Fog of War (Justin Hall # 3) (4 page)

“We’re alone?” Nathan asked.

The hint of concern in his eyes had grown into a dark look on his face.

“We’ll rely on one another,” Justin replied. “And we’ll get out of here
alive.
”

They removed their camouflage fatigues and changed into local clothing: brown
salwar kameez,
the long tunic and pants, and headdresses. They looked like most of the people living in this area, at least to anyone observing them from a distance. Dark-skinned, rugged and unshaven, they could easily pass for locals.

Their weapons, bulletproof vests and other gear secured in their knapsacks, Justin and Nathan began their long fifteen-mile trek to the border with Turkmenistan. The first few minutes were crucial to escaping Iranian Revolutionary Guards helicopters or any search patrols. They steered clear of dry river beds and obvious trails. Instead, they cut their own path, using rock boulders and shrubs as natural cover from prying eyes in the sky or in the semi-desert.

Half an hour later, a low engine rumble caught their attention. Nathan was leading the way toward the opening of a narrow gorge puncturing the hills. He stopped as the rumble overtook them. “What is that?”

Justin looked to their right. They had left behind the winding road, but a small stretch was still visible, perhaps five miles away. He fished out his binoculars from one of the tunic’s pockets and observed the road for a few seconds. “Nothing. I don’t see anything.”

The rumble echoed from the other side of the hill. Justin looked up at the sky, his left arm protecting his eyes from the blinding sun. He struggled with the binoculars. “It’s a small airplane.”

The noise disappeared, but Justin continued to scan the horizon. He checked the road again.

“He missed us?” Nathan asked.

Justin nodded. “Or we were not what he was looking for.”

“You think the plane was picking up the sniper? Or carrying a shipment of opium?” Nathan resumed his fast pace.

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t make sense.” Justin lifted his knapsack higher over his shoulders.

“What is it?”

“This . . . this silence. No sign of the Guards.”

“It means we evaded them.” Nathan shrugged, tilting his head to the side.

“Maybe. For now.”

“Or maybe the sniper was working alone.”

“Working alone for whom?”

Nathan shook his head.

He entered the gorge, which was barely four feet wide. Justin took another glance at the hills, then followed Nathan.

“The sniper could be working for anyone,” Nathan said. “Drug lords, one of the Pashtun tribes. He sees two men in military fatigues, he gets nervous, he starts taking shots.”

“And it was a coincidence our defector appeared at that exact time?”

Nathan lost his footing on some loose rocks. He reached for one of the sandstone walls to keep his balance.

“You OK?” Justin asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. I don’t know whether it was a coincidence or not.”

Justin shook his head. “No, the sniper was waiting there for us.”

“I’m not sure if by
us
you mean specifically
you and me
or whoever was going to be there to meet the defector.”

“I mean the latter. The more I think about it, the more I suspect someone followed Safavi to our meeting place.”

“If they were tracing his calls, then it’d be child’s play to pinpoint his exact location at all times.”

Justin shrugged. “It’s possible.”

They marched for the next few minutes in silence. They left the gorge and the hills behind, and they entered a vast, open field. Justin kicked a few rocks with his boots when they came up to the shoulder of the road. A gas pipeline ran parallel to the road. Further in the distance, a turn led to what resembled a gas pipeline service station, almost two miles away. It was a small cinder block building, surrounded by a wide array of pipes and steel structures.

Nathan raised his binoculars. “One truck. Four workers in uniforms roaming around. Looks like a general inspection.”

“Let’s stay low.”

They continued in the other direction, on the other side of the field. A flock of dark vultures were pecking at a dead carcass in the middle of the road. One of birds noticed the two agents and let out a high-pitched screech. Another one hopped to the edge of the road, then spread its large wings and circled the roadkill in a defensive maneuver.

Justin smiled. The vulture screeched again. This time it was a different type of cry. It sounded more like an alarm call. The other vultures began to ruffle their feathers. Two of them cocked their heads to the south, then took off. The rest joined the screeching chorus.

“What’s going on?” Nathan asked.

