The Guardian (25 page)

The man replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘If you must call me something, Fasil will suffice.’

Saunders frowned. ‘Fasil,’ he said. He knew the name from when he was in Afghanistan, and understood the reputation for cruelty that came with it. ‘I’ve heard of
you.’

‘Good,’ the man said. ‘Then you will understand that I am a man of some resources.’ He moved along the far wall slowly, keeping his attention on Saunders. The two rowing
tanks separated them. ‘I am well aware of your history also, Mr Saunders.’ Saunders tried not to flinch, but the realization that the man knew his identity felt like a shot in the
stomach. ‘Your reputation is impressive. It is good to work with a professional. I hope that it will make this meeting go more smoothly.’

‘How did you—?’

Fasil cut Saunders off. ‘That, too, is unimportant. What is important is that I am no longer delayed in my mission.’

‘What is your mission?’ Saunders asked bluntly.

Fasil smiled slightly. ‘I will ask the question again: Do you have my property?’

‘Where is my brother?’ Cianna demanded sharply.

Fasil looked with forbearance at Cianna. ‘In my country, we are not nearly as permissive with our women. I would prefer if we dealt with each other as men.’

Saunders could feel Cianna’s anger radiating from her, but spoke quickly to keep the situation under control. ‘This was supposed to be an exchange,’ he said.

‘And it is,’ Fasil said. ‘I will exchange your lives for my property.’

Saunders felt the movement behind him. Before he could turn, he felt the barrel of a gun pressed into the base of his skull. He eased his head around slowly, carefully, until he could see out of
the corner of his eye the man holding the pistol. He was bearded and thickset, with dark hair and eyes. Saunders turned slightly in the other direction, toward Cianna, to see whether there was
anyone else there with a gun to her head. There wasn’t; there was just one man behind them. He turned back and faced Fasil. ‘If you do it this way, people will die,’ he said.

Fasil smiled again. ‘I think that is inevitable, no?’

‘And you would go back on your word?’

‘A promise to a liar and an infidel is no promise,’ Fasil replied.

‘I think you’ll find I rarely lie,’ Saunders said.

‘Give me my property!’ Any patience was gone from Fasil’s voice. The man behind Saunders pressed the barrel of the gun with greater force into the base of Saunders’s
neck.

‘Okay, okay,’ Saunders said. He held the knife still wrapped in the shirt up over his shoulder to where the man behind him could grab hold of it. He saw the man’s arm come
forward, the fingers closing on it. At that moment, when he was sure that the man’s attention was focused on taking possession of the dagger, Saunders ducked and spun to his right, bringing
his shoulder up to knock the man’s gun up.

A shot rang out, ricocheting off the tiling that lined the ceiling, and everyone in the room ducked. Saunders grabbed hold of the man’s arm at the wrist and swung it down, bringing his
knee up at the same time. When the elbow connected with the knee it snapped, shattering the joint with a sickening pop that echoed throughout the place. The man screamed in pain and fell to his
knees as the gun fell from the uselessly dangling arm. He dropped the shirt with the dagger in his other hand and reached out for his weapon, but it was no use. Saunders turned his gun on the man
and pointed it at his forehead.

‘No!’ the man screamed. ‘Don’t shoot!’

Saunders pulled the trigger and a spray of blood and brains coated the cement behind the man. His lifeless body toppled back. Saunders turned and aimed the gun at Fasil. Sirus raised his gun and
pointed it at Saunders. For a moment no one moved. ‘Shall we try this again?’ Saunders said. ‘Where is Charles Phelan?’

For the first time since they had arrived, Saunders could see a shadow of concern in Fasil’s eyes. ‘You exceed your reputation,’ he said.

‘If we don’t see Phelan in the next thirty seconds, the next shot is between your eyes.’

‘And the one after that will come from Captain Stillwell’s gun,’ Fasil said.

‘At least we’ll see which of us is a better shot,’ Saunders said. ‘Now, where is Phelan?’

Fasil slowly reached into his jacket pocket and took out a cell phone. He hit a button and put it to his ear. He gave an order in Farsi, then put the phone back into his pocket. ‘It will
be just a moment.’

‘Good. That’s all you’ve got.’

‘Do you really believe that you have the upper hand, Mr Saunders?’

‘Ask your friend,’ Saunders said, nodding to the corpse lying near his feet.

