The Puppetmasters (53 page)

She was surrounded by at least ten soldiers … each with his automatic weapon trained on her.

NSA A
GENT FRANK REYNOLDS WAS
shocked when he checked on the coordinates signaling Rashid’s position upon his arrival at the office first thing in the morning. There was no tell-tale sign of the young Afghan on the GPS indicator. He rebooted his system several times. It simply didn’t make sense. It wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, but it was frustrating. He called Fields’ office number and left a voice mail. He expected the call back in a few hours. In the meantime, he got busy and made a few calls to his contacts at the State Department and the U.S. Navy. He had started the ball rolling last night, but it was so late in the day yesterday when he made the initial phone calls, that most of his calls had gone to voice mail.

He had one other trick up his sleeve … facial recognition using the latest in thermal imaging via satellite. Using a picture of Kendall Radcliffe, he set the coordinates as the area around Mazar-e-Sharif. Once the satellite found her, he could manipulate the picture to see the surrounding area and people. As the satellite scanned the faces around the city, he went to get some coffee and a danish. When he returned an hour later, his phone was blinking.

Paul Fields was in the office particularly early on Wednesday. He was anxious to do something with the information Maysah Siddra had shown them. He booted up his computer and quickly programmed in the scan for Rashid. He, too, was taken aback when the results came back with no data matching the criteria. He wondered what the hell Reynolds had done. He even imagined that the U.S. accidentally bombed Rashid and Kendall instead of rescuing them.

As he was sitting in front of his terminal, his admin hurried in. He looked up at the sudden motion in his doorway.

“Mr. Fields, Uh, Paul. You’ve received an email from Kendall Radcliffe’s personal email account.”

He was stunned at first, trying to comprehend what the stuttering girl was saying. “What? From her personal account? Hmm, strange.” Then he realized that of course any communication would not come from within the Orion network. If Kendall managed to find a computer, she’d have to use a personal account from one of those free services.

He jumped out of the chair and was by the admin’s side in two seconds. He grabbed the printed document from her hand in such a violent way that it sent her scurrying out of his office in fear. The CEO scanned the cryptic message and was relieved they had made it to Mazar-e-Sharif. They were so close to the Uzbekistan border now. He just knew it was all going to work out fine. Now, if his frat buddy, Frank, could just set the rescue details in motion, they might actually get out alive.

There was a nagging doubt that the message was a hoax. He immediately called Daniel, who walked him through the IP address within the header details at the top of the printed email message. Daniel checked on the sender information and confirmed that it had originated from Mazar-e-Sharif. Fields was relieved. The message had to be authentic. He was in the middle of congratulating himself when the computer whiz kid interrupted him.

“Paul, there’s bad news. It looks like Rashid is dead. He went into a building known for arranging back door exits from Afghanistan. While there, the building was blown up.”

“Shit! I can’t believe it! He made it this far only to lose on the last lap?”

“That’s not all.”

The CEO gulped his coffee and instantly burned his throat. “Damn! What else? Where’s Kendall? Is she still alive?” He was sitting down now, expecting the worst.

“She escaped the initial blast but was found by the soldiers later in the day. She’s been taken to a military site on the outskirts of Mazar-e-Sharif. General Omar will be flown there in the morning and will decide her fate then.”

“Oh, God. I don’t know what would be worse. Being blown up in that building, like Rashid, or having General Omar decide your fate.” Fields paused, thinking back to the days when he saw the general on a daily basis. “Daniel, I can’t begin to describe him. He’s a thug. Scary, brutal, and sadistic. He thirsts for revenge and revels in the punishment. I can’t even imagine what he will do to her.”

“Well, it’s nighttime there now, so we have about twenty hours to make something happen.”

“Thanks, Daniel. Keep me posted.”

