The Guardian

by David Hosp

  ‘A promise to a liar and an infidel is no promise,’ Fasil replied.

  ‘I think you’ll find I rarely lie,’ Saunders said.

  ‘Give me my property!’ Any patience was gone from Fasil’s voice. The man behind Saunders pressed the barrel of the gun with greater force into the base of Saunders’s neck.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Saunders said. He held the knife still wrapped in the shirt up over his shoulder to where the man behind him could grab hold of it. He saw the man’s arm come forward, the fingers closing on it. At that moment, when he was sure that the man’s attention was focused on taking possession of the dagger, Saunders ducked and spun to his right, bringing his shoulder up to knock the man’s gun up.

  A shot rang out, ricocheting off the tiling that lined the ceiling, and everyone in the room ducked. Saunders grabbed hold of the man’s arm at the wrist and swung it down, bringing his knee up at the same time. When the elbow connected with the knee it snapped, shattering the joint with a sickening pop that echoed throughout the place. The man screamed in pain and fell to his knees as the gun fell from the uselessly dangling arm. He dropped the shirt with the dagger in his other hand and reached out for his weapon, but it was no use. Saunders turned his gun on the man and pointed it at his forehead.

  ‘No!’ the man screamed. ‘Don’t shoot!’

  Saunders pulled the trigger and a spray of blood and brains coated the cement behind the man. His lifeless body toppled back. Saunders turned and aimed the gun at Fasil. Sirus raised his gun and pointed it at Saunders. For a moment no one moved. ‘Shall we try this again?’ Saunders said. ‘Where is Charles Phelan?’

  For the first time since they had arrived, Saunders could see a shadow of concern in Fasil’s eyes. ‘You exceed your reputation,’ he said.

  ‘If we don’t see Phelan in the next thirty seconds, the next shot is between your eyes.’

  ‘And the one after that will come from Captain Stillwell’s gun,’ Fasil said.

  ‘At least we’ll see which of us is a better shot,’ Saunders said. ‘Now, where is Phelan?’

  Fasil slowly reached into his jacket pocket and took out a cell phone. He hit a button and put it to his ear. He gave an order in Farsi, then put the phone back into his pocket. ‘It will be just a moment.’

  ‘Good. That’s all you’ve got.’

  ‘Do you really believe that you have the upper hand, Mr Saunders?’

  ‘Ask your friend,’ Saunders said, nodding to the corpse lying near his feet.

  ‘He was not my friend,’ Fasil scoffed. ‘He was a warrior, and he is proud to have given his life in our cause. He has his reward now.’

  Saunders nodded. ‘We agree on something, at least.’ He held the gun aimed at Fasil’s head. ‘What is your cause, by the way?’

  ‘My cause is my country! My cause is Allah! My cause is Afghanistan!’ Fasil’s voice was raised, but he stopped speaking when the door to the locker room off to the side of the windows opened and one of his men stepped through, holding Charles Phelan by the arm, half pushing him and half holding him up.

  ‘Charlie!’ Cianna shouted. She took two quick steps toward him, but Saunders caught her by the arm, holding her back. As he did, the Afghan standing next to her brother raised his gun at her.

  ‘Cianna?’ It was clear from his voice that Cianna’s brother was heavily drugged. He was disoriented, and his eyes whirled as though trying to find something on which to focus. Saunders could see the bandages at the end of Charlie’s arm where his hand had once been.

  Fasil had composed himself after his outburst, and seemed calm again. ‘You see?’ he said. ‘I am a man of my word. Now, give me my property.’

  Saunders reached down and picked up the dagger, still wrapped in the shirt. ‘Let him go, and I will leave it on this side of the tanks.’

  Fasil laughed derisively. ‘Americans believe all Afghans are stupid. Walk to the point between the two water tanks,’ he ordered. ‘Put it on the floor, and then back away. I will bring Mr Phelan to the same place to ensure that there has been no deceit. Once I am satisfied that it is real, I will walk back to this side alone, and Mr Phelan is free to make his way to you.’

