Riders of the Pale Horse (15 page)

The first requirement was to establish order, and order was something she was very good at. She inspected the files and found a box to store the outdated ones. Then Allison began gathering the piles of paper littering her office, sorting them the best she could and stowing them in the freed file space.

She was so involved in her work that the knock on her door made her jump. “Yes?”

The door creaked open to reveal a sprite crowned with a bounty of dark curly locks. “You Miss Allison?”

“That's right.”

“I am Ali. Dr. Ben, he say you no eat.”

Allison glanced at her watch. “I didn't realize how late it had become.”

“You are hungry, yes? You wait, I bring.”

Within a few minutes he was back, bearing a tray with a sandwich, some dates, and a Pepsi. Ali set it down, looked
around the room, and observed, “You work hard, Western Lady.”

“Thank you for the food,” she said, suddenly very hungry. “Do you know where I can find a broom and some cleaning rags?”

“Don't worry. I bring.” But Ali stayed where he was. “You are American?”

“Yes?”

“Why you come here to Aqaba?”

She inspected the boy as she took a bite of the sandwich—processed cheese on white bread, no butter, no nothing. Ali was small and wiry, probably about eighteen or nineteen. Certainly not what she had expected as a spy. “My father and Dr. Shannon were friends.”

“Ah.” He nodded. Family ties were clearly something he could understand.

“Nurse tell me you cry for boy.”

Allison fought back another surge of emotion. “I thought it was very sad, didn't you?”

Ali seemed about to nod, but instead said, “No. The boy is martyr. He soon happy.”

“You mean he is getting better?”

Ali shrugged. “Insh'Allah. But I think no.”

“Then how—”

“You no understand, Western Lady. He is martyr. He goes to live on the highest level of paradise. There the green birds of the Garden sing to him forever. Is that not a glorious thought? He is alive while we are dead.”

Allison fought back the argument that rose in her throat. Instead she confessed, “I just felt so powerless.”

“We know power to be banned,” Ali replied, not understanding. “To be arrested. To be disappeared.”

“What do you mean?”

“We struggle against corrupt governments. They very strong, but we don't defeat at all. Real power is in Allah, not where they think, in official power. Our goal is to serve
Allah. To do as Allah commands. We push them. We get power, and then we turn power over to Allah.”

“Ah, I see Ali has decided to keep you company.” Ben Shannon said as he appeared in the doorway. “Unfortunately, it is time for my rounds in the villages, and I thought perhaps you would care to join me.”

Allison finished her Pepsi and stood. “Thank you for the lunch, Ali.”

“You good lady,” Ali decided, taking the tray. “We talk more.”

When they were alone, Allison said, “I think I just passed inspection.”

“It would appear so,” Ben agreed. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” She answered, excitement an electric shiver through her nerves.

It had begun.

“It's not too late to turn back,” Robards reminded Wade the next morning. “Even if the money does sound attractive.”

“It's not the money. I don't like the idea of leaving anybody trapped like that,” Wade replied. “But I'm worried about taking on anything else until I finish with this assignment.”

“In the first place,” Robards said, “you did what you were supposed to do. Far as I see it, whatever happens next is going to be a seat-of-the-pants deal anyway. In the second place, the money's always important. Always.”

“Then why are you so interested in helping out somebody who might not even be able to pay you?” Wade retorted. “They're in this fix right now because their guide did not arrive with the money.”

Rogue nodded. “I've been thinking about that.”

“And?”

“And I think maybe we'd be in better shape to collect if we acted as guides as well as helped them escape.”

“You mean take them to Tbilisi?”

“Like I said,” Robards replied, “it's your show.”

Wade thought it over. “There's no reason not to take them along, since we're going in that direction already.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“But what makes you think you'll be paid then?”

“We,” Rogue corrected. “We'll be paid. Those boys were supposed to be met by a guide here for the rest of their trip—somebody who from the looks of things decided to skip town with these other guides' payment in his own pocket. That means they have to have a contact at that end—somebody with dough. So we deliver them to their destination, collect for both jobs, then we're through with the guide-dog business. Simple.”

“It sounds okay,” Wade said slowly. “Who do you think those Russians are?”

Rogue busied himself with another mug of coffee.

“You know, don't you,” Wade pressed. “Or you think you do.”

“Just a hunch. Nothing that can't wait until we're safe and all have a little chat,” Robards replied. “So what's it gonna be?”

“How do we get them out?”

“Is that a yes or not?” It was Rogue's turn to push. “No need to get into details until the go-ahead's been given.”

“Does that mean you think we can do it?”

