“You will die, American pig. Today, here, with your yellow blood all over my floor.”
Jarvis wasn’t surprised that her English was almost as good as his. “Maybe. But if you’re a good girl, your father won’t be the one bleeding today.” He felt her fury and her desire to turn and rip his eyes out with her fingers. Instead she went through the door, down two steps and turned around. Jarvis put a finger to his lips and said “shhh.” And closed the door. It locked from the outside and he turned the small bolt. It wouldn’t hold if she really wanted to get out but it would give him enough notice if she did.
Prayers were almost over. Jarvis went to the other end of the room, with the front door on his left and kitchen on this right. There was a hard wooden chair next to the wall, out of place with the large sofa and three comfortable stuffed chairs placed around the room. It was where the guard sat. Jarvis settled in, holding the pistol lightly in his right hand. With his left, he took out the other gun and put it on the ground next to him. Loose, relaxed, and ready, he waited for the front door to open.
Ten minutes passed and Jarvis heard steps on the wooden platform in front of the building. There hadn’t been a peep from the door leading downstairs. Men’s voices discussed something about tea and whether there were any cookies in the kitchen. They stopped outside the door and Jarvis stood and moved to his left, putting the gun from the floor onto the chair. Anyone opening the front door would have to come all the way in to see him. He held the other pistol in his right hand, aimed chest-high. If he had to shoot his way out, he had enough ammunition for the two guards – a few bullets for the big guy and one for the smaller one. Said would be unarmed. Escape would be out the back, but he’d be hard pressed to get away from the two guys at the café if they decided to go around back. The voices stopped and the door handle began to turn. Working backwards from the routine when they’d left, Jarvis expected the big guard to come in first with Said close behind. His plan was to tell the guard Said’s daughter was being held downstairs by a colleague and would die if he warned his boss; so would he. Jarvis had practiced words that would convey the idea, if not with precision then at least with vigor when spoken in concert with the gun. He hoped fear of getting Said’s daughter killed would convince the guard to bring Said in and have a chat.
The door opened and Jarvis immediately realized he was holding the gun too high. Instead of pointing at the tall guard’s chest, it was leveled at Said’s head. The clan leader had come in first, pushing the door partly open and turning back to give an instruction to the men outside, then shutting it. He did not look into the room until the door was closed. When he did, he walked straight ahead to the couch, not seeing Jarvis. He went to the small door leading downstairs and unlocked it, pulling the door open and calling gently to the darkness.
“Sylia.”
She came bolting up the last few steps and into her father’s arms. Jarvis was confused. Said turned to him for the first time. He was calm, in charge, and dangerous all in one look. His English was excellent.
“I heard you had come to Kandahar, Lieutenant Jarvis.” He was unafraid, despite the gun in Jarvis’ hand. “I was not expecting you to come looking for me.” He stopped in the middle of the room.
Jarvis’ gun was still trained on Said. He looked at the daughter, trying to figure out how the father had known he was here. Jarvis scanned the room for cameras. There was nothing. Then he took a closer look at the girl. A small bulge in her skirt. She’d called her father on a cell phone.
“She told you someone was here, an American. How’d you know it was me?”
Said turned toward the window. “You went to Wisconsin. And New York. I know you were trying to avenge your friend, the butcher Brin who killed many of my people.” He looked at Jarvis again. His voice became steely. “It is too late. For every brave Afghan you have killed, for every child crushed by the rockets you fired that day and the parents left to their grief, a hundred of your comrades will die. A thousand. You did not stop anything.”
Jarvis shook his head. “That was sad. I lose sleep over it even today. But that was war. You’re killing innocents now.”
Said pointed a finger at him. Anger infused his accusation. “No one is innocent!”
Jarvis moved the gun toward the girl. “No one? No one is safe? Stop whatever you’re doing in the States. Call it off, all of them.” Said’s eyes widened but he did not move other than to turn the finger he’d been pointing at Jarvis instead to the window. It instantly shattered and Jarvis’ gun flew like lightning from his hand. Said barely flinched. The sniper’s aim was flawless. Jarvis leapt for the second gun on the chair as Said brought out a pistol from under his robes and pointed it at Jarvis. Everyone froze.