  Saunders didn’t like it. There were too many ways Fasil could go back on his word once he had the dagger. He had few choices, though. Besides, both he and Cianna were armed, and having seen her in combat, he suspected they would have an even chance against Fasil and his men. He nodded and walked around the tank closest to the stairs and out onto the narrow spit of concrete that separated the two tanks. As he got nearer, he could see Fasil’s expression change. It was as though the man was approaching rapture. His eyes grew wide, and a light perspiration broke out on his face.

  Saunders reached the center of the concrete isthmus and set the dagger wrapped in Nick O’Callaghan’s shirt on the floor, then backed away. Once he was back on the other side of the tank, Fasil took Phelan by the arm and moved around the second tank, toward the center. As he drew close to the dagger, he let go of Phelan, leaving him standing there, swaying unsteadily. Fasil knelt as though approaching an altar, reached out and took hold of the fabric. A look of confusion swept across his face. He began pulling at the shirt, the confusion quickly turning to panic and then to anger. He held the shirt up, and the dagger clattered to the floor. Fasil looked at the ancient weapon and then up at Saunders. He picked the dagger off the floor and stood.

  ‘What is this?’ he demanded.

  Saunders looked from Cianna to Charlie, then back to Fasil. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

  ‘What is this?!’ Fasil demanded again, more urgently this time.

  Saunders frowned. ‘It is the dagger Phelan stole from you. We got it from Nick O’Callaghan.’

  Fasil held the dagger up, displaying it for Saunders and Cianna. Then he threw it at them. It was a poor toss, and it hit the water in the first tank, short of Saunders and Cianna. ‘A bauble!’ he screamed. ‘You think I have come for a trifle such as this? Where is the Cloak?’

  Saunders looked at Cianna, and she returned his blank expression. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Saunders said to Fasil.

  Fasil now appeared to be on the edge of insanity. ‘The Cloak of Mohammed! Where is it? Give it to me now!’

  Saunders shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say that might appease the madman.

  Fasil took two steps back over to Charlie, who still appeared to be only marginally aware of what was happening. He pulled a Glock out of his pocket and slid the release back to chamber a round. He held the gun up to the side of Charlie’s head.

  ‘Charlie!’ Cianna screamed. She pulled out her own gun and aimed it at Fasil. ‘Let him go!’ Stillwell and the Afghan who had brought Phelan pointed their guns at Cianna and Saunders.

  ‘Tell me now! Where is the Cloak?’ Fasil screamed back.

  Phelan started sobbing. ‘I told you!’ he wailed. ‘I don’t know! I told you!’

  ‘Charlie!’ Cianna cried again.

  ‘Tell me where the Cloak is now!’ Fasil ordered. ‘Or he dies!’ He pushed the gun hard into Charlie’s temple, forcing his head back as Charlie continued crying.

  Saunders had few choices. It was clear that Fasil was no longer rational enough to be bargained with, and Saunders had no idea what the man was talking about. He kept his gun aimed at Fasil’s head. There was a risk that the bullet could fragment and kill Charlie even if the shot was successful. There was also a risk that Fasil could pull the trigger in a death spasm, and the result would be the same for Cianna’s brother. But neither of those risks was as certain as the fact that Fasil would kill Charlie if Saunders did nothing.

  He took careful aim and increased the pressure slightly on the trigger to steady his hand.

  The explosion did not come from his weapon, though. It came from the rear of the boathouse, as the glass in the windows out toward the back shattered. Fasil was spun around by the force of the shot that hit his left arm, and his
gun fired, missing Charlie’s head. Charlie, no longer supported, fell to his knees. Saunders turned to look over at the window and saw a young man standing there. His gun was still pointing at Fasil. ‘Allahu Akubar!’ he shouted.

  Suddenly, the room erupted in gunfire. Sirus and the Afghan were shooting at the back window, and the young man there pulled his head back and disappeared. Sirus took aim at Cianna, and Saunders threw himself at her, knocking her to the ground. ‘Who the hell started shooting?’ Cianna shouted to Saunders. He shrugged in return.

  As they scrambled to their knees, shots came again from the window, and Fasil dove to the ground. Sirus and the remaining Afghan scurried back toward the door to the locker room from which Phelan had been led.

