Page 72 of Stand Fast

Her insides clenched into a hard knot of fear. “How far away is their exfil point?”

“Half a mile. But in that terrain and with an enemy force blocking their way, it might as well be fifty.”

Helplessness tightened her throat.Please God, let them make it out of there. Let Zaid be safe.

She glanced over her shoulder. David was a few strides behind her, along with furious Afghan army officials who were bent on capturing Nasar and punishing him for his treachery. Jaliya wanted to see the bastard locked away too, but even more than that she just wanted Zaid and his teammates to make it back unharmed to the FOB.

Taggart was on his radio again, trying to coordinate more air support for them. He shot her a hard look as they neared the waiting Blackhawk. “How did we miss this?” he demanded.

She felt sick to her stomach. The answer had been there, right in front of their faces the entire time. “He was smarter than all of us.” She swallowed past the restriction in her throat, thinking of Zaid trapped out there in the mountains. “How long until we get to the FOB?”

“Thirty minutes at least after takeoff. In the meantime, you listen to every word those guys say,” he said, gesturing to the Afghan army officials, “and tell me anything that might be useful.”

The only reason he was letting her come along at all was for her translating skills. “Of course.”

Hold on, Zaid. Help is on the way.

She needed to see him for herself as soon as possible, and that meant being at the FOB when they landed instead of waiting back here at Bagram for word.

****

From his position on the ridge, Fahim stared down at the members of FAST Bravo with utter loathing. The RPG detonation had slowed them down, but all nine of them were still alive.

His heart had seized up when the circling Apaches had unleashed a stream of fire that obliterated half of his surviving men and all three remaining trucks. He’d watched, helpless, as everything he’d worked for, everything he needed, went up in smoke. With only one of the trucks having made it safely across the border some hours ago, it was likely he’d just lost his only chance of getting the remainder of the money necessary to secure Beena a new heart.

He’d just failed his son. And now Beena would die because of it.

Rage and anguish poured through him.He refused to accept that outcome. Would never accept it.

His heart pounded out of control as he stood there, madly trying to come up with a plan that would allow him to escape. His dirty secret was out. Every intelligence agency operating in the country would be hunting him now, and likely on the Pakistani side as well.

“Sir, what are your orders?” one of his men asked beside him.

He had only twenty or so of his trusted troops left. All the others were either dead or on the run. The ones remaining were loyal to him to a point, but with their promised money for their services smoldering on the road in the valley below, they could turn on or abandon him at any moment. Right now they needed him because they were depending on him to get them to safety.

If he was going to escape, he had to do it now. Dying wouldn’t help his son—he needed to get away and regroup. Find somewhere to hole up and evade the masses of agencies hunting him, and find another way to come up with the remainder of the money he owedEl Escorpion. Perhaps he could get across the border into Tajikistan and hide there.

Out here there was only one place that was safe for him now.

“To the cave. Hurry!” he ordered, then spun around and took off running. The ancient tunnel complex entrance was three-quarters of a kilometer away. It would give him concealment, maybe even a chance to lose FAST Bravo and buy enough time to organize a new extraction site deeper in the mountains.

Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed several groups of his men veer away from him, running in the opposite direction. He didn’t bother shooting or trying to stop them. It was actually better if some deserted now; a smaller group was easier to escape with, and he had to conserve his ammo.

He leaped over a cluster of boulders and slid down the far side of the ridge, ignoring the shouted command to stop behind him. The soles of his boots thudded against the earth as he jumped and hit the bottom of the rise.

He grunted at the force of the impact, pitched forward and caught himself on his hands and knees. He knew this terrain well. Knew exactly what route he could take to the cave that would provide maximum concealment. His pilot would be on station somewhere nearby but out of sight. If he could put enough distance between him and FAST Bravo, he could stop to set up an extraction.

He didn’t pause to check how many men were still with him, because he didn’t care. At a spire of granite that marked the edge of an ancient trail, Fahim turned left and ran up the steep slope, following the old switchbacks worn into the hillside by countless feet and goats’ hooves.

Risking a glance behind him, he noticed that only a handful of his men were following now. Shots rang out behind him in the distance, FAST Bravo keeping up the chase.

Fahim tore up the remainder of the hill as fast as he could, then made a sharp right into a gulley and followed it to a craggy outcropping of rock that marked the entrance to the tunnels. He kept pushing his body harder, the thin, cold mountain air sawing in and out of his lungs as he calculated which tunnel to take.

The second one led to a narrow mountain trail. It would be hard for anyone to follow him once he reached it. He darted inside the opening, hunching to avoid the low ceilings, and squeezed his way into the narrow rock tunnel.

Rock debris littered the ground, but he soon lost the ability to see as blackness squeezed out the tiny amount of light coming through the entrance. There was no going back, so he pushed onward, using his hands to feel his way along because he couldn’t risk using a flashlight and give away his position.

Muffled voices from the entrance sent an icy cold splinter of fear through him. He moved as fast as he could through the darkness, ignoring the bruises and cuts he sustained from the rough rock walls he scraped against, slipping over the loose rock on the ground.

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