The Sixth Martyr, page 13
part #1 of Alpha Squad Series
Tyler was about reply, but the outer door opened, and they flattened against the wall. He held his gun ready and watched a man slip inside. A civilian, and he appeared to be unarmed. He crept behind him, grabbed him around the neck, and rammed the barrel of his pistol against his head.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Please, don't kill me.” The voice shook with terror, “I am Mohammed, the janitor. I just clean up and make sure everything is secure."
"Is that a fact? I can tell you, friend Mohammed, everything is not secure. Or to put it another way, you are not secure. We came here looking for the suicide bombers, and they're not around. Neither is the Mullah, Habib Ahmadi, so I'll give you a choice. Tell us where they’ve gone, or I’ll put a bullet in your head, and you'll be paying an early visit to the afterlife. Heaven or hell, I haven't a clue, and I don’t give a shit. But that's where you're headed in the next few seconds."
His reply was immediate. "I will help you."
Tyler felt ashamed. He was an old man, with no visible teeth and a straggly beard that was gray. Threatening a feeble old man wasn’t his style. Except he had no choice if they were to save the lives of children.
He spoke one word. "Bamyan."
"Bamyan? Why there?"
"Because that is where they will find the enemy. They have a base at Bamyan, and they have gone there to kill them."
"You’re telling me they plan to take on the Coalition army with six kids, six suicide bombers?"
He shook his head. “No, the Mullah has a plan. Six children will approach the generals with their bombs. Mullah Ahmadi says they chop off the head, and the body will die. Kill the generals, and the armies will go home. A victory for Allah." He looked uncertain, “That is what he said.”
Sarah gasped. "They're going to use children to assassinate the command and control structure of the Allied Armies." She could hardly believe her ears, “It's the cruelest thing I've ever heard of."
He grimaced. "The worst part is, it won't work. If they kill the people at the top, those further down the chain of command will step in and take command, and the children will die for nothing." He shook his head in anger, “The bloodthirsty bastards. Javed, how long to get to Bamyan?"
He thought for a few moments. "On horseback, we would make it in about two hours. A vehicle would be much quicker, perhaps a half-hour. Although we don't have a vehicle."
“These people must have vehicles. I need a break for a minute.” He sat down on the floor in agony, “Sarah, talk to this guy, see what he says.”
Sarah conversed with him for some time. His English was very good, and after she'd listened to him for several minutes, she explained to Joe what he’d said.
"Mohammed is not an admirer of Ahmadi, or of the Taliban. He said there is a vehicle we could use. A Toyota Land Cruiser that used to belong to the United Nations, an aid team that came here to immunize the local children."
"What happened to them, these aid workers?"
"They killed them. One of the Taliban leaders decided he wanted the vehicle for himself, so he killed the men and left their bodies for the hyenas. Before he could make use of the vehicle, he was hit by an American airstrike, and he died with most of his men, but the Toyota is still stored not far from here. Mohammed can show you where it is, and in return, he asks a favor. One of the martyrs is a nephew of his cousin, and he asks that you save him. His name is…"
"Hold it, Sarah," Tyler held up a hand.
"It doesn't matter what his name is. We're not going there to get one person out, we’re going to get them all out. If we succeed, your relation will be safe. If we don't succeed, then they’ll all die. And we’ll die, too."
He nodded. "I will show you where this vehicle is."
They left the mosque, and although there was still shooting in the distance, the area around the square was clear. The old man led them to a shuttered storefront three blocks away, and they helped him pull the wooden boards aside. Inside the dim interior, the shiny, white Toyota Land Cruiser was parked, with the UNHCR logo picked out in blue. The chrome work shone in the beam of light that trickled through the doorway. Tyler was limping badly after the short journey, and while he rested his wounds, Sarah went to try the engine. The keys were in the ignition, and it started immediately. They climbed aboard, and he beckoned to Mohammed to join them. Before they left, she suddenly remembered Nasrat.
