depression in the shingle about a hundred and fifty meters below, his rifle positioned beside a rock. Somewhere far below were Katya and Altamaty, exploring the line of shaft entrances closer to the valley floor.
“Shooting at ghosts hiding behind rocks on a hill,” Jack murmured.
“What?”
“A line from a British soldier of the first Afghan war,” Jack said.
Costas settled down heavily on his front beside Jack, and rolled onto his elbows. He was panting, and his breath crystallized in clouds in the still air. “I should have brought my laser range finder.”
“The Canadian rangers taught me to estimate distance on the tundra, where the white backdrop makes the target stand out. Their benchmark was the standard survey lot of a hundred acres. Each side’s just under seven hundred meters. It’s a distance people grow up with in Canada, as that’s how the land was parceled out. The rangers reckoned that was about the maximum distance for a. 303 shot with the unaided eye. Beyond that, you stand little chance of making out a stationary human form, especially with a rocky backdrop like this.”
“Unless you’ve got eagle eyes, like our opponent.”
Jack looked at the altimeter on his watch. “I downloaded a topographical map before we took off from Bishkek. The distance from the valley floor to the top of the ridge is about five hundred meters. Lieutenant Wood got that right in 1836, fifteen hundred feet. We’re maybe a bit over a hundred meters below the ridge, and the slope we’ve come up must have averaged at least forty-five degrees.”
“Isosceles triangle,” Costas murmured. “That gives a distance to the valley floor of about six hundred meters. But our sniper could be anywhere up the opposite slope, and there’s lateral distance too.”
“You have to put yourself in his mind,” Jack said. “Let’s assume he arrived here with plenty of time to choose his position. He wants to have a view of all the mineshaft entrances, right? He doesn’t know which one’s going to be his target. The shafts up here, close to the ridge, are the farthest from the opposite slope. Rahid said they’re just visible from the path running above the valley floor, the continuation of the one we came in on. That gives him a minimum distance to the most distant possible target, where we are now. He’s going to want to position himself equidistant between the farthest possible targets on either side. That puts him in a cone of probability focusing on that large cleft you can see above the path opposite us.”
“Remember what Katya said about how good this guy is. You’re thinking of seven hundred yards, but maybe he can do nine hundred, eleven hundred, more.”
Jack nodded. “He’s also going to take counter-sniping into account. He’s seen our rifles, but he’s going to assume that none of us are trained. Remember what Rahid said about the Taliban recruits, their dismal marksmanship. That’s what this guy’s going to be used to, wherever he’s worked in war zones around the world. Boy soldiers, terrorists spraying Kalashnikovs. Never much threat to him. In counter-sniper work, you always have to try to find a weakness in your opponent, and that’s his. He thinks he’s master of this valley, but he’s not.”
“You have to believe it, Jack.”
“It’s the psychology of the sniper. You need complete confidence in yourself That’s the sniper’s ultimate strength, but also a weakness. Confidence breeds over-confidence.”
Costas slid back down the mine tailings into the gully. “I just hope you don’t get the shakes. My teeth are beginning to chatter, and I’m not sure if it’s just the cold. I’m going to take a look in that shaft above us. But I’m going to drop down and see Pradesh first. He needs to know about that cone of probability.”
“Good. The more movement our opponent sees, the longer we have.”
“How much time?”
“Not much. He’s going to want to strike before the light goes. And he’ll have seen we’re not equipped to spend a night up here. He’ll be looking for any sign that we’ve found what we’re seeking.”
“You think he knows we’re onto him?”
“He’ll have seen Katya. He knows she’ll have told us about him. He’s seen us split up. He could guess why.”
“If I’m sticking my head up, I want you to be covering me.”
“Roger that.”
