by Basil Sands
Kharzai half turned to the ravine, looking across to the endless expanse of wilderness beyond. He glanced down to Ship Creek, a fifteen-hundred-foot drop to the boulder-strewn water, a sparse handful of gnarly spruce trees twisted out of the rock, grasping the air. Ten feet below the top, a single narrow ledge jutted less than two feet from the wall—beyond that, only the barely sloping rock face to slow the descent. He turned back to Marcus, his face now calm.
“I didn't want to kill any innocent people. I…I just wanted to let them know that I can get as close as I want to whatever they think is important. Just to let them know not to come after me.”
Kharzai glanced quickly down into the ravine, then faced them again, glancing from Marcus to Mike and back again.
“Let them know that they need to leave me alone. Don't search for my body—don’t try to give me a decent burial. Just let me die and be gone.” He twisted his neck from side to side, popping kinks out of it as if limbering up for the dive. “But if they come to find me, I will haunt them—everyone I can remember from the CIA, from the military, from the White House. My ghost will hunt them down and live in their nightmares, and in time I will kill them all.”
Before either of them could say anything in response, Kharzai turned and stepped off the cliff, instantly disappearing over the edge. Deano let out a desperately sad yelp, shocked by his adopted master's leap to certain death. Mike and Marcus ran toward the edge of the cliff, Deano barking at them angrily then turning and whining as if begging them to help. They hesitated, then warily scooted past the dog, turned and peered over the precipice.
Both men reached the edge of the cliff and looked over in time to see Kharzai’s body slam against a large, sharp-edged boulder among the fast-moving rapids, the head twisted at a wild angle, neck obviously broken. A brief cloud of red colored the white water that swirled around the rocks, quickly dissipating as the torrent swept away the mangled body.
The animal peered over the edge, sniffed the air, and let out a whine then sat on his haunches staring down into the chasm.
Chapter 32
Arctic Valley
12 miles east of Anchorage
Friday, June 24th
11:19 a.m
As they stepped onto the road where they left the truck, Mike’s cellphone rang. He answered.
“Honey, tell Marcus to get back to town.” Hilde’s voice was shaking. “Lonnie’s in the hospital.”
“Is she okay?”
The worried sound of Mike’s voice shocked Marcus. His heart dropped in his chest with the knowledge that they were talking about his wife.
“Okay? Of course,” Hilde said, “but she's in labor. The baby’s coming. If he hurries, he might get there to see it come out.”
***
Lonnie gripped the plastic sides of on the hospital bed, her face glistening with great drops of sweat. Wave after wave of pain unlike anything she’d ever imagined ripped through her, like she was being split open from the center. The nurse coached her to push, then breath, then push again. The delivery room door flew open and Marcus stepped in, breathless, still tying the blue hospital gown around his body. Lonnie tried to speak, but her breath caught and her eyes bulged as the splitting sensation crashed over her body again. Marcus reached for her hand but she couldn’t see him, blinded by the force of the pain.
The doctor motioned Marcus to the foot of the bed. He stepped around and his heart caught in his throat as he watched a mass of thick black hair materialize from within his wife’s body. Then suddenly, Lonnie let out a scream, and a purple jumble of body and limbs slipped free from the birth canal and plopped into the doctor’s hands.
A nurse handed Marcus a pair of scissors. He stared at the implement in confusion and looked up at his wife where she lay panting on the bed, blinking away the exhaustion, a smile on her face as she looked up at her husband and nodded. He still didn’t know what was going on, so he turned back to the nurse. She pointed to the baby in the doctor’s hands.
“The umbilical cord, sir. Use the scissors to cut it.”
He looked down at the baby. “It won’t hurt it?”
The nurse smiled and corrected, “Not ‘it,’ Mr Johnson, him. And no, it won’t hurt him.”
Marcus reached down to the length of umbilical cord the doctor had clamped off. He snipped it, and the doctor tied a knot in the end then handed the tiny boy to the nurse. She dried him with a soft warm blanket and immediately crossed back to the bed and placed the naked child on Lonnie’s chest.
