Outsourced

by R. J. Hillhouse

  Chapter Seventy

  Gora Muruntau, Kyzyl Kum Desert, Uzbekistan

  Camille ran back for the Dragunov, then sprinted down the runway toward GENGHIS. She now didn’t care so much about being seen by an invisible enemy. She was more concerned about being shot by disoriented friendlies. She pulled her hat off and let her hair fall to her shoulders, aware that her gender might be what convinced him not to shoot her, in case he didn’t recognize her at a distance. Now she couldn’t see GENGHIS, but only several bodies. As she neared, she could sense someone watching her. She could always feel it when she was prey. She just hoped it was only Iggy following her with his scope.

  “Friend! LIGHTNING SIX!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. She waved her hands in the air as she approached the bodies.

  GENGHIS and a prisoner she didn’t recognize lay behind corpses of the guards, using them for cover. Their hands were plastic cuffed, but they managed to point assault weapons at her. As soon as GENGHIS identified her, he lowered the gun and instructed the other guy to do the same.

  “No offense, ma’am, but you’re the prettiest thing I ever saw,” GENGHIS said as she got closer. He pressed on the wound on his upper left arm.

  Flies swarmed around her face, fighting the wind to get to the blood soaking her gritty hair. She was so thirsty she could barely swallow. Sand was a second skin. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re hallucinating.” Camille turned to the prisoner. “Make absolutely sure they’re dead.” To GENGHIS she mouthed, “Who’s he?”

  GENGHIS shrugged.

  Just because the guy had been a Rubicon prisoner didn’t mean she trusted him around her with a weapon; she would have to disarm him. She handed GENGHIS her sidearm, a 9mm Makarov with a KGB emblem on the handle which she’d picked up in Tashkent. It would be easier for him than the AK. “Keep an eye on this for me, will you?” Camille kneeled beside GENGHIS and sliced through the plastic ties around his wrists and ankles, then cut away the blood-soaked sleeve.

  “You got it,” GENGHIS said. He held the gun as he used the palm of the same hand to press on the gunshot wound.

  “They’re all dead,” the prisoner said as he shuffled toward Camille, carrying a shorty AK. His hands were bound, but that wouldn’t stop him from pointing and spraying.

  “Come over here and I’ll cut you free,” Camille said without taking the bloody knife from the holster.

  As soon as he was near her, Camille rushed him, closing the distance. She pivoted her body from the line of fire right before she grabbed the butt of the weapon and twisted it away from his bound hands. At the same time she smacked her knee into his groin. He stumbled to the ground like a civilian. She turned the weapon around and pointed it at him.

  “Bitch” he said, doubled over.

  “Get up and walk ten feet that way and sit up on your knees. If you so much as stand, one of us will shoot you. And I have a guardian angel on the dunes, so keep that in mind.”

  “We share the same enemy—Rubicon. I’ll help you,” he said as he struggled to his feet. “I’m no threat to you.”

  “But until I have time to figure out who the hell you are, you’re our prisoner.” Camille kept the AK-102 trained on him as she backed toward GENGHIS.

  Camille grabbed the radio. “TIN MAN, break camp and join me. Bring your gear.”

  “Negative,” Iggy said. “Will maintain overwatch.”

  She knew that Iggy was very worried they didn’t have an overwatch position providing security, even though she didn’t think there was any reason to believe that Rubicon would somehow approach them by surprise.

  “We have a man down. I need your medic kit. Bring it.”

  “Negative.”

  “Dammit, GENGHIS will die. Bring it down, then you can reassume your position. We’ll see a dust cloud well in advance of any approaching vehicles. Come, on.”

  After a pause, Iggy said, “Affirmative.”

  Camille squatted beside GENGHIS, the AK slung around her shoulder. She pulled off her shooting glove. “Iggy has QuikClot, but I don’t want to wait. You’re losing too much blood.”

  “Don’t bother with me. I’m fine.” GENGHIS tried to stand, then sat back down again.

  “Dizzy?” Camille said as she glanced at the prisoner, who seemed to be compliant.

  “Yeah.”