The front door opened and the large guard barreled in, rifle pointing ahead. At the same time, the door to the basement flew open and the older man holding an ugly handgun came up the last steps and around the girl. They closed in on Jarvis and formed a semi-circle from which he could not escape. All three would put bullets in him before he could reach the chair.
“My daughter. She had a brother. He died in the school that day. The day your military bombed a room of innocent children.” His voice rose and the gun wavered.
The girl went up to him and took his arm. “This man, this Jarvis, he was there?” Her father nodded. If she’d wanted to kill him before for taking her hostage, now she emanated a blood lust. “Kill him, Papa. Let me do it.”
He held her back, but not for Jarvis’ safety. Said tilted the gun toward the guard on his right with the rifle and said in Farsi an innocuous sounding word: “now.” The man raised the rifle and aimed it at Jarvis’ head. There was a cracking sound, familiar but odd, and Jarvis tightened. He was surprised for the second time that day not to feel a bullet. Instead, blood spurted out of the guard’s left eye and there was a popping sound. A second bullet from a high powered rifle had knifed through the window and entered the guard’s skull, passing through brain tissue and following the optic nerve before exiting through the eye. Everyone was shocked and for a moment no one could decide what to do. The reverie was broken by the old guard cocking his handgun. The next bullet passed directly through his heart after making a large hole in the window but far less noise than the other two. The guard was dead before the gun dropped from his hand. Said and the girl were still frozen in surprise and incredulity. The father came to his senses first and pushed his daughter back, out of the line of the window. He kept the gun trained on Jarvis but was afraid to shoot, not sure where the next bullet would come from. He looked expectantly at the door, knowing the two other guards at the café would have heard at least the window breaking and come running. No more than a minute had passed since the first shot knocked Jarvis’ gun away; only seconds since the two guards in the room were killed. Silence prevailed. Steps came toward them. Steady, cautious. Said couldn’t decide where to point his gun. He kept it on Jarvis, knowing his outside sentries would back him up so he didn’t need to aim at the door, just keep Jarvis covered. It was the wrong choice.
The door swung open evenly. The tip of a rifle, then a scope, entered the room, followed by Brin. Said moved his gun toward the door but Brin had the rifle inches from his face before the surprised elder could adjust.
“Hiya, pal.”
Jarvis was at least slightly more surprised than Said. “Seriously? Two days ago you were in a coma.” He picked up the gun from the seat of the chair.
Brin tapped the gun still in Said’s hand. “On the ground, buddy. Fast.” Said let the gun slip from his hand and clatter to the ground. The girl looked confused.
“I woke up. Felt better. Got pissed. “
Jarvis shook his head, checked the slide to make sure there was a bullet in the chamber. He turned to the window. “And you decided to go on vacation to Afghanistan?”
Brin kept his eyes on the father and daughter but answered Jarvis’ implied question about how the hell he’d made it through the door just now. “Sniper wasn’t
covered by a back-up. He’s dead. The two guys in the café are just resting. They might need medical attention.” He peeked a glance at Jarvis. “You left a pretty obvious trail. Wasn’t very hard to find you.”
That got a laugh. “I wasn’t expecting to be followed.”
Brin poked at Said. “Whaddya want to do with them? I’m okay with executing another Taliban group leader.” The girl’s eyes widened and her earlier bravado was replaced with fear for her father, but also confusion.
“You’ll kill me anyway, I know, you ignorant American. But I am not Taliban. They are as mindless and violent as you, but they at least respect and love Allah.”
Jarvis held his gun at his side, but kept a close eye on the door. “I don’t care about your politics. I only care that you sent people to kill in my country. Me and Brin to start.” That got Brin’s attention. He hadn’t put much thought into the politics of why he had almost died, only that he needed to find Jarvis and make sure he was okay.
Said laughed abruptly and brutally. “WE go to YOUR country and kill?” It didn’t take a Sunday news show pundit to explain the irony. “I am glad to have revenge on my son’s death, but I did not send anyone. Others decided to do that.”
Lying seemed pointless so Jarvis believed him. “Then who?”
Ignoring the rifle pointed at him, Said turned and kissed his daughter on her head and faced Brin and Jarvis again. “Your rocket in the street that day killed many, not just my son. The Taliban protect us, they feed the people, and they make vengeance. Kill me now if that is what you are here to do.”
