“A couple of hours at least. I can’t be sure.”
“I need to call them. Especially Lucy.”
“Why Lucy?”
“We had coffee this morning. She felt something was wrong. I assured her the team was safe. I never imagined being so wrong.”
CHAPTER 21
THE SITUATION ROOM IN the Kyrgyzstan capital of Bishkek was filled with new technology. Under his leadership, President Meklis Oskonbaeva saw a rise in the technology sector of his country. The process was slow and taxing but headway was being made. Jalal-Abad State University and the Kyrgyz Technical University produced world-class engineers and computer experts. Communications in the country advanced remarkably, and to be fair, Prime Minister Dootkasy helped make much of that possible. It was Meklis’s dream to see his country join Japan, Korea, China, and the United States in technology fabrication. In June of 2011, the parliament passed legislation to build a high-tech park like one built in Belarus.
As a sign of his interest in such matters, Meklis had the White House equipped with computers and software developed in-country. That included a modern situation room with flat-screen monitors and communications that allowed him to converse with other heads of states or monitor news from a number of international news agencies. He didn’t fool himself into believing the control center came anywhere close to those in more developed and richer countries.
As he walked in, his team of advisers rose from their chairs. Sariev Dootkasy was among them.
“Please be seated.” Meklis took his place at the head of a long and wide table large enough to seat twice what was there. “Emil?”
Chief of Police Emil Abirov shifted in his seat. “No word on your daughter, sir. That could be either good or bad news. I have received no communication from abductors.”
The report dropped a hot coal in Meklis’s stomach. He said nothing. He was afraid the dam holding his emotions back would crumble. He encouraged Abirov to continue with a nod.
“Sir, I’m afraid that I have not been able to assign any men to search for her. The crowds are growing. The number of fires have multiplied. What started as debris and tires being burned in the streets is becoming arson. Several buildings have been set ablaze. I have every man on the force helping with crowd control and the protection of other government buildings. I have requested help from departments in other cities but they have riots of their own.” He stopped suddenly.
After a moment of silence, Dootkasy spoke. “Tell the president the rest of it.” His voice was even and devoid of accusation or criticism.
“It pains me to say it, but some of my officers have joined the protests.”
“What?” Meklis wondered if he heard right.
“I am sorry to report that some of my street officers are aiding the protesters.” Abirov slumped in his seat.
In an unexpected show of support, Dootkasy came to the man’s aid. “I am not surprised.” He immediately held up a hand. “That is not to say anything bad about Abirov’s leadership. I was just thinking of Arab Spring, when citizens rose against their government. Egypt for example, Libya, and so on. Military and police often sided with protesters.”
“It’s treasonous,” Boris Gubuz said. He brought a fist down on the table to make his point.
Dootkasy nodded. “Yes, it is, but treason is in the eye of the beholder. To those in power—like us—it is treason; to the man on the street it’s revolution, perhaps similar to our country’s history. You are all familiar with the 1916 revolt against the Tsarist empire. One in six people in our country died. One in six. Some of those were our grand or great-grandparents. The United States War of Independence was viewed by the colonists as a fight for freedom, but the British saw treason. Which was it?”
“You defend the protesters, Mr. Prime Minister?” Meklis kept his voice low.
“No, Mr. President, I do not. I am on your side. Yes, we have different views of policy, but I am very aware of who appointed me to this position. I’m merely trying to paint a broader picture. We have made great strides forward, but not enough to help the people in the streets. Our unemployment makes us the poorest of all the former Soviet republics.” He leaned on the table and steepled his fingers. “I am simply saying we tend to see the protests as criminals run amok; they see it has a patriotic act. Is that what it is? Not to our minds, but it is to theirs. These are not hooligans burning cars after a sports match. They riot for a reason.”
“It still sounds like a defense of protesters.” General Nurbeck Saparaliev’s tone was harsh.
“I’m sorry you see it that way, General. I am not here to defend them and I think you are doing a magnificent job. My goal is only to bring to this table another side. But you will find I stand with you. Sometimes I think revolt is in our blood.”
Meklis returned his gaze to the police chief. “You have more?”
“I do, sir.” He picked up a remote and activated a large, flat-screen television. Several smaller television monitors surrounded the large screen. “I have a video feed from our police helicopter. The pilot provides an aerial platform to see the activities in the streets.” The city was dark, with only the dim glow of old street lamps dropping puddles of light to the streets below.
Meklis watched as the helicopter did a slow circuit over the city. Fires burned in the street and he counted at least five buildings on fire. A high-intensity spotlight flooded the pavement. People, who had been dancing around the fire as if in some pagan ritual, turned their faces skyward.
“The numbers have grown,” Abirov said. “Estimates vary but there may be as many ten thousand already on the streets and the numbers are swelling. We could see twenty or thirty thousand soon. By sunrise . . .” He tossed his hands up. “In 2010 there were over 1,000 injuries and eighty-eight dead. Who knows where this will lead.”
The copter expanded its circle, taking in more of the troubled city.
“Have you used the helicopter to search for my daughter?”
