneuver. The thick fabric twisted around her legs, preventing her from lashing out once again.
“Get her!” Ahmed thundered, scrambling to his feet. He quickly dusted off his trousers and strode over to where Cali was being jerked to her feet. Grabbing the top of the burka, Ahmed yanked it off her. Then he leaned down and jerked the gag from her mouth.
His hand was like a claw, digging painfully into her shoulder. Cali spat out the rag and wrenched herself from his grasp. She was glad to be rid of the damn, hampering burka. How any woman could live in such a prison was beyond her. Tossing her head, regardless of how much it hurt her, Cali glared up at Ahmed.
“You son of a bitch! You’re a traitor!” she spat. Cali saw him snarl and lift his pistol out of its holster.
Her eyes widened. Her breath stopped as he jammed the gun into her face. Staring up into the dark barrel, only inches away, Cali felt her world grind to a halt. Ahmed grinned savagely down at her, hatred burning in his dark eyes. Slowly, he cocked the gun.
That sound was the only thing Cali heard in her narrowing universe. All other noises ceased to exist. She heard the alarming click and saw the lean, brown fingers on the pistol. And Ahmed’s index finger slowly pulling back the trigger—to kill her. Die. I’m going to die… In that moment, her life began flashing before her eyes.
Cali stared fixedly at the gun barrel hovering inches from her face. Wanting to live warred with the fact that she was going to die within seconds. Something vital snapped within her. Air rushed out of her lungs and through her parted lips. Ahmed’s eyes burned like those of a demon who was going to suck her life away from her. She was going to die…
“Ahmed! Leave her be!”
“But, my lord, Arsallah—”
“No! Go about your business, Ahmed. Put that pistol away! Now.”
Cali flinched as Ahmed angrily jammed the pistol back into the holster. Breathing hard, her arms gripped by the guard who stood behind her, Cali jerked a look to her right, toward the man who had just spared her life.
Arsallah walked quickly over to them. He was a tall man, as lean as a starving greyhound. In his silver-studded leather belt he carried a curved knife in a jeweled case, and he grasped an AK-47 in his left hand. Cali sensed he was the leader of this group.
Glaring up at him, she growled, “Let me go, dammit! You have no right doing this to me! I’m an American citizen.”
“Enough, woman. Keep it up and I’ll gag you once more. Wouldn’t you rather have some hot coffee? Some lamb and curried rice? Surely, you’re as hungry as we are. Now, be quiet. Ahmed!” Arsallah turned to the man, who stood nearby. “Take her and sit her down over there by the picket line. Keep one guard on her and feed her.”
Ahmed bowed, though his teeth were clenched. “Yes, my lord.” Although rich, Ahmed obeyed because Arsallah came from a very old, rich family himself. By day Arsallah ran his family’s oriental rug business. By night he rode for the Taliban like himself.
After he dragged her to where the horses were tied, he roughly shoved her to the ground. Cali collapsed on the camp floor, her shoulder striking the rough granite wall. Pain flared again up her neck. She felt so weak. Her legs were like Jell-O. Adrenaline was pumping hard through her, and she was shaking not only internally, but physically. Fear of dying flooded her, along with the serrating terror of the unknown to come.
“Stay there,” Ahmed hissed, shaking his fist in her face. “You aren’t going to live long, anyway.” Then he grinned savagely. “One last meal, you yapping dog. You are going to be a symbol to any female in Afghanistan who dares to defy Islam. No woman will show her face when we get done with you.”
With a look of triumph, Ahmed muttered fiercely, “I’ve been waiting for this moment, Ms. Roland. I helped plan this kidnapping. Oh, it took a long time and much patience on my part. No one fires me from a translation job. It has been a pleasure plotting to capture you.” Wheeling around, he snapped an order to a Taliban guard to watch her closely. Then he stalked back to the fire, where all the men were sitting down to eat.
Breathing raggedly, Cali tried to settle herself. She leaned against the wall and slowly straightened her weakened legs. Her heart pounding like a sledgehammer in her breast, she closed her eyes momentarily, trying to deal with her avalanching emotions. Ahmed had threatened a year earlier to get even with her, and now he had. Why hadn’t she been more alert? Taken his threat more seriously?