Costas shuddered with the cold, beating his arms around him, then clambered over the tailings and made his way down the slope to where Pradesh was visible in the sangar below. Costas slid awkwardly on the scree, completely exposed. Jack was far more worried than he had let on. If the sniper was half as good as Katya said he was, his first target would be himself or Pradesh. He would want to get rid of the two rifles first, the only threat to him, then pick off the rest at leisure. Jack shut his eyes, and tried to put himself into the mind of the other man, somewhere on the opposite side of the valley, staring at them, his eye darting from Katya and Altamaty, to Pradesh, to him, seeing Costas moving down the slope. Jack opened his eyes and peered out, searching the opposite slope, still seeing nothing. The noise of Costas stumbling down the rock reverberated across the valley. Jack prayed that he had been right, that the rifle was trained on him first, not Pradesh. He took a deep breath and forced himself to stand up, holding the rifle, making himself a clear target for a few moments, then lay back down behind the rocks. His rifle had the scope, Pradesh’s rifle did not. He took off his sheepskin mitts, remembering what Rahid had said. The cold would numb his fingers and make his shooting ineffective. By that simple act he was committing himself mentally to the task ahead. He had to believe that his opponent was also poised for action. He unwrapped the Lee-Enfield from the turban cloth. He tried to shut his mind from everything except his rifle and the target. He began breathing slowly, deeply, stopping every few breaths before inhaling again, trying to slow his pounding heart. He felt the forestock of the rifle, dried linseed oil on walnut, tested the grip. He held the rifle with his left hand and used his right hand to arrange the cloth where his elbows would be, cushioning them against the jagged chips of rock. He wrapped his right arm around the sling, but not too tight, remembering that the throb of arteries might be enough to throw his aim off completely at this distance.
Jack removed the lens covers and the elevation and windage turret caps from the scope, but kept a strip of turban cloth over the front lens to minimize the chance of glare. The slightest reflection, the slightest movement, could give the game away. As soon as his opponent knew that Jack was taking up position the waiting was over, and the others were suddenly targets. The slightest flinch could put all their lives in danger. He flipped off the safety on the rifle, then pulled the bolt handle back. He saw the gleam of the cartridge in the magazine, pushed the bolt forward, saw the cartridge jump up and nose into the chamber, and then felt the resistance as he pushed the bolt home and let the handle drop. He raised the rifle, careful not to let the muzzle show above the rocks. He edged up the slope, bringing the rifle level and then down, wedging the forestock into a rocky cleft, aiming at the path across the opposite slope of the valley. He looked along the side of the scope, trying to gauge the distance with his naked eye. He chose the rock he had spied with Costas. Eight hundred yards. It was downslope, but the air was thin, dry, and the decreased resistance would compensate for the extra gravity. He reached up and dialed in the elevation. There was no vegetation to gauge wind speed, but it was virtually nonexistent, only a tingle on his face from the north. He touched the dial on the windage turret, turning it one notch. He let his right hand fall to the trigger guard, then pulled the butt hard into his shoulder, bringing his cheek to bear against the raised wooden piece on the comb of the stock. Keeping both eyes open, he looked with his right eye down the scope, shifting back slightly to get the best eye relief It was a simple crosshair reticule, and despite the three and a half times magnification the rock still seemed impossibly far away. He remembered what he had been taught. He projected his mind forward until he imagined the dark silhouette of a body in the rocks, then the bullet racing in, becoming smaller as the silhouette became larger. Without moving his head he looked around. The target could still be outside his point of aim visible through the scope. He curled his forefinger around the trigger, pulling it through its first stage, feeling the resistance. He took a deep breath, taking in the sharp, metallic smell of the rock, and exhaled halfway. He stopped breathing. He went still.
He stared through the scope. Show yourself.
Suddenly out of his left eye Jack saw movement on the valley floor. His heart began to pound. He willed it to slow down. Where the pall of dust had floated above the far end of the valley a shape had emerged. It was a horse, riderless, cantering along beside the dry riverbed that ran through the middle of the defile. The horse passed the tent they had seen among the boulders and came to a halt about a hundred yards beyond, tossing its head and pawing the ground. Jack kept stock-still. He saw another figure, walking from the edge of the slope below him toward the horse. Jack took his eye off the sights, and stared in disbelief. It was Katya. He remembered her fascination with the akhal-teke, the heavenly steeds. She walked toward the horse, hands outstretched, completely exposed. It was as if she were in a trance. Then Jack saw something else, a flash, a glint from the opposite slope. That was it. He instantly reacquired his target. The flash had been about twenty yards higher than his point of aim.
