The Emerald Scepter

by Paul Kemprecos

  “Who was that pig?” Amir asked.

  “His name is Saleem. He’s with the ISI and I think he’s on our side, but it’s immaterial at this point.”

  Hawkins gave an edited version of his conversation with Saleem.

  “Are you really going to find the treasure for those murderers?”

  “I lied,” Hawkins said. “I’m stalling for time.” He turned to Calvin. “About those aces.”

  Calvin picked up a Stinger. “I’ve jury-rigged batteries to two missiles. The other systems are too far gone to fix.”

  “Will they work?”

  “Worth a try. These guys say they know how to use them.”

  “Two ‘maybe’ missiles against four heavily-armed choppers. Not great odds.”

  “No, but I’ve been thinking about something, Hawk. It’s going to sound crazy.”

  Calvin outlined his proposal.

  “You’re right. It’s brilliant, but crazy.”

  “It’s absolutely insane,” Amir said. “There is so much that could go wrong.”

  “I agree,” Hawkins said. “But at the least it will create a diversion to get the women and children out of the village. Is there any place close they can hide?”

  “The agricultural sheds are not far away and they’re camouflaged from the air. They might reveal themselves under close inspection, but they could work for the time being.”

  “Back to you, Cal.”

  “I say we go for it. Nobody would ever expect us to do something so nutty.”

  Hawkins looked at his wristwatch. “We’ve got fifty minutes to find out if you’re right.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Marzak paced back and forth near the grounded helicopter, stopping before each reverse turn to study the low-lying dun buildings. The suspicions ignited when Saleem said the offer had been accepted mounted as the minutes ticked by with no sign of Hawkins.

  His wristwatch alarm chimed. Three quarters of an hour had passed since Saleem’s return from his truce parley. Fifteen minutes to go. Then he’d unleash a storm of death on the village and every one in it, including Hawkins.

  More pacing. The watch chimed again, signaling that the hour had gone by. Marzak called the Cobra crews on a hand radio and told them to prepare for an attack on the village. As he clicked off he heard a blatting sound that seemed to come from outside the village. He sprinted toward the chopper. The pilot and co-pilot were sitting in the doorway enjoying a cigarette. He snatched the cigarette from the pilot’s lips.

  “Get this thing in the air!”

  The startled co-pilot ditched his cigarette and the flight crew hastily climbed into the helicopter and took their seats in the cockpit. The mercenaries who had been lounging nearby got into the cabin with their weapons.

  The professor was sitting in the shade of the chopper.

  “What’s going on?” he said.

  “We’re going to punish Hawkins and his friends.”

  The professor paled. “I’ll stay here,” he said. He pointed to his head. “Air sickness.”

  “Suit yourself.” Marzak vaulted into the cabin.

  The engine cranked into action and the chopper rose into the air and hovered a hundred feet off the ground with its nose pointed toward the village. Marzak put on his communications headset and leaned out the side window. The spinning blades had kicked up a cloud of dust.

  He reached forward and clamped a big hand on the pilot’s shoulder.

  “Higher. I can’t see a damned thing.”

  The chopper lifted higher until it was above the dust.

  He was pleased to see that the Cobras were aloft, noses pointed toward the village. He was about to give the command to attack when he saw a strange silhouette clawing its way into the air above the low buildings.

  Marzak couldn’t believe his eyes. An ungainly twin-engine biplane of impressive size was slowly circling over the rooftops. It had two sets of landing gear and a British air force insignia was painted on the boxy, chocolate-colored fuselage and mustard-hued wings. The plane was a couple of hundred feet off the ground, flying unevenly, pitching and yawing as if buffeted by a strong wind. Marzak spotted a gunner’s pulpit in the nose, ahead of the pilot. The sun reflected off the metal helmet worn by someone sitting in the cockpit.

  Before Marzak could bark a command, the biplane broke out of its circling pattern and did the unexpected. It flew directly toward the chopper, allowing for a clearer view of the man in the pulpit.

