“Somewhere in the Samangan. Or maybe the Bamiyan region.”
Riess stared at Tower, who continued to watch the Ambassador speaking with Sevara. “Nice place to hide.”
“If that’s all he’s planning, yeah,” Tower said. “Let’s hope that’s all he’s planning.”
Behind them, they heard a series of cracks, then a hiss, and both of them looked up to see the first of the fireworks streaking into the sky. The explosives shrieked as they climbed, then went silent before bursting into a cascade of green, white, and blue, the colors of the Uzbek flag. Green to represent Islam, but officially said to represent nature and fertility, the life of the young country. White to represent purity in thought and deed. And blue for the waters that fed the cotton and the land, and to recall the fourteenth-century flag of the ruler Timur, who had claimed an empire from Samarkand, controlling the heart of the Silk Road.
The crowd broke into polite applause, and a second volley of fireworks started, chasing the first into the air.
“Come on, Chuck,” Tower told him. “Let’s enjoy the show.”
It was when Riess was leaving, shaking hands with the last of the junior Reps, that he saw Zahidov. The Deputy Prime Minister of the Interior stood alone at the edge of the den, looking out into the garden. He had a drink in his hand, but it was untouched, and Riess followed his gaze to see that Zahidov was watching Sevara, still seated outside, now talking animatedly with the DCM.
Riess headed outside, wondering about Zahidov, thinking about the other color in the Uzbekistan flag, the one color that hadn’t been represented in the fireworks display. On the flag, between the strips of blue and white and green, ran thin red lines. Red for blood.
He was sure that Zahidov had noticed it was missing, too.
CHAPTER 38
Afghanistan—Hindu Kush Mountains—
Samangan Region
25 August, 2105 Hours (GMT+4:30)
They were allowed to freshen up, which gave Chace the opportunity to move the Walther into a less uncomfortable position at her back, and then were given refreshment, food and drink. Ruslan and Kostum watched them while Chace and Lankford ate, the two men speaking quietly to each other in Uzbek. Both she and Lankford were hungry and very thirsty, and they took the meal eagerly, thanking their host.
Kostum seemed to approve of their manners and their gratitude. He was a short man, broad-faced, and like everyone else in Samangan, had his own Kalashnikov ever close at hand. He asked Ruslan what sounded like some very pointed questions at one point while watching her and Lankford, and Chace had no doubt the questions were about them, why they had come, what they wanted.
When the meal had been cleared, Ruslan said something to Kostum that started a brief argument. Lankford cast a quizzical glance her way, and Chace shook her head. Nothing in either Ruslan or Kostum’s body language indicated imminent violence. Beyond that, she had no way of knowing what was being said.
“Your friend,” Ruslan said in English. “He will go with Kostum.”
“I’d rather stay,” Lankford said.
Kostum spoke up, also in English. “No, tour, please. I give for you a tour.”
“It’s all right, Chris,” Chace said.
“How you figure?”
“We’re under protection, isn’t that right, General?”
Kostum grunted. “Protect you, yes. But.” He raised his right hand, index finger pointing down. “But my brother Ruslan protected also.”
“We understand,” Chace said. “Go with him, Chris.”
“Right.” Lankford unfolded his legs, getting to his feet. “Holler if you need me.”
“Will do.”
She and Ruslan watched as Lankford left, escorted by Kostum. They could hear his broken English as they went, explaining how he had come by the home, how it had been used by the Soviets first. Then Kostum’s voice faded to nothing, leaving Chace and Ruslan looking at each other in silence.
Ruslan sat down opposite her at the table, refilled her glass of tea halfway, using the silver pot on the table, then poured a half glass for himself.
“Have you come to kill me?” he asked her casually.
In answer, Chace pulled the Walther from behind her back, then set it on the table between them. Ruslan reacted at the draw, then relaxed fractionally as her hand left the gun.
“It’s an option,” Chace told him.
Ruslan moved his eyes from the gun back to Chace. “You saved my life and my son’s life, and now they send you to undo that. Why?”
“There are people, sir, who think you are planning to make trouble for your sister. That your intention is to gather men and arms and launch an attack, to try to force Sevara from power.”
“And you, Tracy? You think this, too?”
“Kostum looks to have a lot of men, sir, and a lot of equipment. Whether or not he could move those men and that equipment north without being stopped by either the Afghan Army or the NATO forces between here and Termez, that’s another question.”
“You are not answering my question.”
“No. It’s not what I think.”
Ruslan seemed surprised, tilting his head as he regarded her. “Then what do you believe I want?”
“Whether you wish to live out your life here in peace or whether you’re planning something else, I can’t say. It doesn’t matter.”
“No? Why does this not matter?”
“Because there are people who believe you threaten Sevara. Unless they’re given a reason to think otherwise—and a compelling reason—they will continue to believe it.”
Ruslan nodded thoughtfully, drank his tea, then asked, “How is your child?”
Chace smiled. “Very well, thank you.”
“I hear my son is well also. You saved his life.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.”
“It is true. You saved both our lives. If you had not taken us from Tashkent, Zahidov would have killed us. Perhaps not that day, but on a day to follow it. The way he killed my Dina.”