"We should tell him what we're doing. He could take the horses back to my place when it gets dark."
He'd been thinking seriously about Nasrat. The ambush at the coffee shop was too much of a coincidence.
Was it the United Nations men, Ben Katz and Frank Steadman? Or could it have been Nasrat? I don’t trust any of them, and the last thing we need is for the Taliban to know where we’re going.
"It would be best if we forgot Nasrat and went direct to Bamyan. I’m not certain he’s reliable.”
She grimaced. "I don't think Nasrat would betray us.”
A shrug. "Why chance it? Forget him.”
She drove expertly and well, churning up the dust as they left the town without encountering any opposition. She kept the pedal to the metal, her face grim as she drove, and she didn’t appear to want conversation. Maybe she was thinking about Nasrat, and whether he was a traitor, or about the martyrs, and if they’d make it.
Tyler switched on the radio, searching for any kind of local news, and to his astonishment he found himself listening to a BBC reporter. The Brit was saying the main target, Osama bin Laden, had been sighted in the south. In a region of caves at the foot of the Hindu Kush, and once again, he felt the urge to go after him; to kill him for taking away Chuck in the catastrophic attack on the Twin Towers. Without realizing it, he was gripping the butt of his rifle so hard his knuckles had gone white, and Sarah worked out the reason.
"I know what you want, Joe. Revenge for your brother, and I don't blame you. But don't you realize, freeing those children will hurt al Qaeda and the Taliban as much as killing him.”
"It won’t hurt him as much as a bullet in the head."
She sighed. “Joe, even if you did go south to try and find him, there’ll be thousands of troops searching the area with a fine toothcomb. Every man will have a bullet with bin Laden’s name on it. You won't even get close, you know that."
"That changes nothing."
"I don’t…what’s this?"
A line of vehicles was parked across the road, black turbaned men with rifles. They were about to drive straight into a Taliban roadblock. She stood on the brake pedal, yanked on the parking brake, and brought the rear wheels round in a skidding turn until they were pointing the opposite way. She stamped on the gas pedal, and they were hurtling back in the opposite direction, away from Bamyan.
He told her to slow. "We have to find a way to get past them. Javed, what do you say, is there another route?"
"There are several narrow tracks, and we might manage one of them in this vehicle." He was lost in thought for a few moments, and then he nodded, "If we take a wide circle around the other side of the mountain range, we can approach Bamyan from the south."
"And how long will that take?"
He shrugged. “A day, perhaps more, perhaps less. It all depends. I’m sorry, it would take time.”
"A day. Jesus Christ, we don't have a day."
“There may be another way. But it’s not…”
“Do it.”
Sarah kept the gas pedal flat on the floor until Javed pointed to a narrow track to follow. They drove a few miles before she had to slow almost to a stop before they plunged over the edge of the narrow roadway into a ravine. The track was narrower than the Toyota, and the wheels fought for grip on the rough ground on either side.
She made it past, and they climbed high into the hills. It was late evening when Sarah finally had to call a halt. Driving along the narrow path at night was almost impossible, and using the headlights was not an option. They would have been able to pick out the worst of the potholes and obstacles that blocked their way, often slides of loose rock that had showered down from above.
But there was a greater danger. The United States Air Force owned the night sky, and their planes frequently passed overhead, searching for targets. Headlights would have been too tempting for a passing A-10 or Cobra gunship to attack, so they kept the headlights off, making their going even slower. It was around 23.00 when she came to a stop at a tiny inn at the side of the track, which evidently catered to travelers and drovers. The premises offered the benefit of a single gas pump where they could refill the tank. They went inside and almost retched at the stink, but they needed somewhere to grab some rest. The owner provided hot food, goat stew with a mixture of rank, identifiable vegetables. But the coffee was good and strong, to their astonishment.