  The hole was smaller than she expected for a second-hand steel-core cartridge. It must have hit a lot of bone, which slowed it down as it went through the guard. She had learned long ago not to second-guess gunshot wounds. Shots that should never kill often did and others that should’ve inflicted substantial damage sometimes barely slowed a target down. “Sorry. You moved a split-second after I squeezed off.”

  “If I’d moved a few more inches, you would’ve had one shot, two kills—doesn’t get better than that in this business,” GENGHIS said, his voice stressed. He kept the Makarov pointed at the prisoner, although his aim wasn’t steady.

  Sand was caked onto her fingers. She raked them across his pant leg, then she stuck them into her mouth and sucked as much sand and dirt off them as she could. She spat onto the ground, then pulled back on the edges of the wound. “This is going to hurt like hell. Brace yourself,” she said as she thrust her fingers into the wound and pressed. It was warm, wet and soft. “How the hell did you get a ticket for that flight with Hunter?”

  “Pete set me up. She’s your traitor.”

  “I know. How you doing?”

  “Alive,” GENGHIS said in a whisper, his jaws clenched. “Just keep talking.”

  “You’re in good hands. Daddy trained me well for combat wounds. You know he used to shoot my pet goats? It was up to me to save them or else they were Sunday dinner.”

  “Sounds like Charlie. The man understood motivation.” GENGHIS smiled, but it was strained as he fought the pain. “You ever lose one?”

  “Not many.”

  Camille looked up as Iggy approached, lugging his gear. Hers was still on the dune. He kept his AK aimed at the prisoner as he dropped his pack near GENGHIS. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Pete sent me,” GENGHIS said.

  “What are you talking about? Where is Pete?” Iggy glanced around as he pulled the medic kit from his rucksack.

  “Dead.” Camille sighed. The bleeding was under control as long as she kept the pressure up. “She made a move on me.”

  “She’s always making moves on you,” Iggy said with a laugh as he used his teeth to tear open a foil packet of QuikClot. “I hope for once this shit lives up to its sales pitch. So where is Pete?”

  “I’m serious. She tried to kill me. I didn’t have a choice.” Camille pulled her fingers from the wound and Iggy handed her the packet. She poured the grains directly into the hole. The substance turned dark. “This stuff always reminds me of kitty litter.”

  “Jesus. Pete’s our mole?”

  “Whoever she was working for must not want me comparing notes with Hunter. And I’m guessing that’s the CIA.” Camille stopped pouring the grains into the wound when the top layer quit soaking up fluid and remained light beige.

  “Who the hell is our prisoner?” Iggy said as he gathered weapons from the dead guards, all the while looking around for any movement.

  “Dammed if we know,” GENGHIS said.

  “You ask him?”

  “We’ve been busy getting this bleeding under control. I can sew the artery up later.” Camille took a piece of gauze and applied pressure. The QuikClot made the wound give off so much heat, she had to add an extra layer to insulate her hand. When she was convinced the coagulant had worked its wonders, she wrapped a dressing around his arm to maintain the pressure.

  Iggy yelled to the prisoner. “You got a name?”

  “Larry Ashland.”

  “I’ve heard of you.” Iggy laughed. “You’re the French spook the Agency nabbed yesterday, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but I’m on your side in this. Cut me free,” Ashland said, kneeling exactly as Camille had
instructed him.

  “I have a hard time imagining me being on the same side as the French,” Iggy said.

  Camille squinted. Even with her dark sunglasses, the sun was glaring. Her undershirt was completely drenched between her breasts and her skin was burning. “No way is the Agency going to nail some French mole, then hand him off to Rubicon, even if Rubicon is running some of their rendition flights. It doesn’t add up.”

  “Nothing about Rubicon adds up,” Ashland said.

  “You got that right,” Iggy said.

  Camille pulled out an IV bag of saline from the medic kit. It was hot. Too hot. She broke open an instant ice pack and duct-taped it to the bag. “I’m going to get GENGHIS into the shadow of that dune, then start the IV as soon as it cools.” Camille stood. “I want off this runway when Hunter makes it. If he’s alive, he’ll be back. I’m not sure if he saw me, but he’d never leave a man behind. He’ll be back for GENGHIS and the others.”

