––––––––
Shahrukh read the instructions from T’s note, which Vivi Verreau had passed on after the meeting in the US war room. Out of habit, he stroked his chin as he considered his options. The beard had to go soon. The merchants he was meeting at Karakoram wouldn’t be expecting a dirty mountain gun-slinging insurgent-type buyer. For some reason, they expected those men to want the bigger things, not the small sophisticated item in their possession.
He leaned back against the brocade pillow and took a sip of the coffee set on the low table next to him. He savored its strong, pungent taste, took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. A few hours’ sleep would be nice.
“Tired?” A woman’s voice floated from the direction of the door.
Shahrukh opened his eyes. He studied the figure at the entrance. “You look so docile, so traditional, Zerya.” he finally remarked, replying in the same Kurdish dialect she used. “Maybe time can change a person.”
She smiled and she suddenly looked the same, in spite of those world-weary eyes. “That’s funny coming from a man who is looking more like his Kurdish self than the usual suave New York image he’s adopted.” She came closer, the bangles on her wrists and ankles tinkling. “Yet, I know you haven’t changed. Still looking for broken pieces of treasure. Still playing the game, I bet.”
Shahrukh shrugged. He hadn’t been in “The Game” for a few years now. There was no harm in letting Zerya think he was still with the treasure hunting organization. His “new” life with the commandos at Command Center the last few years had been even more secretive than when he was one of those working for The Temple.
“Life is a game,” he said.
Zerya shook her head. “No, it is not. But we forgive you, since you’ve been brought up by frivolous Western ideals. Your adoptive parents have taken your soul away from the Kurd people.”
Shahrukh laughed. He’d heard that line so many times since his teenage years when he was “returned” to his people, it no longer hurt him. He had nothing to prove any more, except maybe to keep a promise to an old woman.
“All Kurds away from Kurdistan have lost a little of their souls,” he agreed in his usual non-committal fashion when dealing with family matters. “As have you. Being among a smattering of Kurds while surrounded by Pathans is hardly your style.”
“Is that the reason for your visit, then, Rukh? Just curious why an old lover is hidden away here?”
Shahrukh leaned back further into soft backrest, contemplating the woman standing so serenely. There was a time he’d been in love with Zerya. She was everything he wasn’t—absolutely sure of her place in the world and intensely dedicated to family and honor. He was the total opposite, feeling out of place among his own people and not as sure about his place in a family who had lost him in a war, and now that they’d found him, demanded things from him he didn’t understand. Growing up with his adoptive parents, he’d wanted brothers and sisters with whom to play and quarrel. Then, fate had given him back his lost family and he’d returned—with the blessings of his parents—and he’d found himself among brothers and sisters with whom he’d no emotional attachment. Zerya, the neighbor’s daughter, had been the only one who understood him. Or, so he’d thought.
She casually sat down, leaning over to refill his cup. “Or maybe,” she continued softly, switching to speaking French-accented English, “you’re, as usual, looking for other people’s treasure instead of your own?”
Shahrukh smiled. “Sharp as ever,” he said, in English. “Always using everything as a weapon. I half-expect you to be carrying a machine gun under that skirt. Tell me, why aren’t you in Paris with the rest of your unit of Peshmerga fighters?”
Warrior blood flowed in generations of Kurds. The Kurd Resistance allowed women to join their ranks and as a people, they’d been at war for centuries, fighting for a land for their people. Peshmerga—those who confront death—was the fighting force beloved by the people and feared by the enemies.
“The CIA has informed us there was danger ahead, that some leaders are targeted for assassination. I was one of the few ordered by my superiors to disappear for a while.” Her voice held a trace of bitterness. “So, here I am, in the middle of nowhere, unable to do much but...entertain.”
“Liar,” Shahrukh softly chided back.
She cocked an eyebrow at him, relaxing further into her seat as she bit into a pomegranate. “This is Afghanistan. As a woman, all I can do is stay inside here and be protected. What else could I be doing?”
“Documenting pieces of a Stealth airplane that is being slowly dismantled, perhaps? Trying to either sell or buy parts in the great bazaar of Karakoram, perhaps?” Shahrukh asked.
