Hawkins easily reconstructed the murderous assault.
The helicopters would have used the camel hump as cover and swooped in with Gatling guns blazing. The Afghans had fought back with their automatic weapons, but their defense would have been useless in the face of the withering stream of hot lead. After the guns had softened up the defenders, a missile was used to dispatch the troop carrier. The choppers had hovered over the lake for a few seconds before going into a holding pattern around the hump.
Hawkins pushed away a chilling thought. If Abby and Cait had stayed at the camp they would have been among the dead.
“Hey, Hawk. Heads up. Eleven o’clock.”
Hawkins’ eyes followed Calvin’s pointing finger. The larger helicopter had broken from the holding pattern and was heading back toward the lake.
Without another word, Calvin scrambled over the top of the cliff and started running toward the shredded framework of their tents. The attack had concentrated mostly on the troop carrier, but shrapnel had torn through the tent fabric.
“Where the hell are you going?” Hawkins yelled at his friend’s back.
Calvin raised his arm in a follow-me gesture and shouted something about needing help.
The helicopter was coming in fast.
Hawkins swore lustily and clambered over the edge of the cliff. Calvin was at the ruined tents, and he ripped aside the tattered fabric and reached inside. He was struggling to lift a heavy metal locker when Hawkins arrived and grabbed one of the handles. They lugged the locker back toward the cliff, then down the banking to the water.
Hawkins started up toward the cliff again.
“Hey, Hawk, where the hell are you going?”
Calvin’s voice was almost drowned out by the noise of the approaching rotors.
Hawkins gave Calvin the hand signal to stay down and raised his head slightly above the edge.
A charcoal-colored Blackhawk helicopter armed with missile pods on its stubby wings was setting down a few hundred feet from the blazing troop carrier. Seconds after the skids touched ground, the doors flew open and four men carrying AK-47s popped out. They were dressed in camouflage suits with no insignia. Black berets covered their heads. Their facial complexion and body type reflected a variety of nationalities, but they all had the hard-eyed, alert expression of professional soldiers.
Four more men got out. They were carrying duffle bags which they set on the ground. As the armed men stood guard, the quartet opened the bags and began to pull out air tanks and other dive equipment.
Finally, two more men emerged from the chopper. Hawkins couldn’t believe his eyes when a portly man got out of the aircraft and he recognized the professor he had met at Georgetown University. Saleem had shed his tweeds and was dressed in a khaki army uniform, again with no insignia.
Hawkins’ disbelief was further tested when he saw the last man, wearing a similar uniform emerge. The man took a few steps, stopped and swiveled his head robotically to inspect the carnage. In that fleeting second Hawkins saw the face of one of the twin assassins who had shot up his office. The man went over to the divers, who were suiting up, and pointed toward the lake.
Hawkins ducked below the ledge and slid down the slope to where Calvin was waiting.
“We’ve got big trouble,” he said.
Over breakfast at the garden table in the courtyard of his house, Amir had been sharing reminiscences of his late wife with his two guests when he paused and looked first at Abby, then Cait.
“Tell me,” he said. “If the Prester John treasure were in your hands, what would you do with it?”
“I would put it in an exhibition that traveled the world so that people everywhere could see the wonders of the past,” Cait said.
“Spoken like a true seeker of knowledge. Would those people be primarily in the more affluent countries?”
“A fair question. I would make sure the exhibition goes everywhere and that poor people could see it for free.”
“Better. But even if the treasure went on display, how would showing a priceless treasure better the lives of people in a poor country like Afghanistan?”
“By giving them pride in their culture. The glories of their past would show them that they once had a level of civilization that equaled or even surpassed that of Western Europe.”
Amir nodded and turned to Abby. “Do you agree?”
“Cultural pride is a good thing,” Abby said, “but you can’t eat it. I’d slap a big price on the admission tickets and use the treasure as the basis for books, films, videos, reproductions. The money earned would go into a foundation that would distribute the income to countries where it would do the most good.”
“Brilliant!” Amir said. “Could you be persuaded to run this foundation?”
“With your business background, you’d be a perfect choice,” Cait said.
“Thanks for the flattering offer, but I’m pretty busy with my company.”
“Not too busy to travel halfway across the world to go on a dangerous treasure hunt,” Cait said.
“Matt wouldn’t let me say no.” She shrugged. “I guess I’m a sucker when it comes to my ex-husband.”
Cait’s jaw dropped. “You were married to Matt?”
“For a few years, after a whirlwind navy romance.”
“You have good taste in men. He’s extremely attractive.”
“If you’re hinting that I was a fool to give him up, you’re probably right. But Matt would probably agree with me that it was the right thing to do at the time.”
“At the time,” Cait echoed, cocking her head.
Abby knew Cait was about to use her answer as a jumping off place to ask whether things had changed. She liked Cait, but her past was her own business, and she would not be shy about saying so. Amir may have seen the pugnacious look in her eye because he diverted the conversation back to the subject of the treasure.
