“Okay,” Crosswhite said. “What will they do if we leave them alive?”
“Are you are asking me or them?”
“You.”
“I think they will take the herd back the way they came, up the ridge to the east and down the other side into the next valley.”
Crosswhite called the rest of the team forward, and the SEALs took up covering positions all around. By now, the goats were aware of their arrival and didn’t seem to care one way or another. He broke out a map and gave orders for the old man’s hands to be freed. He shined a red light on the map, and Forogh made sure the old man understood where they were.
“Ask him which direction they’ll go,” Crosswhite said.
The old man pointed out their route.
“Okay, Forogh, tell him this: They are to wait here until noon tomorrow before they leave. You tell him if they leave any sooner than that, they will be shot. Make sure he understands.”
Forogh admonished the old man, and the old man nodded his head up and down, babbling away. “He says he understands. They will do as you order. He says they want no trouble. They love America.”
Crosswhite nodded. “Yeah, everybody loves America. Just make sure they know they’d better stay their asses in this fucking clearing until high noon tomorrow.”
“He promises to do as you order,” Forogh says. “Also, he says you smell like cigarette smoke and asks if you will share some of your American cigarettes with him.”
Crosswhite chuckled. Taking a pack of Camels from his arm pocket, he shook out half the pack and offered them to the old man. “Tell him not to blaze up before first light.”
“Blaze up?”
“Not to light any cigarettes before morning.”
Forogh translated and the old man shook his finger, babbling away. “He asks you not to worry. He says he fought against Russia with the Mujahideen and knows how to smoke safely in the night. Also, he would like to know if they may have the weapons of those two dead men by the tree.”
Crosswhite nodded. “Tell him they are a gift to him, but he is not to touch them until morning.”
Forogh made sure the old man understood. “He asks one more thing. He asks if you go up the valley to bring back the American woman.”
Every hair on Crosswhite’s body stood on end. “Ask him what he knows.”
“He says you need to hurry. The HIK has moved into the village.”
CHAPTER 27
Sandra was deep in an opium haze when Naeem and Aasif Kohistani stepped into the room and stood over the bed. Naeem held out a kerosene lantern so they could get a good look at her, sweating with fever, her leg badly infected. She opened her bleary eyes just long enough to mumble “fuck you” before closing them again and drifting off.
“It is a good thing Brother Nuristani sent for me,” Kohistani said. “Soon the leg will rot, and the poison will spread. She’ll be dead soon… without proper care.”
Naeem was still seething over the Americans’ failure to pay the ransom as promised. He knew nothing of Jackal’s death or of the arrests that had been made, only that the intermediary had not delivered the money to his contact in Kabul as planned. It was possible the intermediary had kept the money for himself, but he doubted it. The man in Karzai’s office was reported as very reliable, and there would have been plenty of money to go around without the need for a double cross.
When Kohistani had arrived earlier in the day, Naeem had at first grown even more incensed, vowing to hang Sabil Nuristani over the fire by his heels, but after Badira reported that the woman would die long before another ransom attempt could be made, he had silently thanked Allah for his fortune. Perhaps he could work some kind of a deal with the Hezbi man to avert a total loss.
“Our nurse is not very good,” he mumbled, disgusted with Badira’s lack of medical skill.
“It is not the nurse, brother,” Kohistani said gently. “It is the lack of medicine. And the raw opium she is smoking is suppressing her immune system.”
Naeem scarcely understood how an immune system even functioned. “How much is she worth to you in this condition?” he asked gruffly.
Kohistani placed a friendly hand on his shoulder and smiled. “You should never have tried to ransom my prisoner.”
“You left her with me,” Naeem said. “I thought you’d finished with her after the interrogation. I was going to split the profits with you.”
“I am not interested in profits,” Kohistani said, glancing at his bodyguard Ramesh to make sure he was ready to kill Naeem if it became necessary. “I have much bigger plans for this woman than something as trivial as money.”
“Money is not trivial,” Naeem said, his gaze narrowing. “Perhaps if the Hezbi wasn’t so secretive about its plans…”
“We are secretive for good reason,” Kohistani said easily. “I will send you some rifles and medicine for your men.”
“No,” Naeem said, backing away. “That is not enough. She is worth very much more to you than that. You have contacts with Al Jazeera. You will put her on the television and bring yourself much glory. I deserve a better reward for capturing her. So far you have given nothing.”
Kohistani stepped forward again, putting his arm around the younger man’s shoulder to guide him gently to the next room, where they sat down at the table in the light of the lantern. “We do not seek glory, you and I. We are servants of Allah. We are fighting a jihad… and anything we gain from this woman should be used for the glory of Allah alone.” He watched Naeem’s eyes, expecting an argument. “Do you wish to know why the ransom was not paid? I will tell you why — it was Allah’s will that it not be paid. He, too, has greater plans for this woman.” He paused again, long enough to accept the hot cup of tea one of his other men had just brought into the hut. “Now, my brother… I want you to turn her over to me in exchange for the rifles and the medicine that I offer — along with the video that you made.”
Naeem saw his only chance for glory slipping quickly from his grasp. His uneducated mind raced for a solution to the problem. Defying Kohistani outright could definitely cause long-term problems, but he had to salvage something from the ransom debacle.
“Very well,” he said decisively. “The woman is yours, for the rifles and the medicine — but the video is mine. It will take time, but I will sell it to Al Jazeera myself and use the money to help the village.”
Kohistani smiled kindly, much preferring to kill Naeem, but the Taliban were still useful to the HIK, so it was worth treating them with patience. He realized that Naeem was an extremely ambitious young man, a Wahhabi fundamentalist with delusions of grandeur. If left to his own devices, he could all too easily become a de facto warlord in the region, and the last thing Kohistani needed was a powerful ignoramus operating inside his sphere of influence. Uneducated zealots were unpredictable, as much a danger to everyone else as to themselves. To make matters worse, Naeem was pride filled and greedy, a borderline psychotic. Kohistani believed he understood very well why this unruly fellow had been sent north by his Taliban mentors in the south — they had wanted to be rid of him and to make him the problem of the HIK.
“Very well, brother,” he decided. “I will give you one of the big Canadian sniper rifles and fifty rounds of ammunition in exchange for the video… to be delivered with the other rifles and the medicine.” Kohistani was talking about a captured .50 caliber McMillan Tac-50.