“The Bumburet Valley. The nearest village is Ayun.”
“Of course, you’re probably still lying. So I need to torture your friends. Unless you wish to give me the name of someone you’ve told and I can get the confirmation I require without so much misery.”
Rahman began sobbing. “He’s in the Birir Valley.”
The names meant nothing to Pasha. Rahman gave him the name of an Institute associate who could confirm his birthplace. He ordered the professor taken to Abpara jail and placed in isolation.
• • • • •
Twenty minutes later Pasha drove through the gates of the DG’s estate, past his home, and parked at the entrance of the underground ISI fortress. He called his aide as he jogged into the building and down the hall to the DG’s office. “Two things, both urgent. First, find Professor Zafri Malik. He’s on staff at the Quaid-i-Azam. Have him taken into custody and brought here.” He went on to give him the name of Rahman’s colleague at the Institute. “Have someone you trust track him down. Tell him we have an emergency and need to know the name of Professor Abdul Rahman’s home village. If he says anything other than Ayun or the Birir Valley, seize him and bring him here also.”
Pasha arrived at the door to the DG’s private office and took a deep breath, trying to marshal his thoughts for what was going to be an ugly encounter.
I have the translation. I have the name of a linguist who may be able to confirm it. We’ll capture the Kalash boy and grab the codex, but it’ll take time. He may be out of Transition by then. I need a replacement. If I have that, I can tell the DG I have the situation under control. Otherwise, I may not leave this building alive.
Gotta be kids in Transition on the streets. They’d be easy to grab, but who knows if they’d have enough wits to learn the ritual. I need a solution that doesn’t depend on luck.
The answer came to him like a sudden thunderstorm.
Maya.
A small part of his soul shriveled and died at the thought of using his own daughter.
She’s smart and I can get my men to pick her up this afternoon. I’ll tell the DG that I’ve had a girl lined up all along, just in case we needed a backup. He won’t ask how I found her or where she’s from. She’ll have to die, but so what? I’ll control the investigation into her disappearance. A kidnapping gone wrong.
He squared his shoulders and knocked on the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Khuzdar
Islamic Republic of Pakistan
Stony yelled at Major Davi over the noise of the engine. “I checked. It’s almost two thousand kilometers to Sirkan. How long will the drive take? Google says twenty-four hours.” The military vehicle exaggerated every imperfection in the road surface and was almost as loud as a helicopter.
The major turned in his seat and tossed a tactical headset toward her. She pulled it over her head, sighed with relief as the noise dropped to a low roar, and fumbled for the switch on the right ear cup.
“I’ve got both cars on the same encrypted channel. To answer your question, we’re flying from Islamabad to Khuzdar in southwestern Pakistan and will drive the Humvees into Iran from there. Four-plus hours flight time. Figure six or seven hours portal to portal. We’ll stay overnight in Khuzdar and leave early the next morning for Sirkan. We’re going in a back way, so that’ll take another ten or twelve hours.”
“Why not fly the entire way?” Stony asked. She was anxious to get into Iran, grab Rahman, and get the hell out.
“We’d have to do a chopper insertion—there’s no airport in Sirkan. And getting clearance from the Iranians would be a bitch. We’ll be done and back before the paperwork would come through.”
“Okay. I got another question. Are you going to start telling me what you’re planning before it happens, or do I need to call the director-general?”
“You’re pushing your damned—” She could hear the major take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “No need to make a call.”
“Thank you.”
“Can’t we all just get along?” Kyle asked. “What transport are we using for the flight to Khuzdar?” His voice was so clear that Stony almost felt like checking the back of the Humvee to see if he’d teleported aboard.
The headset was so quiet for a few seconds that Stony wondered if she’d been cut off.
“A Super Hercules C130J,” Davi said.
“Nice! I didn’t know Pakistan had any of the J-Series Fat Alberts.” Kyle sounded impressed. “I thought your newest was the C130H.”
