Pandora's Legion

Carolyn Padgett-Smith bestowed a large smile on Jeffrey Malten. “I hope you catch one, then!”

BALUCHISTAN PROVINCE

Sometimes it was hard for Kassim to remember that Ali’s degree was in medicine rather than theology. While the doctor practiced the former, he lived the latter. Had Kassim heard the word, he would have recognized Ali as a devoted evangelist.

Some of Ali’s cell lacked the Syrian’s ability to distinguish between lay teacher and cleric. Occasionally someone referred to the doctor as an imam, but only one time. Dr. Ali’s piousness could turn into a wrath of stunning proportions, lest he permit himself to indulge in the sin of false pride. He considered himself a scholar, not a priest.

This evening the “sermon” turned on seeming contradictions in the Qur’an and the Hadith, though Ali insisted that The Prophet’s compilations contained far fewer than the Christian holy book.

One surah in particular troubled Miam Tahirkheli, a youngster who wanted to follow his teacher into medicine. “Doctor, Sunan Abu Dawud quotes The Prophet that we may not harm any old person, any child, or any woman. If it is prohibited to make war upon women and children, how then can we use methods that destroy the innocent?”

Ali had never known a Jesuit but he had a seminarian’s knowledge of polemical questions. “I believe there are no totally innocent victims among the Crusaders. Yes, children are blameless in and of themselves, but their parents are at fault for failing to protect them. Worse, for failing to guide them on the true path. America and the other Zionist nations all are ruled by democratically elected officials. Yet their governments are opposed to Islam and kill our believers in large numbers. Therefore, America and its lackeys constitute a legitimate target. If the populations would overthrow the Crusaders and the Jews, we would have little argument with them.”

Tahirkheli, who had some schooling beyond the elementary level, accepted the logic. “Then we must strengthen ourselves to act in ways that might offend The Faith?”

Ali folded his arms and rocked back on his haunches. “My brother, what would you have us do? Either we can defend The Faith or we can watch it wither and die. World conditions permit nothing else.”

Miam Tahirkheli realized that the other men and boys were watching him. Thrusting out his chin, which bore the beginnings of a fine beard, he forced his voice an octave lower than normal. “I will be a defender.”

QUETTA, PAKISTAN

As the 727 braked to a stop and the three engines spun down, the parking ramp was dimly lit. Clearly the Pakistanis did not want to draw undue attention to the new arrival. Keegan knew that two hangars had been allotted to SSI: one for the company plane and another for the teams. The Falcon would unload and depart almost immediately.

A limousine was waiting from the American consulate as Frank Leopole and Omar Mohammed descended the stairs. Though the limo bore diplomatic plates, it flew no flags and showed no sign of the passengers’ prestige. A tall American emerged in mufti with a uniformed Pakistani.

Brigadier General Bryce Hardesty was known as “Buster.” As military attache to Islamabad, his position carried more responsibility than his rank indicated. Mohammed had gleaned some useful information from the officer’s bio, filling in the gaps with a couple of phone calls. SSI knew that Hardesty’s previous experience and fluency in Urdu had gained him the position before he pinned on his star.

Introductions were made as the men walked to the office. Buster Hardesty made a point of pronouncing the Pakistani’s name slowly and carefully, though SSI already had the information via fax.

Major Rustam Khan were a green uniform with the star and crescent of his rank on the epaulets of an immaculately pressed blouse. Leopole assessed him in one glance: mid-thirties, five-eight or — nine, generally fit. Professional-looking. He spoke English with a hint of a British accent.

Hardesty was businesslike but personable. He laid out the situation in more detail than SSI had seen previously. “This is a pretty secure facility, gentlemen. It was a training base until a couple years ago when the PAF consolidated some facilities. You have more than adequate barracks for forty men, and in fact you’re welcome to spread out if you wish. Major Khan has already provided for chow and laundry services from the caretakers here.”

Leopole took SSI’s lead in the discussion, focusing on Hardesty while being careful to include Khan. The erstwhile marine considered the Pakis an odd bunch. Their army used conventional ranks while the air force was RAF. Their navy had ensigns and lieutenants junior grade but above the 0–2 level they used army ranks. He tried to imagine majors and colonels commanding ships. He couldn’t.

Keegan and Padgett-Smith arrived, having supervised parking the 727 and unloading medical kits. Hardesty and Khan rose to their feet as Leopole made the introductions. “Dr. Padgett-Smith is the immunologist I mentioned. She’s really the reason we’re here.”

Carolyn extended a manicured hand to Hardesty. She was amused when Khan kissed her hand in a most un- Islamic gesture. With a sideways glance, she thought that she saw Leopole register mild disapproval. She was pleased.

Administrative matters took about forty minutes. At that point Keegan interjected. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Ah, I have another helicopter pilot with me. We hoped for some flight time in a Hip before we left the States but it wasn’t possible…”

Khan nodded briskly. “Yes, yes. We have arranged to begin day after tomorrow. You shall have an Mi-17 with an instructor pilot and engineer.”

Keegan expressed obvious pleasure. He arched his eyebrows at Leopole, who interpreted the message: I’ll be damned! “Ah, thank you, Major. We’ve already read the manual so we should be able to transition pretty quickly.”

As the meeting broke up, Khan introduced the base liaison officer who would care for the Americans. The two Pakis obliged Mohammed and Steve Lee with some Urdu conversation while Leopole commiserated with Hardesty. “General, I’d say that Khan is a capable officer. But isn’t an 0–4 kind of junior for a project of this priority?”

“Well, remember that in this part of the world a major carries more weight than his western counterparts. Besides, Rustam would be my choice in any case. Most of the senior officers here owe their allegiance to the ruling clique, and frankly some of them are suspect. They may not overtly support al Qaeda but they won’t try very hard to defeat it, either. In a way, you can’t blame them. They know that if the current regime is overthrown, they’ll be at risk.”

“So what’s Khan’s motivation?”

“He’s a decent man and a good officer. But, just between us, he has more reason than most. A couple of years back there was a string of car bombings near military and government facilities. Rustam’s wife was injured and their daughter was killed. There isn’t much he wouldn’t do to track down those people.”

8

QUETTA AIRBASE

“Interesting bunch of lads. I’m getting to know them better.”

Frank Leopole regarded Carolyn Padgett-Smith with renewed interest. In a few days his original skepticism had mutated into grudging admiration that now teetered on the verge of respect. “You mean they try to speak the Queen’s English around you?”

“Such as one can discern from American mercenaries!”

“Yes, they’re mercenaries,” Leopole conceded. “Hell, I’m a merc myself, since I fight for money.” He uttered a short male bark. Few strangers had ever seen Lieutenant Colonel Leopole actually laugh. “But then I did the same thing in the corps, when you think about it.”

She returned the smile. “One man’s mercenary is another’s soldier of fortune, I suppose.”

Leopole nodded. “Yes, ma’am, but the difference is damn… thin.” He waved a hand at Blue Team kicking a soccer ball around the hangar. Gunny Foyte had given them a half-hour respite after unpacking and stowing gear. “The name ‘mercenary’ still has negative connotations, but that’s just a word. It got a bad rap in the sixties when a