Abirov was slow to speak. “Some, sir, but we haven’t found anything encouraging.”
“What do you mean by ‘some’?”
“I’ve sent the helicopter over the area where the attempt to abduct your daughter occurred. We did a sweep of the area but saw nothing. Unless she is on the street or in an alley, we won’t be able to see her. We hoped she would have heard the helicopter and shown herself, except . . .”
“Except what, Emil?”
“Like you, sir, I have watched the video several times. We know they were being pursued. Perhaps . . .”
“Say it, Emil.” Meklis uttered the words with a conviction he didn’t feel.
“Perhaps she and her rescuer have been caught. Perhaps they are hiding. If the street wasn’t filled with such turmoil, I’d have a police unit on every street searching every building, but . . .” He sighed. “I need the helicopter to guide our men on the ground.”
“I can have a military helicopter in the air to replace the police one,” the general said.
“A military aircraft flying over the citizens?” Dootkasy rubbed his chin. “I’d worry about violence, Mr. President. We know there are some anarchists in the crowds. A military flyover might incite more violence. I also have to ask what happens if some anarchist opens fire on a military aircraft? Does it fire back? Are we at that stage yet?” He rapped lightly on the table. “I’m with you in whatever you decide, Mr. President. I will do my best to make certain the parliament understands your reasons.”
The comment sounded insincere. “Thank you, Sariev.”
DOOTKASY HAD NO WAY of knowing if Meklis believed him or not. It didn’t matter. The president was losing his grip on the government. Dootkasy had many followers in parliament and many more in the streets. Within five minutes of the end of the meeting, he would make certain someone fired on whatever helicopter circled overhead. A few
incidents like that and Abirov would have to ground the craft. If need be he’d have Nasirdin bring the craft to the ground.
J. J. MOVED TO the northwest corner of the pharmacy’s roof. “How goes it, Hawkeye?” The young soldier had his kit open and J. J. saw the same quad-propeller unit Crispin used to show off with at the base. That seemed a week ago but it was only a few hours ago.
“Good, Boss. I’m using the quad. It can handle wind gusts better.” He looked around the roof. “I’m gonna have to watch the power lines. I figure I’ll take it to about 500 feet. It’s undetectable at that altitude. I’ll be running live video. Of course, if they’re inside a building, this thing won’t be much good.”
“It’s all we have at the moment. I want you to keep an eye out for black hats. Time to earn your nickname. Get that thing going.”
“Roger that, Boss.” The fan-like propellers came to life and a moment later, the device was hovering six feet above the roof. “Gotta love that stabilization. Pick a direction, Boss.”
“North.”
Crispin pushed a lever with his thumb and the device shot up several hundred feet and then eased north.
“How much can you see in the dark?” J. J. asked.
“Unlike commercial remote control vehicles, I can add night vision. That’s what took me so long to get airborne. I had to swap out the micro camera.”
J. J. gave a reassured nod. “I don’t care what the others say, Hawkeye, I’m starting to like you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Doc. Get your eyes on.”
“Got it, Boss. I’ll take the south and east sides of the building and leave the north and west to you.”
“Just as I planned it. The others are doing the same.”
J. J. looked north and saw dozens of fires, flashing police and fire department lights, all of which glowed eerily against the smoke-filled air. The wind carried the mixed voices, shouts and screams of thousands of protesters. “So this is hell,” he said to himself.
TESS KNEW SHE SHOULDN'T. It was unwise at best; foolish at worst. It could only hurt her, but she had to do it. After disappearing into her bedroom to call her parents and leaving Paul Bartley to fend for himself for a few minutes, she turned on the television and tuned to a cable news network. Ten minutes and six commercials passed before the professionally dressed and made-up news anchor said, “I must warn you that this video is graphic and not fit for children. Earlier today, a news station in the Central Asian country and former Soviet Republic Kyrgyzstan reported that six U.S. military men were killed on the streets of Bishkek, the country’s capital.”
Video began to play. Bathed in the light of street lamps and the camera’s spotlight was the burned remains of a sedan. Around the base of the car were several blackened corpses.
Tess staggered into the master bath, dropped to her knees, and vomited in the toilet. When the retching ended she fell to her right side, her head resting on the floor between the tub and toilet.
The poison of deep pain exploded from her in convulsive sobs.
CHAPTER 22
DOOTKASY GREW MORE IMPATIENT with each minute that passed. He assumed there would be difficulties along the way, but not for a moment had he considered the failure of his men to capture a single woman. Now there were two women on the run and one was more than she seemed. He could not imagine Jildiz breaking into buildings and killing two armed men. She was a tough negotiator, a woman of singular dedication and a keen mind, but she was not violent. Amelia Lennon was a different matter. She worked as a diplomatic aide but he long suspected she was CIA and if not that, then some kind of military intelligence. In one way, he admired her, which made her pending death a tad less enjoyable.
The night was wearing on. The women needed to be found and soon. There were still the American soldiers to deal with. For his plan to continue toward success, he had to be proactive. He called his aide Apas Isanov.