Stomach churning, her heart racing, Cali tried to think coherently. She had to figure out if she could escape. Quickly memorizing the layout in the cave, she began to grasp just how large it was. From the piles of dried horse dung, she realized they must use this cave often. A wind blew into it, making smoke from the small fire drift back toward her. That meant there was another entrance behind the horses.
Craning her neck, Cali tried to pierce the grayness. It was impossible. Her eyes kept blurring, a sign of a concussion. Despite this, she did the best she could in studying the space. From her position, most of what Cali could see were countless legs of horses. She could also detect the dancing, wavering shadows of men on the rough cave walls, cast by the light of the fire.
Every few minutes, dread and terror paralyzed her. Ahmed kept stealing dark glances in her direction. Time and again he stroked the pistol at his side. That memory of his gun barrel staring down at her made her nauseous with fear.
Cali watched a younger man, probably in his late teens, tending to the horses. He quickly unbridled all the animals and slipped soft cotton halters on them. One of the soldiers at the campfire called to the lad.
“Zalmai, come get some hot tea. Then feed the horses.”
The youth ran to the fire, where the men huddled. He brought his tin mug of tea back to where the horses stood. After setting the steaming cup aside, Zalmai brought in piles of dried grass and threw it before the eager animals. The Arabians quickly bent to the task of eating.
Cali wondered why he hadn’t unsaddled them. But then she realized that, if they were discovered, the Taliban could quickly slip on the bridles and ride hell-bent-for-leather and escape. Cali felt sorry for the horses. Having a saddle on for long periods didn’t do their backs any good.
Stomach growling, she watched as Zalmai walked back over to the fire. He brought her a wooden bowl and a cup of coffee. Her mouth watered in anticipation.
“May I have some water? Please?” she asked him in Pashto as he set the food down beside her.
Glowering, he nodded and spun away.
Cali looked longingly at the bowl of food. There was rice, vegetables and bits of lamb in the curry sauce over them. Despite her situation, she was starving. And she realized that if she was going to stay strong, she had to eat.
Zalmai brought back a flask of water. He then took the knife from the sheath at his side, leaned down and sliced through the thick bonds around her wrists.
Groaning, Cali felt sharp pains pulse up her arms as they fell away. The ropes had cut deeply. She sat there feeling the blood begin to flow back into her numbed hands. Flexing her fingers was an agony.
“Eat,” the boy commanded, sheathing his knife. “And do not try to escape or he will shoot you.” He pointed to the guard who stood scowling at her across the way.
“I won’t escape,” Cali said, reaching for the water. “Thank you.”
Zalmai sneered at her and turned away. His tasks done, he could now sit with the men around the fire.
Cali ate ravenously with her fingers. There were no utensils. All the while, she kept glancing about furtively, checking out the cave as the light grew brighter. Eventually, as the sun rose higher, she realized that the cave faced east. And west was where the plant site lay, somewhere far, far below them.
Despite the constant pounding in her head, Cali tried to compute the miles they’d traveled. From the time when she’d been knocked unconscious to their arrival around dawn, their trek would have taken twelve to fourteen hours. At no time did she think the party had trotted or galloped, for the slopes they’d climbed were slippery and far too dangerous for any kind of speed. A horse could walk roughly three to five miles in an hour, depending upon the terrain. That meant they might be anywhere from thirty-six to fifty-six miles away from the power plant.
Cali’s legs slowly strengthened and her wrists began to burn in earnest as the blood flow returned. She’d rather feel pain and know there was no permanent circulation damage to her hands from the tight bonds she’d worn. She glanced at the horses, which were voraciously eating. Perhaps she would be able to steal a mount. The Arabian would have to run far enough, fast enough, to outdistance her captors. But, she didn’t know the trails and she’d be lost. Damn. Finishing off the flask of water, she sat back, sated.
The murmuring of the men around the campfire continued. The soft snorting of the horses, the smell of the sweet hay all conspired against Cali. She slid downward, tucked her hands beneath her head and closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do right now. The horses were exhausted and so was she. No, she’d have to try and make her escape later.