Brin raised the rifle to Said’s head. “Okay.” He chambered a round with a loud click. “But it wasn’t our RPG that hit that school, pal. It was one of yours.”
“Liar. Liar!” Said’s face reddened, rage distorting it.
Jarvis knew Brin would shoot, but only if he got a nod from him. He let it play out, because anyone looking into a rifle barrel with Brin at the other end knew with certainty he’d just met the Angel of Death. Whatever emotions played in Brin’s complicated brain, compassion wasn’t in the game.
“Whatever, man. I saw it. The guys who grabbed me fired one into the truck and one at the building. Same RPG profile. You ready to die now, kind of for nothin’?”
Brin’s lack of compassion made room for a compelling veracity. Even under the circumstances, Said heard the truth in his voice. Rage abated and confusion wrote on his face. And then Jarvis saw it all melt away as Said came to a realization.
“Tell me. Now. What is it?” Jarvis demanded.
Said turned to his daughter and for the first time in her life she saw him cry. It was just a couple tears, silent on his stony face. “I am sorry, my daughter, I am sorry for what I have made you, in hate.” She didn’t understand.
He looked away from his daughter in shame but was defiant facing Jarvis. “They said it was you. It was the Americans killing our children, ripping bodies of parents apart. It was you that day. And now they are taking revenge. They used their own mistake to drive hate into our hearts.”
Jarvis lowered his gun. “They sent men to kill Americans. Who did it? Why did they wait so many years?”
Said shook his head, not in denial but sadness. “Taliban. They say they save us, they want my help to have the heart of my people. But they lied, lied about a horrible mistake. They accidentally destroyed the school, and used it to blame you.”
Jarvis watched the realization creep over the daughter’s face. “I need a name.”
Said’s gaze swept the two dead men on the floor. “You are bloodthirsty and soulless beasts. I will not help you.”
His daughter’s hand on his arm surprised him. Her grip was hard and her shock had grown to anger. “Papa, it is true? The Americans did not kill Alar?” She already knew the answer. “If you do not tell them, then you are saying you hate them more than you love him!”
The clash between duty to his followers and the truth of his daughter’s words made him grimace. He made the wrong choice and stayed silent. The girl’s grip tightened and her head whipped toward Jarvis. “The local Taliban leader is Akba Mudar. Whatever you are trying to stop, he is the one.”
The name was not unfamiliar to Jarvis. In that earlier time, Mudar had been known as a brutal henchman to the Taliban regional chief. He must have graduated and a lot of people had probably died for him to get his degree. Said did not react, though there may have been a hint of relief in his downturned mouth.
Jarvis spoke to Brin. “Mudar must’ve set up cells in the States. I don’t know why they waited so long to activate them. But I get why they went after you. Only one who could say it was friendly fire that day.”
Brin still hadn’t lowered the rifle. “Seems like a lot of work. And kind of dumb – they just pissed us off.”
Jarvis raised his eyebrows in agreement. “Let’s go have a chat with Mudar. See if we can’t talk him out of poisoning a bunch of innocent people.” Back to Said and his daughter. “I don’t think he’s in the Yellow Pages.” The reference was lost on them. “How about you give him a ring and invite him over.” He looked down at the bodies. “Yeah, maybe you should tell him you’ve got a couple hostages – let him know it’s us.”
This woke Said out of his reverie. “No! I will not be a traitor!”
Brin swung the rifle toward the girl. “Call him.” There didn’t need to be a threat. Brin would pull the trigger unless Jarvis said something. Jarvis was silent. Said’s hand moved under his robe and Jarvis raised his gun just in case. A cell phone appeared and Said started to dial. Jarvis wondered if the connection was any better than his crappy AT&T service back home.
There was a rapid discussion that involved Said being deferential then angry, then thankful. Jarvis couldn’t make out any of the words in the dialect they spoke. Said disconnected and returned the phone to his pocket. “He will be here in an hour. He will have men with him.”
Jarvis looked around the room and his eyes rested on the door to the basement. “We should make sure there’s nothing in here to spook him – or outside. Brin, where’d you put the guys from the café?”