“Wouldn't be wasting time talking about a target like this if I didn't.”

“And we can get out of this alive?”

“Those are the only targets that count.”

“We can't just leave them, then. Not if you really think we can help.”

Rogue waited in catlike stillness, only his eyes showing the faintest glimmer of interest.

Wade took a breath, fought to still a sudden flutter of nerves. “You've got to promise me that nobody is going to get hurt from this.”

“I've got no desire to be on the receiving end of a vendetta,” Robards answered. “I've met guys like these before; they're the kind that'll follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“Okay, then,” Wade said. “I guess we should go ahead and do it.”

“That's the spirit,” Robards said, rising to full height. “I'm going to write a note that you've got to translate and somehow get into their hands.”

Wade found his Russian patient much improved and able to take a few spoonfuls of stew. “I think he is going to survive.”

The guard showed no reaction, but one of the other Russians gave a feeble smile. “This is good news.”

“I brought enough food for all of you,” Wade said, indicating the covered pot. “Try and see if he will eat some more later. And give him as much to drink as he will take.”

“I will do this,” the Russian agreed. “Thank you.”

“He is your friend?”

“No questions,” the guard snapped.

Wade busied himself with his satchel. He gave the sick man another pair of injections, then brought out two boxes of medicine. “He needs to take one of these antibiotics three times a day for seven days. It will help protect him from secondary infection.”

“Your Russian is very good,” the man responded.

Wade handed over the second box. “These tablets should help ease him when the sickness is upon him. Give him one every two hours for as long as necessary.” He resisted the urge to glance toward the guard. Instead he looked directly at the Russian and said, “You must carefully read the directions on the box. This is very important.”

“I understand,” the Russian said, his eyes suddenly filled with the same appeal as the night before.

“Tonight I shall return for a final check.” Wade stood. “Until then.”

By dusk all was prepared.

Wade walked toward the prisoners' hut on legs that threatened to give way at any moment. The scarred warden grunted his customary greeting and prodded open the door with his boot. “This is your last time,” he declared. “The man is well enough, and I will not pay for visits and medicines which he does not require.”

Wade stood his ground and spoke as Robards had instructed. “You must give him boiled water and green vegetables. He remains very weak, and if you are not careful, he could still die.”

The guard's customary suspicion weakened for a moment. Sullenly he agreed, “It will be as you say. Come.”

Wade forced himself forward. He found the same lantern-lit tableau as the night before. The two relatively healthy men squatted in their corner, while the third sprawled on his filthy matting. But three pairs of eyes fastened upon him with singular intensity as soon as he came into view, and Wade knew the morning's note had been read.

The same man crawled over to help as Wade inserted the thermometer. His back to the watchful guard, he looked Wade square in the eye and nodded. Once.

Wade lifted the thermometer and squinted at numbers his nerves would not let him read. “You are doing better,” he said loudly and for the guard's benefit. “If you rest and are careful, you will be well.”

“Thank you,” the sick man said, speaking for the first time. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it held surprising strength.

“I must give you one final injection,” Wade said. “You are continuing with the tablets?”

“Just as you said,” the helper replied. “Three times this day, one of each, taken with twice-boiled water.”

Wade swallowed and resisted the urge to glance at his
watch. Time seemed to be dragging by in milliseconds. “You must—”

At that point the promised diversion arrived.

A group of extremely drunken men, Ossetians all, staggered by the front of the hut. Some sang, some argued, others pushed and laughed and milled about and created a vastly noisy confusion.

The scarred lookout snarled a curse and turned to the door. The men staked out on the porch shouted threats and received a chorus of oaths in reply. The yelling became louder still, and the guard took a half-step outside the door.

It was the moment Wade had been waiting for. His heart in his throat, he whispered, “In three hours there will be another diversion. You must break through the back wall, the tent part. Someone will be there waiting for you.”

The Russian helper glanced toward the guard, who gesticulated at the drunken crowd with upraised weapon. The helper hissed, “I have leaned on the wall by the chamber pot. It is not just cloth, there is wood beyond. But it gave when I leaned. With luck we can make an opening.”

“May luck be with us all,” Wade agreed. With hands trembling so badly he could scarcely force a grip, he reached into his bag and extracted a hammer, a short crowbar wrapped in cloth to keep it from clanking, and a long-bladed knife. “Once the opening is seen, others will be there to assist.”

The helper stuffed the three implements under the bedding. The sick man lay and watched with a burning gaze. The noise outside mounted in crescendo, then subsided as the drunks began to disperse. The helper asked, “When shall we know to act?”