“You’ve done your research, Agent Kain. I’m impressed.” Davi sounded anything but impressed. “If it weren’t for American greed and our willingness to pay a premium, we’d still be using Vietnam-era leftovers.”
“American greed, huh?” Kyle said. “You didn’t happen to pay using American foreign aid, did you?”
Bad girl, bad guy.
Stony heard a quiet click just before the headsets went dead. She smiled. No one spoke for the rest of the trip to Islamabad International. She passed the time pondering the path that led her to accompanying ISI agents on a secret incursion into Iran. She couldn’t see that she’d had any real alternative. All roads led to Rahman. And the ISI said Rahman was in Iran. She and Kyle had found nothing in the professor’s apartment that would hint otherwise. Still, the obviousness of the trail triggered a faint sense of unease.
Stay alert, stay alive.
• • • • •
The two Humvees didn’t leave much room in the C130, even parked nose to butt. Stony and Kyle settled next to each other in the canvas sling seats that hung from the plane’s walls. Davi and his team scattered around the perimeter of the plane. They took off an hour after reaching the airport. Even with earplugs, the noise and vibration from the twin turbo-props sank into Stony’s bones. She twisted around to look at Kyle and bitch about the ride. He was sound asleep, sagging against the seat restraints. She laughed out loud, heard nothing, like she was deaf, and leaned back against the aluminum alloy wall.
She recalled a white water rafting trip she’d once taken with a group down the Gauley River in West Virginia. It was a hot spring day; blooming trees and wildflowers crowded the river’s banks and saturated the air with a sweet fragrance. Before they left on the six-hour watery thrill ride, their guide had shown them a small memorial where two rafters had died the year before. “If I tell you to lean into the rock, you lean into the rock,” he’d said.
This is one of those times.
They landed in Khuzdar almost five hours later. Kyle woke up just before they touched down and declared that he was hungry enough to eat a water buffalo. Stony would have given him grief about not being in Vietnam, but she’d spent the last two hours trying not to puke from the plane’s constant jouncing.
She scrambled off the plane as soon as the ramp was lowered. Davi walked up to her with a smile creasing his eyes. “Not feeling well?”
“Nah. Feel fine. Just anxious to get going.”
Stony hadn’t thought it possible, but he laughed. “That would explain your green complexion.” He laughed again at her scowl. “The Balochistan University engineering school is located about five minutes from the airport. We’re staying overnight at their guest house. Means we won’t have to go into town, which should help keep our profile down.”
All of a sudden he’s Mr. Nice Guy. What’s up with that?
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“You asked, right?”
Stony had been expecting gravel roads this far into the Pakistan countryside, but the road from the airport to the university was paved asphalt in better condition than most in the U.S. They drove a short distance, then turned and passed under a large chocolate stucco arch flanked onto the school’s grounds. The guest house was tucked into the back right corner of the grounds and looked much the same as the other structures—a small, flat-roofed, one story building covered in soft pink stucco with white trim. It looked like a quiet resort, the kind you found north of Sco
ttsdale, Arizona. The place appeared deserted.
They climbed down from the Humvees and walked to the guest house entrance.
“Where is everyone?” Kyle asked.
“Summer.” Davi opened the unlocked front door, strode inside, and waited for everyone to join him. The air inside was hot and stale.
He sent Mr. Sunglasses down a short hallway opposite the entrance while he walked over to a closed door to the left of the entry. He pushed it open, revealing a small conference room, then pulled the door shut and returned to the center of the room. Stony watched as the young soldier disappeared momentarily into one room opening into the hallway, then did the same in the room across the hall. He walked back to the group and nodded at Davi.
They’re clearing the building. Habit, I guess.
Davi glanced at Stony and nodded down the hall. “You and Agent Kain will use one room. My team and I will take the other one. We’ll eat in our rooms.”
“Eat what?” Kyle asked.
Stony wondered if he was still thinking about a juicy hunk of water buffalo.