  He was wearing an odd-looking helmet that covered the top and sides of his head, but Marzak immediately recognized the broad grin on the dark-complexioned face under the visor. Marzak was amazed at Hawkins’ audacity, but pinning his hopes on that old flying crate was going to be his last mistake.

  Marzak told the pilot to bring the helicopter around to position his men for a broadside attack.

  During the hour Marzak was waiting, Amir passed out the operational Stinger missiles to the two men on the rooftop. He gave them instructions, made them repeat his words, and translated back into English for Hawkins and Calvin.

  Moving at amazing speed, considering his age and damaged leg, Amir led the way down the stairs and got in his car with Hawkins and Calvin speeding behind him in the desert vehicle. A minute later they pulled up in front of Amir’s house, which was swarming with armed guards and dozens of women and children who’d gathered there for shelter.

  Cait was busy trying to comfort Amir’s granddaughter, who had been crying with fright. The little girl calmed down when she saw her grandfather. Cait waved at Hawkins while Abby stepped off the porch and cut a path through the women and wailing children to greet Matt.

  “What’s going on, Matt?”

  “They called a truce. They want us to dive on the treasure. I said I would do it.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry; it was only an excuse to buy time. We need you to organize these people and get them ready to move to the agricultural sheds while Calvin and I prepare a distraction.”

  “What sort of distraction?” Abby said.

  Hawkins knew Abby wouldn’t settle for an evasive answer. “Something that’s risky as hell and may not work, Abby, but we’ve only got forty-five minutes to pull it together, so please don’t press me on this.”

  Abby pinioned him with a level gaze. “You’d damn better watch your ass, Hawkins, because I’m going to pull rank and insist that you have dinner with me before anyone else.”

  “I never argue with a superior officer,” Hawkins gave her a quick hug.

  He went over to the dune buggy and Calvin handed him his CAR-15. Calvin had attached an M-203 grenade launcher—basically a fifteen-inch-long aluminum tube and breech—to the underside of the barrel.

  Hawkins waved at Amir to signal that the operation was under way. Amir kissed his family good-bye, conferred with a couple of his lieutenants, then got into his car with the omnipresent bodyguards. The touring car led the way to the Folly of Empire museum.

  The group bustled past the weapons display and the Soviet vehicles into the airplane hangar. Amir’s men opened the wide doors leading out to the airstrip. Hawkins looked at his watch.

  Thirty-five minutes.

  Calvin climbed into the cockpit and familiarized himself with the controls. Hawkins got in the tank-like combat vehicle and started the engine. The sound was throaty but smooth. Maneuvering the massive vehicle was a challenge. Amir directed with waves of his cane and Hawkins drove it out of the hangar, backing it up to the front of the plane. Two cables were hooked up to the vehicle’s rear bumper and the other ends attached to the twin landing gear carriages under the plane.

  Hawkins began to accelerate the vehicle slowly, moving the plane inch by inch until it was out in the open. The cables were unhooked and he drove the vehicle to the side and trotted back into the hangar. Calvin was walking
around the plane, making a visual inspection.

  “Ready?” Hawkins said.

  “Amir’s head mechanic assures me that the engines are in excellent working order.”

  Hawkins glanced at the grease-stained man talking animatedly with Amir. “Then why does he look so nervous?”

  “You don’t really want me to spell it out for you, do you Hawk?”

  “No I don’t.”

  Amir had finished talking to his mechanic and hobbled over.

  “My mechanic says he will ask Allah to protect you. In case He chooses not to, gentlemen, and your plan goes awry, what do you suggest as a back up?”

  “It’s a win-win situation, Amir,” Hawkins said. “Whether we go down in flames or not, the distraction will allow you to get the villagers to the shed. Have your men lay down the heaviest fire possible. If they can nail a couple of the choppers, the others will turn tail. Sorry I can’t give you better odds than that.”

