“I know. We’ll get her out. Don’t worry. My friend Mr. Tyler will not let her die.”

  She switched her beaming smile to him, and he felt embarrassed.

  “Is that right, you can save her?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do my best.”

  She looked to where Sarah was walking toward him. Further away, Nasrat was holding the horses.

  Javed did the introductions, and she greeted Sarah with a hug. “He says you looked after him when he was ill. I am very grateful.”

  “Not a problem. Do we know where the sister is?”

  Tyler interrupted. “She says they’re holding her in the madrassa. Locked in and guarded twenty-four-seven. I’ll go down there later and look, see if I can get her out.”

  Fatima was wide eyed. “You really think can get her out?”

  He nodded. “Unless things go badly wrong, I can, yes.”

  “It won’t save her life.”

  He gave her a puzzled gaze. “I don’t get it. Why won’t it save her life?”

  “Because of the suicide vest. They’re booby-trapped to stop the wearer getting them off, and there’s something else. The Mullah has a remote detonator. It looks something like a cellphone. In case the wearer has second thoughts, he can detonate the explosives from a distance.”

  “That’s barbaric.”

  “Yes. Perhaps it is impossible to free her.”

  He was thinking fast. “Unless I can destroy the remote detonator. That way we could get her away and disarm the booby trap without it exploding in our faces. But first, I’ll have to persuade this Mullah to hand it over.”

  Fatima shook her head. “The town is full of armed men, and he is surrounded by a ring of steel. You won’t even get near him.”

  Sarah and Javed were watching him, waiting for a solution. What she’d told them was valuable information, but he needed more.

  “Fatima, would you be our eyes and ears inside Chiras? Let us know where Ahmadi is, how many guards, when he is less well guarded. That way, maybe I can work out how to get to him. Do you have a cellphone?”

  She looked uncertain. “Yes, I do, and there is a tower in Chiras. But it is not reliable.”

  “We’ll have to take that chance. Will you do that for us? For Maryam?”

  She gave a decisive nod. “I hate these people and what they are doing to the children I used to play with. Yes, I will help you. Tell me what to do.”

  He gave her his satphone number, and she keyed it into her phone. “When it gets dark, I want you to watch the Mullah. As soon as you think he’s on his own, let me know. I’ll do the rest.”

  She nodded. “I will do that.”

  She got up to leave and went to Javed. He held out his hand, and in an impulsive gesture, she moved forward and kissed him on the mouth. She held it for several seconds, then pulled away, and hurried back down toward the town. Tyler smiled and looked at Sarah.

  “Well…”

  “Yep. She likes him.”

  * * *

  Fatima left them, her thoughts whirling with hope as she walked back down the hill and entered the town.

  Javed Amiri, I thought I’d never see him again. Not alive. And here he is, planning a heroic rescue of his sister Maryam. Javed, the boy I dreamed of marrying one day. Not that he knows that, of course not. But he’s so strong and so handsome, and we could live a long and happy life together with many children, but not in Chiras, anywhere but Chiras.

  She felt happy, and her face lit up with a beaming smile. So happy she didn’t notice the boy until he blocked her path, and she gave a small squeal of alarm.

  “Akram, I didn’t know you were here.” She stared at his bomb vest, fascinated and appalled by the barbaric device.

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone, Fatima. It could be dangerous.”

  “I can look after myself,” she retorted, her voice firm, “I don’t need you to look after me.”

  “Maybe you do. Look what happened to Javed, after he left the town and ran away. They killed him in the park.”

  She concealed the smile. “I know nothing of the sort. We don’t know he’s dead.”

  “He is either dead or he soon will be. They sent fighters to find him and kill him. Javed is gone, Fatima. I am all you have left.”

  Her response was stinging. This time, she didn’t bother to conceal her contempt. “You’ll be dead soon, so you are of no concern to me. If you wish to obey Mullah Ahmadi, that is up to you.”

  “He is God’s messenger.”

