part0015

He found them in the bar of Ma Kelly’s. The kind of place where men would drift off to at the end of a long, hard day's work, or a long and dangerous mission; warm, sumptuous surroundings, booze that wasn’t watered down, enough girls to go around, and then some. Three men, Ivan, Gorgy, and Akram nodded a greeting. They asked about Greg and relaxed when he explained he was out of danger, as much out of danger as anyone in the lawless nation of Afghanistan.

"I guess you came back to catch up on some sleep," Ivan said, "I think that whore is in tonight. You know, the one you've been with lately."

"Afifa. She’ll have to take a rain check. That's not why I'm here. I’m leaving to take care of some business.” He didn't need to supply the name of the target, "I need your help, all of you. First off, I need to know the whereabouts of Ishaq Khan."

He saw the flash in Ivan's eyes, and waited for the lies and evasions. Outwardly, the CIA man managed to portray honest sincerity. “You’re kidding me. How the hell would I know something like that?"

"I know you can find his location. What I'm asking is for you to call in every favor you’re owed. Find out where he is, no matter what it takes. If he’s on the move, where’s he going? Someone has to know. It’s just a question of reaching the right person."

Ivan considered for a few moments, and then shrugged. "No promises, but I guess I could try. What's in it for me?"

His two men shot him disapproving looks, but with Ivan, it was like water off a duck's back. Stoner had little to offer him, except the one thing Ivan hoarded more than any other. Debts.

"You help me with this, and I’ll owe you big time. No questions, if you need help, I'll be there for you. Twenty-four seven, Christmas Day if you need it."

“It means that much to you?”

“He almost killed Greg.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean.” He appeared to think about it, but he was already hooked. The lure of a skilled gunfighter on tap whenever he needed him was tempting bait, too much for him to resist. He inclined his head, "Okay, it's a deal. I'll see to it later. I was about to go upstairs. She’s waiting for me."

He shook his head. “I need that info now, Ivan. Your dick will have to wait. You won't regret it. Call in any favor you want, anything, anytime."

"You’re serious? Anything?"

His eyes looked upward, his expression filled with regret at what he'd miss, the girl waiting on the bed upstairs. "Okay, give me an hour."

They waited almost two hours before he came through the front door. Stoner resisted the impulse to show too much enthusiasm. Ivan would seize on it as a further example of weakness and want a higher price. There was something else he'd resisted. The booze. He’d thought about the state he was in when they asked him to bring the women back, and the hard time he'd given Greg and Faria when they called for him. So far, all he’d imbibed was soda. Gorgy and Akram may have been surprised he was on the wagon, but they hid it well.

Ivan threaded his way through the room and sat down at the table.

"I found him. According to my contacts, he's already crossed into Afghanistan, and they say he's heading for Kandahar. You know what that means?"

"ISIS, Afghan style."

"ISIS, yeah, they’re building a new stronghold in the city. He’ll have a lot in common with those murderous thugs. He’s not there yet. He interrupted his journey to overnight in a small town called Spin Boldak. It's just north of the border, inside Afghanistan."

"It's appreciated. How come you found him so fast?"

He shuddered. "You wouldn't believe the debts I had to call in to get the information. I had some real gems out there, diamonds, people would have sold their mothers to pay off what they owed me, and all I got in return was the goods on Khan. Stoner, you'll spend the rest of your life paying it back."

And regretting it. I don't care. I have a location, and I know where to find him. And kill him. He won’t be preying on innocent women again, not ever. For what he’s caused, the deaths, the sickness and the poverty, and for Greg, the bastard goes down.

"It's appreciated. I’m leaving you now. I have things to do."

They didn't ask. He was a man with a mission, a man alone. They could offer their help, and he’d refuse. He went out the through the rear door and descended to his basement armory. Arrays of weapons displayed on racks around the walls, he decided on an M-60, a reliable, light machine gun, able to be fired from the shoulder at a pinch. He took several belts of ammunition, and after a moment’s thought, replaced the Desert Eagles with identical guns. The ones he’d brought back still fired, but he couldn't rely on them. He’d take them to the shop for overhaul, but right now he needed reliable weapons. Going up against Khan, when he pulled the triggers, he had to know they'd fire, first time and every time. He stroked the smooth, hard, angular metal of the big guns. They wouldn’t let him down. With the new guns tucked into his shoulder rig, he felt fully dressed.