“Yes, Mr. Prime Minster?”
“I want you to get a message to our people in the field. Have them spread this news: A bounty will be paid to anyone who finds and delivers the two women to me. Payment will also be made for the location of the American soldiers.”
“Do you care about the condition they are found in?”
It was a gentle way of asking, “Dead or alive?”
“I would not be upset if they stumbled upon the bodies. Make sure Nasardin knows of the offer. I don’t want him killing people who are trying to help.”
“Yes, sir. Of course. However, he will not be happy about the offer. I’m certain he will fear the loss of his bonus.”
“His happiness is not my concern. He has failed several times already. He will get paid if he finds the women and paid even more if he kills the soldiers. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. I understand completely.” Apas shifted his weight. “May I ask about the president, sir? Has he taken your advice to release power?”
“Not yet. I can sense his conflict. He wants to govern, he wants to find his daughter, he doesn’t want to be considered a coward.”
“If only the abduction had worked as planned. You could have used Jildiz as leverage or at least removed his most pressing reason to stay.”
“All the more reason we need to find her fast.”
Apas nodded and left the spacious office.
JILDIZ LAY ON HER back in the sleeping compartment of an eighteen-wheeler they found two miles from the pharmacy. She wasn’t asleep. The struggle to breathe kept her awake. Amelia could see the strain on the woman’s face. Maybe it was the smoke-dimmed light of the streetlights, maybe it was the exertion, maybe it was fear, maybe it was all those things and a dozen more that made the pretty Jildiz look fifteen years older than she did at their late lunch.
The truck was old and looked as if it had been driven around the world several times. Still, it was a port in the storm and they were lucky to find the driver’s door unlocked. Had Amelia been alone, she could have easily jogged the distance to the White House, but she was not alone; if she hadn’t been watching Jildiz driving in front of her, she’d be back on the base with her feet up and wondering what her next move would be to save the air base.
If. If. If. If never changed anything. She refocused her attention. First, she checked the side mirrors again and saw nothing moving behind her. The mirrors were an asset. Next, she scanned the area in front of her and saw only an empty street, although she could see movement of crowds some distance away. For a time she thought the crowds could be their salvation. Maybe they could blend in with the protesters, use them as human camouflage. Now she was having doubts. Her instincts didn’t like the idea. Things nagged her. Things like cell and landline service going out at the same time but radio—and she assumed—television still functioned. Somebody was up to something.
What other choice did she have? Jildiz was having trouble walking more than a block or two. Running was out of the question.
Amelia turned her attention to the handgun she lifted from the attacker in the drugstore. It was a 9mm, semi-automatic, clean, and fairly new. She smelled the barrel. Just gun oil. It hadn’t been fired recently and the previous owner took good care of it. She popped the magazine and took note it was full. She chambered a round, double-checked the safety, then set it on the seat next to her. Again she checked the mirrors and the surrounding area.
The cab rocked as Jildiz rolled over. The curtain separating the cab from the sleeper parted slightly. “You’re still here.”
“Of course, where else would I be?”
“I dozed and had a dream you left me behind.”
Amelia cocked her head to steal a glance at Jildiz. “It was just a nightmare, Jildiz. I’m not leaving you.”
“It didn’t seem like a nightmare. It seemed right. Leaving me was the right thing to do. I told you that in the dream.”
Amelia studied the stick shift and the pedals. “Did my dream self agree?”
“Yes. You said thank you.”
“I’ll have to talk to myself about that. I’m not leaving.” The cab jiggled again. “Hey kid, go easy on the movement. This thing’s suspension was old before we were born. I don’t want our friends to have reason to investigate.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t make the truck.” Amelia ran a hand under the dashboard. Her fingers found wires. Wires to what she didn’t know.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m thinking of hot-wiring the ignition.”
“Hot-wiring?”
“I don’t know what the Russian or Kyrgyz word is for it, but it means to start a vehicle without the key, but I have a problem. I don’t know how to do it.”
“That disappoints me. I thought you knew everything.”
“I do, just not how to hot-wire a thirty-year-old truck.”
“They don’t teach that in American schools?” The curtain closed.
“I majored in armed robbery.” Amelia tugged on the bundle of wires. “I have two brothers but both grew up reading books instead of swiping cars for fun. How’s a girl supposed to learn?”
She yanked the wire harness free. Several strands of wire were bound together by electrician’s tape. Someone had been doing home repairs. “Jidiz, is there a flashlight back there?”
“I can’t see much. There’s an overhead light—”
“Don’t touch that. It might give away our position. Just feel around.”
“I can’t find one. I found a . . . fire extinguisher. I’ll never look at these things the same way.”
“You earned a black belt in fire extinguisher. You did a good thing.”
“Doesn’t feel like a good thing.”
“Feelings don’t matter right now. Just survival. We can get weepy later.” Amelia looked around the cab and found a plastic box between the seats. It had a top with hinges. The equivalent of a glove compartment. She opened it: maps, an apple well on its way to cider, and a flashlight. “Found one. Truckers always travel with a flashlight.”
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