  “They are better than I expected.” Amir glanced at his watch. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

  Hawkins said, “I have a strange request to make, Amir.”

  Nothing these two Americans did would surprise Amir. He listened, simply nodded his head and ordered one of his men to carry out the request.

  They shook hands with Amir and climbed onto the lower wing. Calvin got into the cockpit while Hawkins snugged into the tight forward pulpit and placed the CAR-15 between his knees.

  Two men had been designated to start the propellers. The man on the right wing pulled the blade down, putting all his weight into the motion. Calvin fed fuel to the engine with the throttle. The man jumped out of the way as the wooden propeller rotated in a lazy spin that rapidly picked up speed. The man on his left went through the same exercise. The engines were attached to the fuselage only a few feet from the open cockpits and their sound was brain-scrambling.

  The man Amir had dispatched to carry out Hawkins’ request climbed onto the wing and handed him the Macedonian bronze helmet from the small arms exhibit.

  Hawkins handed him his cap and pulled the helmet on. It was tight, especially around the nose guard, but it fit. The helmet would offer protection from the wind blast in the pulpit, but he was hoping at the same time that he’d benefit from its warrior spirit. He was going to need any edge he could get.

  He raised his thumb in the classic OK. Calvin mimicked the gesture and fed more fuel to the carburetors. The plane crept forward. Calvin had difficulty balancing the three-hundred-sixty-horsepower Rolls-Royce engines, and the plane zigzagged in a crab-like fashion as it rolled toward the start of the landing strip. He didn’t want to lose momentum, so he gunned the throttles as soon as the bomber was pointing, more or less, at the landing strip. The plane rumbled ahead at a fast run.

  Hawkins put his sunglasses on to block the air blasting in his eyes. As the plane picked up speed, he bounced up and down on the hard seat as if he were sitting on a diving board. He squinted down the length of the landing strip. The plane had eaten up at least half the distance, but it seemed reluctant to leave the safety of the ground. They were bearing down on the end of the airstrip when the hundred-foot-span wings caught the air and the wheels lifted.

  The plane was slow in gaining altitude and cleared the tops of the hills at the end of the runway by just a few yards. Calvin managed to keep the nose at the right pitch to allow for a climb without stalling and they were a couple of hundred feet in the air by the time they passed over the village. Hawkins had a good view of the four helicopters placed around the town. He saw figures running for the Blackhawk.

  The mechanical obstacles of getting an ancient aircraft aloft and keeping it there were minor compared to Hawkins’ skill at judging human nature. He had bet their lives on the guess that Marzak would want Hawkins all for himself. And that he would want to make the kill at close range, maybe even toy with him, before he blew him to pieces. He almost shouted for joy when the Blackhawk lifted off the ground. He signaled Calvin to break out of their circle.

  The bomber made an agonizingly wide and very slow banking turn, waggling its wings like a gull testing the updrafts, and straightened out so that it was on a course for the rising helicopter. As the dust cleared, Hawkins saw a figure on the ground where the helicopter had been. Hawkins was close enough to see that it was Professor Saleem. He had his doubts about the professor, but he was glad the man was not on the Blackhawk, because he intended to blow it out of the sky.

  The Blackhawk pivoted, presenting its side in an easy target. Calvin had added a separate sighting system that snapped onto Hawkins’ rifle. Hawkins wrapped his right hand around the magazine and tried to steady the weapon as he squinted down the barrel at the helicopter.

  Looking through his binoculars, Marzak saw Hawkins raise the CAR-15 over the cowling and his grin of triumph immediately faded as he recognized the dangerous significance of the thick tube slung under the barrel.

  “He’s got a grenade launcher!” he yelled at the pilot. “Evade! Evade!”

  The pilot acted immediately, moving the control stick to the right. The chopper leaned over into the start of a roll a second before a puff of white smoke blossomed at the front of the bomber. The projectile missed the tilted belly of the chopper by inches.