He went outside and climbed into his gleaming, black Jeep Wrangler. It felt good to sit inside the familiar vehicle, which was leagues ahead of Greg's old GAZ. Although thinking about the GAZ made him feel bad. They’d had no choice but to abandon the Soviet relic back in the boonies of Pakistan. It’d be long gone. The locals would pounce on any kind of metal, either to sell for scrap, or to dismantle for spare parts. He couldn't do a thing about it, and he hated that feeling of powerlessness. When Greg recalled what had happened to his beloved GAZ, he'd be mortified.

There was nothing he could do about it for now. He put it out of his mind and started the engine. Enjoying the familiar throb of the V8, engaged drive, and drove out of the town. The journey would be long. He'd have to drive through the night, and hope to catch Khan before he left his overnight refuge of Spin Boldak. The route took him via the main Jalalabad to Kabul highway, with a road surface less than smooth. Although unlike most roads in Afghanistan, at some time the government had at least applied a thin coating of tarmac to the surface.

He'd almost reached Kabul when he heard the faint noise for the first time. He worried something mechanical was failing, but the noise didn't come again, and he put it out of his mind. He passed Kabul and swung onto the long road that led to Kandahar. He was bypassing the city when he heard it again. It could have been anything. Transmission failure was a possibility, and he had to stop and check it out.

He was in the middle of nowhere, and he loosened the guns in the holsters, before stepping out of the vehicle and looking around for any sign of hostiles. There were none. The dark countryside was silent. He heard the whine again, and this time he was able to pinpoint the location. Not from the transmission, but from the back seat. He opened the door, and it hit him like a thunderbolt. A huge, black shape sprang at him. He went down, sprawled on his back, with Archer licking eagerly at his face. A tarpaulin lying next to the seat moved, and Javed climbed out. He was alternately grinning and trying to look sheepish. Knowing what he'd done was wrong, and yet happy they were reunited, Stoner, Archer, and Javed. Stoner wasn’t happy.

He made his voice stern. "Javed, you know you shouldn't be here." The boy’s face fell, and even Archer managed to look down and give a low whine. As if he understood he'd been bad, "You have to understand what’s happening here. This isn’t a pleasure trip. I’m going to kill Khan."

"I know that, Mr. Stoner. We can help."

"No, I'm sorry, kid, but it’s not going to happen. I may not come back. He could kill me before I get off a shot. I’m not happy, not happy at all. This is no place for you and Archer."

They looked like naughty schoolchildren standing before the Principal. He sighed.

“Okay, you can stay with me, but on one condition."

"Anything, anything."

"When I get to this place, Spin Boldak, you stay in the vehicle. You and the dog, no matter what happens, no matter what you see or hear."

"Yes, we will do that, Mr. Stoner. But if you do need help, you must call on us, and we’ll be ready. I brought my pistol and the dagger."

"I appreciate it, kid. I just don't want you to die. "

"We won't die, Mr. Stoner. We can take care of ourselves."

He has a point. I’ve seen Javed taking care of himself, and he’s damn good at it.

"Does Abbas Noyan know you've come?"

He pulled a face. "I did not tell him. He would not want me to come with you into what may be a serious firefight. He said he wanted me to take some time to get to know Archer better and learn to relax around dogs. After what he's seen in Pakistan, he believes the Mullahs are wrong. Dogs are not from Satan at all. They make good friends for any man prepared to give them a chance. In his opinion, they’re man's best friend."

He hid his smile. "Yeah, back in America, we kind of worked that one out a few hundred years ago."

"Perhaps we need time to learn about these things in Afghanistan."

"Good idea, Javed. But it wouldn't hurt to hurry it up a bit."

He told them to climb back into the Wrangler, but this time Javed sat in the shotgun seat, and Archer sprawled in the rear, enjoying the freedom from the cramped conditions where they'd hidden beneath the tarpaulin. He didn't mind too much having Javed along, or Archer. It reminded him of Ahmed, Greg's adopted son. The times he’d finagled his way onto the occasional mission when he was younger. Once, the kid even turned up on a slow-moving vintage tractor to save his and Greg's asses. As for Archer, he was like a hidden weapon you'd carry in your boot. Most times, people never noticed he was there, but when he appeared, bad guys, look out. For anyone attempting to harm Greg or Stoner, he was bad news, very bad news.