She slowly chewed the fruit, licking the juice on her shapely lips. Her almond-shaped eyes held amusement as she searched his for clues. “Ah. The downed Stealth at the border. Like I’ve asked before, why do you keep going after someone else’s treasure and yet never profit from it? All those treasure hunters you work with, aimlessly running around picking things up and exchanging information—do you ever want to use them for yourselves? Or your people?”
And there lay the core of contention between his old lover and him. She was all about their people and fighting for land. It was something noble, a way of life to which their clan was dedicated. He’d not lived up to her dreams of being a clan elder’s son, one who would pick up the mantle of blood and glory for revenge and justice.
“Actually, I have,” Shahrukh said. “I used The Temple’s many treasure quests as a way to look for the lost diamond.”
“Bah. You listened to your grandmother’s silly stories about diamonds and maps instead doing something tangible.” Zerya sighed then propped her head up with a hand. “Quests. Those people call it “The Game.” You joined a bunch of mercenaries who called themselves treasure hunters, looking for antiquities for collectors. Life, death, and honor, Rukh. No game in those three things.”
He couldn’t blame her for sneering at his former job. It wasn’t quite as shallow for him. The Temple had roots with an ancient tradition that went as far back as the Kurds; in fact, their histories were intertwined and that was one of the reasons Shahrukh had joined them. Surely, with all the treasure quests these people were looking for, they would have some clues to help him find his diamond.
But he wasn’t here to explain about history and the Templar Knights to Zerya. Explaining that it was his way of returning honor to his family and clan would be a waste of time. Zerya never believed his grandmother’s stories, anyhow. And if she ever found out he was actually now part of the US government, she would probably see it as a betrayal.
“Treasure is all about value,” he said. “It’s my quest to find what is of value to me, hence my way of life.”
“And Stealth parts are valuable to you, how?” Zerya asked, amused again.
“Not all its parts. I want to know the name of the seller to look for a certain part.”
After Shahrukh had reached the site and given the mortally wounded pilot a password, the dying man had imparted a secret with his last breath. There was a special missile on board, painted with a newly-designed cloaking paint that made it untraceable to radar. That was the weapon he needed to find.
“Is that why you were seen with Yakob?” Her smile was sweet. “Don’t worry. No one but us knows you’re anything but an ordinary Pathan trader.”
Spies. Everywhere. He wondered whether she knew Yakob had been detained and perhaps was now trying to negotiate his freedom by giving back some of the parts he’d stolen or bought. Everything technological taken from the Stealth, big or small, was worth something in the market and everyone wanted to make a profit. Some for revenge. And yes, some for honor.
“Yes,” Shahrukh replied easily. “He told me he was going to buy it at Karakoram. You have the name of the seller and I need it.”
Zerya leaned over and placed a hand on his thigh. Her kohled eyes gleamed with feminine invitation. “And what do you have for me and my freedom fighters?”
* * *
Lucas scanned the area. They weren’t exactly in the danger zone but it was the Afghan-Pakistan border, where the situation was nebulous. If he was right, they were close to the crossroads, where everyone with vehicles had to travel through, from mountain passes to the cities, and vice-versa. On any given mile, one might bump into Pakistani border troops, Afghan soldiers, tribal warlords who had been de facto rulers in these mountainous regions for centuries, and freedom fighters from various factions, all moving around traveling merchants, refugees, herders and border farmers.
This was, in his opinion, the most eff’ed up place in the world, with a people living on two sides of a border trying to survive. They had been doing it for thousands of years, it seemed. Why not another thousand? He’d been in the military most of his life, so warfare was nothing new, but he did feel for the normal, everyday folks who had to go through their daily lives facing possible bombs from any and every side.
A truck with a cloud of dust behind it came into view. He motioned to Kit to stay off the trail and stick by the thick bushes. If they were Pakistani soldiers, they would leave an American soldier alone. Certain tribal militia would most likely pass by without more than a glance because they had made agreements with some of the US commanders who had visited them. There would also be the assumption he was probably not alone, which was a good thing.
The truck slowed down as they came nearer. The dust made the sunlight hazy as it floated all around them. A figure jumped off the truck and started charging, screaming an almighty war cry.