  The pilot’s reaction had saved the aircraft, but the helicopter banked at a dangerous angle and he fought to get it under control. As the chopper regained stability, Marzak called the Cobras on his hand radio and ordered them to call off the impending attack on the village. The Blackhawk turned and flew away from the village.

  “Where are you going?” he shouted at the pilot.

  “I wasn’t hired for aerial combat,” the pilot said.

  Marzak drew his pistol from its holster and held it to the pilot’s head. “You can sign a new contract when we’re through. I want you to attack.”

  “Shoot me and we all die,” the pilot said.

  “I don’t care,” Marzak said.

  The pilot offered no further argument, and brought the chopper around again so it faced the village.

  The Cobras leapt into the air on three sides of the village. Marzak ordered them to go after the new target. It wouldn’t be as satisfying as bringing Hawkins down himself, but he’d have a ringside seat for his enemy’s last moments.

  The helicopters flanking the slow-moving plane hovered in a hold for a moment, allowing the bomber to fly between them, and then they accelerated into a flaring climb. The tactic, called a stern conversion, would put them in position for a fast diving attack from the rear. But as they slowed to swivel into a turn, they were prime targets for the Stinger missiles that streaked into the sky from rooftops at the edge of the village.

  Two Cobras exploded in bright yellow and red bursts of flame, disintegrating into fiery showers of charred metal that rained down on the village. The bomber was closing on the third, approaching it nose-to-nose.

  The surviving Cobra suddenly veered off its trajectory, and darted away from the confrontation, rapidly becoming a black dot against the sky as it flew off toward the horizon.

  The bomber lumbered on through the smoke-filled airspace that the gunship had occupied only seconds before.

  Marzak watched as the plane made a big circle, passing over the professor. He saw Saleem wave at the big plane and noticed the return wave from Hawkins before the bomber arced back toward the village. A scowl crossed his face. He hadn’t trusted the professor from the moment he had met him.

  Marzak was tempted to attack the biplane, but there could be dozens of Stinger missiles ready to be launched from village rooftops and their fuel was running low. As much as he wanted Hawkins, his first priority was self-preservation. They would meet again and the next time Marzak would not be hindered by fools like the professor.

  He would make sure of it right now.

  Marzak told the pilot to turn back toward the figure below, and w
hen the helicopter was in range, he stuck his rifle barrel out the window and fired. The professor, who had been waving at the approaching chopper, grabbed at his chest and crumpled to the ground.

  The Blackhawk was out of sight by the time the bomber made a rough landing on the air strip and coasted to a stop.

  Amir’s men crowded around the plane shouting in Pashto and firing their guns in the air as Hawkins and Calvin descended to the ground.

  Amir came over and embraced them both.

  “Thanks for the loan of the plane,” Hawkins said.

  “Not a scratch on it,” Calvin added.

  “That is more than I can say for our enemies!” Amir exulted. “I only wish we were able to kill every last one of them.”

  They all piled in the car and headed toward the compound. As the car pulled up to Amir’s house, Hawkins saw someone in a dark olive uniform stretched out on the ground. Abby and Cait were kneeling next to the professor, applying a make-shift bandage in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding from his gaping chest wound.

  Hawkins vaulted from the car and knelt by the professor. He was still alive, but from the wheezing sound issuing from his gasping mouth, he would not last long.

  “They found him in front of the village and brought him in a minute ago. He’s been calling for you,” Abby said.

  Hawkins lifted the man’s head in his hand.

  “I’m here,” he said.

  Saleem seemed to revive. His hand reached out and grabbed the front of Hawkins’ shirt in a death grip.

  Hawkins put his ear close to the professor’s mouth.

  “I understand,” Hawkins said after a moment. “Thank you.”

  The professor tried to respond, but his words came out as an incoherent rattle. He relaxed his grip on the shirt, his eyes rolled up in their sockets and his head lolled as if his neck were made of rubber.