Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) (28 page)

“It’s important to your father.” Rosemary used that scolding tone Libby remembered so well from her childhood. “It’s good, rich farmland. He wants Mark to have it, so there’s no sense arguing. Besides, he’s awful proud of that young man of yours.”

Libby’s face warmed. She was pretty proud of Mark, too. “But he lives in Virginia. What will he do with twenty acres in Wisconsin?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Rosemary rolled the armful of dirty sheets into a pile and tossed it into the laundry basket at the foot of the bed. “It’s a gift. He can do whatever he wants with it.”

“Is Dad doing this to get him to stay here?”

“Now Libby Clifton.” Rosemary’s voice escalated a notch in dismay. “How could you say such a thing? Your father wants to make sure Mark knows he’s part of the family. That’s all.”

Libby eyed her mother suspiciously. Something else was going on; she just couldn’t put her finger on it. She floated the sun-bleached fitted sheet over the mattress pad for her mother to reach. Together, they tucked the corners, and then the sides. The top sheet went next.

The contentment of this simple chore soothed Libby. She had loved helping her mother ever since she could remember. Her near-death experience had given her a new outlook on all the things she had once found boring. She didn’t mind gathering the eggs from the cranky chickens either. Even old Rufus, the mean Leghorn rooster, got a kind pat on his combed head this morning. Of course, then he had tried to scratch her legs with his three-inch spurs, and she had to thump him with the piece of one-by-one she always carried with her into the chicken pen. But for a minute there, she almost liked him, too.

“Mark asked me to wait for him.” She smiled shyly at her mother.

Rosemary stopped fussing with the pillowcases. “Wait?”

“Yes, wait, as in wait for our wedding night. You know.”

“Oh.” Rosemary’s eyes misted. “That kind of wait.”

Embarrassed, Libby focused on stuffing Marie’s pillow into its too tight pillowcase.

“That young man of yours is the best thing that ever happened to you,” her mother whispered, “and to this family, too.”

“He’s ten times the man Jonathan was.”

Libby looked at the doorway at that emphatic declaration.

Her opinionated father stood there with his hand on the door jam, balancing on shaky legs. “You hear me, young lady?”

“I’ll always love Jonathan,” she admitted openly. Jonathan was her first true love. How could she not love him? “But Mark holds my heart,” she whispered shyly. “Everything’s different with him.”

Jerry nodded approvingly.

“But Dad.” She had to know. “Why are you giving him twenty acres of your best south forty? It’s not like he’s going to move here and start farming, you know.”

Her father’s eyes twinkled. “Land is what a man gives a man. You oughta know that by now.”

“But Dad—”

He cut her off. “’Sides, if I thought there was any chance that young man would move back here and take up farming with me, I’d give him a hundred.”

The flight back to Afghanistan was a long day’s flight aboard an Air Force C-5 transport. It could’ve been worse. Could’ve been aboard a C-130. That would have taken days.

As the ramp lowered, Mark, Alex, and Zack were met with a pleasant breeze immediately spoiled by the forever present aroma of septic and dust. Harley waited by Arzad’s rusty van, but Alex got right down to business.

“Status report.”

“Egorov returned from Russia last week,” Harley said as he stowed their gear in the back of the van. “He’s got close to a dozen men as of yesterday. A couple more show up every day. Must have one heck of a recruiting program.”

“Is the hotel ready?”

“Yes, Boss. One room. One night only. It’ll be interesting to see what Imir actually gives you though. Arzad thinks he’s working with the Russians.”

Arzad nodded at Harley’s comment. “Imir is not to be trusted, Mr. Alex.”

“I’m not trusting him. Believe me. You know where we’re going?”

“Yes. I drop Mr. Harley and Mr. Zack at market. I take you and Mr. Mark to hotel.” Arzad grasped his friend’s arm. “You sure about this?”

Alex looked him in the eye. “No worries, old friend.”

“But this man is more worse.”

“Why do you say that?” Alex asked.

“He’s right,” Harley intervened. “Egorov started a campaign of terror. We found Nasim yesterday. Egorov’s men tied him to a stake in his field. This was tacked to his shirt.” Harley handed a note to Alex.

“Translation?”

“It says
one man every day until someone talks.
Egorov wants to know what happened to his boss. He thinks these farmers had something to do with it.”

“Is Nasim still alive?” Mark asked, his anger instantly red hot.

Harley nodded. “Yeah, but they roughed him up and broke a few of his fingers, like that was hard for a bunch of thugs to do to an old man.”

Mark turned to Arzad. “As soon as this work is done, I need to see him. You will take me there, okay?”

Arzad nodded sadly. “I would like to take you now.”

“Later, old friend.” Alex stared at Arzad, a hard glint in his eye. “Let’s get this over with once and for all.”

