Naeem’s eyes opened and grew instantly wide with shock.
“Get the photo,” Crosswhite said to Trigg, ready to put a round between Naeem’s eyes if he so much as twitched.
Trigg produced a blown-up photo made from the rape video. The scar near his left eye was unmistakable. “Well, what the fuck do you know!” he said, flipping his pistol around to grip it by the barrel and using the butt to bash Naeem in the testicles.
Naeem let out with a deep groan and doubled up on the bed.
“Get Forogh in here,” Crosswhite ordered.
Trigg left the hut and sent Forogh inside.
“Ask him where they took Sandra.”
Forogh looked at Naeem and instantly recognized him from the video. “Where did they take the American woman?” he demanded in Pashto.
“Fuck you!” Naeem snarled in passable English.
Crosswhite bashed in his front teeth with the butt of his M4, and Naeem grabbed his face, howling in pain. “Ask him again!”
“Where’s the American woman!”
Naeem shouted something that sounded like, “Pfuck you!”
Trigg came back inside. “Captain, we gotta make a decision. It looks like we got about thirty gunmen working their way up through the village. We lost sight of them as soon as they mounted the second terrace, but they were moving fast. Are we calling for air support?”
“Flex cuff this cocksucker!” Crosswhite ordered. “He’s coming with us.”
He got immediately on the radio to the Night Stalkers: “Bank Heist Two, this is Bank Heist One. Do you read? Over?”
“Roger that, Bank Heist. Reading you five-by-five. Over.”
“Bank Heist, be advised we are in the vault, but the money has been transferred. Repeat. The money is no longer here! However, be advised that we have taken Romeo into custody. Repeat. Romeo is in custody! Over.”
“Roger that, Bank Heist. Rotors are turning. We’ll be wheels up and headed toward your location in sixty seconds. ETA fifteen minutes. Over.”
“Be sure to hold at the outer marker, Bank Heist. We’re going to have to shoot our way out of here, and we don’t need you taking RPG fire. Will advise when it’s safe to enter Waigal airspace. Over.”
“Roger. Wilco — will hold at the outer marker until you advise.”
CHAPTER 31
Crosswhite grabbed their shaken tour guide and looked at Forogh. “Tell this son of a bitch he’s leading us out of this fucking rat maze.”
Forogh translated, and the guide became frightened, talking very rapidly. When he finished, the fellow dropped to his knees and began to pray.
Forogh looked at Crosswhite and shook his head. “He won’t do it. If he helps us escape, the Taliban will kill him and his entire family. If he refuses to help us, you may kill him, but his wife and children will survive.”
“Shit, I’m not going to kill him,” Crosswhite said. “Tell him to get up. I want him to tell us the route out of this shit hole so we can leave.”
The guide got to his feet gratefully, showing obvious relief as he spoke directly to Forogh, using his hands to indicate a number of sharp turns that seemed to zigzag their way down through the village.
“Jesus,” Crosswhite muttered. “Haven’t these people ever heard of a straight line? Tell him to come to fucking New York — we’ll show ’em how to lay out a fucking town!”
Forogh ignored him, trying to concentrate on the guide’s directions. When he felt he understood as well as he was going to, he thanked the man and apologized for Crosswhite punching him in the face. “Okay,” he said to the others. “Let’s go before I forget.”
Crosswhite turned to Naeem, who stood grinning nearby, his hands flex-cuffed behind his back. He drew his Ka-Bar and pressed the blade up beneath the Taliban leader’s chin. “You tell this cocksucker that if he pulls any shit on the way out of here—any shit at all—I’ll cut his eyes out and leave him behind.”
Forogh translated, and Naeem’s grin abruptly disappeared. The idea of being killed didn’t bother him much, but the idea of having to live the rest of his life as a blind invalid scared him, particularly since such a disfigurement could well end up following him into the afterlife should Allah find him wanting upon his death.
“Not so goddamn funny anymore, is it?” Crosswhite said, looking him in the eyes. “Speed, this prick is your responsibility. Alpha, back on point. Forogh, you’re right behind me. Let’s move!”
The team moved out down the alleyway behind a row of huts in the direction the guide had indicated. By now, word of their presence had long spread throughout the village, so no one was visible, but there was a lot of excited talking inside many of the dwellings they passed.
“Some of the villagers are panicked,” Forogh said. “They’re afraid of an air assault.”
Crosswhite stopped and wheeled around. “Good — use that. Tell them we’ve called in an airstrike. Get them to evacuate the fucking village! We’ll use the confusion to cover our egress.”
Forogh looked at him, hesitating in his response.
“What is it? Spit it out.”
“There are too many old and sick people here, Captain. The Kalasha don’t want trouble from anyone. Don’t make me do that to them.”
Crosswhite bit back an obscenity, knowing Forogh was right. He ordered Alpha back on the move.
Alpha reached the end of the alley and stole a quick peek around the corner, seeing a mob of Taliban fighters charging toward them. He jumped back and tore a grenade from his harness, biffing it around the corner. None of the SEALs had to be told to hit the ground. The explosion blew away the corner of the hut and body parts flew through the air. Men and women screamed from inside the shattered dwelling. An infant began to shriek.
“Move!” Crosswhite shouted, jumping to his feet and charging around the corner. Half a dozen blasted bodies littered the alleyway between a stone wall and a row of huts. Bleeding civilians scurried for cover inside the shattered dwellings as the SEALs dashed by. There was nothing to be done for them. They would have to fend for themselves as best they could. This was the ugliest part of war.
At the end of the alley they came to a stone staircase, very steep, very narrow, perhaps fifty feet in length. Crosswhite hated the idea, but there was no other avenue of escape. Halfway down, a Taliban gunman opened up on them with a semiautomatic SKS from behind a pile of firewood. Two of the SEALs were hit. Crosswhite and Alpha poured fire onto the sniper’s location and took him out, but another pair of Taliban fighters appeared behind them at the top of the stairs and opened fire.
Fischer was hit again in the same shoulder and thrown off balance. He fell backward down the stairs, firing his pistol one-handed. He hit one of the Taliban in the neck and drove the second one back long enough for Speed to recover from the shock of being hit. Bleeding from a bullet wound in his lower back, Speed charged back up the stairs, firing the instant the Taliban’s face came back into view and blowing away his forehead. He took a knee atop the staircase and called down for the rest of the team to continue on to the bottom.
“I’m right behind you!” he shouted, making brief eye contact with Crosswhite before turning to fire a burst back in the direction they had come, driving three Taliban back around the shattered corner of the hut. He swiped at the wound to his back and brought up a handful of blood.
“Fuck me,” he muttered. “This isn’t too good.” He found the remaining Benzedrine capsule in his arm pocket and swallowed it dry, feeling it stick in his throat halfway down. He swiped at his wound again and managed to suck enough blood from his glove to choke the capsule down.