Brin looked a little mournful. “I didn’t have much time, just a bunch of duct tape. Had to bring it from the States.” He pointed to the basement door with his rifle. “There’s an entrance to the downstairs from the place next door. Kind of hidden, but no one was around and I had three guys to stash.” Jarvis figured the third was the guy he’d incapacitated in the alley. “They’re all there. That’s why I was out of breath a little – lots of running around.”
Jarvis pictured Brin moving around the square in the open but seen by no one, taking out the sniper first, then the two guards as they returned, and getting into position to take the shot through the window. A ghost. A very fast ghost.
“Okay, we’ve got less than an hour before an armed Taliban entourage shows up. Should be enough time to come up with a plan. Figure out what the hell they’re up to and how to stop it.”
Brin raised his eyebrows questioningly. “What plan? Let’s shoot these guys so we don’t have to watch our backs and then the other guys when they get here. After we interrogate them, for sure.”
Nodding, Jarvis gave it due consideration. “I think you’re on the right track, but tactically I’d make some modifications.” He tried to sound thoughtful and not laugh. “Let’s start with Said and his daughter. They live. And Mudar is a thug and heartless prick, but he’d probably love to die a martyr. We won’t get much from him with a straight-on approach.” Jarvis looked at Said and the girl, wondering if they’d followed the nuance of him saving their lives. “If you two help, this will go a lot better. I know we’re not going to be pals and after we’re gone, you’ll get back to riling up the crowds so they think we’re all devils, but on this thing you’re wrong. We didn’t blow up the school – it was just a horrible mistake, one made by your team.”
He waited. Said was torn, but not the girl. “Do it, Father. Help them. I don’t fear death,” which she
spat in Brin’s direction, “but I won’t die for no reason. Help them.”
Said looked closely at her and Jarvis could see the decision shift. “Yes. I will help.” Brin lowered the rifle, but not his guard.
Looking around the room for something to work with, Jarvis stopped at Brin. “You have any of that duct tape left?”
ChapterThirty-Two
Twenty minutes later everyone was in the basement in a tableau very different from the one upstairs. The space was large and mostly barren, a room where men could meet and talk without distraction. Chairs were scattered around the room and a makeshift podium was pushed up against a wall. The stairs leading down had a large storage space beneath, enough to hold four bodies as it now did although two were still breathing. In the center of the room two scarred wooden chairs were back-to-back. Brin and Jarvis were identically bound – ankles to the thick wood legs of the chairs, waists encircled by the same duct tape to the backs of the chairs, and hands bound uncomfortably behind them. Said watched as his daughter tore two more pieces off with her teeth. She was focused and efficient.
“Get him down here. Try to keep the guards upstairs.” Said nodded. The sound of banging echoed from upstairs through the open door at the top of the stairs. Mudar had arrived. Out of courtesy to Said he would not burst in, at least not until after a decent interval. Said turned to the stairs.
“No, not you. Her.” Jarvis nodded at the girl. Said began to object but Brin craned his neck around and gave a look. The daughter understood why it had to be her.
“I will bring them.” She put a piece of tape over Brin’s mouth and then Jarvis, who smiled just before she did. She was disarmed for a moment, then turned and went up the stairs. She did not acknowledge her father as she passed. When she reached the top, she closed the door. Brin turned around, unhappy. The sounds above were now muffled. Until a sharp, angry voice cut through the door and several sets of feet crossed the floor. Jarvis could hear the girl alternately demanding and pleading, though the words were unclear. She was trying to keep the guards upstairs. From the amount of pounding, he guessed three men in room – Mudar and two guards. There would be at least a few more out front for show. The door opened and Said stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting. Sandals hit the steps and a weathered young man in desert garb defiantly descended, brandishing an old Kalashnikov. He looked past Said and at the bound men in the chairs. Said ignored the guard, who went around him and shouted a few words up the stairs. The next set of footsteps echoed haughtily in the basement. Mudar entered like a sultan, nodding at Said and not pausing, assuming the older man would get out of the way. He was ugly, not in the way that made him almost handsome. In the way that got him women only because he was a killer and had power. Said stepped aside deferentially. His daughter followed a few steps behind and looked chastened for allowing one of the guards to have gotten past her.
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