Hawkins easily reconstructed the murderous assault.
The helicopters would have used the camel hump as cover and swooped in with Gatling guns blazing. The Afghans had fought back with their automatic weapons, but their defense would have been useless in the face of the withering stream of hot lead. After the guns had softened up the defenders, a missile was used to dispatch the troop carrier. The choppers had hovered over the lake for a few seconds before going into a holding pattern around the hump.
Hawkins pushed away a chilling thought. If Abby and Cait had stayed at the camp they would have been among the dead.
“Hey, Hawk. Heads up. Eleven o’clock.”
Hawkins’ eyes followed Calvin’s pointing finger. The larger helicopter had broken from the holding pattern and was heading back toward the lake.
Without another word, Calvin scrambled over the top of the cliff and started running toward the shredded framework of their tents. The attack had concentrated mostly on the troop carrier, but shrapnel had torn through the tent fabric.
“Where the hell are you going?” Hawkins yelled at his friend’s back.
Calvin raised his arm in a follow-me gesture and shouted something about needing help.
The helicopter was coming in fast.
Hawkins swore lustily and clambered over the edge of the cliff. Calvin was at the ruined tents, and he ripped aside the tattered fabric and reached inside. He was struggling to lift a heavy metal locker when Hawkins arrived and grabbed one of the handles. They lugged the locker back toward the cliff, then down the banking to the water.
Hawkins started up toward the cliff again.
“Hey, Hawk, where the hell are you going?”
Calvin’s voice was almost drowned out by the noise of the approaching rotors.
Hawkins gave Calvin the hand signal to stay down and raised his head slightly above the edge.
A charcoal-colored Blackhawk helicopter armed with missile pods on its stubby wings was setting down a few hundred feet from the blazing troop carrier. Seconds after the skids touched ground, the doors flew open and four men carrying AK-47s popped out. They were dressed in camouflage suits with no insignia. Black berets covered their heads. Their facial complexion and body type reflected a variety of nationalities, but they all had the hard-eyed, alert expression of professional soldiers.
Four more men got out. They were carrying duffle bags which they set on the ground. As the armed men stood guard, the quartet opened the bags and began to pull out air tanks and other dive equipment.
Finally, two more men emerged from the chopper. Hawkins couldn’t believe his eyes when a portly man got out of the aircraft and he recognized the professor he had met at Georgetown University. Saleem had shed his tweeds and was dressed in a khaki army uniform, again with no insignia.
Hawkins’ disbelief was further tested when he saw the last man, wearing a similar uniform emerge. The man took a few steps, stopped and swiveled his head robotically to inspect the carnage. In that fleeting second Hawkins saw the face of one of the twin assassins who had shot up his office. The man went over to the divers, who were suiting up, and pointed toward the lake.
Hawkins ducked below the ledge and slid down the slope to where Calvin was waiting.
“We’ve got big trouble,” he said.
Over breakfast at the garden table in the courtyard of his house, Amir had been sharing reminiscences of his late wife with his two guests when he paused and looked first at Abby, then Cait.
“Tell me,” he said. “If the Prester John treasure were in your hands, what would you do with it?”
“I would put it in an exhibition that traveled the world so that people everywhere could see the wonders of the past,” Cait said.
“Spoken like a true seeker of knowledge. Would those people be primarily in the more affluent countries?”
“A fair question. I would make sure the exhibition goes everywhere and that poor people could see it for free.”
“Better. But even if the treasure went on display, how would showing a priceless treasure better the lives of people in a poor country like Afghanistan?”
“By giving them pride in their culture. The glories of their past would show them that they once had a level of civilization that equaled or even surpassed that of Western Europe.”
Amir nodded and turned to Abby. “Do you agree?”
“Cultural pride is a good thing,” Abby said, “but you can’t eat it. I’d slap a big price on the admission tickets and use the treasure as the basis for books, films, videos, reproductions. The money earned would go into a foundation that would distribute the income to countries where it would do the most good.”
“Brilliant!” Amir said. “Could you be persuaded to run this foundation?”
“With your business background, you’d be a perfect choice,” Cait said.
“Thanks for the flattering offer, but I’m pretty busy with my company.”
“Not too busy to travel halfway across the world to go on a dangerous treasure hunt,” Cait said.
“Matt wouldn’t let me say no.” She shrugged. “I guess I’m a sucker when it comes to my ex-husband.”
Cait’s jaw dropped. “You were married to Matt?”
“For a few years, after a whirlwind navy romance.”
“You have good taste in men. He’s extremely attractive.”
“If you’re hinting that I was a fool to give him up, you’re probably right. But Matt would probably agree with me that it was the right thing to do at the time.”
“At the time,” Cait echoed, cocking her head.
Abby knew Cait was about to use her answer as a jumping off place to ask whether things had changed. She liked Cait, but her past was her own business, and she would not be shy about saying so. Amir may have seen the pugnacious look in her eye because he diverted the conversation back to the subject of the treasure.
“Maybe Abby would be interested in your thoughts on the exact nature of the treasure, Dr. Cait.”
Abby gave Amir a smile of thanks for allowing her a graceful exit.
“Be glad to,” Cait said. “Prester John described himself as being fabulously rich and said that he ruled his kingdom with an emerald-encrusted golden scepter. My research suggests that he sent some of his treasure as a gift to the Pope and the scepter as a gesture of solidarity.”
“I could use a scepter like that to rule my own little kingdom,” Amir said with a wry smile.
“You may have the artifact in your hands soon, if Matt’s dive is successful.”
“Then we should soon be on our way,” Amir said. He rose from his chair and said, “My car will be here in fifteen minutes.”
As Abby headed for her room, Cait reached out and touched her arm.
“Thanks for persuading me to spend the night here, and for the first aid on my face,” she said. “I owe you an apology, too. I was pushing too close to your personal business.”
Abby saw from Cait’s expression that she was truly sorry.
“The stuff with Matt? Don’t worry,” she said before setting off down the hallway. “That’s water under the bridge. We’re just good friends, although we may not even be that by the time this adventure is over. Your face looks great by the way. Make-up is a wonderful thing. See you in ten.”
Amir was at the wheel of the touring car. An armed guard sat beside him and two more tribesmen were tucked into the jump seats behind the seated women. More guards rode in the Russian Jeep, behind the Caddy, and others in the DPV, which brought up the rear.
As usual, Amir drove at breakneck speed. They were flying through the agricultural fields when suddenly a pick-up truck appeared coming in the opposite direction. The driver was blinking the headlights and leaning on the horn.