Hurriedly, the men finished loading their gear. Within minutes, Arzad had dropped Harley and Zack at the market, then drove to the front door of the hotel. As he helped Alex with his gear, he asked again, “You so sure about this?”

His broken English made Mark smile. It was obvious that Arzad respected Alex as an equal, but he treated Mark, Zack, and Harley more like sons.

Alex clapped a hand to his friend’s shoulder. “When this is done, you and your family must move to America. Will you make an old friend happy and consider that?”

Arzad shook his head, obviously distressed.

Just then Imir, a nervous man with an expensive three-piece suit and an oily smile, strolled out of the hotel doors and interrupted their friendly discussion. “Ah, so these are my new American guests.” He clasped Alex’s hand in both of his, the jowls on his chubby face quivering as he gushed. “It is not often that I have the honor of hosting the great Mr. Stewart and his fine associate.”

Mark caught the conniving tone in the man’s voice.

Alex pulled his hands out of Imir’s clutches, retrieved his weapons case and turned to Arzad. “I’ll be in touch.”

“I will be here.” Arzad nodded slightly and returned to his van.

“Do I understand you are only staying one night?” Imir played the gracious host to the hilt. “That is not enough time to see our wonderful city.”

He ushered his guests past the registration counter and up the winding staircase, huffing and puffing all the way. At the first floor landing, he turned with a big smile and gestured toward an open door. “Here is the grandest room in the whole town, the presidential suite. Is it to your liking?”

He stood waiting for an answer that never came.

Alex entered first, and Mark behind him, his mind instantly strategizing points of egress and risk. Interestingly, the room faced the street where Arzad had just dropped them off. Its shuttered windows were wide open, as were the balcony doors in both street-facing bedrooms.

The lavish suite greatly exceeded what Harley had requested. An elegant Victorian design sofa and matching end tables dominated the wall next to the door. Espresso-colored easy chairs stood in opposite corners with an ornately carved wooden desk beneath the windows. In the final corner stood a wrought iron étagère. A leopard skin draped across a travel trunk that served as the coffee table in front of the couch. The room was designed for royalty, not two contractors on an over-night trip. Certainly, not for a war.

Alex glanced out the window while Mark dropped their gear beside the coffee table.

Imir still stood at the door waiting. “This room will give you an excellent view of the city. Yes?”

“It’ll do,” Alex replied curtly. He let his bag drop to the floor with a thud.

“Ah, yes. I believe it will do quite nicely. Because you are so well known in our fair city, dinner will be brought to your room this very evening. You will have a selection of the finest meats and—”

“Fine.” Alex shot him a dark look.

Imir backed out of the room, still smiling. “If you need anything, please ring the desk and ask for me. I will be more than happy to—”

Alex pushed the door shut with his foot, already on his phone with Mother. When he hung up, he was all business. “Mother and Ember have back-tracked the hacker to Bagram, just like we suspected. They’re triangulating an exact position. Should get back to us within the hour. If we get hit as hard as we did in Spencer, I want to make sure tonight turns out my way.”

He went over the plan again. Harley and Zack would provide cover from their positions in the abandoned warehouse across the street. Alex was the bait. Mark was designated to cover Alex from inside. He would also maintain radio contact with Mother, Harley, and Zack while the operation went down.

“Eagle one.” Mark’s earpiece crackled to life with the first status report. “The turkeys have landed.”

Leave it to Harley to make light at a time like this.

“See anything?” Alex ignored the comic relief.

“Just you, Mark, and a nice quiet view. You heard from Mother yet?”

“Soon. I’ll let you know when she calls.”

“Copy that.” Harley signed off.

“I still think this is too risky.” Mark was nervous enough for the four of them.

“We’ve already had this conversation.” Alex opened the balcony door wider, making himself a ready target.

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s done. Drop it.” Alex caught the look on his face when he stifled his next comment. “You got something else to say?”

“Yes. I don’t want to have to take your dead body back to Kelsey.”

Alex smirked, like that was encouraging. “Do you think I would set myself in the bull’s eye if I didn’t have perfect faith in your talent to make sure I make it home to my sweet wife?”

Mark gulped. If that wasn’t stress, nothing was.

“Remember son, I’ve got my best men with me. There’s no way this can fail.” His eyebrow spiked. “So don’t let me down.”

“Not going to happen.” Mark gulped, sorry now that he had said anything.

A knock sounded at the door. He drew his pistol, stepped into the adjoining bedroom, and closed the door enough to still see through the crack. Alex answered. There stood an Afghani waiter with a cart full of covered dinner trays, fruit and dessert bowls, as well as an ice bucket and two bottles of champagne. After he wheeled the cart into the room, Alex thanked him and handed him a generous tip.