‘He was not my friend,’ Fasil scoffed. ‘He was a warrior, and he is proud to have given his life in our cause. He has his reward now.’

Saunders nodded. ‘We agree on something, at least.’ He held the gun aimed at Fasil’s head. ‘What is your cause, by the way?’

‘My cause is my country! My cause is Allah! My cause is Afghanistan!’ Fasil’s voice was raised, but he stopped speaking when the door to the locker room off to the side of the
windows opened and one of his men stepped through, holding Charles Phelan by the arm, half pushing him and half holding him up.

‘Charlie!’ Cianna shouted. She took two quick steps toward him, but Saunders caught her by the arm, holding her back. As he did, the Afghan standing next to her brother raised his
gun at her.

‘Cianna?’ It was clear from his voice that Cianna’s brother was heavily drugged. He was disoriented, and his eyes whirled as though trying to find something on which to focus.
Saunders could see the bandages at the end of Charlie’s arm where his hand had once been.

Fasil had composed himself after his outburst, and seemed calm again. ‘You see?’ he said. ‘I am a man of my word. Now, give me my property.’

Saunders reached down and picked up the dagger, still wrapped in the shirt. ‘Let him go, and I will leave it on this side of the tanks.’

Fasil laughed derisively. ‘Americans believe all Afghans are stupid. Walk to the point between the two water tanks,’ he ordered. ‘Put it on the floor, and then back away. I
will bring Mr Phelan to the same place to ensure that there has been no deceit. Once I am satisfied that it is real, I will walk back to this side alone, and Mr Phelan is free to make his way to
you.’

Saunders didn’t like it. There were too many ways Fasil could go back on his word once he had the dagger. He had few choices, though. Besides, both he and Cianna were armed, and having
seen her in combat, he suspected they would have an even chance against Fasil and his men. He nodded and walked around the tank closest to the stairs and out onto the narrow spit of concrete that
separated the two tanks. As he got nearer, he could see Fasil’s expression change. It was as though the man was approaching rapture. His eyes grew wide, and a light perspiration broke out on
his face.

Saunders reached the center of the concrete isthmus and set the dagger wrapped in Nick O’Callaghan’s shirt on the floor, then backed away. Once he was back on the other side of the
tank, Fasil took Phelan by the arm and moved around the second tank, toward the center. As he drew close to the dagger, he let go of Phelan, leaving him standing there, swaying unsteadily. Fasil
knelt as though approaching an altar, reached out and took hold of the fabric. A look of confusion swept across his face. He began pulling at the shirt, the confusion quickly turning to panic and
then to anger. He held the shirt up, and the dagger clattered to the floor. Fasil looked at the ancient weapon and then up at Saunders. He picked the dagger off the floor and stood.

‘What is this?’ he demanded.

Saunders looked from Cianna to Charlie, then back to Fasil. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

‘What
is
this?!’ Fasil demanded again, more urgently this time.

Saunders frowned. ‘It is the dagger Phelan stole from you. We got it from Nick O’Callaghan.’

Fasil held the dagger up, displaying it for Saunders and Cianna. Then he threw it at them. It was a poor toss, and it hit the water in the first tank, short of Saunders and Cianna. ‘A
bauble!’ he screamed. ‘You think I have come for a trifle such as this? Where is the Cloak?’

Saunders looked at Cianna, and she returned his blank expression. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Saunders said to Fasil.

Fasil now appeared to be on the edge of insanity. ‘The Cloak of Mohammed! Where is it? Give it to me now!’

Saunders shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say that might appease the madman.

Fasil took two steps back over to Charlie, who still appeared to be only marginally aware of what was happening. He pulled a Glock out of his pocket and slid the release back to chamber a round.
He held the gun up to the side of Charlie’s head.

‘Charlie!’ Cianna screamed. She pulled out her own gun and aimed it at Fasil. ‘Let him go!’ Stillwell and the Afghan who had brought Phelan pointed their guns at Cianna
and Saunders.

‘Tell me now! Where is the Cloak?’ Fasil screamed back.

Phelan started sobbing. ‘I told you!’ he wailed. ‘I don’t know! I told you!’

‘Charlie!’ Cianna cried again.

‘Tell me where the Cloak is now!’ Fasil ordered. ‘Or he dies!’ He pushed the gun hard into Charlie’s temple, forcing his head back as Charlie continued crying.