“Maybe Abby would be interested in your thoughts on the exact nature of the treasure, Dr. Cait.”
Abby gave Amir a smile of thanks for allowing her a graceful exit.
“Be glad to,” Cait said. “Prester John described himself as being fabulously rich and said that he ruled his kingdom with an emerald-encrusted golden scepter. My research suggests that he sent some of his treasure as a gift to the Pope and the scepter as a gesture of solidarity.”
“I could use a scepter like that to rule my own little kingdom,” Amir said with a wry smile.
“You may have the artifact in your hands soon, if Matt’s dive is successful.”
“Then we should soon be on our way,” Amir said. He rose from his chair and said, “My car will be here in fifteen minutes.”
As Abby headed for her room, Cait reached out and touched her arm.
“Thanks for persuading me to spend the night here, and for the first aid on my face,” she said. “I owe you an apology, too. I was pushing too close to your personal business.”
Abby saw from Cait’s expression that she was truly sorry.
“The stuff with Matt? Don’t worry,” she said before setting off down the hallway. “That’s water under the bridge. We’re just good friends, although we may not even be that by the time this adventure is over. Your face looks great by the way. Make-up is a wonderful thing. See you in ten.”
Amir was at the wheel of the touring car. An armed guard sat beside him and two more tribesmen were tucked into the jump seats behind the seated women. More guards rode in the Russian Jeep, behind the Caddy, and others in the DPV, which brought up the rear.
As usual, Amir drove at breakneck speed. They were flying through the agricultural fields when suddenly a pick-up truck appeared coming in the opposite direction. The driver was blinking the headlights and leaning on the horn.
Truck and car simultaneously came to a screeching stop. Amir shouted in anger in Pashto. The driv
er babbled back at him.
Amir listened for a moment, a grim expression on his face, then he turned to Cait and Abby. “This man says smoke and noise are coming from the camp where your friends are.”
He put the touring car in gear and they covered the distance to the lake in ten minutes. He stopped at the edge of the bluff and with Abby and Cait following, he hobbled to the cliff to peer through binoculars at a black cloud rising from the opposite shore.
“What’s going on?” Abby said.
The Amir handed the binoculars to Abby and pointed across the lake.
“My eyes aren’t what they used to be. Tell me if you see anything.”
Abby studied the camp site for a moment, and said, “Too much smoke.” She handed the glasses to Cait, who had no better luck.
Amir rattled off a series of orders to his men. The Russian Jeep continued on the road around the lake and the desert vehicle headed back to the compound.
“I’ve sent some of my men to scout out the camp and others to warn the village. Somehow, someone got past our outposts. It looks as if I will have to make an apology to Mr. Hawkins for doubting his warnings….”
Amir left off the last part of his comment, but his unspoken words hung in the air.
. . . .If he is still alive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
As he stepped out of the helicopter and looked around at the scene of death and destruction, the professor felt as if he were spinning down into a black vortex of violence from which there was no escape. He’d failed to come up with a way to save lives.
Marzak exited behind Saleem and inhaled the oily miasma deep into his lungs as if testing the nose of a fine wine. The crackle of flames was music to his ears. His pulse raced with excitement, while his glowering eyes burned with a blue fire.
The mercenaries poured out of the helicopter to mop things up, no more emotional than cattle killers in a slaughterhouse. Marzak noticed the rope leading from the truck’s bumper toward the lake. He strode to the cliff and saw where the line led into the water. He ordered the divers to suit up and get into the lake to find Hawkins.
The professor heard the order and raised his hand. “I was under the impression that we were here to look for a treasure. If we encounter the Americans we will take care of them, but it is not our primary goal.”
“It is my primary goal. The Doctor gave me command of these men.”
“And my cousin gave me control of their paychecks.”
Marzak’s nostrils flared in anger. He drew his pistol from his belt, aimed at a wounded man who was attempting to crawl away and dispatched him with a clean shot to the head.
The cold-blooded murder seemed to calm him down. “My apologies, professor. My brother’s death still preys on my mind.”
The professor was aware, especially after the cold-blooded murder he had just witnessed, that his control over Marzak was an illusion. The best he could do was delay. “I understand your feelings. I only ask that your revenge wait.”
“Yes, of course. But please allow these men to do a quick search before they look for the treasure cave.”
“A reasonable compromise,” the professor agreed, knowing that there was little else he could do.
Marzak nodded and went over to the divers to give them their amended orders.
The four divers had donned black military style wetsuits and air tanks and were checking the loads in their APS underwater assault rifles. Developed by the Russians, the rifle had a folding butt stock and an odd-shaped oversized magazine that could hold up to twenty-six rounds. The weapon fired steel dart cartridges and had an underwater range of more than a hundred feet. Each rifle had a knife-bayonet for close combat.
The divers used the descent line to climb down to the water’s edge, where they plunged in and quickly disappeared below the blue surface of the lake.
Minutes earlier, Hawkins had scrambled down the same slope and grabbed Calvin by the arm.
