Hawkins blinked his flashlight and started toward the guide’s position, walking in a wide circle around the sleeping bags so as not to disturb their occupants.
As he neared the guide, Hawkins whispered, “What’s up, Rashid?”
“I thought I heard something moving.”
Hawkins guessed that the guide had been spooked by a rabbit, but he drew his pistol, stepped past him and squinted into the darkness, his ears attuned to the slightest sound. He heard nothing. Not even the buzz of insects.
“Where?” he said.
“Off to the left,” the guide’s voice rasped in his ear. “There it is. Again. Closer.”
Hawkins leaned slightly forward and moved his finger onto the trigger.
“I don’t—”
Something hard slammed into the right side of his head and a nova blossomed before his eyes. The blow might have killed him if it had not been softened by the wool cap and if he had not shifted position a second before he was struck. As he sank to his knees he heard a loud explosion and his arm jerked backwards.
He blacked out, but the shards of pain stabbing his head shocked him back to consciousness. He heard Calvin, then Abby’s voice sounding as if their mouths were full of cotton. He opened his eyes and saw a pale oval that transformed into Abby’s face as his vision cleared. She was cradling his head in her lap.
“Matt. Are you all right? Talk to me, for godsakes!”
Hawkins reached up and removed the cap. His fingers slightly touched the tender skin and his skull felt as if it was cracked. He struggled to sit up.
“Feels like someone dropped a house on my head, but I’m okay. Rashid sucker-punched me with a rock. Where is the sneaky bastard?”
“Gone. Cal’s after him.”
They whirled at the sound of the DPV’s engine turning over and barking into life, followed by gunshots. Then came the whine of spinning tires and the engine noise began to recede.
A flashlight bobbed in the darkness and footsteps pounded toward them.
“Sonofabitch stole the buggy!” Calvin shouted with breathless anger. “Fired in the air, but he kept on going. You okay, Hawk?”
“Nothing a new skull wouldn’t cure.”
Calvin and Abby helped him to his feet where he stood on shaky legs. He was angry for not following his instincts where Rashid was concerned. The guide had taken off with the submersible and dive gear, most of their survival equipment and a cache of weapons.
“How did you know I was in trouble?” he said.
Abby handed him his pistol. “We heard a shot and came running. I found this on the ground.”
She handed over his pistol. The barrel was still warm.
“I must have fired it by accident. Damn. I don’t look forward to telling the navy that their million dollar submersible got ripped off.”
“Cheer up, Hawk, They’ll never believe you.”
“Did he get the satellite phone?”
“Yep. On the buggy.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go. After Rashid. The DPV’s tire tracks will lead us right to him.”
“He’s got a huge head start on us, and spare cans of fuel to keep him going,” Abby said. “We’ll never catch up with him.”
“Never say never,” Hawkins said. He led them to the supplies he’d stacked earlier and showed them the fuel containers.
Calvin laughed. “Rashid’s going to be pissed when he runs out of gas.”
“He’s still got enough fuel to put some miles between us. He’ll expect us to wait until light to get moving, but we’ll leave now.”
Abby said, “You need some first aid before we go anywhere, Matt.”
The first aid consisted of a couple of aspirin, a compress to hold the swelling down and a bandage and tape. While Abby nursed Hawkins, Calvin packed water, food and weapons. They walked to the edge of the campsite where the dune buggy had been parked, and began to follow the faint tread marks in the rocky soil.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Cait was much too excited to sleep. She woke up an hour before dawn, showered and got dressed in a long-sleeve tan cotton shirt, matching cargo slacks and hiking boots. Then she inventoried the contents of her duffle bag to make sure she had her digital camera, flashlight, batteries and notebook. She followed the scent of coffee through the quiet house to the kitchen. There was a fresh pot on the stove and a plate of pastry on the table. Leaning on the plate was an envelope with her name written on it. The note inside said:
“My apologies. I can’t join you for breakfast. My men will show you the ruins. Best of luck. Looking forward to hearing about your explorations. A.”
She tucked the folded note into her shirt pocket. Amir might be a drug lord, but the old rogue was a considerate host. After a quick breakfast of coffee and pastry, Cait filled a couple of canteens with cold water and went back to her room to collect the duffle. She pulled on a wind-breaker, tucked her hair under a Georgetown University baseball cap and stepped out the front door to wait for her ride.
It was still dark outside, and the temperature was in the forties, although once the sun rose, its heat would quickly vanquish the lingering cold of the night. The village was stirring with life. A pair of operatic roosters had begun a duet, setting off a chain reaction of barking dogs that triggered a wailing chorus of hungry babies.
The guttural rumble of a powerful engine echoed off the walls of the closely-built houses, drowning out the morning concert. Amir’s Cadillac touring car drove up to the front of the house and stopped at Cait’s feet.
The car’s canvas top was folded down despite the cool air. Two bearded men sat in the front seat of the seven-passenger car. The driver was one of Amir’s top lieutenants. His name was Ghatool which meant tulip in Pashto, but with his squat, troll-like physique, fierce beard and hard eyes, he was as unlike a flower as anyone could be.
The name would have more suited the handsome young man who sat in the passenger seat, his hand clutching a rifle. His name was Baht and despite his movie star good looks, his delicate features could not disguise the Afghan toughness that comes from growing up in an environment that punishes weakness.
Baht got out of the car, still holding his rifle and stored her bag in the car’s trunk. Then he motioned for her to get in back and resumed his seat riding shotgun. Moments later, the car passed through the gates of the compound. The Cadillac’s headlights stabbed the inky darkness as the car sped along the road between Amir’s agricultural fields, then into open country, maintaining a steady pace for around fifteen minutes until it slowed to turn off onto a rutted track.
As she rode in the back seat with the air blowing in her face, Cait felt like an Oriental potentate off to inspect her vast holdings. She thought it interesting that Amir had assigned his most trusted men to the routine errand of taking his guest to visit the ruins. The gesture reaffirmed the tie that had developed since she had saved the warlord’s granddaughter from choking.
The stars faded from the heavens as a golden eye peeked between gaps in the shark-tooth mountain range and the sky shifted to purple and blue. Once the sun rose above the peaks, it was as if a thousand flood lamps had been switched on.
Cait slipped on her sunglasses and took in the passing scenery. They had left the relatively flat lands of the flood plain behind and the track threaded its way through a series of linked valleys that separated low hills covered with scrub brush. The big balloon tires allowed the Cadillac to move with relative ease over the uneven ground.
Ghatool eased off the gas pedal as they rounded a bend and pointed through the windshield.