Davi smiled. “Food from your homeland. MREs. Meals Ready to—”
“I know what MREs are.” Kyle said. “Can’t someone run into Khuzdar and pick up something local?”
“It’s a small town. I want us in and out without anyone knowing we’ve been here.”
Kyle shook his head and looked at Stony. “Why the secrecy? The ISI and the military must be all over this country, all the time. Who would care?”
“It’s how we do what we do,” Davi said. “Zero footprint.” He nodded at Mr. Sunglasses. “Get our gear inside and post a guard. No one to leave the building without my permission.”
An image of John strolling through a forested cemetery popped into Stony’s mind. “Who knows where you are?” he’d asked.
No one. And we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.
• • • • •
Breakfast was an apple maple oatmeal MRE, complete with what the U.S. Army called “zapplesauce” and an irradiated brown sugar pop tart that would last the millennium. The two Humvees pulled out of the university compound at 0430. No traffic on the road and no lights on the horizon from Khuzdar to break the darkness.
Davi switched on the headsets. “We take Nag Highway for about three hundred kilometers then get off onto Washup Road, which will take us into Iran. Washup runs all the way into Sirkan, but it’s the primary route and has too much traffic. So we’ll drop off soon after we cross the border and take a back road.”
“How long to the border?” Kyle asked.
“Should get there about mid-day. Not much to look at along the way. Grab sleep if you can.”
“What are the plans once we’re in Sirkan?” Stony asked.
“Simple enough. Seize your professor and bring him back to Islamabad.”
“Just remember, Kyle and I need to question him as soon as he’s secure.”
“How could I forget? You and Agent Kain can sit with him in the back seat.”
Davi hadn’t exaggerated about the scenery. The highway cut through ridge after ridge of low hills with nothing but desert and sharp, rocky inclines on both sides. They were headed due west, but even the rising sun seemed unwilling to put on a display. The eastern sky had been a deep indigo one minute, then a dull yellow ball above the horizon. The window tint made it look like she was watching the start of an eclipse through a welding visor.
The morning crept along. The only sound was the drone of the tires on the asphalt and the occasional rattle of gear when Mr. Sunglasses took a hill too fast. They overtook a car or dilapidated truck every twenty or thirty minutes and passed one going the other way about as often.
Stony leaned her head against the door window and slipped into a dreamless sleep.
• • • • •
She was jolted awake by a sudden drop in the roar of the engine. The Humvee slowed and turned south onto a gravel road that looked more like a wide animal trail.
She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her face as Davi announced, “We just crossed into Iran. This is the back road that I mentioned. Anyone need a break? Otherwise, we’ll keep rolling.”
Silence.
Stony tried to catch Sunglasses’s attention in the rear view mirror. Before she’d drifted off to sleep, the two of them had started playing a little game. She’d stare at the mirror until he looked back at her and smiled, then she’d look away. If he didn’t smile, she’d keep staring. But since she’d woken, he’d quit playing. She caught his eyes and tried again. He reached forward, grabbed his sunglasses, and slipped them on.
The shift in his behavior was trivial, but she didn’t like unexplained changes.
Did Davi notice what the kid and I were doing and say something while I slept?
Stony had learned long ago to trust her instincts, and she had a close relationship with her inner voice, who sounded like James Earl Jones. She and James Earl often had conversations. Now he was whispering that something wasn’t right.
“Kyle, you awake?”
She didn’t know if Davi still had the headsets powered up, but a sleepy mutter answered her from the trailing car. “Kinda. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just curious. I’m a very curious person.”
Before they left Islamabad, she and Kyle had agreed on a code word to use in public if either of them wanted to warn the other to be on guard. The word was “curious,” when spoken twice in close succession.
“You’re a pain in the ass, that’s what you are.”
Stony smiled to herself. He sounded wide awake now.