When they asked him about a room for the night, he looked blank. Eventually, he accepted a few dollars and allowed them to sleep inside the building. Javed stayed downstairs, sleeping on a straw mattress, and the proprietor offered Tyler and Sarah the use of his own bedroom. He maintained he’d spend the night in the crude structure next door that housed his animals. When they protested, he said that since the Taliban had come, theft was rife, so he needed to be on his guard.
Sarah gave Tyler a lascivious grin when they entered the bedroom, looking at the ramshackle single bed.
"It looks like we don't have any choice but to double up. Unless you have any objections, Joe."
"No, of course not." But his mind was on other things. Still thinking of bin Laden, his soul cried out with the desire to kill the bearded weirdo, and get some closure from the torture of losing Chuck.
Sarah did her best to make him relax. “You can’t spend the rest of your life filled with bitterness and thoughts of revenge, Joe.” She patted the blanket, “Why don’t you come to bed, and put it out of your mind?”
“I can’t put it out of my mind. I can’t stop thinking of Chuck, dying in the wreckage of the World Trade Centre. It’s with me all the time, twenty-four-seven.”
He stared out the window. Looking at the night sky, and a few stars overhead, interspersed with winking aircraft navigation lights. It cheered him to know the Air Force was on the job. Searching for Taliban targets, even if he still wanted one particular target. She gave up trying to reason with him and climbed out of bed. Her arms went around his shoulders as she joined him at the window, and her head nuzzled close to his. She kissed him on the neck, on the side of the face, and almost unconsciously he turned to meet her lips.
The scent of her hair, the odor of her body was too much to ignore. The warm closeness of her soft, yielding skin overwhelmed him, and he allowed her to lead him to bed. They made love, and at last the bitterness that had eaten him up seeped away. Afterward, he slept. When he awoke just before dawn, he felt better.
She’s right. What we’re doing will strike a savage blow at the heart of the Islamists, a blow that will show the world the extent of their savage cruelty, if we get there in time.
He got out of bed, and she was already awake.
“It’s time to hit the road. We still have a fair way to go, and not much time.”
“Give me five minutes. You’d better wake Javed.”
He left her and went downstairs. The innkeeper was already cooking up breakfast. More of the strong smelling, spicy goat stew, and the smell of food had already woken the boy. He was dressed and sitting at the table with a spoon, waiting to be served.
“How did you sleep, Javed?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about Maryam. Will we make it in time?”
“Either that or we’ll die trying.”
The bowl of thick stew appeared in front of them, and he spooned the odd-looking mixture down in a hurry. Sarah came downstairs a few minutes later, and they hurried to eat the remainder of the food, swilled down with more of the good coffee. The morning was cold, very cold, which Javed assured them was a good thing.
“If it was raining, the track would turn into a river.”
They climbed back into the Toyota, and Sarah took the wheel again. The wound in Tyler’s stomach was causing him problems, although he wouldn’t admit it to her. She continued bumping along the narrow track, and every jolt was like a fiery brand pressing into his guts. He was careful to hide it, although not careful enough. Maybe he just couldn’t hide the tightening of the lips and the narrowing of his eyes when the pain was bad, or perhaps it was the sweat rolling down his face. She knew.
“How bad is it? Do you want me to stop?”
“Don’t stop. I can handle it.”
She pursed her lips, but didn’t reply. She was looking ahead, searching the distant hills and the valleys below. Javed saw them first.
“There are more of them. Taliban.”
Tyler must have been woolgathering, for it took him a few seconds to compute the meaning of what he’d said. He followed the boy’s gaze, and they were there. Not content to block the main and secondary roads between Chiras and Bamyan, they’d decided to plug the more remote tracks as well. Whether it was a rearguard action against any attempt to free the precious martyrs, or a preliminary to their coming offensive once they’d killed the generals, the effect was the same. They were stymied.
About two miles ahead, a dozen fighters were sitting on the ground, smoking and talking to each other. They’d seen the Toyota, and would have recognized the United Nations vehicle as not presenting a threat. No doubt they were anticipating their share of the loot when they’d killed the occupants and sold the Land Cruiser on the black market in Kabul.