“We’re going to have company,” he warned. “Four guys packing APSes.”
“Better give me a hand with this, then.” Cal grabbed a strongbox handle.
Hawkins put his doubts aside, took hold of the box, and they pulled it down the slope into the water. Around the fifty feet level Calvin signaled a stop and opened the container. The object inside looked like a turbo-drive hairdryer.
Hawkins recognized the Heckler and Koch P11underwater pistol. The thick handle housed a battery pack that electrically ignited the cartridges tucked into the short, fat barrel unit. The cartridges fired steel darts around four inches long with an effective underwater range of about forty feet. Hawkins had trained on the weapon, but never used one in combat.
Calvin extracted several half-pound blocks of C-4 plastic explosive packed in foil, a time fuse, M-60 fuse lighter and blasting cap from his pack and handed them to Hawkins, who tucked them into his vest pockets.
Hawkins raised his eyes, saw four dark shapes silhouetted against the silvery surface glimmer and jerked his thumb down. They used every muscle in their legs to propel themselves to where Fido hovered next to the big boulder. Hawkins had designed the submersible with an external control panel. He doused the headlights and looked up to see a quartet of falling stars floating down into the dark water. The divers had flicked on their flashlights and were making a cautious descent, four abreast.
“I’ve got a dart for each one of those guys with an extra,” Calvin said.
Hawkins knew from his own experience how hard it was to get a bead on a moving target with the Heckler and Koch. The four APS rifles gave the pursuing divers greater range and more than a hundred chances to make a hit.
“Stay close by and get ready to shoot when I tell you,” he said.
He tilted Fido up at the front so the submersible was directed at the divers who had closed the distance by half. Hawkins waited until they were around twenty feet away, then clicked on the headlights.
The divers were clearly illuminated as they shielded their eyes against the powerful halogens with their free hands.
“Now!” Hawkins said.
Calvin fired his weapon at the closest diver. The dart missed by a foot or more. The divers shot at the AUV’s light array using tracer darts followed by killing projectiles. Three of the darts missed, but one thunked into the plastic housing. Hawkins doused Fido’s headlights. A flight of darts shot past them, missing by inches. While the rifles were recharging, Calvin pumped two shots at the darkness behind the nearest flashlight.
There was no sound to announce a hit, but the light jerked in a dozen different directions. Hawkins turned the lights on again and saw a diver clutching the shaft of the dart sticking from his rib cage. Dark blood flowed from the wound.
His companions saw the same horrible sight and kicked frantically toward the surface.
“Good shooting, Cal.”
“Crap! There are still three of them.”
“What would you do if you were them?” Hawkins asked.
“I’d pop some grenades into the water. Even if they miss, the blast will soften us up for a quick assault. Even better, I’d have a chopper pop a missile down our throats.”
“Now what would you do if you were us?”
“Get the hell out of here!”
“We’ll have to surface when our air runs out. The choppers will be patrolling the lake ready to turn us into hamburger. We need a distraction. Follow me.”
Hawkins swam toward the body of the now dead diver. He grabbed him by a fin and held the corpse steady. With the other hand he pulled the C-4 packets out of his vest and handed them to Calvin who knew exactly what his friend was thinking. While Hawkins used Fido to provide light, Calvin bundled four packets with a couple of turns of time fuse. Then he attached a tubular blasting cap to the free end of the fuse.
“This burns at around forty seconds per foot. We’ve got around fifty f
eet of water above our heads.”
He did the mental calculations, cut off a length of fuse, then attached an M-60 fuse lighter to the end he’d just cut. When they were ready, Hawkins inflated the dead man’s vest until the body had positive buoyancy. Timing would have to be just right.
He gave Calvin an okay signal and pushed the body off.
“You’ve been hanging out with us too long,” he said to the dead diver. “Time to spread yourself around.”
He waited to make sure the body was rising at the expected rate of speed, and then gave Calvin an okay signal. Calvin removed the safety pin, pulled back the spring-loaded firing pin and released it, lighting the fuse.
“Fire in the hole!”
Hawkins and Calvin turned Fido around. Hawkins increased speed with the external throttle. Using the power from the submersible and their Pegasus units, they began to move with agonizing slowness deeper into the lake.
The divers were furious at losing a man in an ambush.
They had forged a more prudent strategy and were stacking the grenades at the edge of the cliff, when one of them glanced at the water and shouted, “Look!”
A shiny black object bobbed to the surface around thirty feet from shore and rolled over to reveal the dead white face of the missing diver.
The divers forgot their improvised depth bomb attack, clambered down the hill, splashed into the water and began swimming toward the body.
Standing at the edge of the bluff, Marzak focused his binoculars on the dead diver and saw a thin plume of gray smoke rising from the dead man’s chest.
He threw the field glasses aside and sprinted inland away from the water.
The Doctor and Professor Saleem had wondered what the fuss was about and were walking his way when he waved his hands at them.
“Run!” he shouted.
They wheeled about and dug in their heels, not sure why.
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