  “Akram, he wants to kill you, and I don’t believe it is right.”

  His face reddened into a deep scowl. “The Mullah said we will be on a mission for God, and soon we will be in Paradise. Perhaps we will be reunited one day, you and me.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Her studied her for a few seconds. “What were you doing up in the hills? Why did you go that way?”

  “I was doing nothing. It was just a walk to get away from the town. Or is that forbidden by your precious Mullah Ahmadi?”

  His voice filled with anger. “You will show him proper respect.”

  “He’d sooner I showed him my naked body. Have you heard the stories about what he gets up to after the mosque closes?”

  He erupted in anger and grabbed her robe. A moment later he began marching her back to town, dragging her along. “You will not say such things. I will take you home, and ask your father to punish you.”

  “He wouldn’t dare.”

  “Then I will do it.”

  He swung his arm and delivered a stunning blow to her head. She started to fall, but he held her up. He kicked her and punched her again, another blow to the head. She almost passed out.

  “You will show respect to the Mullah, or I will keep beating you until you do.”

  She endured the beating in silence, knowing he wouldn’t dare mark her, or do any serious damage. For the first time, she didn’t feel sympathy for him. The sooner he blew himself up, the better. When he gave her a last violent shove through the door of her home, her mother looked up, startled. It wasn’t everyday a human bomb walked into your living room.

  * * *

  The light was starting to fade as they watched from a distance. Javed was glued to the lenses of Joe’s binoculars, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He jumped to his feet.

  “I’m going down there. He’s hitting her.”

  He made one step before Joe caught him. “You’re not going anywhere, kid. I told you, stay here.”

  “I saw him beating her, and I can see the suicide vest he’s wearing. He’s hurting her.”

  “I can also see a bunch of Taliban that just wandered past. You’re no good to her dead, Javed.”

  “But, I must go…”

  “No, you wait. I’ll go down there when it gets dark. Give it a little while longer.”

  An hour later, he prepared to leave. The light had gone, and he judged he’d be able to slip into the town without attracting attention, if he was careful. He shouldered the M4A1, patted the Colt automatic in the belt holster, and gave Sarah a quick hug. “I’ll be quick, so don’t worry about me.”

  “I’ll still worry,” she grimaced, “Take care down there.”

  “And you take care of Javed.” He looked around. “Where is he? Nasrat, where’s Javed?”

  The Afghan peered through the darkness. “He was here a moment ago. He just…He’s gone.”

  “Shit, he went down there. I told him to wait.”

  Sarah touched him on the arm. “He was worried about his girl, that’s all.”

  “We’re all worried. But this could make it that much harder. I’m going down there now, so stay with Nasrat, and make sure the horses are ready for a fast getaway.”

  “They’ll be ready.”

  “And one more thing. The hat, your pakol, I need it. In the dark they won’t realize straight away I’m not one of theirs.”

  “Uh, sure.” She took off the hat and pulled it on his head. It fit a bit on the tight side, but he could live with it, “You look like an Afghan,” she smiled.

  “Yeah, I’ll start growing a beard next. I’ll be seeing you.”

  He raced down the hillside, and just before he reached the town, his satphone rang. He cursed and dove behind some bushes to answer it.

  “Tyler.”

  “It is me, Fatima.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s about Javed. He came into the town, and a minute ago, I saw them take him. I believe he was coming here to see me, and he ran into Akram. He called the Mullah’s men, and now they have him. They said they were going to execute him. Please, Mr. Tyler, can you save him?”

  He cursed the way it was all going wrong. “I’ll do what I can. Where did they take him?”

  “I don’t know. The police station, I imagine, they have cells there.”

  “I’ll look for him. And thanks.”

  “Please, save him. For me.”

  For all of us, Fatima.

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  He switched off the phone and got to his feet, strolling toward the town, like he belonged and had all the time in the world. Walking past the first house, he ran into trouble. A Talib coming toward him, and he looked at him suspiciously. His mouth opened to say something, or maybe shout a warning. Tyler palmed the PSS silent pistol from his pocket, mentally thanking Sarah for giving it to him. He aimed when the Talib was two yards in front of him and squeezed the trigger.