“What do we do?”
He looked at Sarah and couldn’t find an answer. “I don’t know. At least…” But he knew he was wrong, there was an answer. A simple answer, and they had no choice, “We do have an option. We fight them.”
“Fight them?” Her mouth opened in astonishment.
“Fight them, and we kill them.”
“We can’t…”
“We have to. Otherwise those children are dead.”
“Joe, we can’t get past them. There’s no way.”
She was almost right. They’d try, but it would be a miracle if they didn’t all die in the attempt. That’s what they needed, a miracle. In the meantime, they were on their own, without help from the heavens. He looked at Sarah. “Put your foot down, go in hard and fast. Javed, lock and load. When we reach them, we’ll hit them with a broadside. Like they used to in the olden days, when navies met at sea.”
“Joe, it’s not the olden days.”
“Maybe not, but it’s our best shot. Do it.”
She hit the gas, and the Toyota leapt forward, into the waiting arms of the Taliban beast.
Chapter Eight
They were tucked into a shallow valley, three klicks north of where the Coalition armies were assembling. Close enough to be within radio range of the detonators. Ahmadi gave a final address to the martyrs, and they watched him, each with terror in their eyes. All except one, Akram, he hung onto every word, and when the Mullah talked about the explosion, the searing flash that would send them on their journey to Paradise, his eyes gleamed. He even made low-throated chuckle, almost a laugh, but not quite.
Maryam watched him, and although young, she instinctively knew something was wrong. There was something false and contrived about his strange expression, and she puzzled to work it out. There was no puzzle about the other boys.
Although initially they’d had varying degrees of enthusiasm for their mission, they were of one mind, and that mind could be described in a single word. Terror.
Akram had worked hard to motivate them, and each martyr bore the scars of his beatings. One had even suffered a broken arm when he went too far, and the Mullah had to step in, although they never considered any treatment. Why would they, the boy was going to die soon, so why waste time when it would make no difference? The Mullah stopped speaking and walked away. She decided she had nothing to lose, and when Akram went to follow him, she blocked his way.
“Why are you doing this?”
His gaze was belligerent. “It is the will of Allah, as you know very well.”
“All I do know is what Mullah Ahmadi tells us. Why do you believe him, Akram? Have you ever considered he may be wrong?”
“Wrong?” He looked shocked, “He is God’s messenger; how could he be wrong?”
“Perhaps he hears voices, like we have seen in some people in Chiras when they go mad. Perhaps what he says is in his own mind.”
“You’re crazy. The Mullah is a holy man, a devoted Muslim. If you suggest anything else, you are committing blasphemy.”
“Blasphemy? What is the punishment for blasphemy, Akram?”
“The punishment is death, as you know.”
“But they are killing us anyway. We are all condemned to death.”
“We are condemned to Paradise, and I forbid you to say any more about this.”
She stared him down. “Are you frightened?”
She should have moved quicker. Before she realized it was coming, the fist lashed out and punched her in the face. He was twice as heavy as her and very strong. The blow threw her to the ground, and for a short time she saw stars.
“I am not frightened. I am ready to die for God.”
“I am not ready.”
“You are here, Maryam, because your cowardly brother Javed ran away. You will make your peace with God.”
She looked up and stared at him. She wanted to lash him with more words, but she knew it would be of no use, and would probably earn her another hard blow. While she’d been talking to him and listening to his replies, she’d begun to understand what was inside him. What lay behind his insane desire for martyrdom, and to lead other children to their deaths, he was scared.
Inwardly, he was shaking with mortal terror, not of death, but afraid he could be wrong, and after his death, there would be no Paradise. Just emptiness. And if he was right, and they did go to the afterlife, how would he be received? As an Islamic hero, or as the hulking bully he was. Akram was torn apart by doubts, and he had just one way to resolve those doubts. To die, and in his moment of death, he had to prove something. To take the others with him, like a sacrificial offering.
