Kim knew little about Texas history beyond what Garrett had told her over the years. But there was one iconic image that stuck out in her mind. Although she couldn’t see her would-be rescuers, who were returning fire from inside the granary, it was clear that Mario and his Kiowas were in the fight of their lives, against all odds, in their own South Asian version of the Alamo.
Looking at her phone for probably the millionth time, Kim saw that she still had no service, and hadn’t since the highway. No doubt Mario had tried to call her many times to warn her about the Badri 313 fighters. But even if he had, she’d still be left with no better options. Their only chance of survival was to link up with the Kiowas and flee to the border.
Faraz tapped the brakes and rolled the BMW to a stop on the dirt road beside a massive concrete silo. Kim scanned the wheat field surrounding the complex, realizing they were completely out in the open on ground that was pancake flat. And there was only about fifty yards behind them and the Taliban forces, who were unleashing hell on her friend.
“Our guys are blocked in.” Kim pointed at the back of the storehouse. “But if we can skirt around the perimeter, through the wheat field, then maybe our guys can sneak out the back.”
“Then what?” Faraz shifted the SUV in reverse, but turned to her looking horrified, clearly in disbelief over the plan. “We hitchhike from here to the Tajik border?”
Kim sighed, racking her brain for a better idea. They couldn’t fit everyone in the SUV, and they were at least twenty miles from Tajikistan. Even if they evaded this Badri 313 unit, the Taliban only would dispatch reinforcements and air support to finish the job.
“Okay, Faraz, you’re right. We wouldn’t make it far. Only way we’re getting out alive is by helicopter, which means that Mario will have to get that Black Hawk pilot to make a huge exception and get his ass over here. We’ll just have to hold these guys off until then.”
After a few seconds, Faraz gave a reluctant nod, shifted into drive, and punched the gas, tearing off the dirt road into the wheat field. As they hugged the outside perimeter, Kim saw the red check-engine light flash up on the dashboard. The BMW was overheating, likely due to a clogged air intake. The acrid smell of burning plastic blew through the vents.
Racing up behind the storehouse and out of the line of fire, Faraz slammed on the brakes, and they slid several feet to a jarring halt. Kim threw the door open amid the waft of dust and raced to the rear of the SUV. She had just popped the back hatch to start pulling Bayat from the bay when she heard footsteps from behind.
Kim turned glacially with her hands to her sides, praying the gunman wouldn’t shoot her down, while part of her hoped he would. There was a damn good chance that a quick death was the better option. But to her joy, neither executioner nor dungeon master had arrived. For better or worse, it was the Puerto Rican ambassador to the graveyard of empires.
A straight shot through a gap in the fence put Kim inside the granary and in the middle of the action. The place smelled like spent fireworks, mixed with dust and mildew. She turned to find that Faraz was right behind her. Billy and his crew were scattered about the second floor, firing M4s and AK-47s from open-air vents and portals in the walls.
Made of cinder blocks and concrete, the granary was providing great cover for the Kiowas, who’d shoot, reposition, and fire down again. Billy’s men were good; in fact they were so good that it gave Kim some hope. But then came the unexpected gung-gung-gung from the .50-caliber crew-served weapon mounted on a Humvee, which meant they were woefully outgunned.
Mario pulled Kim close and yelled over the echoing gunfire. “It’s that damn Ma Deuce that’s killing us. We’ve knocked out three shooters from the turret, and they just put up another.”
Kim looked around for anything that would help, finding nothing but pile after pile of moldy corn. “Any luck getting that Black Hawk?”
Mario shook his head. “Too worried about getting shot down. At least that’s what he says. My guess is that he’s less worried about getting killed and more worried about getting caught.”
Kim grabbed Mario’s sleeve and dragged him away from the shooting where she could hear. “Tell him we’ll pay whatever he wants. Promise the keys to Fort Knox, I don’t care. Just get him here now!”
“Think I didn’t try that already? He said there’s no amount of money that’s worth it.”
Kim had no argument, but there had to be some sort of incentive. Right then Faraz’s words came rushing back. He’d said, “That’s why you Americans lost. You have no understanding of the people you were fighting. Money was never the answer.”
Kim still had no idea what the answer was, but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. “Your chopper pilot speak English?”
“Zemar?” Mario gave a nod. “Yeah, even speaks it with a southern accent. Lived in Alabama while he did a stint at Fort Rucker. Watches NASCAR for the love of God. He’s one of us.”
Kim held out her hand and gave Mario the gimme here motion. “Then get him on the line.”
Mario keyed the number, said a few words, and handed over the satellite phone. When another heavy bout of automatic gunfire opened up nearby, Kim put her palm against her left ear and ran down the stairs. Although she felt exposed, she snuck out to the back of the building.
Kim ducked behind what was left of a crumbling brick wall and yelled over the noise. “Can you hear me?” Getting no response, she yelled again, “You still there?”
A voice came back that broke with static. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Listen, Zemar, we’re in big trouble. If we don’t get you out here, it’s over for us.”
“I’m really sorry,” he replied. “But it’s just too risky. My answer hasn’t changed.”
“Then what would change it?”
Zemar paused before answering. “I need to know what’s out there. What I’m up against. I’m not worried about the ground. I’m worried about the air.”
Kim turned back and surveyed the horizon. Other than an endless stretch of wheat fields and dirt-colored sky, there was nothing much to see. “I can’t tell you what’s out there. Just no way for me to know. It would be a big risk. Probably the biggest of your life.”
The words came out so smoothly, Kim couldn’t believe she’d said them. For the third time in her CIA career, she’d actually told the truth. She waited for a moment but got no reply. If she was trying out firsts in Afghanistan, then why not another. “What do you think we should do?”
When he didn’t immediately answer, Kim assumed he had either hung up or the phone went dead. She was just about to go back upstairs when Zemar spoke again.
“How long can you hold out?”
“Not long,” Kim answered knee-jerk, having no real idea. She just knew that as soon as their ammo was out, they were done. And they had to be getting close. “Maybe a half hour. Tops.”
“Okay, I have an idea. But it’s a long shot. One-in-a-million chance it will work.”
Before he changed his mind, Kim jumped on it. “Whatever it is, we’ll take it.”
“I don’t have time to explain. Just be ready to go at a moment’s notice. Understand?”
As the line went dead, Kim turned back to the stairs, wondering how she would explain to Mario that a plan was in motion, but she had no idea what it entailed. The only thing for certain was that she’d leave out the part about there being a one-in-a-million chance it would work.