One Child (33 page)

Chapter

61

Kaneh Gerdab, Afghanistan

One hour until sunrise. Soon, the hell would be over.

Russell
sat with his back against the cool metal of the Stryker. Above him, thick clouds obscured the moon and left the attack force in an inky blackness that limited vision to less than three meters. It was like being in a closet, where fear was the only thing more pressing than the dark.

They had pushed the Taliban out of Kaneh Gerdab at about eight o'clock. Far too late to attempt the trip back to Kandahar city or the FOB. They were stuck outside the wire for the night. Every soldier's worst dream.

The blackness prevented the Taliban from targeting the ring of vehicles with their artillery and mortars and it restricted their movements on foot and in their ratty Toyotas. But it also provided them with the ultimate cover. Without their night vision goggles on, it was impossible for the troops to see anything coming at them. The desert night was a scary place even without men with guns running around. Vipers, rats, scorpions. Camel spiders were the worst, with bites that had the potential to be fatal.

"You get any sleep?"
Andrew
asked as he sidled up next to
Russell
.

"None. You?"

Andrew
laughed, the sound a disembodied chortle coming out of the blackness. "Nobody ever sleeps out here. We get our turn, but it never happens. You lie there staring at the black, wondering if one of them is five meters from you with a knife. It's a bit unnerving."

"Like you have to tell me,"
Russell
said. "I'm out here hoping that something doesn't crawl in my pants and bite my dick."

"Oh, man, that would be bad. If one of those fuckers bites your bad boy, it'd probably fall off."

"I've spent time in some shitty places and I've been scared, but this is the worst. Every second is total stress. I can't even start to tell you how wound up I am,"
Russell
said.

"It'll be over soon,"
Andrew
said. "Look at the sky to the east."

Russell
stood up so he could see over the Stryker. The sky was lightening, a crescent of pale yellow pushing into the black palette. Soon, the snakes and bugs would be crawling back into their holes. The Taliban were dug into the hills to the west and the troops' directive was to hold the town, not chase the bad guys into their lair. That was the sort of thinking that got people killed.

"What now?"
Russell
asked.

"We're heading back to the FOB. But we need to stop in Kandahar to pick up some medical supplies."

"Is everyone heading back?"
Russell
asked.

"Nope,"
Andrew
said. He leaned against the Stryker and watched the sun crest the eastern horizon. Light skimmed the sky and visibility increased until an ambush was impossible. The tension melted out of his shoulders and his grip loosened on his gun. "Most of the guys are here for another night or two until the village council gets control of the town."

"I'm glad we're leaving."

"Yeah, me too. About half the guys will be heading out, but most of them are rolling right back to base. Us and two Canadian LAVs are headed into Kandahar."

"That's not much of a presence. Are we okay with only three vehicles?"
Russell
asked.

"Sure. There are a few Taliban running around the city, but we control it. Once we have the medical supplies loaded, we'll be on Route Fosters to the FOB. We should be in easily before dark.

"Good. I don't want to spend another night out here."

"No shit."

Andrew
shuffled off to talk over the route into Kandahar with his driver and the two Canadian LAV commanders.
Russell
stretched and walked around the armored vehicle a couple times to get his blood flowing. Surrounding him, in a huge circle, was the entire strike force, the armored vehicles and tanks on the exterior and the soft-skinned trucks on the inside. The area was active - men moving about having breakfast and drinking coffee - everyone alert, knowing they were inside enemy territory.

Russell
watched them, wondering if anyone would die today. Young men and women stuck in an insanity you had to see to believe. Back home, parents and loved ones praying for their safe return. He tried to describe it in his reports. He knew it didn't work. Understanding the intensity of Afghanistan, or Iraq, or Somalia, required feet on the ground. Sleeping overnight surrounded by armed insurgents and camel spiders. Busting into mud houses not knowing if a woman and her children were inside, or an automatic weapon aimed at the door. Driving on a road that could erupt any second with enough force to destroy a tank. Understanding the reality required being here with the troops.

For most people that would never happen. He wasn't sure if that was fortunate or unfortunate.

Chapter

62

Kandahar, Afghanistan

Tabraiz sat in the back of the taxi with dark sunglasses and a pakol hat. His pashmina scarf was pulled up on his neck and covered part of his face. The last thing he needed was for a member of the Afghan National Police to spot him. He was probably being overly cautious - Kandahar city was bustling and the police had a multitude of other problems to deal with. A man in town to buy a young girl wouldn't be at the top of their list.

Still, Kunar, his informant inside the police, had warned him that his section commander was on the lookout and had other officers watching as well. They knew Tabraiz was coming to Kandahar to pick up a young girl and take her to Pakistan, but they didn't know when. If he could keep a low profile for the next four or five hours, he would have Halima and be gone. Out of Kandahar. Out of Afghanistan. Never to return.