Lonnie let out a sound like she was drawing up extra strength, then pulled her arms up and wrapped them around the tiny boy. Seven and half pounds of pure joy snuggled to her, mouth opening, neck craning, searching instinctively for the breast. He found his target and latched on, letting out a soft, happy whimper as he experienced the taste of the first milk from his mother.
Ten minutes later, Lonnie passed into a deep sleep. The nurse took the baby from her arms and wrapped him tightly in a blanket. She handed the child to Marcus. He stared into the baby’s placid face. The child’s eyes roved, searching, curiosity brimming as he seemed to be trying to understand this new world. The tiny bundle squirmed gently against his bonds.
“Hello, my son. Welcome to the world.”
The infant stopped scanning and locked his gaze onto Marcus at the sound of his voice. Peace seemed to flow from the boy. Tears welled up in Marcus’s eyes and dripped down his cheeks. One splashed onto the baby’s forehead. He blinked and Marcus leaned down, kissing the infinitely tender new skin.
He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered a prayer. “Heavenly Father, thank you. May this boy live in peace, and make him strong.”
Chapter 33
Arctic Valley
12 miles east of Anchorage
Friday, June 24th
11:36 a.m
Kharzai sat in the small cave, invisible from the cliff's edge. He remained motionless until he heard Marcus and Mike leave. He listened quietly, unmoving, for thirty minutes. Then, working on the faith that they would give him time before the police arrived, he strapped the backpack to his body, clambered out of the hole, and stood on the narrow ledge beneath the cave. He glanced down the steep drop and saw the rock on which the crash test dummy had smashed its head. It had been a close call, closer than he’d anticipated. He nearly missed the ledge, and barely got the dummy out of the cave before Marcus looked over the edge.
He grabbed hold of the gnarled spruce limb jutting from the rock wall and hoisted himself up cautiously. Crouching at the edge of the cliff, he looked around, making sure no cops or FBI were waiting in ambush. Deano bounded over to him and excitedly licked his face.
“Okay, okay,” Kharzai said. “Let's go before anyone comes looking for me.”
They scurried off, following the trail Mike and Marcus had made through the weeds so as not to create fresh tracks, and made their way to the hikers’ bridge half a mile up the road. His backpack was filled with just enough supplies to get him to take care of them for a few days until he could get into a town for resupply.
At the bridge, he met a group of young women in shorts and matching pink T-shirts, small pink packs strapped to their shoulders and riding high on their backs. College sorority girls out for a day hike. He smiled, spreading his trademark wide toothy grin, his bright white teeth glowing against his dark tan and the blackness of his beard.
“Howdy, ladies,” he said, a flirty lilt in his voice. “Where's the nearest Starbucks?”
They giggled and he chatted with them for only a moment, taking a quick snapshot with the group before walking off into the wilderness. He watched as the pretty twenty-somethings walked away, one turning to back to look at him, making eye contact, her smile inviting him to meet again. For a moment, the briefest space of time, she was Leila. The girl turned back to her friends and they moved out of sight around a bend. His smile faded as he started back down the trail, Deano at his side.
“And now, we disappear.”
; About the Author
Authoring action packed novels and short stories, Basil has built an audience of tens of thousands to his eBooks and audiobooks.
The tapestry on which his tales began started at birth in rural interior Alaska and his school years among the Ohio cornfields where he wished to be anywhere else as long as it was exciting. He has lived in Alaska, San Diego, DC, Baltimore, and Ohio. He tried a career in the Marines but injuries sent him home after only six months. He worked as dining manager at NSA, owned a computer shop, was a carpenter, farmer, actor, lumberjack, voice actor, EMT, network admin, helpdesk supervisor, Boy Scout leader, IT trainer, radio talk host, youth minister, and after 9/11 was a sergeant in the Alaska Defense Force Coastal Scouts.
Until a ski injury slowed him down, he had been an avid weight lifter and could bench press 420 lbs. Now he's limited to a bit on the elliptical machine each day and curling the occasional pint of Guinness.
He lives in Anchorage Alaska with his wife and sons.
Other books by Basil Sands
Karl’s Last Flight
65 Below
Faithful Warrior
Midnight Sun
Geeks Rule
1917
eBook, Paperback, and Audiobook formats
available at
www.amazon.com
Contact Basil at
www.basilsands.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 2