Justin saw the dust cloud before he heard the loud rattle. A small jeep painted in a desert tan camouflage pattern came into sight, followed by a large army truck painted in a similar pattern. A second jeep brought up the rear.

“The Guards,” Justin said in a hushed tone.

They hurried their steps, careful not to give away their position by kicking up sand or scattering rocks as they crawled behind a cluster of large boulders, one of the tens dotting the hillside. They were about half a mile away from the road, stretched over a dry patch of grass.

“How did they get here so quick?” Nathan peered through his binoculars. His chin rested an inch above the grass, and half of his head was hidden behind a large rock.

“The sniper called them in.”

“Still they got here incredibly fast. They were waiting for their order.”

Justin nodded. “How far are we from the border?”

Nathan glanced at his
dagger,
the Defense Advanced GPS Receiver. Slightly larger than a smartphone, the receiver used the Global Positioning System to indicate their position in an intricate map grid of the area. Two days ago, Nathan had uploaded the details of the terrain, in case the drug runners were less then reliable as guides. He studied the dagger’s display and read the map. “We’re still eleven miles away.”

The front jeep drew nearer to the roadkill. Most of the vultures had flown away, with the last brave bird still protecting its food. The driver honked, and the vulture hopped back, reluctantly flapped its wings, and lifted off at the last possible moment. Justin saw a handful of feathers falling over the jeep’s windshield. His carbine scope brought every detail very close.

“They’re not slowing down,” Justin said.

“No, they’re not.”

The convoy continued until it reached the fork in the road. The front jeep turned left, toward the service station, followed by the other jeep. The truck proceeded for another mile or so, then stopped. Six men in desert tan military fatigues stepped out. Justin and Nathan fell behind the boulder as soon as the troops raised their hands to their eyes. There was only one reason why they would observe the hillside.

Justin cocked his carbine.

“We can’t take them all on,” Nathan whispered.

“No, but we got the higher ground. If they get too close, we open fire.”

“Can we make it if they call for aerial support?”

“I don’t want to find out.”

A loud shout that sounded like an order pierced the tense silence. Other inaudible voices followed, then the sound of heavy boots cracking on the rocks littering the trails, going up the hill.

“What’s he saying?” Justin asked.

“Find them. Find them now!” Nathan translated the order from Farsi.

Justin clenched his carbine tighter to his chest. “All right, you go left. I’ll take the right. We’ll meet at the truck.” His hand gestures punctuated their intended moves.

Nathan nodded. “Got it.”

Justin drew in a deep breath. The voices grew louder, along with the climbing footsteps. “We roll in ten.”

He began counting the seconds in his mind.
Nine. Eight. Seven.

Another round of shouting. Angrier. Much closer.

What the hell are they saying?

Nathan’s hand fell on Justin’s arm. He turned and read Nathan’s lips, “Not that way, you idiots. They wouldn’t hide up there. Look down. Down. That’s what he’s saying.”

Justin held Nathan’s eyes. Nathan shook his head. “No. They’re retreating.” He mouthed the words.

Justin nodded. His fingers still clasped the carbine. He relaxed his grip, but kept his hands in place.

More inaudible words followed, and the footsteps crunching against the rocks faded out. A few distant shouts, then the truck’s engine coughed as it refused to start. The coughing continued for a long minute. Justin counted the seconds, wishing for the Iranian troops to get in the truck and out of his sight. Finally, the engine settled into a steady roar, which grew louder as the truck picked up speed. The rattle of the jeep came moments later, and then it sounded like everything had returned to its relative calm.

“Are they gone?” Nathan asked.

“I’m not sure.”

They waited and listened in silence. A soft breeze rustled through the branches of the scarce shrubs, but there were no other sounds. Justin glanced at his wristwatch and counted one hundred and eighty seconds. He exchanged several looks with Nathan, both men nodding and agreeing to stay put for a little longer.

A bone-jarring screech jolted them.

Justin clenched his jaw and lifted his carbine.

Nathan swore. “The vultures are back.”

“You mean the birds, right?” Justin asked with a grin.

Nathan smiled. “Yeah.”