Right now, Cali just wanted to sleep. Sleep and dream of all Pete Trayhern had meant in her life.
“COME, PETE, THIS WAY,” Hesam urged the engineer, jabbing his heels into the flanks of his black Arabian stallion as they climbed the steep, narrow trail.
Pete urged his gray gelding up the slippery slope. They were forty miles into the Kush, following a sparse, sometimes nonexistent trail. Ahead of Hesam were his best trackers—two older men who had hunted snow leopards, wild goats and deer throughout the region. Amazingly, despite their age and gray beards the men walked most of the time, the reins of their horses in their hands, as they hunted for signs that the Taliban had passed this way.
Pete rode up beside Hesam. The sun was low in the west, and at eight thousand feet on this spring day, the air was cool. Pete was glad he had on his camouflage jacket to stave off the chill. Behind them, he heard the scrambling of ten other horsemen, for the sheik had come with his best men, all heavily armed, to find Cali.
“These two men,” Hesam told him, pride in his tone, “can find spore where no one else can. Trust me, my friend, they not only know the shape of each horse’s hoofprints, they can follow them anywhere.”
Pete looked down at the barren gray rock. It was impossible to find prints on this. Yet these trackers had. “I don’t know how….” he murmured. He felt a small trickle of hope. His heart wrenched in his chest every time he thought of Cali missing—kidnapped by their enemy. Tears pricked the back of his eyes time and again, and he kept gulping to keep them from showing.
He knew the warlord could have chosen not to get involved in the hunt for Cali. Personal pride, Hesam had told him, would not allow him just to send his soldiers to look for her. Cali was a friend, and friends did not abandon one another in a time of need. Pete was grateful that the sheik was riding with them.
“You see the shrubs here and there?” Hesam said. “Those long tuffs of grass? If a horse walks by, there are changes. Blades get broken. A bush may snag strands of a horse’s tail.” Hesam grinned confidently and looked around. He kept his AK-47 handy, the butt resting on his left thigh. “I know of several deep, large caves up there.” He pointed toward the craggy rocks that loomed far above them. “I believe the Taliban use those caves. My trackers have often found horse dung, cold campfires and bits of hay in them. So we know they are occupied. And there’s a good chance that is where they hide out.”
“But would they still be there? Wouldn’t they move on?” Pete asked. He felt his throat close up again with emotion. Oh God, he couldn’t control his feelings no matter how hard he tried. This had never happened before. After he realized Cali was gone, a new, shocking revelation had occurred to Pete: he cared deeply for her. Because he’d never experienced such complex emotions with another woman, he didn’t know what to call them. Whatever they were, they made his soul ache.
When and how had this happened? Pete had fought attraction to Cali for a year now. This connection to her must have grown silently in the small moments they’d shared. As he remembered those times, so few and far between, Pete felt his whole being contract with feeling. One moment he was filled with hope, the next, despair that she could be dead. Gone. And he’d never see her smile again. Never hear her husky, rich voice, which always soothed his fractious moods. Never experience that unexpected, soft touch of her fingers grazing his flesh. Oh God, it’s too much to bear….
Pete struggled to get out of this maelstrom. The sky was an intense lapis blue, streaked with thin, fine cirrus clouds like strands of a woman’s hair. Below, he saw the valley where the plant sat. It seemed so far away. Another world. And his heart was an open wound, bleeding constantly each time he thought of Cali, pictured her face or those beautiful, warm green eyes of hers.
The sheik’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “They might still be there, who knows? They traveled all night, that we do know. After fifty miles of trekking, most horses, even Arabians, must rest several hours before they get their strength back. No, I’m sure they reached those caves. The question now is whether they’re still there or have moved on.”
Grimly, Pete pulled his cap a little lower to shade his eyes from the sun as they turned up the trail. Hesam felt the Taliban had taken her to make a statement about women being in charge, and that it would not be tolerated. Whatever the truth, Pete was helpless in his panic. Gripping the barrel of the horse with his long legs, he pulled behind the sheik as the path narrowed once more. So far, no one had called him to demand money. In his gut, Pete knew they were going to kill Cali.
Please let her still be alive. Let us find her in time….