by Harold Coyle
While scaling a rocky slope she took stock of her assets: a coat and gloves and the Klimov that Frank Leopole had insisted she take. Thank you, Frank. You were right, you sweet man.
Once settled beneath a protected outcropping, Padgett-Smith tried to get comfortable. She knew it was an impossible task but she wanted to sleep sitting up, if she could sleep at all. In the tight quarters she checked her AKS to ensure it was loaded and set it aside. Then she drew her Browning, chambered a round, and applied the safety. It was going to be a long, lonely night.
BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE
After securing the area, Lee deployed lookouts on each side of the ravine. He was discussing where to proceed when Khan ambled into the group, limping slightly. Most of the talk was about Padgett-Smith. “I saw her about forty meters northeast of me,” Khan related. “I was going after her when my foot slipped into a crack in the shale. My ankle won’t support my full weight for a while.”
“What was she doing?”
“I do not know. I just looked up and saw her out there…”
“She was chasing the damn mule,” Hendricks exclaimed. “It must’ve broken loose from its handler when the shooting started. I guess she was worried about her microscopes and stuff.”
Lee focused on the former policeman. “If you saw that…”
“Well, sir, I was kinda busy. You know, shooting and reloading and shooting.” Hendricks kept a level tone in his voice. “I saw Major Khan headed that way and figured he’d catch her. I didn’t know he twisted his ankle.”
Lee checked his watch. “That was barely thirty minutes ago. She can’t be very far away.”
O’Neil interjected. “Well, we can’t go stumbling around in the dark, calling her name. The gooners would find her… or us.”
Lee rubbed his bearded chin. “Concur. She’s a smart lady. She’ll fort up somewhere and stay put. We’ll go find her come sunup.” He looked around. “Meanwhile, let’s leg it out of here while we still have some light. We’ll find another spot for a night defensive position. Cold camp: no fires, no lights, and damn little talking.”
BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE
Kassim sized up the mule handler as a man who would respond to reason.
“Son of a whore! You take the Americans’ money and lead them to us!” The Syrian made a show of drawing his knife. Eight inches of honed, rusty steel glinted before the captive’s eyes.
The Pakistani noncom watched the blade waving before him. He almost admired the way the steel weaved and danced. He found himself speaking freely, completely, and honestly. The interrogation lasted less than ten minutes before the man’s knowledge was drained.
Ali, who had remained concealed during the process, consulted with Kassim after the prisoner was led away to an uncertain fate. “What do you think?”
“I believe that he held nothing back.” Kassim gave his wolfish grin. “Bare steel and loud voices frequently produce results.”
“Well?”
“The team is composed of a Pakistani major, a doctor, medic, and two other animal handlers. There are six Americans and the English woman. That vermin”—Kassim nodded toward the departing noncom—”says the mules carried very little medical supplies. Mostly camping equipment, food, water, and some fodder.”
Ali shifted his weight and folded his arms — a sign of agitation. “Kassim, what is their purpose?” His voice was flat, urgent.
“Presumably they were providing medical assistance to the poor in this area. The bought dog believes they had another purpose related to the woman but he says he was not informed of the details. I tend to believe him.”
“Surely he must have overheard something more.”
Kassim leaned slightly forward for emphasis. “Brother, I have much experience in such things. I tell you, he held nothing back.”
Ali accepted his colleague’s professional judgment. He began thinking ahead. “You say we lost six men?”
“Seven, counting Loal. He will live but he is useless for now.”
“You realize that we must press them tomorrow. As hard and as fast as possible. They can be flown out almost any time.”
Kassim spread his hands. “More men are on the way here. They should arrive before morning, but as I have said: concentrating against the Americans leaves us weak elsewhere.”
Ali nodded his understanding. “Yes, I know. But this is the decisive point at this moment.” He jabbed a bony finger earthward. “If we kill more Americans tomorrow, they will almost certainly leave. It will give us more time to send the next couriers to their destiny.”
