Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2)

by Irish Winters

  Mark caught the conniving tone in the man’s voice.

  Alex pulled his hands out of Imir’s clutches, retrieved his weapons case and turned to Arzad. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “I will be here.” Arzad nodded slightly and returned to his van.

  “Do I understand you are only staying one night?” Imir played the gracious host to the hilt. “That is not enough time to see our wonderful city.”

  He ushered his guests past the registration counter and up the winding staircase, huffing and puffing all the way. At the first floor landing, he turned with a big smile and gestured toward an open door. “Here is the grandest room in the whole town, the presidential suite. Is it to your liking?”

  He stood waiting for an answer that never came.

  Alex entered first, and Mark behind him, his mind instantly strategizing points of egress and risk. Interestingly, the room faced the street where Arzad had just dropped them off. Its shuttered windows were wide open, as were the balcony doors in both street-facing bedrooms.

  The lavish suite greatly exceeded what Harley had requested. An elegant Victorian design sofa and matching end tables dominated the wall next to the door. Espresso-colored easy chairs stood in opposite corners with an ornately carved wooden desk beneath the windows. In the final corner stood a wrought iron étagère. A leopard skin draped across a travel trunk that served as the coffee table in front of the couch. The room was designed for royalty, not two contractors on an over-night trip. Certainly, not for a war.

  Alex glanced out the window while Mark dropped their gear beside the coffee table.

  Imir still stood at the door waiting. “This room will give you an excellent view of the city. Yes?”

  “It’ll do,” Alex replied curtly. He let his bag drop to the floor with a thud.

  “Ah, yes. I believe it will do quite nicely. Because you are so well known in our fair city, dinner will be brought to your room this very evening. You will have a selection of the finest meats and—”

  “Fine.” Alex shot him a dark look.

  Imir backed out of the room, still smiling. “If you need anything, please ring the desk and ask for me. I will be more than happy to—”

  Alex pushed the door shut with his foot, already on his phone with Mother. When he hung up, he was all business. “Mother and Ember have back-tracked the hacker to Bagram, just like we suspected. They’re triangulating an exact position. Should get back to us within the hour. If we get hit as hard as we did in Spencer, I want to make sure tonight turns out my way.”

  He went over the plan again. Harley and Zack would provide cover from their positions in the abandoned warehouse across the street. Alex was the bait. Mark was designated to cover Alex from inside. He would also maintain radio contact with Mother, Harley, and Zack while the operation went down.

  “Eagle one.” Mark’s earpiece crackled to life with the first status report. “The turkeys have landed.”

  Leave it to Harley to make light at a time like this.

  “See anything?” Alex ignored the comic relief.

  “Just you, Mark, and a nice quiet view. You heard from Mother yet?”

  “Soon. I’ll let you know when she calls.”

  “Copy that.” Harley signed off.

  “I still think this is too risky.” Mark was nervous enough for the four of them.

  “We’ve already had this conversation.” Alex opened the balcony door wider, making himself a ready target.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “It’s done. Drop it.” Alex caught the look on his face when he stifled his next comment. “You got something else to say?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to have to take your dead body back to Kelsey.”

  Alex smirked, like that was encouraging. “Do you think I would set myself in the bull’s eye if I didn’t have perfect faith in your talent to make sure I make it home to my sweet wife?”

  Mark gulped. If that wasn’t stress, nothing was.

  “Remember son, I’ve got my best men with me. There’s no way this can fail.” His eyebrow spiked. “So don’t let me down.”

  “Not going to happen.” Mark gulped, sorry now that he had said anything.

  A knock sounded at the door. He drew his pistol, stepped into the adjoining bedroom, and closed the door enough to still see through the crack. Alex answered. There stood an Afghani waiter with a cart full of covered dinner trays, fruit and dessert bowls, as well as an ice bucket and two bottles of champagne. After he wheeled the cart into the room, Alex thanked him and handed him a generous tip.