  “My legs are good.” GENGHIS stood slowly, then plopped back down.

  An oily puddle had collected underneath him. One down, four to go. She was surprised he wasn’t going into shock. GENGHIS was one tough mother.

  “You grab the weapons and keep an eye on the prisoner.” Camille reached under GENGHIS’ arms, careful not to re-injure him and took a deep breath. He must have weighed over two hundred pounds—all muscle. She turned to Ashland. “Tell me something I don’t know about Rubicon and we’ll let you come into the shade with us. Otherwise, you’re going to bake here until that plane comes back and runs you over.”

  “As I said, we’re on the same side. I’ll share all I know.” Sweat rolled down Ashland’s forehead.

  “Start talking.” Camille started walking away, supporting GENGHIS.

  “Rubicon is working with al-Zahrani. I don’t know exactly how or what, but the project’s called SHANGRI-LA.”

  Camille stopped when she heard a code name Chronister had used in the intercepted conversation. “What do you know about SHANGRI-LA?”

  “I’ve spent nearly two years at Rubicon trying to find out about SHANGRI-LA. It’s highly compartmentalized. I only know the Iraqi side. Rubicon ships weapons seized from insurgents for use in the project.”

  “Where is SHANGRI-LA?”

  “Uzbekistan.”

  “You’re joking.” Iggy chuckled. “SHANGRI-LA is in this hellhole? At least they have a sense of humor.”

  Camille walked GENGHIS to a strip of shade, a dune’s thin shadow. Even without the direct sun, the temperature was agonizing. She eased him down, praying the QuikClot didn’t pop out.

  Iggy carried the scavenged weapons to the shady spot, piling them beside Camille. She knew the only reason he wasn’t in a greater hurry to get back to the overwatch position had to be because he wanted to move out immediately. She wanted to give Hunter more time, though she couldn’t imagine what could be taking him so long to circle around and land the damn plane unless the pilots had somehow taken him out first. But it was Hunter. He had to be fiddling around with some cool gadgets, making sure he mastered them before he set it down. He had to be.

  She harvested a pair of cheap sunglasses from one of the guards and handed them to GENGHIS.

  “Thanks,” GENGHIS said as he put them on.

  Iggy started checking the weapons one by one. “Get him mobile. I want to egress and get to that LZ. Someone from Rubicon is going to come looking for their buddies.”

  Camille tightened GENGHIS’ belt and raised his feet onto a rucksack to slow down the onset of shock. Cutting back on circulation to the lower body was usually not a good idea, but in this case she was more worried about the vital organs. “I’ve got to pump fluids into him. And I don’t want to move. Hunter will be back.”

  “Cam,” Iggy said as he shoved a magazine back into an AK. “It’s been twenty minutes. That’s about two hundred miles in a Gulfstream.”

  “It’s fifteen minutes and he’ll be back.” She was certain of it. Hunter had convinced her of his loyalty and that loyalty would extend to his fellow prisoners. She wasn’t going to doubt him again.

  “We need to send a burst to our contact in Zarafshan and get the hell out of here.”

  “He will be back.”

  “We can’t wait.”

  “I’m not moving.”

  Iggy shook his head as he stared at her. “You’ve got fifteen minutes and that’s it.”

  She scanned the area, ready to provide cover fire as Iggy climbed back to an overwatch position. Then she touched the IV bag and decided it was good enough. She tore open a needle packet and pushed the needle into GENGHIS’ forearm to start the IV. She studied Ashland, unsure what to make of him.

  Camille said to him, “What do you really think SHANGRI-LA’s all about? You have to have a theory.”

  “I can’t prove it, but I’d bet everything I own that Rubicon is helping al-Zahrani train terrorists.” Ashland wiped sweat from his brow. His wrists were still bound.

  “This al-Zahrani guy isn’t exactly a politico who can be bought off. He’s a true believer.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t know he has corporate sponsorship.”