The Syrian veteran bobbed his head in assent. “I hear, brother, and I obey.” He turned to go.
“Kassim!”
“Yes?”
“I want the woman. Alive if possible, but dead if you must.”
“As you wish, Doctor.”
26
SSI OFFICES
The Pandora Project had turned to hash.
Derringer read Mohammed’s email, then read it again out loud. “Lee’s SSI-Pak search team ambushed late yesterday border area near Chaman. One Pak KIA, one MIA, and Norton WIA serious. Padgett-Smith missing. Lee searching this AM and will advise ASAP. Interrogation of one POW indicates probable aQ connection. Helo extraction likely today depending on CPS results. Suggest withholding notification of NOK until later. Omar.”
Derringer shoved back from his console and stood up. Then he realized that he had no idea where he was likely to go. He sat down again, staring at the screen. He wondered if he should call Phillip Catterly to announce Padgett-Smith’s disappearance, then thought better of it. If she were not found today, there would be ample time to pass the word to her colleague in Maryland and her next of kin in Britain.
BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE
Dr. Carolyn Padgett-Smith awoke with a start. She did not know what had stirred her, but the knowledge came edging up with the gray dawn. I did sleep after all.
It had been a hard night, literally and figuratively. Though the rocky depression was mostly out of the wind, there was no way to get comfortable in her stony sanctuary. She scooted her bottom across the hard, flat surface and heard a faint ripping sound. She knew immediately that her favorite Gore-Tex parka had torn again but she barely gave a thought to the 180 Pounds she had invested in it. Her hideout was full of snags, and another ripstop hole could hardly matter.
The crest was growing more discernable in the faint light, but most of the hill remained hidden in shadow. With her knees drawn up, she realized that her pistol had fallen between her feet. She retrieved it and laid it beside her. In a little while the hillside below would become visible and she could deploy the Klimov.
Water. She realized that she was thirsty but she also wanted to rinse the night taste from her mouth. Having no canteen, she put the thought out of mind. As per her training and inclination, she reviewed yesterday’s events, cataloging her list of errors. I was such a twit. I wanted to keep up with the young men so I put most of my kit on the mule. Damn it! I know better than that! In terrain like this you always, always keep water and some rations on you. Imbecile. Idiot. Twit.
She began wondering what she would say to Lee and the others— assuming they found her. No, stop it, Carolyn! Figure what you will say when they find you.
Breezy. His short description of the gunshot signal forced its way to the front of her consciousness. She had not thought of it since beginning her climb last evening. She risked a glance around the corner of her hideout, trying to see into the narrow path below. It was still dark. She decided that when she could see the trail she would fire the shots, evenly spaced. Undoubtedly the SSI team would be looking for her by then.
Undoubtedly.
BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE
Kassim was taking no chances. False foot or not, he led the impromptu band of fighters toward the scene of the previous evening’s firefight. He had neither requested permission from Ali nor informed him. Sometimes a leader had to lead from the front.
The point m
an came across the spot where the infidels had been ambushed. He knelt down, as it was now light enough to read the evidence. Spent brass littered the ground, with occasional hoofprints where laden mules had left their mark. The soil was too hard in most places for mere humans to make an imprint.
The infidels had left the holy warriors’ bodies in a row. At least there was no desecration, and someone — probably a Pakistani — had covered them with blankets and a tarp. The scout pulled back one corner to study the lifeless faces of his fellow mujahadin. He recognized only two. Mohammed and Weanus had fought at his side a time or two. The others were newer recruits. One appeared to be about fifteen. Now, all were honored in Paradise.
Kassim followed the point man by less than five minutes. When he appeared, they briefly consulted on the best course to follow. The scout, a twenty-six-year-old laborer named Dualeh, noted where two mules had run off, frightened by the sudden gunfire. The third emerged from the hard ground onto a softer path, obviously walking rather than running. A few bootprints indicated that the animal had been under human control.