  When the waiter reached the doorway, he pulled a folded piece of paper from inside his sleeve, set it on the table, and turned to Alex. With his index finger to his lips, he nodded to Alex and quietly closed the door.

  “What was that all about?” Mark scanned the scrap of paper from the table. “Does Stars of Allah mean anything to you?”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Alex smiled as his phone rang.

  “Twelve, maybe fifteen warm bodies headed your way,” Mother announced quietly over the speakerphone.

  “How far?”

  “Inside of a mile. Closing fast.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I am if I can trust the satellite feed and all the cell phone chatter.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  “You’re welcome, Boss.”

  “What is this about?” Mark asked, still holding the paper. If something else was going on, he needed to know.

  “Set up alongside me. I think you’ll be surprised.” Alex relayed the latest intel from Mother to Harley and Zack.

  Mark did as he was told, fixing the sights of his scope on the streets below. The quiet evening had transformed. Everywhere he looked armed men waited in shadows and corners. The usual afternoon crowd had vanished. Switching back to Harley and Zack’s positions, he detected Afghani friendlies standing alongside the two Americans, each carrying what appeared to be an AK-47.

  “Stars of Allah was a group of freedom fighters during the Russian occupation,” Alex explained quietly.

  “It looks like they’re still around today.”

  “Check out the man with Harley.”

  Mark focused across the road. There with rifle in hand and dressed in a long brown robe of the desert stood Arzad. He looked grim. Now Mark understood why the streets were empty. These men must have gotten the word out to friends and family.

  He whistled softly under his breath. “Looks like Arzad’s carrying a sniper rifle. Looks a lot like yours.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  Judging by the tone in Alex’s voice, Mark suspected that came as no surprise. He looked into his scope again. Eleven men in gray camouflaged uniforms crept toward the hotel, their rifles and pistols in hand. They seemed aware of the absence of the usual crowd, but still proceeded. Imir ran out to meet the leading Russian who sported a red beret. Mark watched an envelope exchange hands.

  “That’s your man.” Harley’s disembodied voice came through Mark’s earpieces. “The man in the red cap. Stanislav Egorov, in the flesh.”

  “Got him.” Alex took aim.

  Mark selected the man to Egorov’s left and lined him up in the crosshairs. The time to hit the Russians was now, before they set foot inside. Imir grinned as he pivoted to go back inside the hotel. Egorov sneered behind his back.

  Mark waited for Alex to take the first shot. He squeezed his finger to the trigger and—

  A single shot rang out, but it did not come from Alex.

  Imir dropped dead.

  “What the—?” Mark turned to Alex.

  Alex nodded toward Harley’s corner of the warehouse. There knelt Arzad, his rifle firing round after round while Harley stood beside him, his weapon butt to the floor between his boots. The elderly Afghani looked as calm as if he were kneeling on his prayer rug at home.

  Other AK-47s joined the barrage. Within minutes the noise ceased. Gray smoke laced the air. Every Russian was down, injured or dead,
including Stanislav Egorov. In the flesh.

  “I’ll be damned,” Mark said softly, and maybe a little proudly, too.

  No one from The Team had fired a single shot.

  “Man. Did you see those guys?”

  Zack had just run down several flights of stairs to meet up with Mark, Alex, and Harley in the street. Everyone was high on the adrenaline of the moment.

  Arzad stepped out from the shadows of the abandoned warehouse. Their wise, old friend had the same easy-going smile on his wrinkled face as always.

  “I am most humbly in your debt.” Mark bowed his head in respect, looking a little closer at his friend. “Are all these men yours?”

  “These men neighbors and friends. We fight Russians many years.” Arzad spat on the ground as if he had spoken a distasteful word.

  “I think since nineteen seventy-nine,” Alex added.

  “We never stopped fighting them. Our country is not for them. They must go.” Arzad nodded proudly. His weary eyes glistened with strength Mark hadn’t noticed before.

  “You are full of many surprises.” Harley clapped Arzad’s back and began shaking the hands of all the other men in the crowd. As if on cue, they lifted their weapons over their heads and gave a loud victory yell.