Javed dozed, and it was obvious he'd been awake since they'd left Jalalabad. Stoner was left to dwell on what happened in Pakistan, his mind returning to the GAZ. Greg loved that crappy old vehicle, and he made a vow.

When this is all over, I’ll replace it. Even if I have to travel the length of Russia to find a good one, Greg will have his GAZ when he comes out of the hospital. I'll get you a shiny new replacement GAZ 69, and everything will be okay again.

The first dwellings came into sight, and he was close to the outskirts of Spin Boldak, which in Pashto meant White Desert. He drove into the small town, and to his astonishment, he saw him almost at once. Ishaq Khan, and he was a different man; weary and bedraggled, accompanied by just one man, and about to climb into a truck. Stoner rammed his foot down on the gas and drove toward him. The warlord looked up, saw the vehicle charging toward him, and recognized the driver. Both men threw up their assault rifles and fired a hail of bullets that hacked toward the Wrangler. Stoner skidded around the nearest corner. The street was a dead end. He shouted at Javed to stay in the vehicle with Archer, grabbed the M-60 and spare belts of ammo, and went after him.

He didn't have to go far. When he rounded the corner, they were racing toward him. Their jaws dropped when they saw him. They’d seen him drive into the blocked off street. Their assumption would be they could cut off his escape and tear him and the Wrangler apart in sheets of assault rifle fire. The last thing they expected was to see him coming toward them.

The second last thing they expected to see was him carrying the M-60. He’d loaded the first belt, threw it up to his shoulder, and squeezed the trigger. The weapon shuddered in his grip as bullets spewed out of the muzzle. The two men darted away, diving through the door of an adjacent cottage. He went after them, reached the door, and kicked it open. The dwelling had a single room, and he fired a long burst. It ricocheted around the walls, to no avail. When he glanced inside, they’d disappeared. A window at the rear lay open, the only way they could have escaped. He was about to enter and chase after them when something heavy and metallic pressed against his neck.

"Put up your hands, infidel.” The voice was a harsh rasp, in thickly accented English, “Drop the machine gun.”

He froze, neither putting up his hands nor dropping the machine gun. He was working to calculate the exact position of the man behind him. It wasn’t Khan. So he had to take him before he could continue after Khan. He was preparing to drop flat, swing his legs around, and sweep the man's legs from under him, when a muscular arm clamped around his neck. They guy was ahead of him.

"Don't even think about it. I give you five seconds to drop the machine gun, and then you die. One, two, three, four…

He didn't reach five. Javed was unable to take orders, to do what anyone told him. The kid had a mind of his own, the mind of a warrior, and he’d followed him. The first he knew was when the man behind him was suddenly thrown to the ground by the huge German Shepherd, who snarled and savaged at his gun hand, forcing him to drop the pistol. Javed arrived a few seconds later and called the dog off, which meant he'd managed to establish a rapport with Archer. As the big German Shepherd backed away, the dagger plunged down and into the man's heart.

"You see, Mr. Stoner. You did need us after all."

A renewed burst of gunfire tore up the ground around their feet, and he shoved Javed behind the body of the man he’d just killed. Archer was a Marine dog, and he had the sense to dive for cover. He simply leapt through the open door of the house. Stoner threw himself flat on the ground and fired off a quick burst with the M-60. Khan was no fool, and he made himself a difficult target. Sprinting between the cottages, he only caught a quick glimpse as he appeared for a second and then disappeared. Each time, he squeezed the trigger of the M-60, sending a hail of bullets to tear into the place he’d just seen him, but he was too quick and avoided the bullets. Until he disappeared completely, and he got to his feet, ejected the belt, and inserted a new one. With the gun tucked under his arm, he started walking on the street. He turned quickly when he heard a noise behind him. It was Javed, who’d once again ignored his order to stay behind. He was walking just a half pace behind him.

There was no sign of Archer, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The dog had enough sense to stay out of sight. He was wrong. He appeared suddenly and fell in on the other side of him. He didn't stop, couldn't stop. The man who'd caused so much death and destruction, and who could cleave a path of destruction in the future if he let him off the hook was ahead, and so he kept walking. The three of them, the man in the center with the machine gun, the boy on one side touching a pistol, and on the other the dog.