“Get down!” Lucas shouted back at Kit, hoping she was already hiding somewhere.
If these people had wanted to kill him, they would have shot him already. He crouched lower, waiting for the running man, and slowly straightened up in surprise as the dust settled and the running figure loomed larger..., or actually, smaller. It was a child coming full speed at him and it wasn’t a war cry. It was more like, “Yah! Yah! Yah!”
A woman screamed. Then another figure jumped off the back of the truck.
“Daner! Daner!”
There was an urgent stream of Pashto and some other language Lucas didn’t recognize but since the man was unarmed, he stayed where he was. No sudden moves to panic anyone in the truck.
The kid stopped a few feet away and his big green eyes stared up at him.
“Meri-kan!” He yelled at the top of his voice. “Meri-kan! Meri-kan!”
“Hey, hey, no shooting. Friends! Friends!” The man coming after boy finally reached them and scooped the boy into his arms. He looked at Lucas apologetically and said, in a heavy accent, “Sorry! He’s just boy. Play with soldiers, always stupid. Sorry!”
The boy’s expression was earnest. He made the sign of a gun with his forefinger and thumb. “Bang! Bang! Me-rikan! Me-rikan dead!”
The adult said something sharply at him but the boy was obstinate, repeating his phrase.
“Sorry! We go now!” The man backed away.
Lucas frowned. “Hey, wait. What language did you just speak?”
The man just shook his head, while continuing to back away. “We mean no harm. We are from small tribe and my son, he is too friendly with soldiers.” He paused, looking behind Lucas. “But you better go fast. It’s not safe for you and the woman. Taliban behind us.”
The boy started struggling. “Taliban! Bang! Bang! Me-rikan dead!”
“Wait! Why does he keep saying Me-rikan dead?”
The man shook his head again. “He’s a boy. Nonsense, you know? Go now. We all have to go!” Then he added in Pashto, “God be with you.”
As the man hurried back to the waiting truck, the boy looked over his father’s shoulder and pointed his “gun” at him again. His green eyes were fierce.
“Bang! Bang! Taliban! Forty-mike-mike! Me-rikan dead!” He covered both his ears as if he was hearing something, then shouted back in perfect American English, as if he’d heard the phrase hundreds of times, “You tell Me-rikan, ack-ack, bang bang!”
Lucas stiffened. What the— Those were military slang words! “Hey! Hey!” He yelled.
The man turned his head and spat. His expression was just as fierce as the child. His English came out in staccato notes. “You stay away! Go back to your friends! Taliban coming, you understand? You cannot save my son. Get lost! Bastard!”
The man threw his son into the arms of a waiting woman in the back of the truck and hauled himself up. Seeing the boy starting his struggles afresh, Lucas kept coming after them. The woman was talking in a stream of urgent sentences to the child, her tone full of admonishment. The truck started rumbling off again. The little boy shook his head and looked back at Lucas, his expression obstinate and determined.
“Tell Meri-kan! Ninety-nine! Incoming! Incoming! Boom! Ack-Ack! Alpha Mike Foxtrot! Ack-ack! Seventy-Fiff!”
Unable to catch up, Lucas stood there listening as the sound of the boy’s voice became further and further away, still shouting military terms over and over at him. “Incoming! FPF! Tell Meri-kan! MIA! The Unit! Seventy-Fiff! FPF! FPF! Where in world is Raven? The Unit!”
He cursed out aloud in frustration. He should have been able to catch up with that fucking truck. That kid was trying to tell him something, he was sure of that. He impatiently wiped off the sweat dripping into his eyes with his sleeve. Fucking damn it. He couldn’t even keep up with a fucking—
“Lucas!”
He took deep breath. He’d forgotten Kit was all by herself. Cursing again, he turned around and strode back to her.
“You were supposed to be in hiding,” he said shortly.
“I was but I came out when I saw the kid,” Kit said. She frowned. “Why are you so angry?”
“Because it could have been a kid with a weapon. Or an explosive device. You have to listen to orders, Kit!”
“I was listening to orders. I only came out when I was quite sure he wasn’t going to blow you up.”