Justin slid forward until his body was flat with the ground. He poked his head out and took a peek at the road. No truck. No jeeps. No troops. Two vultures had returned and were furiously pecking at their dead prey.

“Looks clear,” Justin said.

He retrieved his binoculars and took his time studying the road, the hilltops, the valleys, everything. Nothing caught his eye. “We’re good. Let’s roll.”

Nathan jumped to his feet. “That was a close call.”

“We should stay away from the road.”

“Agreed.”

“Although that truck would have given us a great advantage.”

Nathan shot Justin a sideways glance. “Perhaps. But the shooting would have alerted the men in the other jeep, the one at the gas station—”

“In turn, they would have called for more troops,” Justin finished Nathan’s sentence.

“Right.”

Justin stowed his carbine in his knapsack. “Let’s go. We have to cross over that border.”

Chapter Three

Two miles north of the Turkmenistan-Iran border

September 20, 3:15 p.m. local time

Nathan’s dagger indicated the agents were two miles inside the Turkmen territory. Justin had relaxed a bit now that they were out of the immediate reach of the Iranian Revolutionary Guards, but he knew their lives and their mission were still in danger. His rapport with Colonel Garryev was new and untested in the face of adversity. He was not worried the Colonel would detain them and hand them over to the Iranians. But the Colonel’s reluctance to dispatch an exfiltration team had put him on guard.

The hills, the river beds, the shrubs, the road, the entire landscape resembled the one they had just left behind south of the border. The blistering sun continued to punish the land with its ruthless heat. After the long, excruciating march, Justin was longing for the sight of the black jeep Colonel Garryev had promised them.

“There it is.” Nathan pointed as they neared a clearing at the bottom of a hill about a hundred feet high. He handed Justin his binoculars, then held out his H&K P30 pistol, providing cover. They stood next to a pile of large rocks.

The vehicle waiting for their arrival was not a jeep, but the Russian version of the American jeep. It was a UAZ-469, the famous all-terrain transport of the Red Army and paramilitary units of former Eastern Bloc countries. And it was not black. Justin could not determine its original color, but its current one was a dirty olive green with specks of dried mud. Its canvas ragtop was black once, but now it was discolored and held in place by duct tape.

“Where’s the driver?” Justin whispered.

“Hilltop. Two o’clock.”

Justin raised the binoculars and followed Nathan’s directions. The grass at the hilltop was flattened, as if someone had recently sat or lay over it. The nearby shrubs were parted, and a few branches were broken off, but there were no rifle barrels or any other signs of someone waiting for them to fall into a trap.

Justin listened to the silence. It was all too quiet.

“He’s not there,” he said, handing back the binoculars to Nathan. He dug out of his knapsack his C8 carbine under Nathan’s watchful eyes. After cocking the gun, he said, “All right, let’s split up and find our contact.”

Nathan nodded. They would consider the area and the contact hostile until they were convinced otherwise.

“Left.” Justin motioned in that direction, and Nathan pressed forward. He held his pistol high in front of his chest, moving it slowly from side to side, sweeping the area. His eyes searched the shrubs and the occasional small tree, as he guided his steps around dead branches, loose pebbles, and sharp rocks.

Justin gained ground fast on the right side. He came to a blind turn, and the narrow path seemed to lead to an eroded edge of the hill. Estimating the distance and negotiating his steps, Justin skirted around a couple of rocks jutting out of the ground. He took a deep breath and jumped out, aiming his gun at the target.

A bearded man who appeared to be in his fifties was sitting cross-legged on a large flat rock. He was dressed in dark khaki pants and a light blue shirt, stained by sweat at the chest. He was ten, maybe twelve feet away from Justin. The man was looking down at the ravine about a hundred feet below. A cool breeze offered a much-needed relief from the scolding sun.

“Hands up,” Justin said in Russian.

The man’s large hands went to his sides. The left one formed a tight fist.

Nathan emerged on the other side behind the man and put him in his pistol’s sight.

“Get your hands up,” Justin shouted his order in Arabic, then in English. “And drop whatever you have in your hand,” he added in both languages, making a clear gesture with his carbine.