  “You are my honored guests tonight.” Arzad motioned to the man at his side who promptly ran down the street, and shortly returned with the van.

  Within the hour, they were securely removed to Arzad’s humble home.

  It was a good night on the rooftop. The impromptu operation was an impressive success. It seemed the Russians couldn’t hack the age-old word of mouth method of communication. They never knew what hit them.

  Alex and Arzad sat together like two old soldiers, telling stories and sipping chai while Gulnar and Najela made trip after trip with more fruit bowls, sweet bread, and meat trays. The little home was filled to overflowing with friends and fellow freedom fighters. Harley and Zack still mixed it up with the men celebrating outside where an occasional round of gunfire punctuated the calm evening. Mark sipped another cup of chai, content to sit back and watch.

  When Arzad saw him by himself, he came to sit beside him. “Why you alone?”

  “You have given me much to think about,” Mark said, “That’s why.”

  “That is a good thing.” Arzad smiled mischievously.

  “Have you ever really needed our help?”

  He turned somber. “Many of these men would not be here tonight if not for you.”

  “Me?” Mark cocked his head, not understanding.

  “Come. There is someone who wishes to see you.”

  Mark pulled himself out of the rickety chair and followed his host downstairs and out the door. There inside Arzad’s van sat Nasim, his face black and blue from the beating he had received and his poor hands bandaged. He sat with a plate of sweet meats and cheeses on his lap and a big cup of chai in his bandaged hands.

  “Nasim.” Mark reached through the open van window and rested his hand gently on the elderly man’s shoulder. “It is good to see you again.”

  “My son.” The old man smiled to see Mark, his swollen eyes full of happiness.

  “I see you are still fighting like a young man,” Mark teased. “When will you learn? You need to carry a bigger stick.”

  “You are right.” Nasim grinned. “I must do that.”

  “It is because of your kindness to Nasim that these men came to fight tonight,” Arzad said. “They saw what you did for him in the market that day. Look.” He pointed across the way. There stood Mukhtar with an old Kalashnikov across one arm. He nodded to Mark, offering a half-salute with his bandaged hand.

  “Was he part of what happened in the village?” Mark asked.

  Arzad’s eyes gleamed. “You have many friends here. Many are getting out of the poppy business. Apricot and almond trees are all Nasim wants to grow. That is why Egorov went after him. He did not set a good example.”

  “Good for you.” Mark clapped the elder Afghani gently on his boney back. “I hear the United Nations will send aid for every farmer who quits the poppy fields.”

  “That is what they told us,” Nasim said mischievously, “last time.”

  “Let us hope they do it this time.” Mark studied his friend’s tired old face. Nasim was symbolic of so many men in the country, working all their lives to provide for their families and dying too young in the process.

  “Tashakur.”

  “No.” Mark stopped Nasim’s kind words. “It is I who should be thanking you.”

  “Mr. Mark. Mr. Mark.” Najela burst out of the house with Harley strolling right behind her. She skidded to a halt, nearly colliding into Mark.

  “Little girl.” Arzad chuckled. “Why so much noise?”

  She blushed and stuck her arm out to Mark. “I make.”

  Harley stood beaming and watching while Mark took the proffered gift, a bracelet woven of blue, purple, and bright pink cords with green glass beads intertwined.

  “My Mr. Harley help me make present for your ….” She turned back to Harley. “How I say it?”

  “Girlfriend.” Harley supplied the missing word.

  Najela turned back with a big smile. “Girlfriend. That is right, yes?”

  “Thank you, Najela.” Mark accepted the gift. “This is beautiful. Libby will love it.”

  “I have one more.” She glanced back to Harley again. “Is okay?”

  He shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

  It surprised Mark when she tumbled against him, wrapping her slender arms around his waist in an unexpected hug. “You my favorite American, too,” she said. “My Mr. Harley and you.”