Lucas continued shouting, “That man coming over could have started shooting. Anything could have happened. The people in the vehicle—”
“I assessed the situation before I came out from behind the bush,” Kit cut in, very quietly. “And you’re still shouting at me. Stop it. Why the hell are you so angry?”
“Because the kid was trying to tell me something and I can’t...catch...a damn truck.” Lucas leaned forward, putting his hands on his thighs. “I’m fucking out of breath. What the hell—I’m fucking out. Of. Breath.”
“Lucas? Lucas!”
* * *
Kit ran to Lucas when he fell on his hands and knees. She watched in horror as he started retching.
“Lucas!”
“I’m okay. Turn around. Don’t loo—” The rest of his words were expurgated in a series of horrible retching noises.
She ignored his hand trying to push her away and squatted down beside him. His face had a greenish hue. He thumped a fist against his chest, as if he needed to dislodge something. Then he leaned further forward and vomited.
Ugh. Kit had to look away for a moment. She stood up to take off and unzip her back pack, pulling out a bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, she put it in front of his face. He snatched it from her and put his lips on the mouth, sucking down the liquid like a man dying of thirst.
“Slow down! You’ll puke it all out again!” Kit punched the muscular arm to get his attention. “Slow down!”
His head was tilted back, exposing his brown throat, and she noticed for the first time he was perspiring profusely. Even his hair looked damp. Something was definitely wrong.
When he was done with the bottle, it fell to the ground. He leaned forward, putting his hands back on the ground. His eyes were closed. He was still panting, his breathing erratic.
“Lucas?” She squatted down again. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m okay,” he said again. Then determinedly, he repeated, “I’m okay.”
“Fuck your okay shit, Lucas Branson. You just vomited a pile of yellow blob in front of me. You tell me what’s wrong with you right now or I’ll kick your ass all the way down this mountain.”
Her threat brought a tiny lift to his lips. He took a few deep breaths. “Let’s get off the road first.” He slowly stood up, as if assessing his condition. “Behind that bush again, Kit. I don’t think those people were speeding away from us.”
She nodded. “Come on.” She slipped under his armpit. “You’re swaying, so don’t say you’re okay. Lean on me. Walk!”
“I’m not leaning on you,” he said firmly, unhooking his arm from around her shoulders. “I can walk to that bush. No problem.”
Frustrated, she let him do it. She had had plenty of experience with macho males who refused to admit they needed help. When her father broke his leg, he’d acted exactly the same way. She watched as he carefully made his way to the nearby shrub, his gait stiff and measured.
“Yeah, sure you can, Frankenstein,” she muttered.
She made a face at the puddle of puke on the ground before following Lucas to the small area behind the shrub. With the heat coming on, it was good to be in the shade. She was worried at how much Lucas was perspiring. At this rate, he was going to be dehydrated in no time.
“I want you to drink more water,” she told him, crisply, as she rummaged in her backpack. “Here’s some mouthwash too, if you want to gargle.”
“I don’t need—”
He stopped in mid-sentence when she spun around and glared at him. Eyes narrowing, he took the mouthwash, obediently gargled and spat to one side. When she continued to stare him down, he took the small bottle of water and took a swallow from it.
“You aren’t well. I don’t want to hear your protests. Your face tells it all, mister,” she said, keeping her voice as matter-of-fact as possible. “So, we have to come up with a plan.”
He growled something back under his breath. His face told her it was probably something with some curses and he just didn’t want her to hear the words.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Me scared of Big Baby. We’ll rest five. You tell me what you’re feeling or I won’t budge for ten minutes.”
“I’d rather talk about that boy and that truck. They’re running from someone and we need to prepare for those people coming behind them.”
She nodded. She understood what he was implying but nothing was going to matter if he couldn’t walk straight, much less defend them from any coming danger. “That too. But first things first. Come on, time’s a-wasting.”
He gave a grunt of frustration. “I must have eaten something bad this morning,” he said and gave a shrug. “When you travel as much as I do, the tummy often doesn’t agree with the food.”
Kit frowned. “If you have food poisoning, then you’re going to be weak and dehydrated. You’re also perspiring a lot.”
