Absolution (4 page)

When he finished his dawn prayers, he rose without having to put a hand on his belly and barely noticed the tugging sensation around the surgical scars. He was finally healed up from the knife wounds his former bodyguard had inflicted, and ready to move. Thanks be to Allah.

Tucking his prayer mat beneath his arm, he made his way down the steep, narrow trail to the tiny village nestled into the side of the mountain.

The men nodded respectfully when he passed, and the children watched him in silence as their mothers shooed them out of the way without looking at him.

Eyes lowered modestly, as expected of them.

Uneducated peasants they might be, but they were God-fearing people who eked a living out of one of the harshest environments on earth. Tehrazzi was inextricably connected to them. His ancestors had lived much like the people here did today. For generations they had successfully repelled every 24

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invasion that came across the mountains. The Pashtuns had war in their blood, and he was no different. They had adapted and survived centuries of fighting far better equipped foes. Yet they remained. And would always remain, no matter how many JDAMs the U.S. and its allies dropped in his ancestral homeland, or how many armies came to these mountains. That was something the enemy did not understand, and it would eventually bring them defeat.

Near the dwellings carved into the dun-colored rock, chickens pecked in the dirt searching for food and the strong smell of goats hung heavy in the air.

Hungry, and waiting for the herding boys to take them into the valley, they milled about the bottom of the trail, the tinkle of tiny bells around their necks mingling with their plaintive bleating.

He moved on silent feet to a home hollowed out of the cliff and pushed aside the woven blanket covering the doorway. A single kerosene lamp lit the dim, rough interior. The elder seated next to the ammunition crate serving as a table smiled from beneath his long, gray-streaked beard.

“Blessed morning to you, my son.”

“And to you,” Tehrazzi responded in Pashto to his guest, sitting cross-legged opposite him. General Aziz was one of the few men he respected. The local warlord had gained a reputation as a tough leader and fighter during the anti-Communist jihad. That reputation had only gained strength in the years since the Americans had invaded Afghanistan with their NATO allies in a bid to eradicate what they saw as the threat of radical Islam to the rest of the world.

Tehrazzi still couldn’t understand how the “rest of the world” missed the fact that America had terrorized innocent Muslims all around the world for generations. They hadn’t raised a hue and cry when 25

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the Americans withdrew all their financial and military support from the mujahedeen once the war with the Soviets was won. No one had stepped in to help the Afghan people rebuild their shattered lives and country. No help had arrived to stem the bloody tribal wars that followed where various factions fought for control over territory.

Tehrazzi had been fifteen years old when America abandoned him to his fate. He’d barely survived that first winter, spent shivering in the miserable caves dug out of the mountains near an abandoned Soviet outpost. Starving and on the run from another band of mujahedeen that killed all the men he’d served with.

“What are you thinking of?”

Tehrazzi glanced up at the elder, whose dark eyes regarded him with a surprising amount of compassion. “The past.” The general would understand. He’d lived through that same dark time.

“Ah.” Aziz leaned back a little and rested his hands over his slightly rounded belly. “Do you think it wise to dwell on those memories?”

“Perhaps not. But they serve me well.

Forgetting the past would be even more unwise.”

Amusement and understanding lit Aziz’s eyes. “I remember well what it feels like to burn with the need for retribution.”

Tehrazzi did burn. That ceaseless need was a living fire buried beneath his skin. Only the death of one man could quench it.

“You are absolutely sure you do not need anything from me before you go? I have just received another shipment of rifles.”

“Thank you, uncle, but no.” He had all that he required. What’s more, he had new allies in unexpected places that proved to be highly valuable.

Not that he trusted them. He would never be so weak as to make that deadly mistake again.

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“Your contact will be here soon?”

“Yes.” And he would bring the news Tehrazzi had been waiting for.

Aziz stroked his thick beard thoughtfully. “The quarry you are hunting is extremely dangerous.”