  Mark had to smile. Sweeter words were never spoken. He looked up into Arzad’s sharp eyes.

  “I think you not look same. You not same man,” Arzad muttered. “You okay, Mr. Mark? You good?”

  His question caught Mark by surprise and made him smile at the same time. How could this wise old man read him like that? Or could he? Was Arzad fishing or did he already know that Mark was on his way to the altar?

  “I am okay. Thank you,” Mark said noncommittally.

  “But your Miss Libby. She is good, too?” he persisted, his brows furrowed as he peered closely into Mark’s face.

  The old man was getting nosey. What was he getting at? No one knew about Mark’s upcoming wedding except Libby and himself.

  “Yes. She is good. Harley told me that you prayed for us. Thank you.” Mark turned back to Nasim, hoping to break the spell Arzad seemed to be under. Somehow this wise man had picked up on some tiny nuance from Mark. If he didn’t already know about the upcoming nuptials, he would soon if he kept connecting the dots like he was.

  “You will get married and have many children? Yes?”

  Mark turned back at that question. Probing eyes glittered from Arzad’s wrinkled face. The scoundrel. Somehow, he already knew the answer.

  Mark hesitated. He was not prepared to spill the beans without Libby. She should be there by his side, but Arzad stood waiting. Harley still hung back by the door of the house, but he was watching now, too. Najela had gone inside with her grandmother, but Alex had joined the group. The only one missing was Zack. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

  “Well, ah.” Mark hesitated. He looked to Alex. The man stood with his arms crossed, a bemused smile on his face. Tonight, Alex would be flying back home to his sweet wife. He deserved to know. Mark bit his lip. Libby would understand. “Yes. I am getting married.”

  Arzad’s eyes lit with joy, so Mark spilled the whole can of beans. “Libby and I will have that family you’re always pestering me about. Would you consider a stateside visit to help us celebrate? How does next April sound?”

  “Congratulations!” Alex said as he slapped half of Mark’s back while Arzad slapped the other half. “Kelsey will be so happy to hear this.”

  Harley grabbed Mark in an emotional man hug. “Congrats, brother. When can I meet her?”

  “She’s in W
isconsin with her folks right now. I only asked her a couple weeks ago.” Mark beamed. He had never been swamped by so much male appreciation before. “We were going to wait until you could be there, too. I want you to be my best man.”

  “Me?” Harley seemed so genuinely surprised. His eyes filled, and he blinked hard. “Yeah. Okay. Wow. I’ve never been anyone’s best man before. I’d really like that.”

  Mark turned to Alex. Suddenly, he was standing back on home plate again.

  “Boss.” Instantly his eyes filled. Mark bit his lip. He had already called his father, but John Houston had flatly refused to attend the single most glorious day in his son’s life. Mark had expected as much, but like a dutiful son, he’d asked. It was no big deal. Not really. His father hadn’t attended his graduation from the Corps either. Mark shouldn’t have cared. But he did.

  Listening to the bitter man’s paltry excuse why he couldn’t attend the wedding, Mark finally heard the real reason. It was then that he was able let go of the thing that would never be, the unrealized expectation that had nagged him every day of his life – a son’s craving for his father’s love. Mark knew then. He didn’t need a father anymore, but he did need a friend.

  Alex stood waiting.

  He’s as bad as Arzad. He looks like he already knows what I’m going to ask.

  Mark cleared his throat. “Sir. Would you consider being my best man, too?” He winced. The offending word had just tumbled out of his nervous mouth. Sir.

  Alex nodded one curt, quick nod. “Hell, yeah. I’d be damned proud to stand with you and Libby.”

  “Thanks.” Mark blinked hard, fighting emotions at that simple affirmative. He wiped a hand over his face.

  Zack interrupted the emotional scene. Judging by the way he staggered over to lean against Harley, he was ready to call it a night. “These guys got hold of some v-v-very f-f-fine Ru-s-s-sian vodka. It’s got a real shw-e-e-t kick. You wanna try some?”