“My daughter will lead the villagers to some caves a few miles from here where they can hide,” Amir explained.
“Good move,” Hawkins said. “The village will be a death trap if the choppers attack.”
“Why didn’t they shoot at us back at the lake?” Calvin said. “They had us dead in their sights.”
Hawkins shook his head. “Haven’t a clue, but it’s only a matter of time before they return.”
“We’re not completely defenseless. I have something to show you that might help,” Amir said.
Hawkins and Calvin were still in their wetsuits, and now they were sweating profusely under the tight neoprene coverings. “But before you do that, you don’t know where we could get some street clothes?”
Amir told them to wait and disappeared into the house.
Abby and Cait got out of the touring car. “What’s going on?” Abby said.
Hawkins repeated what Amir had said.
“What do you want us to do?” Abby said.
“The sheik’s daughter may need a hand getting the villagers to safety. We’ll follow as soon as we see what Amir has up his sleeve.”
“See that you do, Matt,” Cait said. “I’m holding you to that dinner invitation.”
Abby shot an unfriendly glance at Cait and turned to Hawkins with narrowed eyes.
“What dinner invitation is that, Matt?”
Hawkins was struggling to come up with a diplomatic answer when Calvin came to his rescue.
“Dinner we’re all going to have to celebrate getting out of this mess,” he said.
Abby flashed an alligator smile, and then she and Cait climbed into the jeep and headed out of the village to catch up with the evacuation.
“Thanks for the save, pal,” Hawkins said.
“You wouldn’t be much help fighting the bad guys once Abby got through with you, Hawk. She doesn’t like you hound-dogging other pretty ladies.”
Hawkins told his friend to assume a position that would have been anatomically impossible.
Amir came out of the house and handed them two sets of clothing. “This is all I have, unfortunately.”
Hawkins and Calvin stripped down to their bathing suits, then put on the baggy tribal trousers and robe, and the mushroom-shaped hats. They got in the car and the sheik drove to the airstrip. They stopped in front of an old hangar that Amir said the Russians had built. Amir asked for help sliding open the wide wooden door, then led the way into the darkened interior and switched on the overhead lights.
Hawkins let out a low whistle. The walls were covered with weapons that spanned centuries. More weapons were displayed on wooden shelves and in glass cabinets.
“Looks like a military museum,” Hawkins said.
“Actually, it’s a museum dedicated to the folly of empire. These weapons were left behind by armies that invaded my country. We’re in the small arms section.” He reached up and touched the sharp point of a long spear hanging from the wall. “Alexander the Great’s infantry used these Macedonian sarissa pikes with devastating effect. Next to it is a bronze helmet and shield of the same era. This curved sword came in with the Arabs. That saddle was used by a cavalryman in the time of Genghis Kahn.”
Calvin ran his fingers along the wooden stock of a rifle. “Nice Martini-Henry. We saw tribesmen still using these when we were in the SEALs.”
“That weapon goes back to the British invasions,” Amir said. “These are Russian weapons. Kalashnikov automatic rifles, Spetsnaz and Malarov pistols. Grenade launchers. Now the Taliban are using them.”
“I don’t see any U.S. weapons,” Hawkins said.
“All in storage while the war is in progress. No doubt future insurgents will be using leftover firearms from the current war.”
“No doubt,” Hawkins said. “You said this is the small arms section.”
“That’s right. The bigger toys are in the next room.”
Even if Abby had not stomped the Russian jeep’s gas pedal with a lead foot, she and Cait would have had no problem catching up with the fleeing villagers. The more-or-less orderly procession had degenerated into a rout. By the time they caught up it was at a standstill. In their panic, some of the truck drivers had tried to sprint past the slower moving vehicles. The rear guard had gone after them and pulled them over like traffic cops, blocking the narrow road.
Abby drove off the road past vehicles loaded with young and old women, terrified children and wailing babies, eventually pulling up to the head of the line. Some of the armed guards were brandishing weapons at the cowering truck drivers. Amir’s daughter was shouting at the guard leader. She was backed up by several women, all talking at the same time. Some of Amir’s men stood behind the women shouting their side of the debate. Abby leaned on the horn to catch their attention. She took advantage of the pause in the altercation and jumped out of the jeep.
Striding over to Amir’s daughter, she said, “What’s going on?”
When Nagia replied in English the guard excitedly cut her off in Pashto. Abby joined in and within seconds, she too was shouting.
“Maybe I can help,” Cait said. She said something in Pashto and after a moment had managed to silence both speakers who looked expectantly at Abby.
“Thanks,” she said. “Now please tell the guy to move the guards away from the civilians. We will lead the parade. Everyone must stay in line.”
The arrangement seemed to suit the warring parties. The procession slowly got moving again with the Russian jeep at the head of the line.
Abby glanced in the rear view mirror and allowed herself a smile. “Thanks for the help,” she said.
“Anytime,” Cait replied. “About that dinner with Matt.”
“Before you say another word, take a deep breath, look behind us and think about where we are.”
“I see what you mean,” Cait said with a glance at the parade of panicked villagers and their scruffy guards. “We’re a long way from the Ritz.”
Abby smiled. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
Amir pressed an electrical switch and a section of wall slid back on its runners. They stepped into another section of the vast hangar and found themselves looking directly into the barrel of a gun on a massive turreted vehicle painted in camouflage green and tan.
“Whoa!” Calvin said. “Ruskie combat vehicle.”
“Correct,” Amir said, “It was used by Russian Special Forces. It was in bad shape from rocket grenades when I restored it, but the same mechanics who got my car and the troop carrier running rebuilt the engine. I don’t have ammunition for the machine gun, unfortunately.”
They walked around behind the combat vehicle and into another section of the shed occupied almost entirely by a huge biplane.
“This is a British Handley Page bomber dating to World War One. The British used planes like this to bomb villages in the second Anglo-Afghan war. Villagers found it on the other side of the lake many years ago and showed my grandfather who saved it from being cannibalized for parts. It was passed to my father, who left it to me. The body has been meticulously restored, as you can see, and the engines taken apart then reassembled.”
Calvin ran his fingers along the fuselage.
“I’ve heard of these planes, but never saw one before in the flesh. She’s in fantastic shape. Better than anything in my collection.”
“You’re collecting planes now?” Hawkins said.