Saunders had few choices. It was clear that Fasil was no longer rational enough to be bargained with, and Saunders had no idea what the man was talking about. He kept his gun aimed at
Fasil’s head. There was a risk that the bullet could fragment and kill Charlie even if the shot was successful. There was also a risk that Fasil could pull the trigger in a death spasm, and
the result would be the same for Cianna’s brother. But neither of those risks was as certain as the fact that Fasil would kill Charlie if Saunders did nothing.

He took careful aim and increased the pressure slightly on the trigger to steady his hand.

The explosion did not come from his weapon, though. It came from the rear of the boathouse, as the glass in the windows out toward the back shattered. Fasil was spun around by the force of the
shot that hit his left arm, and his gun fired, missing Charlie’s head. Charlie, no longer supported, fell to his knees. Saunders turned to look over at the window and saw a young man standing
there. His gun was still pointing at Fasil. ‘Allahu Akubar!’ he shouted.

Suddenly, the room erupted in gunfire. Sirus and the Afghan were shooting at the back window, and the young man there pulled his head back and disappeared. Sirus took aim at Cianna, and Saunders
threw himself at her, knocking her to the ground. ‘Who the hell started shooting?’ Cianna shouted to Saunders. He shrugged in return.

As they scrambled to their knees, shots came again from the window, and Fasil dove to the ground. Sirus and the remaining Afghan scurried back toward the door to the locker room from which
Phelan had been led.

‘Come on!’ Saunders yelled at Cianna. ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’

They crawled toward the stairs, staying in a low military crawl to avoid the shots that still rang out.

‘Wait!’ Cianna screamed. ‘Charlie!’

They both looked back. Charlie was now lying on the narrow strip of cement, just a few steps from Fasil. He was struggling to get back to his knees, his eyes still spinning wildly.
‘Cianna!’ he called out.

Cianna started back, but Saunders grabbed her by the leg. ‘No!’ he said. ‘You can’t!’

‘I have to!’ she shouted at him. She shook free from his grasp and started toward her brother again. As she did, Fasil crouched behind Charlie, using him as a shield. There was a
bloodstain on his left sleeve, but his back was straight, unwavering. He had a look of hatred on his face, and his eyes went back and forth from Cianna to Saunders.

‘I am a man of my word!’ he shouted to them.

Charlie was still struggling to get to his knees, only feet in front of Fasil. It was difficult for him. The drugs had robbed him of whatever equilibrium he would otherwise have had. After a
moment, though, he managed to make it to a kneeling position, and he raised his arms up, reaching out in the direction of his sister. ‘Cianna!’ he called. For just a moment, he sounded
almost hopeful.

‘I’m coming, Charlie!’ Cianna called back desperately. She was still moving toward him.

‘I am a man of my word!’ Fasil yelled again. He raised his gun and aimed at the center of Charlie’s back.

‘No!’ Saunders cried. He raised his gun and started firing. Cianna did the same, and the cacophony was deafening.

Fasil pulled the trigger once, rose, and sprinted along the spit of concrete toward the locker room.

Cianna saw the bullet rip through her brother’s body. He was kneeling, his arms stretched forward, his eyes meeting hers. And then he lurched forward, and his chest
exploded out in a fountain of red that polluted the water in the tank before him.

‘No!’ she screamed.

He looked down at the gaping hole in the front of his shirt, and back up at her, his face a mask of confusion and fear. He opened his mouth and it looked as though he wanted to say something,
but before he could, gravity overtook him, and he fell forward into the water.

She dropped her gun and dove into the water taking short, panicked strokes to the other side. She had to dive under the scull suspended in the center of the tank to get to her brother, and that
slowed her down. Even in the dark, she could see the cloud of blood in the water. He was face-down in the water, and she grabbed his shoulders and rolled him over, speaking in a desperate voice.
‘It’s okay, Charlie. It’s going to be okay.’ She could feel Saunders behind her, reaching into the tank and pulling Charlie onto the cement. She climbed out and knelt over
the body, feeling Saunders’s hand on her shoulder, pulling her away. They were still in danger. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ she mumbled again to her brother’s lifeless
body.

‘We have to get out of here,’ Saunders said to her. ‘We can’t stay out in the open like this.’

‘I’ve got to bring Charlie!’ she yelled, struggling to lift him.