by Eric Meyer
* * *
"It's too bad. We did kill them all." Stoner snapped. He kicked the rear wheel in frustration, "How much more can go wrong? First we drive into a ditch, and now this. I'm beginning to think someone up there doesn't want us to reach the Torgan Valley."
Greg grimaced. "Maybe we'll live a little longer."
"We'll be short of fifty thousand dollars, and your friend Sheikh Habib Daud will still come looking for you. Besides, I feel sorry for the kid. I'd like to have nailed the fucker who killed his pop."
Greg nodded. "He's had a rough deal, and it could get rougher." He explained about Sardar Khan's ambition to marry Ahmed's eleven-year-old sister Kaawa, "My guess is one day he'll be back."
"Shit. I tell you what I'm gonna do. Grab a couple of fruit bars and some water, walk back up the hill, and admire the view. When my head is clear, I'll work out what to do."
"I may as well join you. I've got nothing better to do, but we need to stash these weapons. We could take them with us, especially that RPG. You never know when something like that will come in handy."
Both men took the time to pick up the fallen weapons. In the case of the RPG, they had to pry it loose from the tight, death grip of the shooter. They stashed the gear in the trunk of the useless Wrangler, grabbed the fruit bars and water, and hiked back up the hill. It was cold, freezing cold, despite the blue sky and the sun shining overhead. They seated themselves on the rocks and munched in silence.
Stoner knew they'd have to make a decision mighty soon. The sixty-four dollar question, what should they do next? Even if they drained the tiny amount of fuel from the UAZ, it wouldn't get them to the next gas station, wherever that was. He mulled it over; the first priority was to plug the holes in the tank. He realized Greg was looking at him.
"What?"
"We need to plug the holes in the gas tank."
"Yeah. We wouldn't want to lose a thimbleful of gas. Any other ideas?"
"Maybe." Greg was staring into the distance, back the way they'd come. A small dust cloud showed about ten kilometers away.
"There's someone headed this way, a vehicle."
Stoner followed his gaze. "Maybe we could persuade them to sell us some gas. Who the hell could it be? Who'd be crazy enough to come up to this place? Only drug growers or traffickers; gun runners, maybe. Whoever it is, they could be trouble."
"It's not trouble. It's Ahmed."
He stared in astonishment. "You're kidding me! He's still following us?"
"Looks like it. As I recall, he had a bunch of Jerry cans strapped on the back of that tractor. It could be someone up there does want us to reach the Torgan Valley."
He still stared at the dust cloud. A dark shape had appeared. "Jesus Christ. For a moment, I thought I might lose my Wrangler. I'm gonna finish up here and go plug the leaks. I have a can of sealant in the trunk. It should do it. What're we gonna do about him? He's not going to give up."
Greg shrugged. "Beats me. He sure is determined. I have to hand it to him. Brave, too. And he's no fool. Maybe he can help us."
Stoner nodded, but inside he felt gloomy. On top of the difficulties they'd face tackling Massoud, they had a crazy kid on their tail, bent on revenge. Only thing was, he'd save their asses once, and it looked like he was about to do it again.
They finished plugging the leak, and they waited. It took Ahmed just over an hour to climb the hill, and the familiar chugging, rattling noise of the Fordson model F became louder as he approached. He halted alongside them at the crest, switched off the engine, and looked at them. His expression was filled with joy.
"You waited for me. That's wonderful." Then his face fell as he saw the bodies strewn on the hillside, and the field of opium poppies swaying gently in the breeze. The UAZ was still parked across the track, and it didn't take a genius to know what had happened. Archer ran to Greg and licked his hands and face, happy to see his master.
"You killed all these men?"
"After they tried to kill us. We didn't wait for you, Ahmed. We're stuck here, and we need gas."
The smile returned. "I have gas, Jerry cans on the tractor. How many do you need, Mr. Stoner?"
He made a rapid calculation "Four cans would be enough to reach Ghazni. It's appreciated, kid."
The boy bobbed his head. "It's the least I can do for my friends. After all, you're going after the man who murdered my father."
Stoner almost felt his heart breaking. They were going after Massoud, in return for fifty thousand dollars. When they brought him down, they should be able to deal with Sheikh Habib Daud and resolve Greg's problems. Sardar Khan was a bonus, no more. He nodded. "Sure we are."
Greg gave him a pointed look as he went to the tractor and began to unstrap the Jerry cans. One by one, he took them to the Wrangler and poured the contents into the tank. When he'd finished, he waited, unsure how to approach the awkward question of the boy. Ahmed broke the silence.
"I must come with you." They both looked at the boy, "Think about it. You need me. There are only two of you, and Sardar Khan is with Massoud. He has many armed men, and you'll help to kill him and bring back my father's murderer."
Stoner shook his head. What would it achieve, other than to get this brave and resourceful boy killed? He went to the tractor and with a savage jerk, ripped out the ignition key. He tossed it high in the air, and it tumbled down the hillside into the poppy plantation. His face was hard as he looked at Ahmed.
"Look kid, you've helped us out, no question. But what you're asking is crazy. If we took you along, it'd only end one way. You'd be dead, no question. This stops now. I reckon it'll take you a couple of hours to find that key, and by then we'll be long gone. For the last time, go home and look after your sisters. Build a good life for yourself. Get married, have kids. Live. We'll get justice for Ghulam Durani, but you have to leave it to us." He shouted at the Russian. "Greg, get everything in the Jeep ready to go. Good luck, kid. Get yourself a life."
He climbed into the driver's seat, savagely twisted the key, slammed the gear lever into drive, and trod on the gas pedal. The Jeep lurched forward, and they started down the hill. In the mirror, he could see Ahmed watch them go. He was a forlorn figure, alone on the top of the hill. Not quite alone, Archer was sitting beside him, licking the boy’s hand as if to comfort him. Behind the boy and the dog, he could see the Fordson model F.
Greg turned to him. "Was that the right way to do it? Toss away the key?"
"Yes. He'll find, and if he's got half a grain of sense left in his head, he'll turn around and go home while he still breathing."
"And if he hasn't got half a grain of sense?"
Stoner didn't answer.
I did the right thing. I know I did.
Ahmed watched them drive downhill. Archer was licking his hand, and he was sure the dog was saying, "It's okay. I won't desert you." Behind him, the engine of the Fordson was cooling, and the familiar odor of oil, gasoline, and rubber was comforting on the barren hillside. His first task was to locate the key. He walked to the dashboard and beckoned to Archer. "Here boy, take a look at this."
He had his finger on the slot for the ignition key. The dog obediently stood on his hind legs with his nozzle soaking up the scent of the metal. Ahmed put his mouth close to the dog’s ear. "Seek, Archer. Seek."
The dog bounded off. It took less than five minutes before he ran back and deposited the worn old key into Ahmed's hand. He inserted it into the ignition, switched on, and punched the starter button. Immediately, the newly installed thirty horsepower engine fired, and he felt the vibrations beneath his feet as the machine came to life. The dog was looking at him, as if to ask a question. He supplied the answer.
"We follow them, Archer. All the way."