  In the darkness, the man didn’t see the gun. Probably the first indication he had something was wrong was when he heard the soft, muffled ‘thunk’ as the bullet left the muzzle. It traveled a short distance and embedded itself an inch to the left of his heart. He didn’t go down, not right away, but he stopped, stunned. All thoughts of shouting a warning had disappeared as he struggled with the agony that tore through his body.

  The second and last indication something was wrong was the next ‘thunk’ when Tyler fired again. The little PSS was a fine, clandestine weapon, and this time he didn’t miss. The second bullet tore through his heart, and he tumbled to the ground. Quickly, Tyler dragged the body off the street and into a nearby alleyway. He relieved the man of his rifle and spare magazines, and found another weapon that could prove more useful. A wicked looking knife, and on closer inspection it had started life as a Russian bayonet. Before the owner shortened the blade and honed it down to a heavy but useful dagger.

  At the end of the alley, he found a huge, stinking garbage pile, and he tucked the dead Talib out of sight. He went back out on the street, and with the pakol on his head, and the AK-47 held loosely in his hand, he almost looked like he belonged. He was looking for a sign to the police station. After walking along two more streets, he found it. A long, low building made of thick blocks of stone. A blue flag hung limply from a pole that had once been white, but the paint had peeled long ago. After a swift look around to make sure he wasn’t attracting any attention, he went around back.

  The barred window was set into the stone and looked like it would take a Caterpillar to remove it, but he was able to see in by standing on a nearby trash can. Dark shapes moved around inside the cellblock, but he couldn’t make out individuals, leaving him no choice but to take a chance.

  He called out in a low murmur. “Javed.”

  Just the name, nothing more, nothing to mark him out as an American. Someone grumbled something in Pashtu, and then a voice spoke from directly below the barred opening.

  “Mr. Tyler, is it really you?”

  “Schh. How many cops are in the front?”

  “I believe there are two. Please get me out of this place. They said they would kill me.”

  “Don’t say any more. I’ll handle it.”

  “But…”

  “Shut up.”

  He walked back around the front and racked a round into the AK he carried. He selected burst mode and put the rifle under his arm. He needed a silent kill for this job. He pulled out the PSS and tested the door handle. It was unlocked. After a final look around, he turned the knob and pushed inside the building. Two cops were sitting behind a desk, one with his boots resting on an untidy pile of papers. They looked up, unworried; the pakol and AK-47 fooled them for the vital initial seconds. Then they reacted and grabbed for their guns.

  He swung up the AK, one handed. “Freeze.”

  Both men paused, but he could see the calculation in their eyes. The cop with his boots on the desk moved first. He swung his legs away, one hand clawing for his gun. The other cop followed a split second later, and two pistols were coming up to the aim. He pulled the trigger, shifted to the second cop, and fired again; two muted ‘thunks.’ The 7.62mm pistol bullets tore into them. One collapsed in a bloody heap, shot through the heart, but the other screamed an unearthly howl of pain. He raced forward, put the muzzle to the man’s forehead, and fired a third shot. The screaming stopped, and he went through the door into the back.

  A single cell confronted him, packed with more men than he’d realized from the outside. The smell was unbelievable, a miasmic combination of filth, unwashed bodies, and ordure. He had to stop himself from retching. A low murmur of excitement was building, and men called out unrecognized words in their native language.

  “Mr. Tyler, I am here.”

  He was standing right in front of him, hidden by the gloom.

  “Javed, I need to find the keys.”

  “They are on the hook, inside the door. The other men are asking if you will release them, too.”

  He paused. “That’ll alert the whole town to what’s happened here.”

  “Most are under sentence of death. The manner of that death will not be pleasant.”

  “I hear you.”