“This way,” Dualeh said.
The twelve men began following the trail northeasterly, keeping intervals with flankers on each side, according to Kassim’s orders.
A single gunshot split the crisp morning air.
The hunters stopped in place, then spread half and half to each side of the trail, rifles pointed uphill. They were somewhat slow, but Kassim was pleased with their response. A little training could go a long way.
Another shot. Kassim thought that it was a pistol. Somewhere behind them.
About one minute passed. A third shot, then nothing.
Kassim turned to Dualeh. “That is no coincidence. It must be some kind of signal.” Without waiting, the Syrian jogged to the rear of the column, his awkward gait evident but of little hindrance. He shouted, “Aana!” Come! The others turned to follow their leader, now up front again.
* * *
Half a kilometer northeast, Steve Lee and Rustam Khan heard a faint sound. Abruptly they stopped and listened. Bosco and Breezy were close behind. Bosco asked, “What’s up, dude?”
Breezy raised a hand for silence. He heard the next pop and checked his watch.
Sixty-one seconds later another shot cracked out, ringing off a canyon wall. Breezy paced the distance to Lee. “Sir, that’s gotta be her. Remember? I told her to cap off three rounds a minute apart.”
Lee regarded Mr. Brezyinski with newfound respect. Maybe he’s not such a juvenile delinquent after all. “All right, you convinced me. We’ll hustle off that way with six of us. The rest will stay here with the mule and the casualties.”
Breezy asked, “Should we shoot three in reply?” As soon as he spoke, he realized the answer.
“Negative, Brezyinski. There could be hostiles out there. No point in telling them where we are. Besides, she’ll repeat the signal in ten mikes, right?”
“Uh, yessir.”
Lee turned briefly to face his team. “Combat check, gentlemen. Round chambered, safety on, drop your rucks. We may have to move fast.”
Lee, Khan, Breezy, Bosco, Hendricks, and O’Neil set a quick pace with the rising sun at their backs.
* * *
Padgett-Smith waited nine minutes, then hefted the pistol again. She was disappointed in hearing no response but realized that her friends might not be within earshot yet.
Once again she ran the math. With ten rounds remaining she could fire the three-shot signal for thirty more minutes with one round left. Save the last one for yourself, she gloomed. Then she looked down at the shorty AK, mindful that it held thirty more rounds. At that moment, how any female could object to firearms was far, far beyond her.
She held her watch close, waited the final minute, and raised the Browning once more.
* * *
Another shot echoed off the rocks. Dualeh walked forward while Kassim raised a hand, signaling a stop. Again his men deployed to either side of the road, forming a rude skirmish line. Kassim thought to look at his wristwatch. He seldom gave much thought to time — it was either a precious gift or a useful commodity, depending upon circumstances. He had experienced events in which men literally lived a lifetime in a few ticks of the clock — and the celestial sweep hand came to an abrupt stop.
He had also witnessed strong men praying aloud to their deity for time to end.
However, there were occasions when one badly wanted chronological precision. Coordinating troop movements or noting the routine of guard changes could be most useful. In this instance, he thought he discerned a pattern. He stood to one side of the path, watching his Russian timepiece. The second shot came approximately sixty seconds after the first.
The third was exactly on schedule.
Dualeh was facing southwesterly, his educated ears sensing the compass arc of the gunshots. He raised his AK’s muzzle and said, “This way, brother.” Then he was jogging down the trail.
Kassim whistled to his men. He would lead them in a fast walk for the next several minutes, then stop to listen again.
* * *
Lee raised a hand. He sensed his five men kneeling in a semicircle behind him, weapons pointed outward. “You heard that?” he asked.
“Yes,” Khan replied. Both men checked their watches. “She is punctual, this lady.” He smiled beneath his well trimmed mustache. “Like clockwork.”
