Kim listened intently to their captors’ voices, desperate to figure out who’d taken them at gunpoint from the warehouse and shoved black hoods over their heads. But beyond the road noise and an occasional honking horn, there was little to no clue who had them or where they were going. All she knew was that they’d busted into the wrong place at a very wrong time.
Given the particular neighborhood of Kunduz they were in, there weren’t really any right places to be. Zadran’s trepidation about this part of the journey was totally spot-on. He’d expected trouble and they’d certainly found it. And the longer they rode in the cargo hold of that truck, the more it became clear that they were being moved to a remote location. Not good.
The countryside around the city was teeming with drug runners, religious fanatics, and sometimes a combination of both. She suspected their kidnappers were heroin traffickers, which was actually a relief. They would want monetary reward, not vengeance. And the likely highest bidder would probably be the Taliban, who would expect a big favor for brokering her safe return.
A sudden stop of the truck preceded the zip of the roll-up door. Then someone grabbed her by the bicep and dragged her across the floor. With a jarring thud, she landed on her tailbone on the dusty ground and rolled to her side in order to work out the pain. Resisting the urge to cry out, she bit her lip, and muttered quiet profanities that she desperately wanted to scream.
Fighting for composure, Kim gained just a little break from the throbbing in her lower back as the hood was ripped from her head. She squinted in the fiery blaze of a flashlight and looked around to find what she’d so desperately prayed for. Both Faraz and Bayat were thankfully alive. Jerked from her side to her knees, Kim looked around to see eight men fanned out before them. Half cradled Kalashnikov rifles. The others stowed either pistols or daggers in their belts.
Kim was about to tell Faraz to try to negotiate when one of the men stepped forward, dangling an UZI PRO submachine gun by his side. He leaned in close. “Who do you work for?”
Surprised with the revelation that he spoke flawless English, it took her a moment to answer. She didn’t know where to begin or how much she should say.
The one who had spoken had short dark hair and was clean-shaven, looking younger than the others. He was sporting a Houston Astros cap and wore a black Ozzy Osbourne concert T-shirt. It was a stark contrast to the others, who were sporting thick dark beards and wearing turbans, pakol caps, and baggy traditional Afghan attire like shalwar kameez.
What they did have in common were looks of pure disdain. Their hatred for her was palpable.
Ozzy pulled up the UZI and pointed it at her face. “Stalling makes me think you’re lying. And if you’re lying, then you’re wasting my time. We have ways of finding the truth.”
“No wait.” Kim made a conscious effort to be quick with her responses. “I’ve got no reason to lie because I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Ozzy chuckled and then turned and translated to the others, who were equally amused. Whipping back around, he got serious again. “You shot your way into our warehouse.” He dipped his head at Faraz, who had done the shooting. “You don’t think that was wrong?”
Oh. That. Kim squirmed a little but again tried not to take a long time in her reply. “Look, we were ambushed on the street and went into your building because we were trying to escape. It was a total and complete accident, and we’re really sorry.”
Really sorry? Kim couldn’t believe she’d just said that. Was this heroin trafficker really to believe that she had stumbled into their drug lair by chance? It sounded exactly like the kind of lie he’d just warned her about. Given his disbelieving glare, Kim figured she’d better start speaking the international language. If it had worked on Faraz, then why not this guy?
“Our safe return will guarantee you a sizable reward. No questions asked.”
Ozzy looked amused by the answer and flashed a knowing smile. “A reward from who?”
“The American government.”
“I’m well aware of that.” He lost his smile, clearly no longer amused. “From. Who?”
Kim couldn’t help but pause. A lie could get her killed. But so could the truth. She’d spent her life betting on the farce. For the first time ever, she decided to come clean. “The CIA.”
Wrong answer. Before Ozzy could even make a move, one of the men yanked a dagger and came at her in a rush. She tried to rise but stumbled, hobbled with her feet bound. With a single burst of automatic gunfire, Kim looked up to find the leader had fired his UZI into the air.
His agitated cronies now kept at bay, Ozzy marched up and yanked her to her feet. He turned and gave a command to the others in Dari, who moved to Faraz and Bayat, still hooded, and jerked them up also. With the path now clear, she could see the walled structure behind them. It was a compound, the kind owned by someone with a lot of money and influence. The good news was they were alive. The question was for how long. They were in the middle of nowhere and no one was coming to help. And clearly her revelation about the CIA had generated a bad response.
Ozzy yanked a knife from its sheath, cut Kim’s restraints, and shoved her toward the complex, which she determined looked like a tackier version of the Caesars Palace resort in Las Vegas. She also caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his forearm. In Islam, such adornments were forbidden. So, like the rest of his appearance, it was out of the ordinary. But it could just mean that he wasn’t religiously devout. However, the emblem of the sword and shield was very familiar.
It took Kim a moment, but then it dawned on her that she’d seen that insignia before. In fact, she’d seen it quite often. Given the turmoil, her brain was a bit cloudy, and synapses weren’t firing as they should be. But then it came to her in a flash. Same tattoo. Same place on the forearm. She knew that symbol so well because she’d seen the exact same one on Garrett Kohl.