One man, one boy, one dog, and ahead of them, a savage man, for whom no amount of cruelty and death was too high a price to pay in order to place him at the top; his goal, overall command of the Islamic insurgency in the countries of Pakistan and Afghanistan. Stoner shuddered to even think about it, ISIS, al Qaeda, the Taliban, and every other tin pot outfit that chose a stupid name before they went on a killing rampage. Ishaq Khan, the Hammer of God could unite these disparate elements. Even now, when his organization was in tatters, his men dead or deserted, he had the charisma to carry it off. All he needed was one thing. His life. To escape Spin Boldak, reach Kandahar, and he'd start again.

He looked everywhere, checking each cottage. The boy stayed in the center of the street with Archer, as if Stoner had two sidekicks with him, one each side. It would have been funny if it weren't so deadly. Yet he couldn't get rid of them, for this was a tiny town, little more than a village. Wherever they went, Khan might find them. He was almost at the outskirts of the town, and still there was no sign of him. They got to the last house, a squalid coffee shop, and he peeked inside. Nothing suspicious, apart from the rank odor of Afghan coffee. A fat owner sat on a stool behind the counter, staring back at him, and an old, toothless man was slurping coffee at a table just inside the front window.

He was about to turn away when Archer growled. He thought he'd smelled something inside the coffee shop, but he wasn't looking in that direction. Instead, he was making low growling noises and staring at the small building on the other side of the street. A crude hut, probably intended to store goods of little value. Winter fodder for the goats, perhaps. He looked at the dog who returned his gaze.

"What you think, boy? Is he in there?"

The dog growled twice more. It was good enough for him. Khan had gone to ground in the hut, hoping they’d miss him. He signaled for Javed to lay flat on the ground. They were entering the endgame, and he pushed Archer behind him. He walked forward, getting nearer and nearer. When only ten paces from the hut, a plank smashed up the side. The steel muzzle of a rifle was thrust through, and bullets began spitting toward him.

He dove to the side, rolling on the ground and putting out an arm for Archer to go down with him. From inside the hut, he heard harsh laughter as Khan reloaded the rifle. He’d expended a full magazine in that first wild burst, and assumed he’d kill Stoner with his next shots, which meant he had a split second to spare. In a single, fluid motion, he brought around the M-60, with the full belt of one hundred 7.72mm rounds loaded and ready. He aimed in the general direction of the hut window and squeezed the trigger.

He kept the trigger squeezed, pouring on a hurricane of bullets that tore apart the fragile structure. The air was filled with chunks of flying debris, wood, glass, and even straw from inside. Chunks of human flesh began to appear, along with clothing, and even pieces of the bright medals and decorations of a General's tunic. When the trigger clicked on empty, he snatched out the empty belt, and threaded in another. He jerked the cocking lever to load in the first round and pulled the trigger again. Another one hundred rounds tore into the building.

He was blind to everything, his blood racing, his mind filled with fury at the thought of the vicious, psychotic piece of scum who'd tried to murder so many women, children, and other innocents. Who'd single-handedly done his utmost to bring Pakistan to the dark depths of the insurgency that had ripped Afghanistan apart.

When the last round left the muzzle of the M-60, he tossed it aside, jerked out the Desert Eagles, and walked forward. Not that he was expecting trouble. After the amount of lead he’d poured into that small timber building, if Khan were still alive, he’d truly deserve the title of Hammer of God. He didn't need to go inside. The sheer weight of fire had torn the structure apart, and on show were the remains of what had once been a man. Khan was dead. By some strange coincidence, most of the bullets had missed his head when they ripped his body apart. But the head was largely intact, and there was no question about identifying him. It was Khan. Or what had once been Khan. The Hammer of God had become the Hammer of the Devil. A righteous strike.

"Mr. Stoner, Mr. Stoner…"

He looked around at Javed, who'd rushed up behind him. He didn't have the heart to scold him for not obeying orders to stay on the ground.

The rifle left by that man I killed. May I take it?"

The guy who’d stuck a gun to his head had carried a rifle on a sling over his back. While he'd been busy tearing Khan apart with machine gun fire, Javed had gone back for the gun. A shiny, almost new AKM 7.62mm, and he felt a twinge of sadness.

"If that's what you want, take it. It's yours."

The boy grinned. "Thank you. You know how much I can get for this in Jalalabad? Fifty dollars, American."