When the waiter reached the doorway, he pulled a folded piece of paper from inside his sleeve, set it on the table, and turned to Alex. With his index finger to his lips, he nodded to Alex and quietly closed the door.

“What was that all about?” Mark scanned the scrap of paper from the table. “Does Stars of Allah mean anything to you?”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Alex smiled as his phone rang.

“Twelve, maybe fifteen warm bodies headed your way,” Mother announced quietly over the speakerphone.

“How far?”

“Inside of a mile. Closing fast.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am if I can trust the satellite feed and all the cell phone chatter.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“You’re welcome, Boss.”

“What is this about?” Mark asked, still holding the paper. If something else was going on, he needed to know.

“Set up alongside me. I think you’ll be surprised.” Alex relayed the latest intel from Mother to Harley and Zack.

Mark did as he was told, fixing the sights of his scope on the streets below. The quiet evening had transformed. Everywhere he looked armed men waited in shadows and corners. The usual afternoon crowd had vanished. Switching back to Harley and Zack’s positions, he detected Afghani friendlies standing alongside the two Americans, each carrying what appeared to be an AK-47.

“Stars of Allah was a group of freedom fighters during the Russian occupation,” Alex explained quietly.

“It looks like they’re still around today.”

“Check out the man with Harley.”

Mark focused across the road. There with rifle in hand and dressed in a long brown robe of the desert stood Arzad. He looked grim. Now Mark understood why the streets were empty. These men must have gotten the word out to friends and family.

He whistled softly under his breath. “Looks like Arzad’s carrying a sniper rifle. Looks a lot like yours.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

Judging by the tone in Alex’s voice, Mark suspected that came as no surprise. He looked into his scope again. Eleven men in gray camouflaged uniforms crept toward the hotel, their rifles and pistols in hand. They seemed aware of the absence of the usual crowd, but still proceeded. Imir ran out to meet the leading Russian who sported a red beret. Mark watched an envelope exchange hands.

“That’s your man.” Harley’s disembodied voice came through Mark’s earpieces. “The man in the red cap. Stanislav Egorov, in the flesh.”

“Got him.” Alex took aim.

Mark selected the man to Egorov’s left and lined him up in the crosshairs. The time to hit the Russians was now, before they set foot inside. Imir grinned as he pivoted to go back inside the hotel. Egorov sneered behind his back.

Mark waited for Alex to take the first shot. He squeezed his finger to the trigger and—

A single shot rang out, but it did not come from Alex.

Imir dropped dead.

“What the—?” Mark turned to Alex.

Alex nodded toward Harley’s corner of the warehouse. There knelt Arzad, his rifle firing round after round while Harley stood beside him, his weapon butt to the floor between his boots. The elderly Afghani looked as calm as if he were kneeling on his prayer rug at home.

Other AK-47s joined the barrage. Within minutes the noise ceased. Gray smoke laced the air. Every Russian was down, injured or dead, including Stanislav Egorov. In the flesh.

“I’ll be damned,” Mark said softly, and maybe a little proudly, too.

No one from The Team had fired a single shot.

“Man. Did you see those guys?”

Zack had just run down several flights of stairs to meet up with Mark, Alex, and Harley in the street. Everyone was high on the adrenaline of the moment.

Arzad stepped out from the shadows of the abandoned warehouse. Their wise, old friend had the same easy-going smile on his wrinkled face as always.

“I am most humbly in your debt.” Mark bowed his head in respect, looking a little closer at his friend. “Are all these men yours?”

“These men neighbors and friends. We fight Russians many years.” Arzad spat on the ground as if he had spoken a distasteful word.

“I think since nineteen seventy-nine,” Alex added.

“We never stopped fighting them. Our country is not for them. They must go.” Arzad nodded proudly. His weary eyes glistened with strength Mark hadn’t noticed before.

“You are full of many surprises.” Harley clapped Arzad’s back and began shaking the hands of all the other men in the crowd. As if on cue, they lifted their weapons over their heads and gave a loud victory yell.

“You are my honored guests tonight.” Arzad motioned to the man at his side who promptly ran down the street, and shortly returned with the van.

Within the hour, they were securely removed to Arzad’s humble home.

It was a good night on the rooftop. The impromptu operation was an impressive success. It seemed the Russians couldn’t hack the age-old word of mouth method of communication. They never knew what hit them.

Alex and Arzad sat together like two old soldiers, telling stories and sipping chai while Gulnar and Najela made trip after trip with more fruit bowls, sweet bread, and meat trays. The little home was filled to overflowing with friends and fellow freedom fighters. Harley and Zack still mixed it up with the men celebrating outside where an occasional round of gunfire punctuated the calm evening. Mark sipped another cup of chai, content to sit back and watch.

When Arzad saw him by himself, he came to sit beside him. “Why you alone?”

“You have given me much to think about,” Mark said, “That’s why.”