“But this is priceless,” Bernadette protested.
“So is your fiancé’s life.”
Bernadette hugged Miriam. “Thank you, I’ll do everything I can to bring this back to you.”
“Inshallah, you will return with your fiancé,” Miriam said. She looked at Jason who was snoring on the cushions. “I think it’s time we got your friend to bed and turned in for the night.”
They picked up Jason. It took all of them, including Almas who held his head, to carry Jason to his room. They rolled him onto his cot. He looked up at them. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost midnight,” Bernadette replied.
“Is it still snowing outside?”
“No, it stopped several hours ago,” Azar said.
“We have to leave early in the morning. The Afghan army will attack the city in the morning,” Jason said. He closed his eyes, his snores shaking the room.
“Is he serious?” Bernadette asked.
“I’m not sure,” Miriam said. “People in a drunken state say many things when they are half awake.”
“Let’s err on the side of caution. How about we’re ready to leave at first light?” Bernadette said.
33
Bernadette woke to the sounds of explosions. Miriam was knocking on her door.
“The Afghan and NATO Army attack has started. You need to leave now,” Miriam shouted.
Bernadette rolled out of bed and quickly got into her military fatigues and strapped on her weapons. Almas was awake. He understood the urgency and began to dress.
“Yalla, yalla,” Bernadette said to him, using the Arabic word for hurry.
Coming into the hallway, she saw Jason. “We got to get the hell out of town,” he said, throwing his pack over his back.
“What about wearing our burka’s?” Bernadette asked.
“No time and no need,” Jason replied. “The Taliban will be busy at the gates of the city. The Afghan army is making a frontal attack. They’ll send their A-ten warplanes and helicopters to the center. We need to be out of here before all the shit hits the fan.”
Bernadette followed Jason to the car. Almas and Reza were right behind her. They threw the packs in. Jason hit the ignition—the engine roared to life.
“Hell, yeah. We’re out of here,” Jason said. He hit the gas, and the tires spun then caught, as the car lurched forward heading for the western gate.
Two men squatting beside the wall across the street had been there all night. The picture they’d taken was worth a small fortune to them. They were Taliban that wanted no more part of the war. The money offered to follow the four was more than they’d ever dreamed.
The price offered for the location of the boy was well known amongst many who surfed the Afghani Internet of Warlords. Mohammad Mirwais had posted a quarter million Afghani prize for information. When Din Mohammad, the older brother, sent the text with a picture to Mirwais, he thought he would be immediately rewarded.
His brother, Dost, had warned him that any dealings with Mirwais could be a problem. It was. Mirwais replied that if they did not follow the boy until Mirwais got there, he would hold them personally responsible.
Dost watched as the car headed down the street. “Now, my brother, we take our lives in our own hands in following them.”
Din waved his hand at his brother’s worries. “We’ll be fine. In one day’s time, we’ll have our money. You can marry the prettiest woman of your choice in our village and I will head off to Germany to begin my life in business.”
“Only if we catch them. How do you plan to do that? We have no car,” Dost said, with his usual dower expression.
Din leapt to his feet and ran to the other side of the street. He pulled aside a canvas partition that revealed an old motorbike. Hopping on it, he hit the throttle and pushed the kick-start, the engine fired with a cloud of blue smoke. He rode the motorbike across the street, stopping in front of his brother.
“This is stealing. We could get our hands cut off for doing such thing,” Dost protested.
“We are doing this to chase the kafir. This is sanctioned in the Koran,” Din said.
Dost shook his head. “Only two of them are kafir. How would you explain this to the police and the imams?”
“That’s easy. I would tell them I’m doing the work of Mirwais. His very name will strike fear in their hearts. And now, my brother, if you do not get on the back, we will not catch our prey. I would have to tell Mirwais you were the reason we failed.”
Dost’s face went pale. He hiked up his billowing Afghan pants and got on behind his brother. With a rev of the engine the little motorbike spun its back wheel and headed off in chase of the Camry.
In a few minutes they caught sight of it. Din slowed and kept his distance. The snow turned to wet slush on the road making it easier for the motorbike. Mirwais texted to them that they were to stay out of sight and confirm the movements of the car. Mirwais would meet them in twenty-four hours with the most money they had ever seen.
Bernadette had her machine gun racked and ready, and she left the side window down. Their progress was slow. People were running for shelter. Shops were being shuttered.
A group of Taliban ran past them. One carried a mortar tube, the other the tripod for it; a third carried two mortar shells under his arm. They wore running shoes, no body armor, and no helmets.
“They don’t stand a chance against the Afghan Army and the NATO air force,” Jason said, watching them run by.
“Won’t they make it a house to house fight?” Bernadette asked.
“Not if they want to live to fight again,” Jason said, turning the wheel hard to avoid a street vendor pushing a cart. “They wanted to hold this city until spring, but they don’t have the fire power to do it. I saw a couple of tanks, but they won’t have enough shells for it. If they start firing it, the air force will take them out in minutes. They know that.”