  He found the keys and unlocked the door. Men poured out and ran through into the front office. He pulled Javed to one side, out of the human tide, and when they’d gone, led him out of the cellblock. Some of the released prisoners were hacking at the bodies of the dead cops with knives, and others were busy breaking open the gun rack on the wall. The rest had already gone, howling with glee out into the street. Not a negative, they’d provide a diversion to focus the attention away from him and Javed.

  The time for silence had gone, and he passed the AK to the boy. “Take it. You know how to shoot one of these, but don’t pull the trigger until I give the word. Understood?”

  “I understand.”

  “Let’s go. Walk slowly. Don’t attract attention, or they’ll link us with the escaped prisoners.”

  “Where are we going, Mr. Tyler?”

  He pointed at the low hill to the south of the town. “Up there, Fatima is waiting with Sarah and Nasrat.”

  “Fatima, she is all right? Akram was beating her.”

  “She’s fine.”

  “And Uncle Nasrat? Is he angry?”

  “He’s okay. Just don’t do it again, got that?”

  “Yes, Mr. Tyler. Where will we go now?”

  “To Sarah’s ranch. Until we can work out how to save your sister.”

  The journey back was easy. Nasrat Amiri knew of a narrow track that would lead them in a wide circle away from the perilous ledge they’d been forced to negotiate on the way in. The furor he’d kicked in inside Chiras leaving was a cinch. Normally heavily patrolled by local cops and Taliban, they had other things on their minds, like rounding up scores of escaped prisoners, who’d taken the opportunity to go on the rampage. The town had woken up to the sounds of shots and screams as the Taliban militias began the long, painful process of rounding them up, and the prisoners fought back. He couldn’t help but smile to himself at the chaos he’d unleashed.

  Tyler took point, and Sarah and Nasrat doubled up with one of the kids on each horse. They arrived shortly before dawn, and he tumbled off the horse. His body felt sorer than it had felt in a long time, like he'd been sparring five rounds with a heavyweight boxer. Nasrat went to rub down the horses, and Javed and Fatima disappeared to talk. Sarah gave him a knowing look.

  “It’s what you call true love. That boy would run through the fires of hell to get to her.”

  He smiled “He almost did run through the fires of hell, as I recall, going into the town like that. Damn, I could do with a drink, a shower, and a bed. In that order, before I collapse on the floor.”

  Before he could reply, the door opened, and Javed walked in with Fatima. He looked at them both, and the expression in his eyes was feverish with enthusiasm. “Mr. Tyler, me and Fatima have been talking about what you said about going back for Maryam. Do you yet know how you will get her out? When do we leave?”

  “Not yet, no.”

  “And the others?”

  “What do you mean, the others?”

  “The martyrs. There are five more, after you have freed my sister.”

  He didn’t reply at first, as he considered what the kid was saying. “Let me get this straight. You’re talking about getting them all out? They may not want to leave.”

  “Nevertheless, you must get them out,” Fatima said, “They have been sentenced to die. It is unjust and barbaric. Besides, the manner of their deaths will kill many Americans and Afghans. You must stop it.”

  Inwardly, he sighed.

  This isn’t what I came here to do. All I want is to put a bullet into some bearded psycho, and it gets more complicated by the day.

  He felt dizzy as he considered what these two kids had just thrown at him. The Taliban could be waiting for them, anticipating the move, and he’d be walking into an ambush. All to rescue five kids who may not want to be rescued. And one who did. He stared at their eager, innocent faces.

  What the heck! I’m in this now, like it not.

  Finally, he nodded. “Look, I’m all in, so let me get some sleep. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Tyler,” Javed gushed, “You won’t regret this.”

  I’m not too sure about that. Besides, I haven’t agreed to anything. Have I?

  They left the room, and Sarah brought him a drink. She smiled. “You know they won’t take no for an answer.”

  He grimaced. “Right now, I don’t know anything. I’ll finish this drink and go to bed.”

  “You know where the shower is, and the bed. Was that everything?”

 

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