  ‘Come on!’ Saunders yelled at Cianna. ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’

  They crawled toward the stairs, staying in a low military crawl to avoid the shots that still rang out.

  ‘Wait!’ Cianna screamed. ‘Charlie!’

  They both looked back. Charlie was now lying on the narrow strip of cement, just a few steps from Fasil. He was struggling to get back to his knees, his eyes still spinning wildly. ‘Cianna!’ he called out.

  Cianna started back, but Saunders grabbed her by the leg. ‘No!’ he said. ‘You can’t!’

  ‘I have to!’ she shouted at him. She shook free from his grasp and started toward her brother again. As she did, Fasil crouched behind Charlie, using him as a shield. There was a bloodstain on his left sleeve, but his back was straight, unwavering. He had a look of hatred on his face, and his eyes went back and forth from Cianna to Saunders.

  ‘I am a man of my word!’ he shouted to them.

  Charlie was still struggling to get to his knees, only feet in front of Fasil. It was difficult for him. The drugs had robbed him of whatever equilibrium he would otherwise have had. After a moment, though, he managed to make it to a kneeling position, and he raised his arms up, reaching out in the direction of his sister. ‘Cianna!’ he called. For just a moment, he sounded almost hopeful.

  ‘I’m coming, Charlie!’ Cianna called back desperately. She was still moving toward him.

  ‘I am a man of my word!’ Fasil yelled again. He raised his gun and aimed at the center of Charlie’s back.

  ‘No!’ Saunders cried. He raised his gun and started firing. Cianna did the same, and the cacophony was deafening.

  Fasil pulled the trigger once, rose, and sprinted along the spit of concrete toward the locker room.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Cianna saw the bullet rip through her brother’s body. He was kneeling, his arms stretched forward, his eyes meeting hers. And then he lurched forward, and his chest exploded out in a fountain of red that polluted the water in the tank before him.

  ‘No!’ she screamed.

  He looked down at the gaping hole in the front of his shirt, and back up at her, his face a mask of confusion and fear. He opened his mouth and it looked as though he wanted to say something, but before he could, gravity overtook him, and he fell forward into the water.

  She dropped her gun and dove into the water taking short, panicked strokes to the other side. She had to dive under the scull suspended in the center of the tank to get to her brother, and that slowed her down. Even in the dark, she could see the cloud of blood in the water. He was face-down in the water, and she grabbed his shoulders and rolled him over, speaking in a desperate voice. ‘It’s okay, Charlie. It’s going to be okay.’ She could feel Saunders behind her, reaching into the tank and pulling Charlie onto the cement. She climbed out and knelt over the body, feeling Saunders’s hand on her shoulder, pulling her away. They were still in danger. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ she mumbled again to her brother’s lifeless body.

  ‘We have to get out of here,’ Saunders said to her. ‘We can’t stay out in the open like this.’

  ‘I’ve got to bring Charlie!’ she yelled, struggling to lift him.

  Saunders grabbed her and pulled her away. ‘No!’ he pleaded.

  ‘I have to!’

  ‘Where are you going to take him? The police will be here soon. They will take care of his body.’ He pulled harder at her.

  She knew her brother was dead, but her heart wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge it. ‘No! I have to save him!’ She struggled harder against Saunders’s grip.

  It was remarkable how strong Saunders was, given his size. His arm held her around the neck and under the armpit, and would not give at all. If anything, he tightened his grip, immobilizing her. ‘He’s dead!’ he yelled. ‘And we will be, too, if we don’t get out of here!’

  As he said the words, the gunfire came from the door to the room where Fasil and his men still were, strafing the ground around them. ‘We have to go! Now!’ Saunders said. With that, he stood and lifted her off the ground as though she were a child. He started running toward the stairs. Looking back, Cianna could see Fasil and his bodyguard giving chase. Sirus was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Charlie!’ she called. But she had given up the fight to get back to his body. She let herself be carried.

  Saunders hit the stairs at a full sprint, and a moment later they reached the front door and slipped outside. Saunders paused there, setting Cianna down and scanning the parking lot for danger. He took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. ‘Are you okay? Are you with me, or do I need to carry you?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ she said vacantly. ‘I can make it on my own.’

