Page 28 of Lethal Pursuit

Khalid harbored no anger or impatience toward the boy for his reaction to last night. He had no doubt that Mohammed was one of Allah’s warriors, but this boy would serve the war effort in a different way. There was no urgent need to expose him to more of the uglier truths of this war. Khalid knew it wasn’t the mistreatment of the female Mohammed objected to. The boy simply had no stomach for torture, let alone to watch it performed on a bound captive, regardless of sex or age. Khalid understood that.

“You don’t have to watch that part of it,” he said in a low voice. “Not if you don’t wish to.”

Mohammed lowered his gaze to the ground, a flush staining his cheeks above the scraggly beard he was trying to grow, as though he was embarrassed by his reaction. “I will do whatever you require of me.”

“Witnessing the interrogation is not necessary for you to prove your loyalty to me.” And in truth, Khalid would prefer that the boy not see it. There was something so unspoiled and pure about Mohammed, Khalid was loath to see it ruined.

That same innocent light had been stomped out in Khalid’s soul when he was just a child, because he hadn’t been given the choice. In its place a deep, burning anger had been born. Now nothing could extinguish the flames that hungered for justice and acceptance. He’d battled that unquenchable fire his entire life and would until the day Allah chose to take him home. He didn’t want that for Mohammed, this half man, half child he’d been entrusted with. In this at least, Mohammed would have the choice Khalid had been denied.

“Do not fear that I see your aversion to witnessing suffering as a weakness, Mohammed,” he added, feeling protective of the boy. “You have a great capacity for mercy. That is a rare gift.”

The boy’s lips thinned in displeasure. “Mercy is for the weak,” he mumbled.

“Not always.” He wished someone had shown him mercy when he was young, other than the initial gift of allowing him to live as a babe swelling his mother’s belly when his true origins had been revealed. If he could help Mohammed retain that inner purity for a while longer as he trained to be a warrior, perhaps it would remove some of the deep stains on Khalid’s soul. Time would harden the boy eventually anyway.

If he lived long enough to reach full manhood.

He pushed the thought from his mind. “Has Jihad returned from his patrol yet?” Rahim’s liaison had left at three o’clock that morning to do a security check of the area with two of Khalid’s men.

“No. He should be returning soon though.”

Khalid rose and stretched his back. “Come. The prisoners will need water. You may take them some.”

Mohammed jumped up to do his bidding. A few strides from the entry, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “What about...food?”

The boy’s naïveté and the concern in his eyes made something inside Khalid ache. Something he’d long thought dead. He kept his tone firm but kind. “No. Water only. These prisoners are different from any others. I need every advantage to get them to tell me what I need to know.” He left the rest unsaid.

Whether he understood his intent or not, Mohammed didn’t argue.

Following him to the entrance of the cave network, Khalid paused when the radio on his hip squawked. He pulled it from his belt. “Yes?”

“I am with Rahim,” Jihad said without preamble. “He wishes to meet with you.”

Rahim was here? Khalid’s pulse tripped. “When?”

“The sooner, the better.”

“Meet me at the designated place. I’ll wait for you there.” Khalid replaced the radio, hardly able to contain his excitement. If Rahim was close by, it meant the Americans had not yet found their hiding place. There was no way he would ever have ventured hereotherwise.

Khalid took three men with him to the prearranged spot, all young and loyal men in their early twenties who would lay down their lives for him without hesitation. They maintained extreme vigilance as they descended the steep rocky trails to the rendezvous point, too aware of the rising sun exposing them and the everpresent threat of American satellites or drones in the area. Behind the cover of some large boulders and a screen of brush, they waited.

A small group of men appeared a few minutes later. There was no mistaking the great leader among them, though Khalid had never seen him before. Rahim was tall and broad through the chest and shoulders, his bearing and muscled frame broadcasting his previous life in the military. His light gray pakol covered most of his hair, but seeing the man’s coppery beard glinting in the sunlight was still a shock. As were the light blue eyes that met his when Rahim came close enough.

They crinkled at the corners as he smiled. The morning sun displayed the freckles covering his face, testament to the amount of time his pale skin had been exposed to the Afghan climate. “Khalid. Peace be upon you,” he said in Pashto.

“And on you, peace.” They shook hands.

Rahim placed his free hand over their clasped ones and regarded him warmly. “Praise be to Allah that we meet at last.”

He inclined his head. “God is great.”

Rahim released his hand. “You have done great work with this operation. You do your mujahideen brothers a proud service. Now.” A hard glint entered his eyes and he switched to the flawless English of his birth so that only Khalid would understand what they were saying from then on. “I understand you have some prisoners for me to meet.”

* * *

JACKSON ROLLED STIFFLYon to his side and forced himself into a sitting position when he heard the footsteps approaching. Beside him, he could hear Doug shuffling in his own cell. Maya had finally slipped into a light sleep, a little under an hour ago as best he could tell. Hehoped she stayed asleep for a long time, if for nothing else than to spare her from the pain of her injuries. She was breathing shallowly, her body self-splinting to prevent further damage.

The lantern in the man’s hand bobbed, making the softly glowing light bounce with each step. Jackson could make out the figure of the teenager, Mohammed, who’d brought Maya back to her cell after the interrogation. He passed by to Doug’s cell, setting the lantern on the floor with a metallic clink. He held something up—a canteen—and held it through the metal bars, raising it once by way of offering. Doug didn’t respond. The boy tried again and waited, hunkered down at the cell door, but after a minute or two passed without an answer, he moved on to Jackson.

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