Page 91 of Over the Edge

Have you any coal?

Yes, sir, yes sir,

Three caves full.”

So tired.

Keep your eyes open!

Sleep and die. Sing and live. Well, die slower.

“Baa, Baa, black goats…”

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

Trevor peered down at the village on the Afghanistan side of the border through the telescopic sight of his rifle. “Good thing we didn’t waltz in there hoping the journalist story would protect us.”

“No kidding,” Anna breathed. “That’s a whole lot of armed men roaming around. Do you think Haddad has guys there?”

“Don’t know. It could just be that a big shipment of heroin is there with guards.”

“We could always wander in posing as drug buyers. We’d find out soon enough if Haddad’s people are around.”

“Too risky,” he responded. “They would never believe we’re serious buyers if we stroll in randomly to a place like this. They’d kill us before we even got to try out the cover story.”

“What do you suggest?” she asked.

“Let’s find a way around this village and get a decent satellite phone signal.”

“Who are you going to call?”

“My contact. To change the meeting place.”

“And who exactly is this contact?”

He merely threw her a withering look, communicating silently to leave it alone.

It took about an hour to back away from their lookout over the village, hike to where they’d hidden the Range Rover, and find an alternate road down out of the mountains to a lower, open area.

He stopped the vehicle in the middle of a flat plain that made up the floor of a large valley. Beige dirt and tufts of dead weeds stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. He pulled out his satellite phone and dialed a memorized phone number.

A recorded message played, fuzzy but intelligible. The familiar voice said merely, “Leave a message.”

That was William. Ever the wordy one. Trevor recited his phone number and disconnected the call.

“That was short,” Anna commented. “Now what?”

“Now we wait for a call back.”

“How long will that take?”

“No idea.”

“Great. You’ve gone all monosyllabic and Neanderthal on me, again,” she grumbled.

“Who says Neanderthals didn’t use complex language? Their art suggests they conceptualized ideas as sophisticated as religion and their place in the cosmos. Surely they spoke in more than monosyllabic language.”

“Thank you, Professor Westbrook.”

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