  “You know, sometimes I even feel a little guilty the War on Terror has been so good to me, but there’s nothing I’d like more than to see every tango wiped off the face of the earth. I can’t imagine even Rubicon supporting the fuckers.” Camille squeezed the bag, forcing the saline into GENGHIS’ arm faster. She radioed Iggy. “He’s going to need more than this. There’s another one in Pete’s ruck.”

  “I’ll get it,” Iggy said.

  “No. I will. Maintain position.”

  “I’ll go,” Iggy said. “You don’t need to see her again.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Camille said. Her lips were cracked and her mouth parched. She sipped from a canteen and leaned her head back, looking at the deep blue sky.

  No Hunter.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Gora Muruntau, Kyzyl Kum Desert, Uzbekistan

  A carpet of black flies and beetles already covered Pete’s throat and face. Their constant movement made it harder for Camille to stare at the motionless body. She forced herself to reach for the butt of the Makarov in Pete’s hand, but the muscles had already tightened so that she would have to break the fingers. Rigor mortis came fast in the desert heat. One 9mm pistol wouldn’t make that much of a difference in their arsenal, so Camille decided to cut herself a break and let it go.

  The dry desert wind wiped away her tears, but couldn’t blow away the pain. Camille bowed her head and averted her eyes as she felt the hollowness that always follows a kill. She scooped up a handful of sand and let it flow out of her fist onto the body. She knew she had to hurry back with the IV solution, but she stood there, paralyzed by memories of the flesh giving way as she pulled the knife through Pete’s trachea.

  At first, Camille thought her guilt was haunting her when she felt a steel blade pressing against her throat.

  “Don’t move,” a man said in Arabic.

  Camille held her breath, hoping that Iggy was watching through his scope and could get a clear shot. The man’s hand pressed against the back of her head and she couldn’t move without slitting her throat.

  The Arab slid her Makarov from the thigh holster, then the knife from her ankle holster. She looked around, searching for an opening. Pete’s Makarov was less than two feet from her, but they couldn’t help her. The tip of the blade pierced the skin under her chin and she could feel blood drip down her neck.

  Come on, Iggy.

  Then she saw the Gulfstream banking to align itself with the runway and she knew Iggy was distracted.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Gora Muruntau, Kyzyl Kum Desert, Uzbekistan

  The Gulfstream’s airstairs couldn’t go down fast enough for Hunter. He couldn’t wait another moment to see Stella. When they were low enough for him to get a good look outside, he spotted two men in the shadow of a nearby dune and a pile of bodies on the runway, but no Stell
a.

  Oh god. I hit her on takeoff.

  As the stairs were being lowered to the ground, Hunter bounded down them, then dashed across the runway to the men. Thanks to the Day-Glo prison coveralls, he immediately recognized Ashland and GENGHIS. As he approached them, he could hear a voice coming over an oversized walkie-talkie.

  “LIGHTNING SIX, come in. Report.,”

  “Where is she?” Hunter shouted. “LIGHTNING SIX, where is she?”

  “LIGHTNING SIX, come in.”

  “We just lost contact,” GENGHIS said and pointed. “She went up there, Twelve o’clock, five hundred meters.”

  “Radio your overwatch and tell him I’m going there and not to shoot me.” Hunter said as he scooped up an AK and checked it for ammo. “Get into the aircraft. Take what gear you can and make sure you load the body of the other prisoner. He’s a Bushman. We don’t leave men behind.”

  “Neither does Delta,” GENGHIS said.

  As Hunter ran up the dune, he could see a contorted lifeless body lying in the sand. Everything in him screamed. She couldn’t be dead. Not when he was this close. The sand crumbled away under his feet and he could hardly get any traction, as if the desert itself were struggling against him, trying to keep him from seeing her.

  His feet finally found some packed sand and he was able to make some progress. He got close enough to see the body and forced himself to look.

  Stella’s alive!

  Or at least the corpse wasn’t hers.

  “Looks like it happened a while ago,” Hunter said as an operator with an artificial hand walked up. He knew him by reputation as Iggy, Stella’s chief ops officer.

  “Camille’s work. I’ll fill you in later.” Iggy was breathing hard. He scanned the horizon with his binoculars, then lowered them. “She came back to grab the med kit to help that worthless son of a bitch GENGHIS.”