Leopole chuckled. “Well, that beats house odds anywhere I’ve ever been.” He turned to Mohammed. “Good work, Omar.”
Johnson turned the file to read the caption. “Saeed Sharif, DVM.”
Kassim brought a gift. In fact, two gifts in one package.
“Doctor, I would have a word.”
Ali set down the veterinary kit he was assembling for his day trip. “Surely.” He gestured to a chair.
Kassim did not bother to sit. “One of my men has approached me with an offer. His youngest son and a cousin both wish to join us. He says they are committed in the highest order.”
Ali blinked. “What does that mean?”
“One of the boys is sickly. He does not seem likely to outlive his father. Because of his faith, he believes he should offer himself to the
“And the other?”
“They were raised together, much as brothers. The man — the uncle — says they wish to enter Paradise together.”
Ali thought for a moment. It seemed too good to be true: two volunteers presenting themselves at an opportune moment. No other bio couriers were readily available, and that fact made the veterinarian suspicious.
“You know these boys?”
Kassim shrugged. “I have met them; I have broken bread with them. If you ask me what is in their hearts, I cannot say. But I know the father and uncle, and I believe him.”
“Who is he?”
“Razak Sial. He fought against the Northern Alliance for perhaps two years, then returned to farming. He has two other sons to help him. The youngest is the weakest but the most devout. For that reason I thought you should meet him.”
“The father approached you?”
Kassim nodded.
“How much does he know?”
“He only knows that I am a fighter against the infidels. Nothing more.”
“How old are these boys?”
Kassim thought for a moment. “Eighteen and twenty, give or take a year.”
Ali thought again, weighing the options. “My friend, I thank you for your attention in this matter. I will see the father and the boys, but not in context of the
“Brother, I understand your caution. But you will find that the boys are as I have said. They are willing to die in God’s service. They do not seem to care just how they enter Paradise.”
“Mike, J. J. Johnson’s back in Quetta. He’s pretty beat up but okay.”
The expression on Joe Wolf’s face magnified the heartfelt gratitude evident in his voice. He raised the email printout that followed Mohammed’s preliminary phone call. “Frank and Omar are debriefing him right away. Apparently he wants to tell his story before he goes to the hospital.”
Derringer shook his head. “If he’s okay why’s he need a hospital? Observation or something?”
Wolf referred to the printout. “Omar says they used a fan belt on him. Severe lacerations of the back, buttocks, and legs. There’s concern about infection.”
“Okay, Joe. Thanks.” The SSI executive flexed his fingers, forcing himself to relax. He had been composing a letter to Johnson’s parents, but in truth it would have been used as reference notes for the phone call. Now Derringer scribbled some additional comments in the margin. Wolf could see the relief on his face. When Derringer finally talked to Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, he could assure them that their son was safe and would return to Montana as soon as he could travel.
The admiral put down his pen and regarded Wolf. “Joe, I’d like to convene a meeting about this episode, maybe as soon as tomorrow. Depending on what we hear from Frank and Omar, I think we should draft a corporate policy for the future. We always anticipated losing people, but hostages and MIAs are another matter. What do you think?”
“I agree.” The ex-FBI man gave a sardonic grin. “One thing that occurs to me is long-term hostages or, as you say, MIAs. How long can we keep missing operators on the payroll? I mean, of course we’re going to look out for our people, but the board will want to have some input. Undoubtedly Marsh Wilmot and Regina Wells and Matt Finch will all have a say about policy and finances.”
Derringer almost flinched at Finch’s name. Matthew Finch, guru of the administrative support division, had allies on the board that backed many of his personnel decisions. Derringer and Wolf exchanged knowing glances.
Wolf looked for the silver lining. “At least Regina sees things more or less from Frank’s perspective. She almost seems to understand operations lately.”
“Yeah. You remember how Frank bitched and moaned when the board insisted on assigning him a budgeteer? To tell you the truth, I think she’d approve almost anything he proposed but she has to recommend denying some requests to satisfy the bean counters. Frank won’t say so, but I suspect he’s making some big-time equipment proposals that he knows won’t fly. Then it’s easier to get what he really wants.”
Wolf winked. “And they say marines aren’t very smart.”
Derringer raised his hands. “Not me. I never agreed with Sir Walter Scott.”
“Scott? What’s he got to do with it?”
“He wrote, ‘Tell it to the marines. The sailors won’t believe it.’”
Padgett-Smith checked on the patient the next morning. She found him bare-skinned on his stomach, sheet pulled up to a modest level. “You look much better,” she said. “I brought some tea and rolls.”
Johnson rolled onto one side. “That’s British hospitality. Tea in bed.”
“I understand you’ll be transferred to hospital today.”
Johnson sipped from the small cup merely to be polite. He had never cared for tea.
“Yes ma’am. That’s what Colonel Leopole said.” He reached toward the plate but she picked up a scone and handed it to him.
“Jeremy, I probably won’t have a chance to say a proper good-bye later. But I did so much want to see you… alone.”
Johnson perked up. Then he mentally slapped himself.
“You’ve been through so much. But I remember that you said you might consider writing a memoir. I hope you do. Even if it’s not published, it could be…”
“Therapeutic.”
She glanced down. Then those violet eyes were on him again. “Yes. Quite right.”
“Well, I haven’t thought about it much. But I’ve learned a few things.
“Yes?”
He cleared his throat. “I meant to talk to Dr. Mohammed about this, because of the Muslim connection. But… I, ah…” He coughed, taking his time. “I took a prisoner with me when I escaped. One of the guards. I could’ve killed him no sweat, but he dropped his rifle and… well, there were other factors, but I just couldn’t cap him, standing there with his hands up.”
“He didn’t try to escape?”
“No, ma’am. We sort of became, like, friends. It was weird. We couldn’t really talk but we got to understand each other. I shared what water I had with him and he gave me directions. When we got within sight of the border, I said he could go. I tried to chase him away but he stayed with me.”
“So he’s with his own people?”
“No ma’am. He was shot protecting me in the firefight. When it was over, and the Pakis arrived, he was hurt