Lee grunted in appreciation of the humor. It was not what he expected of most Pakistani officers, who in his experience tended toward the studious. The team continued walking, gaining more ground before the next two shots.
At the third round, Lee stopped again and raised his pocket binoculars. He knew he was still too far to see the doctor but he wanted a better idea of the terrain. More to himself than to Khan he said, “She’ll probably be in the high ground where she can see us coming.”
“Or them,” Khan added.
With a start, Lee realized that CPS would have a hard time distinguishing friendlies from hostiles. Both sides dressed much alike and bore the same weapons. Without explaining, he broke into a trot, leaving the others to catch up.
* * *
Padgett-Smith capped her twelfth round thirty-eight minutes after the first. The sun was well up, but she had seen no indication of any people on the trail some 220 meters downslope. She holstered the Browning with its one remaining cartridge and picked up the AKS. She wondered how much of her precious ammunition she should continue expending with no result.
* * *
At the fourth set of shots, Kassim’s searchers had closed the distance toward the English woman’s rocky tor. His focus had increasingly been drawn to the most prominent overhang on the south side of the ravine. He turned to one of his men. “Koali, you speak English.” It was a statement but was meant as a question.
Achmed Koali, an erstwhile engineering student, stepped forward. “Yes, brother.”
“When they fire again, I will reply with three fast shots. You be prepared to call out.”
“What shall I say?”
Kassim’s face reddened in the slanting light. “Young fool! Just call to them. Ask where they are. Ask if they need assistance. Anything!”
Koali absorbed the mild rebuke with a nod and downcast eyes.
* * *
There they were!
Padgett-Smith caught the movement along the trail. Shadows appeared before the shapes of the men, their drab clothing blending with the surroundings. “Thank you, God!” she exclaimed aloud. She pointed the AK upward and fired three rounds spaced a few seconds apart.
Kassim stopped and turned his face upward to his left front. He could not see anyone but there was no doubt. The mysterious person or persons had to be somewhere near the military crest of the hill. He elevated his AKM and fired an identical response: three spaced rounds. Then he gestured to Koali.
The youngster raised a hand to his mouth. “Hello! Where are you?”
Padgett-Smith’s pulse spiked. She raised herself fro
m the cramped position and waved both arms over her head. “Up here! Up here!”
* * *
From barely a klick away, the Americans heard three shots followed by three more. Steve Lee turned to Rustam Khan. “Oh, shit.” Both men took off at a dead run. The others pounded along behind them.
* * *
“Let them come to us,” Kassim said.
He deployed his men in a skirmish line, prepared to meet the strangers with numbers and firepower in his favor. Once the shooter or shooters emerged into the open he would have a much better idea of what he faced. Meanwhile, his men would have the advantage of cover. One or two of the fighters — new to the trade — showed an edgy mixture of eagerness and tension. They knew what had happened the previous evening and Kassim resolved to keep an eye on them.
One figure emerged from the outcrop near the crest. With irritating slowness it made its way downward in a cautious, tentative descent that piqued the Syrian. He realized that if this person belonged to the Americans — which seemed nearly certain — the others would be looking for him. They undoubtedly would have heard the gunshots and were likely to appear from any quarter. Kassim made an adjustment to his perimeter, turning his flankers to face outward.
* * *
Padgett-Smith reached a short stretch of almost level ground. She stopped a moment to get her bearings, as the easier way down took her angling away from the men below. She looked at them while inhaling, allowing her heart to settle down.
Something was odd.
The numbers were about right, but she could not identify anyone. From 180 meters faces were indistinguishable, but after weeks with SSI she knew the men’s stance; their tactical moves. She tried to pick out Steve Lee or Breezy Brezyinski. She could not.
There were no mules.
Chasing a runaway mule had got her stranded all night, but surely at least one of the animals would have been caught by now. Wouldn’t it want to rejoin its friends or masters?
She felt a coldness descending upon the original flush of hope.