Page 77 of Deadly Betrayal
“I’m not so sure about that. I had dealingswith a warlord once.” He rubbed his chest, the action seeminglyunconscious. “It didn’t go too well.”
“You are talking about the night you wereshot?” Sweat trickled down Khalid’s back. He was unsure where theconversation was heading, but it could prove useful. “One thing hasnothing to do with the other. Unless they are the same man?”
Khalid was quite certain the American wasreferring to Rashid Abdullah, the warlord whose gun trade with acorrupt ISAF captain Khalid had ambushed.
“Different men, but I have the same purpose.”The American raised a brow at Khalid. “Revenge.”
Khalid shifted uneasily as very real concernwound its way up his spine. If a man such as this decided to makeAzita’s quest to stop Laila’s wedding his own, he wouldn’t let upuntil he’d succeeded.
And if he succeeded, it would mean thatKhalid had failed.
Perhaps Khalid was looking at this from thewrong angle. Perhaps the only way to deter the man was to make thereason for his quest, Azita, less appealing. Did the American knowher role in the ambush that had nearly killed him? Khalid doubtedit. The man struck him as one of those who believed the best abouteveryone. A man such as he would be deeply offended by betrayal, nomatter how well-intentioned. Now, if Khalid were to let slip… Hehid a smile.
“Revenge can be very satisfying,” Khalidacknowledged. “Of course, you have to be certain you know all theplayers and their roles.”
The American’s voice sounded as though histhroat were coated with desert sand. “I know damn well who all theplayers are: you and a dirty old man.”
“So judgmental,” Khalidtsked. TheAmerican was most definitely of the black-and-white variety. Therewas little gray in his world.
“I just call it like I see it.”
Khalid rubbed his jaw, pretending to thinkhard. “What about the night you were shot? Do you know who all theplayers were?”
Even in the near darkness, Khalid saw theAmerican’s body tense. His fists curled and uncurled on hispowerful thighs. “Not yet, but I will.”
“And you think it will be clear to you thenwho is good and who is bad?” Khalid laughed bitterly. “Afterdecades of war, I have learned that it is all a matter ofperspective. Americans call the mujahideen terrorists. Afghans saythe same of Americans.”
The American’s head whipped around. “I’m nofucking terrorist!”
“No? How many of my countrymen have youkilled? We did not invite you here. We were invaded. This is littlemore than an occupation.”
“We’re here to help. The Taliban and Al-Qaedawere destroying your country, killing your people.”
“Are you certain things are better now?”
“I like to think so.” The American rolled hishead on his shoulders and a loud crack punctuated his words.
Khalid scoffed. “Tell that to the woman whoparticipates in a suicide bombing so her children will be fed. Orthe doctor who facilitates a trade with Western forces so patientscan get life-saving medicines.”
The American turned in his seat and regardedhim through narrowed eyes. “What the fuck are you talkingabout?”
“Sometimes you need to go deeper, to lookbeyond the surface, before you can see the truth.”
Khalid focused on the road. His chest wantedto heave, to drag air into his depleted lungs, but he held onto thesteering wheel and forced himself to remain still under theAmerican’s penetrating gaze. After several long moments, the manglanced at Azita’s sleeping form. Khalid let out a long breath.He’d managed to plant a seed of doubt. He’d won.
Chapter 18
Kaden leaned against the headrest with hiseyes fixed on the darkness outside as Khalid drove them towardKabul. By his calculations, they should arrive in Pol-e-Khomri inanother fifteen minutes. He’d checked the gas gauge, and they weregetting low on fuel. Kaden had never been so thankful for Americangas-guzzlers. Khalid would want to fill up before hitting the pass,so that was when Kaden would make his move.
Normally, before an op, he would run throughhis plan, over and over, visualizing multiple scenarios, so he’d beprepared for whatever might happen. But this time, his brain keptreturning to his conversation with Khalid.
The doctor who facilitates a trade withWestern forces so patients can get life-saving medicines.
The words looped like a song on repeat untilKaden wanted to scream just to block them out. Khalid was a crafty,calculating man, each word carefully weighed, each move plannedout. He’d make a hell of a chess player. Question was: What gamewas he playing now?
He’d had a purpose in using that doctorexample. Had Khalid been implying that Azita had somehow beeninvolved in the ambush? Shehadbeen in the area. Closeenough to get to Kaden within minutes of his being shot.
Acid rose in his throat. He didn’t want tobelieve anything bad about her. The woman had saved his life whenshe could easily have stayed hidden. Few people, women or men,would have exposed themselves in a gunfight to help a stranger.Sure, she was a doctor and perhaps felt it was her duty to providemedical assistance to an injured person,anyinjured person,but during his tours in Afghanistan, he’d seen many people turn ablind eye.