Yes, he was. His teacher was one of the most dangerous men alive—to Tehrazzi and all his followers.

“I remember him well. He was a good soldier.

And a good man.”

“Once, he was.” Before he had disappeared and left Tehrazzi and the others to their hellish fate.

“He had a sincere appreciation for Islam, as I recall. A rare quality among his countrymen.”

Tehrazzi’s jaw flexed. His teacher had always respected the ways and teachings of Allah. That was the main reason why Tehrazzi had bonded with him so quickly and so hard. He’d barely been in his teens when they’d met. He’d trusted his teacher implicitly.

Looked up to him as a kind of father figure. He’d worshipped the man almost as much as he revered Allah. And then his teacher had suddenly left him without a backward glance.

That original betrayal changed Tehrazzi forever.

He’d suffered other various betrayals since then, but that first time had cut the deepest. He still bled from that invisible wound. It was a lesson he would never forget.

“Are you sure it is wise to hunt such a man, my son? Perhaps it would be better to continue your operations here instead, where the people will protect and hide you.”

Tehrazzi’s hands tightened on his knees, fingers clenching in the loose white tribal-style pants he wore. “You know what he’s like, what he’s capable of,” he said, switching to English. “He won’t stop until I’m dead. It’s either him or me.” Or both of them. Death didn’t scare him. Tehrazzi was more 27

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than prepared to give his life for Allah. But his ultimate sacrifice would be so much more worthwhile if he took his teacher with him and helped clear the way for his successors to carry out jihad against the western infidels.

Tehrazzi turned his head when the blanket flap opened. One of the village men peered inside. “A messenger has arrived, sir.”

“Thank you.” Tehrazzi pushed to his feet and excused himself from the general before going outside. A weary-looking Abdu stood near the trail, huddling deeper into the thick down-filled coat he wore.

“Peace be upon you,” the young man said. He was somewhere around twenty or so, but he’d lived a hard life. The money he earned from Tehrazzi and from the valuable source on the other end of this information chain would provide him with comforts unimaginable to the villagers who lived here.

“And you.” Handing him a wad of cash, he folded his arms across his chest and raised his left brow inquiringly before catching himself and clearing his expression. His teacher had that same mannerism, and Tehrazzi could not break himself of the same habit no matter how much it annoyed him.

After stuffing the cash into his coat pocket, Abdu blew on his hands. “I-I’m to ask you about the arms dealer you dealt with in Kabul last week.”

Tehrazzi almost laughed.
That
was what they wanted to know? Of all the things they could have asked for, a mid-level arms dealer was the one that would earn him his teacher’s location? Unbelievable.

“I’ll tell you whatever you wish to know. But first, tell me what you know.”

Abdu hesitated only a moment. “He is still in the States. But word is he plans to come for you.”

Not if I get to him first.

He didn’t dare say it aloud in case someone was 28

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listening back in Kabul via a carefully placed wire.

Abdu had proved reliable thus far, but a man willing to play both sides was either desperate or naive enough to think he would be protected by his employers. “Come inside and have some tea before you go. You can meet General Aziz.”

The young man’s eyes flashed to his. “Aziz is here?”

“Don’t they know that back in Kabul?” He clucked his tongue. “Shame. With all their resources and technology, that lapse seems unforgiveable.”

Hiding a smile, he headed back toward the house.

“Come on. I’ll tell you what you need to know inside.” And once the sun set, Tehrazzi would leave this backward village and make his way through the icy mountain passes toward Kabul. When he arrived, he’d personally ensure he got whatever he needed to hunt down his teacher and repay him for all his sins.

****

Driving into the city from the airport in a rental car, a sense of nostalgia hit him. This had been his city once, and his home because Emily was there.

Once upon a time it wouldn’t have mattered where they lived, so long as she was with him. She was what made a place a home.

When he found out exactly what was happening with her, he was going to talk with Bryn. He’d already taken her up on her offer to let him use her father’s place in Beirut for his staging area.