"I'm happy for you, Javed. I reckon it's time to get you back to Abbas Noyan, after we've visited the hospital to check on how Greg is doing. It’s time to leave this place and go home.”

They drove through the night, and throughout the following morning, arriving back in Jbad just after midday. He had a feeling of dread when he went into the hospital. Everything would have changed, and Greg had died, but he was very much alive and sitting up in bed. Faria had her arm around him, as if to protect him from everything bad the world could throw at him.

They left Greg and Faria and walked back out into the waiting area, where they bumped into Barbara Adams and her errant husband Seth. Barbara was all smiles, although the Ambassador stayed clear of Stoner.

"Seth got word of what you’ve been up to. I don't know if you know, but they had a drone overhead, and he watched the end of General Ishaq Khan."

"Yeah, he's gone to another place. And it's definitely nothing good. The fiery flames of hell for that bastard."

"You did it, Stoner. You got us out and put a stake through Khan’s heart."

Seth Adams chose that moment to approach. "You’ve put a huge dent in the insurgency and saved a lot of innocent lives." He glanced at his wife and took her hand, "It's not the only thing you did. Discovering my secretary was betraying me was a big deal."

"What happened to her?"

He frowned. "Nothing good. She left the State Department, and the last I heard she was heading back to the States, where I anticipate she’ll end up flipping burgers. Assuming we give her a reference, and that's by no means certain."

"She deserves worse."

"She’ll get worse," Barbara Adams said, her voice filled with Arctic chill. Leaving none of them in any doubt June Reeder would pay for her betrayal.

He told them he was leaving and went outside, where Sara was waiting.

“We need to retrieve Archer. Javed has him, and he’s staying with Noyan and Nadiri in a hotel close to Ma Kelly’s.”

“Then what’re we waiting for.”

The two Afghans greeted them, and Noyan threw his arms around him. “My friend, how can I thank you for the lives of my children?"

He extracted himself from the embrace. "As I recall, it was Ivan who found them."

"And you, who made it all happen. I'm in your debt. Tell me how I can repay you."

He shrugged. "You don't owe me anything. Although there is something you could do. Give Javed a good life, and help him find a way to earn a decent living."

His eyebrows rose. "In Afghanistan?"

"Greg and Faria do it. They have a small farm, and he manages to make a living."

The Talibs exchanged glances. "Farming? Is that possible?"

"It is. Believe it or not, there are ways to get by without slaughtering people."

They talked to each other in Pashto for several minutes, and finally Noyan nodded.

"We will consider what you say. But there is something else you could help us with. We wish to acquire a dog."

"That's a good plan. Go out and buy one."

Again, the look of puzzlement; "Buy? Not take from its owner? There are scores of dogs running around."

"Buy one. That's the way it works. Set a good example for Javed, and don't forget. He's young. He’s a great kid, but he needs to be brought up right. He also needs an education."

"We have much to think about. Again, I offer you my thanks. My children are already on the way home. Their mother came to collect them. We’re leaving today to join them."

Stoner had much to think about, too.

I’ve grown to despise the Taliban, and every other insurgent group who drew breath. But I’m now able to see things differently. Sure, most of them are thieving, murdering scum. But maybe, just maybe, a few are human, a very faint ray of hope in a lost land.

They shook hands and left, and he walked out of the hotel with Sara. "It's time to go home. I feel so tired I could sleep for a week."

“First, I need to check that leg of yours. You never had it treated."

He didn't argue. The wound had been giving him hell. So far he’d forced himself to ignore the pain so he could finish what he had to do. The thought of Sara tending to it, and easing the hurt was appealing.

"My home is above Ma Kelly’s. You don't mind staying above the brothel?"

She grimaced. "It's not ideal, but it's where you live, so for the time being, I'll put up with it."

"I guess that means you’re coming back to me."

"Of course I'm coming back to you." Her face darkened, "Although there are conditions."

"Your current girl, whatever her name is. Get rid of her."

"Afifa will be disappointed. We had an arrangement."

"Not any more you don't. She goes."

“There's one more thing. The booze, it's killing you. I talked to Faria, and she said when she and Greg came to visit, you were a candidate for alcoholic poisoning. It's a bit like that pretty girl you’ve been sleeping with. You have a choice, me or the sauce."