The taxi driver slowed as he entered the Shakpur Darwaza Chowk-e and stopped next to a teashop. He jumped from the car and entered the ornately decorated doorway, reappearing a minute later with two steaming cups of
chai siaa
and fresh naan. He delivered the tea and bread to his passenger, then piled back into the driver's seat and pulled away from the curb. They drove for about five minutes in silence.

"Another three blocks, then turn left," Tabraiz said as they reached an intersection.

The man followed the order. They were on the last road on the southernmost edge of the city, with single-story mud buildings to the right and desert to their left. Tabraiz ordered the man to stop, and got out carrying his tea. He walked half a block in a westerly direction and waited until a car pulled around the corner and stopped. A swarthy man dressed in khakis and a baggy T-shirt stepped out of the back seat and walked toward Tabraiz.

"Are you ready for tonight?" Tabraiz asked when they were standing opposite each other.

"Yes. I have two other men. Both trustworthy, and good shots."

"I don't want any shooting unless it is absolutely necessary," Tabraiz cautioned. He sipped the tea with a slight slurping noise. "You're for backup only. In case something goes wrong."

"We still get paid, even if everything is okay?" the man asked. He appeared worried about that.

"Yes, of course." Tabraiz dug in his pocket and handed the man a wad of bills. "This is half of what we agreed on. The other half tonight."

"Thank you, Tabraiz Khan," the man said, taking the money a bit too quickly.

Tabraiz ignored the social faux pas and said, "Let's walk."

The two men left the road and walked south toward the crest of a small rise. They reached the top of the hill and both men took in the lay of the land. Behind them was Kandahar and stretching out in front of them was a vast expanse of sand and rock, punctuated on occasion by scrub brush. A hundred meters down the gently rolling slope was a narrow valley that sliced through the barren land. Between them and the valley, about eighty meters down the slope, was an outcropping of rocks.

"I will be standing there, midway between the rocks and the edge of the valley. The girl and her father will likely come from the street where my taxi is parked. They will walk by this spot where you and I are standing."

The man nodded his understanding. Tabraiz was arranging the meet so that if the police showed up, he could disappear behind the rocks or into the valley, depending on which direction they approached from. The city was only a hundred meters to the north, but out of sight. That eliminated the possibility of the police sneaking up on them from behind the buildings, yet put the maze of narrow streets close enough for Tabraiz to meld into if necessary. The meeting spot was well chosen.

"You should position yourselves behind the rocks," Tabraiz said. "If the police do show up, it won't matter which direction they come from. If they come from the top of the hill, you can slide over the rocks for protection. If they attempt to flank us, which is more likely, then you're already out of sight."

The man surveyed the land. Tabraiz was correct - the police would be too exposed if they came straight down the hill from the city. They would flank the situation from the east. If he and his men were behind the rocks they would be well protected.

"Agreed," he said. "We'll position ourselves behind the rocks."

"Good. Make sure they know not to shoot unless they are being shot at."

"Not unless we are threatened," he agreed.

"More than threatened," Tabraiz snapped. "Shot at. You do not fire your weapons unless you are shot at."

"I understand. We will not fire."

"That's all for now. Be here tonight at eight o'clock. The father and his daughter will be here about fifteen minutes after that."

They walked back to the road that skirted the edge of the city and shook hands. The man returned to his car, started the motor, ground the gears and sped off, a plume of dust rising behind the car. He turned a corner and headed back into the city.

Tabraiz stood in the middle of the deserted road, the afternoon sun baking his face and arms. This was it. The place where Halima would leave her world and move on to a much darker, more dangerous one. This was the end of her life as she knew it. He could care less. To him, she was fifty-five thousand US dollars after expenses. Nothing more, nothing less.

Business was business.

Chapter

63

Moscow, Russia

Three in the afternoon on Monday, August 23
rd
, and
Julie
was no closer to gaining access to the intricate series of tunnels under the roads and parks near Luzhniki Stadium. She was beginning to panic.

Sunday,
Julie
had split her team into two groups. The team charged with finding other ways for Trey Miller to ruin the U2 concert had not come up with one other viable option. That confirmed her initial suspicion that Miller would interrupt the power to shut down the stadium as the most likely scenario. The clues that supported her theory were still intact. Plus, more were appearing as they moved forward. They had confirmed that Alexi Androv was involved, and aside from killing people, he was an electronics expert. The truck with the backup generator breaking down in Belarus was starting to look like more than just a coincidence.

She picked up the phone and dialed Sergei Berensko's line at MosEnergo. Berensko was the supervisor in charge of the city's electrical system in the quadrant that housed Luzhniki Stadium. She had called him earlier in the day to find out if the city had issued any e-mails about scheduled power outages in the last week. He answered the phone and she tried talking with him in rudimentary Russian.

"Miss Lindstrom," Berensko said in heavily accented English. "We can speak English. It is good practice for you."

"For you,"
Julie
corrected him.

"Yes, as I said, for you."

Julie
let it slide. "What did you find out Mr. Berensko?"

"I checked our records and there were no scheduled power shutdowns," he said.

