He posted his sentries along the ridge that separated Pakistan from Afghanistan along the Nuristan and Kunar Province borders so that they could report on the locations of the landing and then Rahman could use his rockets and mortars to harass the Americans all night long without fear of reprisal.
He had killed Kamil’s wife and kept Mansur chained to the wall then rigged the house to explode the minute someone tried to enter. He still thought Kamil might return and the isolated qalat was always the initial link up location. Its tunnel complex beneath led to his house inside the village and to an escape route into the side of the mountains.
Initially, when he had heard the reports of hundreds of helicopters, crossing the jagged snowcapped ridge his first thought had been, “They’re lost.” This actually happened on occasion given that the borders were not marked with fences, or beacons, or anything other than indiscriminate shale and snowfall.
But when the soldiers began disembarking in valleys to his north and south, he thought about his flash drive and said, “They tricked me.”
But something was off. The flash drive plan had a withdrawal plan. He had committed his fighters into Afghanistan and the Thorium mines based on that information. Plus, this was forbidden terrain and he had paid his contacts in the Pakistan military handsomely to provide him any information about impending attacks, which the American forces always coordinated with the hapless Pakistan military commanders.
While many believed that fighting for terrain and people was the primary focus of this war, Rahman knew that the true duel was about acquiring and protecting information.
And he starkly realized he had lost this particular contest, temporarily.
The wind stung his face as he knelt on the outskirts of his escape cave no more than 400 meters from his home. Through his night-vision goggles he could see the helicopters a few miles to the north and a few miles to the south, but nothing in his immediate area. His big problem now was that he could not communicate with any of his watchmen.
Suddenly, Aswan, who was huddled next to him, muttered, “Three Americans.”
Rahman turned and peered through his goggles barely making out two men going into the window and another running through the snow and pressing himself against the wall of the qalat.
“What did you do with the computers?” Rahman asked his aide.
“They are in the basement, protected by a fake IED,” Aswan said.
“Get to the DSHK and shoot at Mansur’s house until you ignite the explosives. I’m going back for the hard drive. They get that, they get everything and I… we lose our advantage. Our just reward.”
Rahman and Aswan gave each other the warrior hand-to-forearm clasp and departed in two separate directions. Aswan overland to the DSHK position and Rahman back into the dark tunnel that led to the basement of his house.
About half way through the labyrinth, Rahman heard the dull thump of the DSHK machinegun firing at the house where he had killed Kamil’s wife and shackled Mansur.
He needed to grab the hard drive and the remainder of the $500,000 and escape into the next set of villages to the east. Always push east, further into Pakistan, away from the Americans.
Who had surprisingly attacked on his turf.
Reaching the outer door to the basement, he heard voices above.
CHAPTER 73
“Hi, Amanda,” Dagus called from the foyer. “Wow. Nice. This the place your mother’s buying?” Then after a moment. “Smells like somebody’s getting ready to barbecue or something.”
Amanda cocked her head from the balcony that looked down onto the atrium. She opened her mouth to say something, but then decided not to.
“So how are you, Amanda? Are you coming down? Want me to come up?” Dagus apparently wasn’t going to wait for an invitation, moving toward the steps as he removed his jacket. She watched him ascend as if propelled. He was different, she thought. Did he know something? Had she left a clue behind at his house?
“Sure, Lenard, come on up.”
Amanda moved away from the railing, turning to her right to watch him approach the top landing. She saw he was wearing a long-sleeve madras shirt with tan khaki pants and dock shoes. He had gelled his hair and his physical presence was preceded by a crisp, citrus scent.
“Lenard. I like you calling me that. It connotes a certain… intimacy.”
Amanda gave no indication of her inner turmoil. The pressure she felt was enormous. He approached her as he stepped onto the landing. To his right was the railing that gave way to the foyer below.
“Or would you prefer I call you Del?”
Dagus stopped at the top step, one foot on the landing and the other on the next to last step. “Come again?”
“You know, Del Dangurs? Like Jimmy Olson, star reporter, who gets jealous of living in Superman’s shadow?”
“Amanda, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” He went for a consoling voice that somehow made him seem more dangerous. Controlled rage. How long could someone bind fury, she wondered? And how many years had he lived behind this veil? The pressure he must be feeling at this moment.
Amanda wrinkled her nose as if to let him know that she wasn’t buying his act. “Well, I read newspapers too, Del.” She backed around the pool table, keeping her back to the entertainment center.
“Honestly, I have no idea what you are saying, Amanda.” He paused a second; something seemed to register. “Were you in my computer, Amanda?”
“Why, sir, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she mimicked in a syrupy sweet Southern drawl. Scarlett O’Hara had been her favorite role in the high school drama club.
“You came to me because you needed help, Amanda. I’m here to help you.” Dagus stopped when he saw the pistol lying in the middle of the table. “What the hell is that?”
“What?” Amanda continued to look him in the eyes.
“That,” he growled, pointing at the pistol.
“Oh, that,” she chuckled. “Why, sir, I believe that’s a Colt Peacemaker.” She winked at him suggestively. “Wanna make some peace?”
If the moment were not so serious, the look on Dagus’s face would have been priceless, but she didn’t have the time to savor it.
His left hand reached toward the center of the pool table.
“You know, the police can prove that you burned down my dad’s house in North Carolina.”
A dull glaze covered his eyes — the sullen look of a man who was crossing into the irrational. She knew this would be the dangerous part, as her manipulations would be less effective and she would, therefore, have less control of the situation. But she had to know. She checked her watch, wondering what could be taking so long.
As she looked up, the pistol was in his hand. “Amanda, why is this here? What are you doing?”
“Come on, Del Dangurs, tell me about that article you wrote trashing my father. Why’d you write it, you son of a bitch?”
“I’m not Del Dangurs!” he screamed.
Backing slowly to the entertainment center, she lifted the remote out of her kangaroo pocket and pressed play.
Dagus moved to the side of the table, holding the pistol in his hand. He stopped abruptly as the image of he and Brianna was projected across the giant screen.
“Gotta love these jumbotrons, you know. I thought this might help us sort some things out. Now why did you decide to meet me here tonight? Thought you were getting some of this action?”