Lucas impatiently wiped his forehead and studied the wet patch on his sleeve. “Yeah,” he said, sounding surprised. “I’ll keep drinking liquids, okay? But right now, if those people are really being chased by Taliban insurgents, we have trouble ahead. They’re going to see our van and if they stop to investigate and see any signs that we weren’t captured, they might decide to backtrack to look for us.”
“I took everything of value I could think of,” she told him. “Passports, licenses, the tablets, cash, weapons—”
Lucas shook his head. “Weapons! Why are they in the damned bag? We need them where we can easily access them.”
“Relax, babe, they’re in my backpack side pocket. See?” She showed him. “They aren’t powerful toys like yours but they’ll have to do.”
She handed the 9mm to him. He checked it and then gave it back to her. “I’m assuming you know how to use it,” he said.
She nodded. “Pretty good, but only target shooting.”
“Okay, but in a firefight, there is no controlled environment. They’re shooting back at you, so you won’t be thinking calmly about which part of your target to aim. Got that?”
She nodded again. It seemed so strange to be calmly having a conversation about shooting someone. “Are we...really...going to be in a firefight?”
He touched her lower lip with his forefinger and smiled. “In spite of your Wonder Woman status, I’m hoping to avoid that. I have my .45,” he said, “but ammo is low. If there is a firefight, we’re toast. All we can do is be prepared. The first thing is not to walk down the road until they pass us. Damn it, I wish we had some way to get hold of my team.”
“What do you think they’re doing now?” She asked.
“Hawk would take the team down to the camp once he knows there had been an altercation. There are several scenarios. If the fire was serious, Jazz, Mink and Dirk would be helping to put it out until the firefighters show up. They might leave then and come looking for us, which would be good. But there are several forks through the mountain borders. Unless he gets some help from people who saw us, he won’t have a chance guessing and will try to get Hawk to get some air support to see if they can find our vehicle or that other truck.”
“My team will come looking for me too,” Kit said. Sean would be worried about everything in the vehicle and want to retrieve them. “Surely they’ll search one route while your team goes the other.”
“Yeah. And they both might be searching the wrong routes while we’re here trapped with the Pakistani Taliban. It’s crazy in these mountains, babe. Everyone is fighting everyone. Who knows why they’re after that kid and his people, but what that kid was yelling to us was all military slang, like he had a message.”
“Lucas, he’s only a kid. Maybe he picked up the terms at camp and was just running through them because he saw a soldier in uniform.” She’d to admit the kid was scary intense with the delivery, though. “Just a thought.”
“But there was no doubt they were deathly afraid of their pursuers. Who are coming this way.” Lucas slumped against the tree, holding his stomach. “Fucking hell.”
Kit moved towards him, only to be pushed away by a big hand. He turned and disappeared into the thicker side of the bush. She shuddered at the horrible sounds of vomiting, followed by sharp, deep breaths, like a man trying to get air.
“Lucas?”
“Yeah. I’ll be out there in a sec.”
She lifted her head, listening. “I hear rumbling.”
His breathing was quieter. “I hear it too. Stay...where you...are.”
“Are you okay?” Stupid question. He obviously wasn’t and of course he was going to say he was fine.
As predicted, he said, “I’m fine.” He sounded hoarse, as if he was having difficulty moving and talking at the same time. “Stay where...you are. I can see...the road from where I am. We’ll know soon...whether it’s just another vehicle or...something else.”
Kit didn’t like way Lucas was talking so haltingly. She tried to look through the branches but the shrub was very thick. The partial gap she found gave a bird’s eye view of the road in front. The vehicle coming whooshed into view and was gone before she actually saw anything other than the fact that it was one of those huge SUV-like vehicles and there were two men hunched over the top with weapons. As soon as it went by, she made her way carefully into the darkened area Lucas had slipped into. It smelled acrid and she had to pinch her nose to stop from gagging. Then she saw him, slumped against a tree in a weird position. She suddenly realized he was unconscious and hurriedly stumbled towards him.
His face felt fiery. “Lucas!” She lightly swatted him on the cheek. “Lucas!”
