“Thin’m gonna be sick,” he said thickly.
Turning to look, Karim saw Tariq’s knees begin to buckle and exchanged a puzzled look with Roberto. “Is he all right?”
Reaching out, Tariq attempted to steady himself, momentarily leaning hard against the cool stone of the cavern entrance as Corbett moved to his side.
“He doesn’t look too good,” Roberto observed with concern.
Gripping Tariq by his shoulders, Corbett lowered him to the ground as he spoke. “Quickly. This man needs medical attention. You two run back down to the camp and let Sebastian know. I’ll radio ahead to see if we can get a Medivac out here.”
“Medivac…?” Karim repeated as if trying to make sense of the word.
“Medical helicopter. Now go!” Corbett commanded as he began to loosen Tariq’s clothing. About to lose consciousness, the Iraqi abruptly began to convulse as his body collapsed to the ground.
Seeing this, Roberto turned and started down the mountain at a run. But Karim seemed rooted to the spot. Staring at Tariq’s trembling form, he looked at Corbett. “Sure you don’t need help?”
“Positive. Go… now!” Corbett replied.
Managing a nod, Karim turned at last and took off after his partner.
Watching them go, Corbett waited until they were out of sight. Then kneeling beside Tariq, he checked his pulse. Irregular and thready, it was barely discernible. Quickly slipping off his own jacket, he covered Tariq’s upper body, trying to keep him warm. Then crossing to the right side of the entrance, he located the black backpack. Unzipping it, he took out the flare gun. Double-checking to be sure it was loaded, he removed the safety and pointed into the darkening sky. Pulling the trigger, he felt the gun recoil as the flare streaked high above before exploding in a red starburst. Now there was nothing left to do but wait for the helicopter and hope the Jihadis were too preoccupied to notice.
*****
Racing down the mountain toward camp, Karim could see Roberto still thirty meters ahead. As he ran, his mind was spinning. Had the Iraqi really fallen ill? Or was it part of some elaborate ruse to divert attention while they extracted Tariq and transported him back to his father’s side. Karim settled on the latter. Of the exact details he could not be sure. But the one thing he now knew for certain: they were sending for a helicopter. He had to get word to the others. Time was of the essence. For their mission to be successful, he would have to reach Jarral without delay. Seeing Roberto reach the base camp, Karim veered off to the right and circled around. Quickly descending, he made his way along the dirt and gravel path toward the abandoned farmhouse beyond.
*****
Tariq had begun to sweat as his body trembled uncontrollably. Fearing the drug might be having a dangerously adverse effect, Corbett wrapped his jacket tighter around him. When the tremors continued, he considered administering the atropine but decided to hold off until he could actually hear the rotors of the chopper. Lying down beside him, Corbett held Tariq’s body against his own, attempting to use his own body temperature to help keep him warm.
“Stay with me,” he whispered uncertain whether Tariq could even hear him much less understand. “It’s going to be all right. Trust me. I’ve got you. It won’t be long. The chopper’s on its way.”
Lying there, Corbett thought back to the friendship they had first formed at Oxford. Inseparable. Like brothers. It was hard to explain. Being in love with another human being without any of the complications of sex. Complex feelings that at the time he would have certainly denied. But now, in a moment of clarity, Corbett suddenly realized that he had loved Tariq from the first. A love that transcended all the usual bonds of friendship. Unique. Unbreakable. Stronger than anything he had ever felt toward another, woman or man alike. Which, of course, had made Tariq’s betrayal with Amaia that much more painful. Without warning, his mind filled with the image of Jon Alesander’s bullet-ridden body, dead in the muddy Kibera street. Forcing these thoughts of death from his mind, he drew Tariq closer as if to protect him from some unseen force lurking in the night. Despite all that had passed between them, Corbett now realized: there was nothing he would not do to save him. Even if it meant laying down his own life. Attempting to impart every last ounce of warmth to calm Tariq’s trembling body, Corbett tried to steel himself against whatever was still to come.
*****
At the rear entrance to the abandoned farmhouse, Karim was met by Jarral. He was carrying an Uzi and had slipped the sheathed peshkabz through his belt as the remaining members of the cell now armed themselves as well.
“They’re taking Tariq out…” Karim gasped, the words tumbling out as he struggled for breath. “by helicopter.”
“Helicopter…?”
“He appears to be sick, but I think it is a trick. The American has said he was calling for Medivac to take him away.”
Jarral nodded, quickly running through the possibilities in his mind. “Then the helicopter must be destroyed. Make certain he cannot escape, then we kill him and take his head.” Turning, he moved to a cache of weapons stacked against the wall. Selecting an American made M72 LAW, he handed it to Karim. “Here... Use this.”
Karim took the olive drab tube-like contraption from Jarral’s hands. Though hardly more than five pounds, it felt heavier. Holding it brought back memories of his training during his time in the Borderlands.
“You have operated such as this before?”
Karim nervously nodded, embarrassed to admit the truth. While he had frequently witnessed demonstrations of such a weapon in the camps, he had never actually fired one himself. The single round disposable Light Anti-tank Weapon was not to be squandered on target practice. Accurate