The car careened passed a truck packed with Taliban heading for the eastern gate. Not one of them noticed the westerners in the Camry. Their eyes were fixed on the explosions in front of them. Some looked up. Jet fighters swooped down over the city hunting for targets.
A few minutes later, the city thinned out and they made it out into the country. A blanket of fresh white snow covered the fields. The small mud and brick huts dotting the landscape looked serene. Smoke curled from their cooking fires. To Bernadette, it looked like a postcard. As if she was on a tour and someone had said, “Now, on your right, is a typical Afghan dwelling—would anyone like to take a picture?”
The road became rutted; the car’s non-existent shocks sent every bump up into the passengers. Bernadette wondered how much her butt and tailbone could withstand this pounding.
Jason hit the gas. The Camry started to bounce over the road. Then, it evened out. It seemed to find a rhythm on the road that worked at the speed it was going.
In the distance, a mountain range of brown with a dusting of white was silhouetted against the moon. It was still dark. The car sped west then made a turn after it crossed the bridge over the Farah River.
Bernadette looked behind her. A lone motorcycle silhouetted in the moonlight without its headlight on was traveling behind them. She watched for a while then turned back to look at the road ahead.
Almas stared out the other window. His gaze was fixated overhead, on the stars.
“Reza, ask Almas what he sees in the stars above us,” Bernadette said.
Reza turned to Almas and translated. “Almas says he sees the stars that are above his village. We are not too far away. Maybe forty kilometers, only.”
Bernadette looked at the boy; a change had come over him now. He’d said his name meant diamond in Dari when they first met. He was sparkling like one now.
They rode in silence; Jason fought the wheel of the car as he navigated the road. No military vehicles or aircraft came in sight. They had entered a desolate part of the country. The road forked, one west one north. Jason took the one going
west.
“Reza, ask Almas if he knows if we are on the right road,” Jason said.
“The boy does not know the roads, only the stars. Until the warlord took him, he had never left his village. You need to keep on the route you are on. He can see his star ahead.”
A sliver of sun came over the mountains. The stars faded with the dawn. Reza motioned to Jason that they should stop by the side of the road so they could pray.
Jason did not want to stop the car. But they’d been traveling for over two hours. He could use a break and pee by the side of the road while they did their prayers.
The road they stopped on was desolate. It vanished up the valley into the mountains. The mountains bracketed them on both sides, with no trees. They seemed to go on forever. Bernadette imagined this was what the moon looked like if it was dusted with snow. The valley floor was strewn with more brown rocks and shrubs that made a feeble attempt at vegetation.
Bernadette got out of the car to stretch. Looking behind her, she saw the motorcycle again. They’d stopped about a kilometer back.
Jason was peeing at the front of the car and whistling softly while Reza and Almas did their prayers on the little rugs they had with them. A cold wind whipped up the dust and light bits of snow.
Bernadette walked to the car and pulled out her weapon. She wanted to be ready in case the motorcycle was another hit squad. She’d faced one, did not want to face another.
Jason came beside her. “You see something?”
“Yeah, that motorcycle’s been following us for the past two hours. Now it’s stopped,” Bernadette said.
Jason stared down the road. “Damn, you can see that far?” He pulled out a monocular and put it to his eye. “Yep, you’re right, they look like Taliban. And me without my sniper rifle.”
“What should we do?”
“We can’t outrun them. If I can find a narrow road, like a choke point, we could set up an ambush, until then we just keep an eye on them,” Jason said.
Bernadette lowered her gun. A loud chugging sound erupted beside her.
The sound came from the car’s engine, the car started to shudder. Jason ran to the driver’s door and flinging it open, he hit the gas pedal. The car kept shuddering—with one final shake, it died.
“Shit,” Jason yelled, pounding on the steering wheel. He waited for a few minutes then tried the ignition. There was nothing. He got out of the car and opened the hood.
“Can’t we push start it?” Bernadette asked.
Jason slammed the hood and came back to the rear of the car. He stared down at the road, a river of oil bled from under the car, he shook his head. He opened the trunk, taking out their packs.
Bernadette came up beside him. “I take it we’re on foot?”
Jason handed her a pack. “The engine seized from an oil leak. This thing is a pile of junk. We’ll have to hoof it.”
Bernadette stared at the barren landscape. She’d been in worse, but that was with wild animals around. This was with men with guns who wanted her dead.
Reza and Almas got the message. They put the packs they were given by Jason on their backs without complaint. To Bernadette, it was the Afghan way. No one seemed to complain, the weather, the fighting, it didn’t matter—they persevered.
She did the same. Donning a down parka and adjusting her pack, she slung her A-K47 over her shoulder and checked the position of the handgun. She’d moved it to her waist so she could access it more easily.
“Where are we heading?” she asked, looking at Jason for some kind of answer.
Jason shrugged. “We’ve got to ask Almas.”
Reza translated to Almas, and he pointed in the direction of the mountains.
Jason turned back to Bernadette. “Looks like we’ve got that mountain range to climb.”
“Almas says that the village is just over that mountain range. His home was only some few kilometers from Azau. He saw the last star location just before the sun came up.”