No response. He was much too big for her to even attempt to move. She had to get him up and about. Uncapping the bottle of water she had in her hand, she poured it over his face and bent down.
She needed to do something. She couldn’t let her fear for Lucas win over logic. There had to be a way. Closing her eyes, she channeled her father, the drill sergeant, and shouted, “Cucumber! Get on your feet, you lazy bag of bones! Why are you lying on your back? Get up! Get up before I put my boot so far up in your ass we’ll both end up in the hospital! Cucumber! Up on your feet and attention! What fucking kind of SEAL are you, anyway?”
She almost fell on her back when Lucas flipped over and jumped to his feet. He saluted and yelled back, “Standing and ready, Sir! We are standing and ready SEALs, sir!”
She didn’t know what SEAL team he was on, so she just made it up, substituting her father’s Airborne unit, “Hey SEALs from left to right, Hey SEALs, we’re out of sight, we’re trained to fight, we’re trained to kill, if you can’t do it, we damned sure will! Motivation, dedication, graduation, teamwork! Left! Right! Left, left, right!”
To her relief, her on-the-spot cadence worked. Lucas started—she wouldn’t call it marching—putting one leg forward and then, the other. But he was following her lead back out into the open air, where she could at least check on his status.
“Come on, soldier, left, left, left, right, left! I don’t know but I’ve been told! Green grasshopper has a red asshole! One, two,” she sang, still channeling her father, “sound off, three, four, sound off, one-two, three-four!
“Who the hell taught you that?” Lucas asked.
She glanced back at him. His face was pale and his eyes were intently on her feet, as if he needed to follow her footsteps.
“No, don’t answer me,” he continued, “And don’t break out into any fucking Airborne Ranger cadences. I’ll vomit again. Violently.”
“Hey, army brat, you know. My dad’s a drill sergeant and boy, did he know how to get my brothers and me out of bed. Well, not with the bad language, of course. That came from hanging around army folks too much.” She stopped at a spot that was still shady but was a bit higher than the previous one. “You’re going to sit here and drink more liquids while I climb this tree.”
He frowned. “Why? Are you planning to hide us there if those guys decide to backtrack? Because we’re going to need a hiding place. I counted eight of them in that ATV, maybe nine. At least four were carrying machine guns.”
She swallowed and tried not to show her fear. “You saw all that and fainted from fright?” she quipped.
He grinned. Her heart did a slow somersault. He managed to look sexy-hot even though he still seemed ready to fall over any second.
“Smart-ass,” he said. “I was so unfazed by those guys, I decided to take a nap, that’s all. But some loud howling about a boot up my ass woke me up. That kind of threat usually gets a man’s attention, you know.”
Kit felt her face heating up. She did yell out some horrible threats, all courtesy of watching and listening to her brothers beating each other up.
“Did its job,” she said. “I’m climbing up the tree to see where we are. I have a tourist map in my backpack—”
“We aren’t going on a scenic tour, Cupcake,” Lucas cut in. “We need to get out of here.”
She shook her head. “Will you let me finish? I have a map that someone local has marked for me all the places to avoid. I remember he mentioned caves that have been abandoned by the Taliban that were near the camps. If I can see one of the tourist landmarks from up high, I can figure out how close we are to them.”
He stared at her for a moment. “There’s nothing to see up there but more trees and the main road,” he told her.
“I know, but I’ve also done research on the web. Aerial research because I enjoyed the view of the Swat Valley rivers. I bet, if I can figure out where the river is, I’ll recognize a few things I’ve looked at from those aerial views. Then I can locate them on the tourist map and we can...oh, will you just let me do this? It’s going to take them half an hour to reach our van and if they stop to search...we have just enough time. Okay?”
He sighed. “Go ahead. I’ll just lean against this tree and hold it up.”
She grinned at him. Freaking macho man wouldn’t admit it, but she wasn’t going to let him know she suspected he was having a hard time standing on his feet right now. “Don’t...take a nap while I’m up there. That’s an order, sailor,” she said.
She pulled off her skirt. His dark eyes narrowed at sight of the pair of tight boxers underneath.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “Those legs have my full attention.”