"You're positive?"

"Yes."

"Okay, thank you."

"It's okay. Enjoy Moscow."

Julie
set the phone in the cradle and went back over the growing list. Androv on the scene. The backup generator stuck in Belarus. Fake calls about power outages to the stadium. And there was one more. A very disturbing one. The disappearance of a city inspector who was working in the underground tunnels near the stadium. No one had seen him since Friday, August 20
th
. The man had no history of drinking and not showing up for work, and the police had opened a missing persons file.
Julie
and Evan had little doubt that the man's body was crammed into a recess somewhere in the labyrinth of tunnels.

The hotel door opened and Evan entered
Julie
's room. He nodded to
Carson
, who was staying close to
Julie
at her request. "We found Miller," he said.

"Where is he?"

"The Korston Hotel. Alexi Androv used his credit card for a single transaction in the bar. He must have slipped up and used it by mistake. I have three men on the way over. They should be there by now, or really close. We'll know in a few minutes what's going on."

"The guys you sent - are they armed?"

"Yes."

A shiver ran down her spine. This was getting out of control. "Is that what I think it is?"
Julie
asked, pointing to a roll of paper under Evan's arm.

"Sure is," he said. He spread it out on the table. "Pretty rudimentary, but they're plans of the tunnel systems near Luzhniki."

"Excellent,"
Julie
said. She flipped the drawings around so they were properly oriented to her and Evan. "It's like we thought. The access to the electrical conduits is through the storm sewers."

"Right. Especially the junction boxes." He stabbed at the drawings in three different places. "These are some of the places where the incoming power splits off from the main line. The tunnels where the power conduits run are much narrower than the adjoining storm sewers. It will be much easier to navigate through the sewers and then link in with the electrical system when we're close to the junction boxes."

Julie
nodded. "Agreed. And we're pretty sure they'll be targeting the junction boxes. They're the easiest places for them to splice in." She glanced up. "How are we doing with getting permission from the city for access to the tunnels?"

Evan shook his head. "Not good. They don't see any reason to let us in, and they're in no rush to let us talk to anyone else. I tried offering them money, but it didn't work."

"Well, whether it's okay or not, we're going in."

"I had a couple of guys look for a way."

"And..."

"There's a metal grill embedded in a concrete slab in the park, about two hundred meters north of the stadium. It's locked, but I can't see that stopping us."

"Excellent. We'll need lights and some gear."

"I already thought of that. We picked it up a couple of hours ago."

Evan held his hand up to curb her response, pulled out his vibrating phone and answered it. "Did you find him?" he asked. He listened for a few seconds, then grabbed a piece of paper and jotted down a name -
Petr Besovich
. He grunted a few times then killed the call.

"That was one of the men calling from the Korston. Miller was registered as Adam Stewart. The desk clerk recognized his picture. They ran the fake name just to be sure and found it's one Miller used when he was with the agency. They managed to get the name of another member of his team; Petr Besovich. His expertise is electrical circuits and detonating devices."

"Great,"
Julie
said under her breath.

"Let's hope Miller brought him in to focus on electrical circuits and not detonating something," Evan said.

"You want to take the risk?"
Julie
asked.

"No."

"Neither do I." She ran her hands through her thick, wavy hair. "But I'm not going to push the panic button."

Evan agreed by nodding and said, "We won't mention the alternative yet, but we could look around a bit. Just in case. If we're careful and don't raise any red flags, the staff at the stadium wouldn't suspect we're looking for explosives."

"Okay, shift the secondary crew onto it. They're wasting time looking for other scenarios. We know what Miller and his team are up to - we just need to figure out how they're going to do it and stop them." She checked the time. "Three-thirty. I highly doubt the city is going to get back to us. Looks like we're breaking into the sewer."

Julie
stood up and walked over to the window. In the distance, Luzhniki Stadium reared over a solid wall of green. What Trey Miller was planning was dangerous. A dark space, tens of thousands of people, and no show. Many of the concert-goers intoxicated or high. It was a bad mixture. It could be a full-scale disaster for
Volstov
.

She wasn't going to let it happen. But time was slipping away and she had a litany of problems. The city authorities were hampering her efforts and she was filled with frustration and anxiety.

"
Carson
, are you up to skulking around in a sewer?" she asked. She wanted him close by where she could watch him. The last thing she needed right now was to come back to the hotel and find a body. Besides, he was the one who had dug up the plot to derail the concert. She owed him.

He shrugged. "Sounds gross."

"It's not a waste sewer. No crap and toilet paper. It's a storm sewer. It takes rainwater from the gutters and channels it into the river."

"Sure."

"Great. I don't feel comfortable leaving you here alone. Androv may show up."

"That wouldn't be good,"
Carson
said. He tucked into the corner of the couch a bit tighter.

"Get some rest if you can. It's going on four o'clock. We'll be heading underground by ten."

He nodded. "I'll try," he said. But in his mind he already knew that there was no chance of sleeping.