They bumped and ground along for two hours without seeing another vehicle or so much as a hut where someone might live. Stony thought she’d seen a cow on a ridge above the road, but when she looked to make sure, she saw nothing. She had just leaned forward to check the outside temperature on a dash display—43 degrees; 110 Fahrenheit—when Mr. Sunglasses said, “Some sort of roadblock ahead.”
“I see it,” Davi said.
Stony sat up on the edge of the seat trying to see forward, but her vision was obscured by Davi and the high dashboard.
“What?” she asked. The Humvee rolled to a stop.
“Looks like a checkpoint. Not uncommon in Iran. Or Pakistan, for that matter. You and Agent Kyle stay in the vehicles. Everybody else, out. I’ll see what they want and take care of it.”
Davi and Mr. Sunglasses climbed from the vehicle. James Earl Jones noticed that Mr. Sunglasses glanced at her as he got out, his face a seamless mask, his eyes hidden behind the mirrored lenses.
I’m not liking this.
She reached over and touched the butt of the pistol hanging under her arm.
A military truck painted in brown desert camo blocked the road. Three men stood in front of the trucks, hands on their hips. Davi walked toward them with one arm raised in a greeting. Stony could see sidearms, but no automatic weapons.
One of the Iranians stepped forward. He had some sort of rank insignia on his shoulders, but she couldn’t make out what it was. Davi approached the officer and talked for several minutes, glancing back at the Humvees a couple of times. She watched as Davi handed the Iranian officer a thick envelope. No one seemed excited. More talk.
Then Davi turned and walked back to the rear passenger door and signaled for Stony to lower the window. “They want to search us for drugs, so I had to tell them about you and Agent Kain. I bribed them to ignore you, but you still need to get out of the vehicle.”
She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced to her right. The two men from the tail vehicle were walking Kain toward the Iranians. He’d been disarmed, and they were covering him with their pistols. He saw her glance at him, then lashed out at the guy on his left, chopping him in the throat with the edge of his hand. The guy dropped like the bones in his body had vanished.
“Out!” Davi screamed at Stony and reached for his pistol. She yanked the Sig from her holster and slammed the door open, hitting Davi broads
ide and knocking him off his feet. She boiled out of the car and flinched at the sound of a gunshot. Davi’s gun was pointed in her direction, smoke curling from the barrel.
She screamed, “Son of a bitch!” and shot him in the chest. She glanced forward—the Iranians seemed frozen in place—then back at her partner. The second Pakistani was down, and Kyle was reaching for the man’s weapon when another gunshot rang out. Kyle collapsed with a half-inch hole in the middle of his forehead.
Stony whirled and fired behind her at the bastard who had killed Kyle. The slug from her gun hit Mr. Sunglasses in the gut. He was writhing on the ground behind the lead Humvee, screaming, his blood soaking into the thirsty desert. His Sig was lying against a rock several feet away.
She scuttled over, put a bullet in his head, then ducked behind the Humvee as all hell broke loose. The Iranian assholes were using the Humvees for target practice.
Amateurs.
She figured the massive vehicle offered decent protection, but eventually one of the pricks would get lucky. She dropped to her belly, waited for a lull, and then rolled to the right rear of the vehicle, shooting before she stopped rolling. One of the Iranians was down, screaming. His buddies sprinted for their transport truck, jumped inside, and used the shoulder of the road to turn and head back the way they’d come. Stony held her fire.
No sense wasting ammunition.
The guy they left behind was quiet and no longer moving. She jogged over to him and confirmed that he was dead. Flies were already crawling on his face. She hadn’t noticed the heat until that moment. It felt hot enough to blister skin, a sinister presence that was trying to suck the life out of her.
Time to get the fuck out of here.
She turned back to the Humvees.
Aw, shit.
Both vehicles were leaking radiator fluid onto the road. Her nightmares had come to life. She was going to die in this god-forsaken desert.
62 CE
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Guiyang
The Saffron Falcon (Transition Magic) Page 18