For the past few weeks Luke had thought about Tehrazzi, and how he’d targeted Bryn and Neveah to get to him. If Tehrazzi thought the women were his team’s weak point and he’d already gone after the others, then it only made sense that Emily would be 29

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at the top of his list. Up ‘til now she’d been safe enough living in Charleston without protection because he’d severed contact with her. But Luke wasn’t going to risk leaving her exposed anymore, especially with her health suffering. He might not know precisely what the problem was, but he had his suspicions, and they burned a hole in his gut.

At Rayne’s wedding a month ago she’d been pale and seemed tired. She’d dropped off to sleep in that damned pullout next to his hospital bed within minutes, telling him how exhausted she was.

Throughout their whole marriage, Em had never been a good sleeper, and with all the tension between them at the wedding, there was no way she would normally have been able to fall asleep.

The silver dollar-sized medallion he wore lay heavy against his heart. The engraved message Emily had added on the back practically burned his skin.
May this always keep you safe from any
dangers you will face. Em.

If he thought he’d been vulnerable before and during the surgery, he was more so now that Emily knew he still wore the thing. She had to know what it meant. Especially after the disastrous phone call back in Basra, when he’d been suffering from an acute concussion and blurted out he loved her before passing out. In light of that he supposed he should be grateful she’d stayed in Vancouver until she was certain he was out of danger instead of taking off right away.

Driving along the Battery, Luke passed the stately houses he remembered so well. The historic southern mansions faced Charleston Harbor where Fort Sumter lay, and all were surrounded by lush gardens and manicured lawns interspersed with tall palmetto trees.

Passing White Point Gardens where he’d taught Rayne to throw a ball and where they’d once enjoyed 30

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lazy picnic lunches, he took a right onto Emily’s street. His chest felt tight already.

A short distance up, he came to the driveway marked by a black wrought iron gate that she always left open. Just another gesture of her southern hospitality. Closed gates, she’d once told him, make people feel unwelcome. Em would never do that. She was the only person he’d ever known with an endless supply of kindness toward living things, be they human, plant, or animal. She was the one to take in strays and pay for their vet bills.

Put her on a public bus and within five minutes she’d have the person next to her spilling the contents of their soul, telling her their deepest, darkest secrets. People sensed her sincere desire to help, and in his opinion, took advantage of that.

Basically, he and Emily were polar opposites.

She was sweet; he wasn’t. She was outgoing; he was more or less a loner. She liked order and security; he’d always craved the adrenaline rush. She was born into the upper echelon of Charleston society; he’d come into the world in a two room shack on the outskirts of New Orleans. Many times he’d wondered how the hell they’d ever wound up together in the first place.

Pulling up next to the wrought iron fence that marked the antebellum property, he killed the engine and sat staring up at the house for a moment.

Em had kept it beautifully since inheriting it from her parents, but that didn’t surprise him at all.

Family, tradition and history were all vitally important to her. This place was a part of her.

It looked exactly the same as it always had: an elegant brick heritage home with its white columns out front and the wide front and back porches with their rocking chairs, just waiting to be filled by a visitor. He knew Em would have a pitcher of sweet tea chilling in the fridge in case company dropped 31

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by, and she’d have countless Tupperware containers stuffed full of holiday treats she could whip out at a second’s notice. She’d invite them inside or onto the porch and serve them with her best dishes. Crystal for the sweet tea, or in her great-grandmother’s antique china if they preferred hot tea, because that’s just how she was.

But what about him? Sitting in the rental car, Luke didn’t know if he’d get the same treatment, or if she’d even let him in the house, but he was damn well going to find out what was going on. And between him and the backup he’d brought in to guard her, he was going to make sure she was safe.

Because Southern hospitality and open gates aside, living here alone she was like a lamb staked out for Tehrazzi if he decided to come after her. It damn near put him in a sweat thinking of it. Em wouldn’t last two seconds against that kind of threat.