quilt to his captive, allowing him to carry the load. Then they pushed on, heading west.
21
Kassim had never seen Ali genuinely angry. Ordinarily reserved and composed, the doctor seemed to accept bad news as equitably as good.
This was different.
“The fools! The damnable, stupid imbeciles!” He kicked the leg of a chair and nearly tipped the seat backwards. Glaring at his colleague, he caught the Syrian’s defensive stance, the lowered eyes. Ali inhaled, exhaled, and regained most of his composure. “Tell me. Everything.”
“I must accept full responsibility, Doctor. I chose the men…”
“Enough of that!” The words were spit out like high-velocity rounds, more harsh than intended. “Brother, we need to know if we can recapture him.”
Kassim sat down, still angry with himself and saddened that his men had disappointed the cause. “I do not know the full story. When I returned there, I found Hussain beaten to death. There was no sign of Tahirkheli. At first I thought perhaps he fled, but he is a proven fighter. I have seen him destroy two Soviet armored vehicles and several Northern Alliance trucks. He would not run away.” He shrugged. “Perhaps the infidel took him with him for some reason.”
“Were there any tracks? Any indication of where the American went?”
Kassim shook his head. “None. I checked the entire area so he must have gone uphill in the rocks. It is impossible to track him that way.”
“So we must assume he has food and weapons.”
“Yes, Doctor. He took the boy’s sandals and rifle. As you warned, he was a dangerous man.”
Ali drummed his long fingers on the table. “I doubt that he knows where he was, but with elevation he can see the surrounding area. He will likely head east, toward the plain.”
“Possibly.”
The veterinarian lanced his colleague with a glare. “Why ‘possibly’?”
“The geography, Doctor. The nearest town of any size from the farm is Qila Abdullah, about thirty kilometers. The border is much closer, with Spin Buldak on the road to Kandahar. In any case he will avoid the roads. But we do not have nearly enough men to search the hills in either direction. As for the rivers, if he follows the Zhob or the Nari, which bank? Upstream or downstream?”
Ali asked, “But to the west the border is guarded. So what do you suggest?”
Kassim looked closer at the map, visualizing the topography. “Use our men as efficiently as possible. Have them watch the approaches here… and here.” His blunt finger stabbed the places printed Qila Abdullah and Spin Buldak.
The doctor regarded his partner admiringly. “Yes! Rather than searching hundreds of square kilometers, wait for the rat to arrive at the bait.”
Kassim’s fist struck the table with a resounding
“See to it, brother. He has a wide start.”
Sandy Carmichael was going to knock on Derringer’s door when she heard his voice inside. “Okay, thanks, Frank. Keep me informed.”
She rapped politely before opening the door. “Excuse me, sir, but…”
He motioned to her. “It’s alright, Sandy. Come on in. That was Frank. He figured I’d be in this morning so he phoned rather than sending an email.” Derringer drummed his fingers on the desk.
Carmichael slid into the chair nearest the desk. “Oh my god. Who?”
“Johnson. Jeremy Johnson. They call him J. J. I know him somewhat — good kid. He did a stretch in the Foreign Legion.”
“Well, what happened?”
“Johnson’s team was jogging around the perimeter to keep in shape. J. J.’s quite a runner, apparently. He got ahead of the others, turned a corner, and disappeared. Nobody saw anything.”
“When did this happen?”
“Yesterday. Frank didn’t want to worry us unnecessarily, but when nothing turned up overnight, he decided to call. He’s done all the right things: checked with the locals, police, and the embassy. He’s even dropped some hints offering a big reward, but nobody seems to have any leads.”
The professional in Sandra Carmichael nudged aside the caring female half of her personality. “Well, sir, I have a couple of recommendations. First, we should decide how much longer to wait before notifying Johnson’s family. That is, I assume he has some family. Then we need to prepare a response in case he turns up on Al Jazeera or some other media outlet.”
Derringer slumped in his padded chair, one hand on his forehead. “Both accepted, Sandy. I’ll call a meeting so we can hash out other options. But…”
“Yes, sir?”
He inhaled, then blew his breath out in a long, audible whisper. “I’m visualizing an on-screen decapitation, or something just as bad.”
Carmichael had seen two such videos; she could not envision anything comparable. The first had taken thirty-five seconds, and she wondered at what point in the process the victim had died. She had not bothered to time the second one. Finally she asked, “Is there anything we can do here, maybe with the Pakistani embassy? I mean, anything that Frank and Omar can’t do in-country?”
“I doubt it, but we need to consider all angles. I’ll call Mark at Moritz and Moritz to see if they have any legal suggestions.”
“Yes, sir.” Carmichael stood up and turned to go. Then she caught the look in the admiral’s eyes — something she had seldom seen before.
The sun was setting and Jeremy Johnson had to make a decision.
Overlooking the approach to the border crossing, the fugitive American with his erstwhile captor figured the percentages.
He turned toward his prisoner. The man was impassive, as usual. They now knew one another as “Yonson” and “Kelly.” Without seeing it written, Johnson could never get his tongue around “Tahirkheli.” Again the question arose: how much to trust the Pakistani.
Looking at the topography again, Johnson sorted the odds. He would be harder to spot after dark, but he would also be more vulnerable to ambush. A close-range firefight against multiple enemies was a nonstarter. And he doubted that he could expect help from the Paki border guards. To them, a shootout would likely be interpreted as an outright attack. Anyone beyond the perimeter fence would be considered hostile.
And the guards might be on somebody’s payroll.
So many questions; damn few answers.
He decided to try having it both ways. He would work within a klick or so of the border and proceed to the checkpoint with about half an hour of daylight remaining. That way, presumably he could spot any interlopers and, if necessary, evade into the gathering dark. A few rounds toward the guard station should elicit further interest.
It looked like six or seven hundred meters, maybe a bit more.