  He continued to look at her, and she could tell that he was skeptical. Finally he nodded. ‘We need to make a run for the car,’ he said. ‘I’ll go first and get your door open. You follow right behind me, got it?’

  She nodded.

  She watched as Saunders tucked himself into a sprinter’s posture, took a deep breath, and ran into the parking lot.

  The gunshots rang out as soon as Saunders got out from under the portico. They were coming from the side of the building, and Cianna realized that Sirus had slipped out the glass doors in the basement and taken up a position from where he could easily pick them off. Saunders dove to the ground and slid behind a tree, which provided little cover. Cianna could hear the footsteps inside the building as the others approached the door. She looked down at the spent revolver in her hand, and realized that there was little she could do. Looking around desperately, she put her back to the exterior wall, just outside the door hinges, to give her some chance to surprise the first through the door. If she could wrestle his gun away quickly, she and Saunders might stand a chance. It was a long shot, but it was all she had.

  As she readied herself for close combat, she saw a beige sedan tear into the parking lot, wheels screeching. It pulled to a stop in between Cianna and Saunders, and the passenger side door opened. Sitting behind the wheel was the young man who had opened fire through the glass doors earlier. He motioned to her. ‘Please!’ he called. ‘Come with me, now!’

  As he called, gunshots plunked the side of the car. The young man put his arm out his window, and returned fire toward Sirus at the side of the building. ‘Please!’ the young man said again, this time to both Cianna and Saunders. ‘There is no time!’

  Cianna looked over at Saunders. He hesitated for only a moment, and then scrabbled over to the rear door and climbed in. Cianna was moving next, sprinting from the building just as the door opened and Fasil emerged.

  The young man threw the engine into gear before Cianna reached the door. She could hear the shots firing off behind her, but she didn’t look back. Her legs were pumping hard, and once she drew within a few feet of the car, she launched herself at the open door.

  The momentum of the moving car had already begun to swing the door closed. Her head and shoulders made it through the opening, but the door slammed against her hip, and her feet dragged along the pavement. Her hands slipped from the seat, and for a moment, she thought she was going to fall out. As she grasped for something to hold onto, though, a hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. She looked up and saw the young man a
t the wheel pulling her toward him as he steered the car wildly toward the street. After a moment, her fingers found the seatbelt, and she was able to pull herself the rest of the way into the car.

  She slammed the door behind her as the car fishtailed into the street and sped away. The gunshots behind them faded quickly into the distance, and for a moment all Cianna could hear was her own breathing as she gasped for air.

  She looked over at the young man in the driver’s seat, and he looked back at her. He gave a shy smile and a slight nod. ‘I am Akhtar,’ he said. ‘I am pleased to meet you.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Lawrence Ainsworth was in a meeting with Mark Humallah, the chief liaison officer to the Kabul station. They were in one of the large steel-paneled conference rooms on the third floor. The table in front of them was illuminated with an interactive map of Afghanistan and the surrounding countries. With a touch of his finger, Ainsworth was able to zoom in on particular cities or villages. The map was a compilation of satellite images that could be focused in on to reveal detail down to the larger grains of sand. There were intelligence reports spread out in front of them, and the two men were deep in strategic discussions regarding an upcoming operation.

  There was no knock; the door swung open with just enough force to slam off the wall. Bill Toney stormed into the room, his face red, his lips quivering in anger. ‘Ainsworth!’ he yelled.

  Lawrence Ainsworth didn’t look up. He continued his discussion with Humallah as though Toney wasn’t there.

  Toney walked over and put his fists down on the table, and the map of Afghanistan sucked itself up into a dot in the center of the table and disappeared. ‘You had to do it, didn’t you?’

  ‘I’m in a meeting, Bill,’ Ainsworth said calmly. ‘We can talk later.’

  ‘We’ll talk now!’ Toney bellowed.

  Ainsworth looked at Humallah with the embarrassment a host might show if a badly trained dog urinated on his guest’s leg at a cocktail party. ‘I’m sorry, Mark. Can we take a break for a few minutes? Apparently Bill has something he feels is pressing that he needs to discuss with me.’