“Okay, that’s where we’re heading. Nothing like a bit of exercise in the morning,” Jason said with a smile.
“Cheery bastard,” Bernadette muttered as she fell into step behind Jason. Reza and Almas followed behind. Bernadette looked down the road. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about the Taliban following them on the motorcycle. If they came after them on foot they would be fair game.
Din and Dost watched with amazement as their quarry left the car and walked towards the mountains.
“What can we do?” Dost asked. “We cannot follow with the motorbike on such rocks.”
“We must follow them on foot,” Din replied, looking over his shoulder at his brother in disgust.
“You are joking, yes?”
Din pushed Dost off the motorbike and got off. “Do you want to explain to Warlord Mohammed Mirwais how we lost sight of them because the ground was too rocky? That your precious feet were too tender to walk up the mountain? You will have to explain it very fast—he will have you hanging upside down before he guts you with his knife.”
Dost stared at his brother, before looking at the mountain then down at his thin running shoes and felt how light his cotton and wool parka was. “You are right, my brother. We could possibly perish chasing those four or die with a certainty at the hand of Mirwais.”
They pushed the motorbike off the road, grabbed their meager packs with rations, and the two ancient AK-47’s slung over their backs. Din walked with the steps of determined man. Dost walked with the steps of a man going to his own funeral.
Din held Dost back. “We must not get too close.”
“Are you joking with me? I do not want to get within five hundred meters of them. That is the effective range of their weapons.”
Din waved his hand in a knowing gesture, “My young brother, they are all carrying AK 47’s that are most accurate at four hundred meters.”
“And you know this how?” Dost asked with his hands on his hips. He hated his older brother’s superior knowledge.
“I watched all of them enter the car. They only had the Russian-made automatics,” Din replied with a grin.
“And how does this help us if we follow at six hundred meters, this alarms them, and they lie in wait for us in the rocks? How does your plan work when we are surrounded by them in an ambush?”
Din’s pause spoke volumes. He hadn’t thought of this. “Very well, we will keep our distance by traveling to the north and then west. They will think we are on another path, but we will travel on a parallel path. They will think we are going elsewhere.”
Dost put his head down and followed his brother as he threaded his way through the rocks. There was a problem with his older brother’s plan—his brother had no sense of direction.
Bernadette turned as they reached the base of the mountain. She climbed up a small promontory it to view the valley behind her. Two men threaded their way among the rocks in the valley floor. She wondered what kind of Taliban these were. She was glad they weren’t professionals.
She walked back to Jason. “We can take these two anytime we want to tonight, pretty amateur.”
34
Jason had them walk close together as the snow fell. The climb had become steep, the rocks so large, they could no longer step over them but had to walk around them.
Bernadette felt her lungs starting to heave with the upward climb. It was like the exertion on a treadmill with the incline adjusted to the max with the addition of a forty-pound pack on her back and fifteen pounds of weapons and ammunition.
They stopped beside a wall of rocks. Bernadette turned to look for their pursuers but saw no sign of them. Either the snow was hiding them or they’d dropped off the trail.
“They started going on a parallel path three hours ago,” Jason said as he saw Bernadette scanning the valley. “Then, they dropped into a dry riverbed that went north up the valley. I haven’t seen them since.”
“What do you make of it?”
“Either totally crafty Taliban or stone
d out of their gourds on hashish—or useless at traversing terrain.”
“I think we still keep watch for them,” Bernadette said as she massaged her burning calf muscles.
“Copy that. We’d best push on. I don’t want to be stuck on this side of the mountain in the coming storm. We’ll get to the lee side, pull out some tarps and hunker down for the night with some tasty MER rations.”
“What are MER’s?” Bernadette asked. She was hoping Jason had something fantastic for dinner as she had been munching on energy bars for several hours and the carbs and sugars were sufficient for her body but doing nothing for her taste buds.
“Oh, the famous meals ready to eat? Probably the worst food any army could invent and give to men or women who are putting their life on the line. The main thing is how you approach it,” Jason said shouldering his huge pack.
“And how is that?”
“You have to use your imagination. Try to think of it as the best Chicken Tikka you’ve ever eaten instead of the taste of wall paper paste in your mouth.”
Bernadette tried to laugh. She wanted to, but tiredness was folding in her legs, her back, and her arms. She needed to keep moving. With lungs hitting the bursting level, they crested the mountain and started to descend. While the wind howled and tore on the other side, they were now sheltered.
Now, the treacherous part of the descent came into play. Each step had to be planted well. One slip and a knee could meet with a jagged rock or a backside could slide down the path. Now her quads and heels were taking a beating.
As the sky darkened, they came to a halt at what looked like it had once been a dwelling for a shepherd or a Taliban hideout. Jason approached it first. He came at the doorway from the side, peaked inside and proclaimed it “all clear.”
Bernadette barely made it inside before she dropped her pack to the ground and collapsed on top of it. Almas collected small sticks and Reza built a fire.
Caught In The Crossfire: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery Page 17