Omid glanced at his watch and became instantly agitated. “He’s dead. There’s no reason to move him out and through the Hindu Kush,” Omid said as he stood over Banks. Veggie jumped up and got in Omid’s face.
“We aren’t a bunch of Iranian dogs. We’re American soldiers, and we DO — NOT — LEAVE our soldiers behind!”
Manson motioned Veggie off and, with one eye seemingly fixed on his kill and another staring down Omid, he spoke. “Quick check of the house as Veggie and Lynch bag the major. We’re out in three.”
Omid left the room and wandered into the center room where Camp and Finn were back examining the lab.
“Breast implants? They kidnap a gynecologist and bring him to hell’s living room to do a boob job on a burka queen?” Finn asked.
Camp looked at the wall behind the bed.
“Looks like this is where they made the Facebook video,” Camp said.
“The Islamic Khilafah, the Shahada, the flag of jihad,” Omid said from the back of the room.
“Clearly the boy was with Miriam’s husband back there. I guess one of these other guys is Kazi,” Camp said to Finn.
“Kazi?” Omid asked. “How do you know the name Kazi?”
Camp and Finn moved quickly to Omid.
“How do you know the name Kazi?” Finn asked with full FBI investigatory tone.
“Kazi is a business consultant to Iran. He is used on several projects. He was educated in the states, a microbiologist who fashions himself as a doctor, a scientist type. He’s Pakistani but worked in The Netherlands before he was recruited.”
“Recruited? By whom?” Camp asked.
“ISI… Inter-Services Intelligence, Pakistan,” Omid answered.
“And the Iranian Revolutionary Guard?” Finn pressed.
“A freelancer, yes… but not to the Revolutionary Guard… he works with MISIRI.”
“MISIRI?” Camp asked.
“The Ministry of Intelligence and National Security of the Islamic Republic of Iran,” Finn answered.
“Kazi is not one of the dead guys, Captain Campbell. But you don’t want to be here if he comes back. He’ll be in the company of ISI.”
“Master Sergeant Manson! You’d better take a look at this,” a call came from the back of the house. Camp put one of the PIP packages in his pocket and followed Finn and Omid.
In the back room, behind a wall of curtains, Chip wheeled out a machine.
“What is it?” Sanchez asked. Manson put his flashlight beam on the side of the machine.
“The label says SkitoMister… made in Illinois,” Chip said.
“What the hell is that for? Do the Paki’s have a mosquito problem up here, Omid?” Manson asked.
“At this elevation? I doubt it,” Camp said as he moved in to take a closer look. “A mister… takes a liquid and turns it into a mist. Basically a sprayer.”
“How much does it weigh?” Manson asked.
Chip picked it up awkwardly.
“Eighty, maybe a hundred pounds.”
“Okay, we’ve got to get moving,” Sanchez said as he left the room.
“What do you want to do, Camp? If we blow it, the gig’s up. Everyone in Datta Khel will come outside to see the fireworks,” Manson said.
“Get Dex.”
“Dex!” Manson yelled as running boot steps approached down the hallway.
“Dex, did you put a beacon on Major Banks when you bagged him?” Camp asked.
“Affirmative, sir.”
“Unzip him. Hide the tracking device on the SkitoMister. Once we get back into the Hindu Kush, we’ll have the drone blow it up.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“What about the boy?” Manson asked. “He’s not coming with us.”
“I understand, Manson. Let’s put him in the vacant house across the street. It’ll take them a day or two to find him.”
The mission timer on Geek’s wrist watch indicated 19-minutes and 23-seconds. Three men, presumably Taliban or Haqqani Network were dead, the body of Army Major Dean Banks was bagged and mounted to the Tac4, and Miriam’s son — now orphaned from his insurgent father and his suicide bombing mother — was placed in a chair in a vacant house with no heat.
The Alpha Team climbed the back wall of the vacant house on the north side of the target street. Back in the grove of trees, tension grew as the snow subsided. The winds were howling and blowing, but the snow was diminishing. Camp couldn’t tell if his body was warm from adrenaline or if the temperatures were rising from the midday warm-up. The clouds had breaks in them but looked much darker.
The temperature gauge on Camp’s watch registered 33-degrees Fahrenheit. The moisture was borderline snow and rain.
Crossing out of Sherwood Forest and through the field, Alpha Team returned to Bannu Road. There were two more sets of tire tracks.
The pace increased as the two squads spread out. Lynch and Veggie were on either ends of the Tac4 as they double-timed carrying Banks.
Suddenly, the two scouts on point raised their hands and dove into the ditch on the east side of Bannu. Fifteen other Alpha members did likewise and settled. Veggie and Lynch covered the white body bag and the Tac4 with their own bodies.
Three pick-up trucks full of Pakistani ISI drove past them. Alpha Team, sprawled out in the water ditch next to Bannu Road, remained motionless and undetected.
“They’ll follow our tracks in the snow. Call in the drone.” Omid whispered to Captain Sanchez lying next to him.
“And cause an international incident by attacking members of a sovereign nation’s military? Not on your life. We roll!” Sanchez said as Alpha erupted out of the ditch and sprinted down Bannu Road.
“Brick, when we get to the riverbed take squad one up and along the road, and we’ll head down through the riverbed. Give us cover if you can. Muster at Toledo,” Sanchez said into the helmet comms while running at full speed.
Three, four-wheel drive Toyota pick-up trucks pulled outside in front of the second house on the south side of the second street in Datta Khel Village. Six men emerged from the cabs, and another 12 jumped out of the truck beds anxious to warm themselves by the fire that certainly would welcome them beneath the smoke stack pouring out from above.
Seventeen men carrying weapons and another unarmed man sauntered through the gate and up to the house. They were in no particular hurry. The Pakistani ISI soldiers were oblivious to the conditions on the ground as Kazi’s eyes examined the snow-covered ground. He held up his hand, and everyone stopped as he pointed to numerous sets of waffle-like boot prints in the snow.
AK-47’s rose immediately, and the men spread out front and back around the house. Within seconds they realized the full carnage of an event that had taken place 30 minutes before they arrived. The bodies of three of their comrades were still warm to the touch. But the boy was missing.
The Commander sent a detachment of six to follow the tracks in the snow which led over the wall, across the street, and over the next wall to the vacant house. Within a few short minutes, the Pakistani soldiers found the boy and brought him back and quickly removed the tape and rag from his mouth and cut the plastic restraints.
“White suits, white suits,” the boy screamed in Pashtu.
Kazi walked up to the boy as the ISI Commander was trying to calm him down.
“How many?” Kazi asked.
“I don’t know… maybe eight,” the boy said. “I told them. Then they took him.”
“Told them what?” Kazi demanded. “They took what?”
“They were looking for the American. They came for him.”
Kazi ran out of the room and down the long hallway to the room with the curtain walls. The SkitoMister was exactly where he had left it. Kazi stroked the machine like a woman’s face.