Fields sat back in his chair and again was thankful for
Prophecy.
It had allowed Daniel to keep tabs on the Afghanistan military. Without that, they
would never have known what happened to Rashid, and that Kendall had been caught and where they were holding her. He would never feel guilty again for masterminding the wonder tool, he told himself. And then that little voice in his head followed it up with,
“So long as it’s only used for good.”

His phone rang. It was Frank Reynolds, who didn’t even wait for the CEO to announce himself. He blurted out, “That guy—Rashid Sharif—is dead! His embedded chip no longer works. If they blew him up, maybe that’s why it isn’t pinging anymore.”

“Who the fuck cares why it doesn’t work, Frank?” Fields felt like Reynolds was stalling. “Is that the only reason you called me … to tell me that he was dead?”

The NSA Agent affected a more normal tone. “Of course, not, Paul. I-uh. Oh shit! Your girl’s been captured!”

“Uh-huh.”

“What? You already know this, Paul?”

“I’ve got the same resources as you, Frank, remember?”

“Well, yes, but I thought you only used it for company business, not to gather military intelligence? That’s my job!”

“Desperate times, Frank!” There was a pause while both men calmed down. Fields, having more of a vested interest, spoke first. “Frank, talk to me! What’s being done to help Kendall?”

“I’ve engaged the right people and am waiting for word that a plan is being finalized as we speak.”

“Okay, good! But you know it’s nighttime in Afghanistan? That bastard, Omar, will have her tortured and killed by the end of the day tomorrow. You know he will!”

“We’re watching now, Paul. We can see her. She’s fine so far.”

“You can see her? How?”

“That’s classified, Paul. Just trust me!”

The CEO was incredulous. “After all that we’ve exchanged over the years, you won’t tell me?”

“Not over the phone, Paul.”

Geez,
Fields thought. This spying has gotten way out of hand. Since they routinely spied on whoever they wanted to whenever, now they were paranoid that they, in turn, were being listened to and their communications monitored. He was back to despising
Prophecy.

Reynolds was pleading with him. “Paul, please trust me that everything that can be done is being done. This whole thing should be resolved within forty-eight hours.”

“Yeah, if she survives. Those bastards! I can’t believe they killed Rashid! He was a decent man and didn’t deserve this. He saved our lives and took a big risk.”

“I know, Paul. Just hang on another day, and hopefully we’ll have some good news.”

“I’m holding you to that, Frank! Later!”

After hanging up, Frank Reynolds felt sick to his stomach. He hadn’t the heart to tell his frat buddy that his military contacts flatly refused to send in a rescue team. The final word was that she wasn’t a high-enough-value asset to the U.S. to risk the ensuing international incident that would surely result from an unauthorized incursion into Afghanistan’s airspace, not to mention Uzbekistan, whose military base would need to be used to stage the mission. With a heavy heart, the NSA Agent turned off his office light and headed home for a good stiff drink … or two.

K
ENDALL LAY ON THE HARD
stone floor at the 209
^th
Corp of the Afghan National Army base. It was cold last night, and she couldn’t sleep. She knew it was all going to be over soon, one way or another. She didn’t much care either way. Rashid was gone now, and maybe she’d be joining him soon. She regretted that they never got to take their relationship to the next level. He was always so focused on the next step in his plan. He never allowed himself to stop and relax or enjoy his surroundings. She allowed that he seemed to have enjoyed the fishing and the evenings around the campfire. Looking back on the long trip, she wished she could have enjoyed it more too. But the constant threat of capture, the savagery of the desert lands, unfamiliar animals, and the sad people with their throwback lives was a constant source of stress that had ultimately gotten the best of her.

She wished she could have introduced Rashid to her world. Her Seattle … where she skied in the winter and boated in the summer. She never missed Opening Day of boating season the first Saturday in May. This year she had gotten to join the procession of boats through the Montlake Cut that joined Lake Union to Lake Washington. She had been on her friend’s sailboat. It was thrilling as they sailed east under the Montlake Bridge. They had to stay exactly in the middle of the channel, because their masthead just barely cleared the bridge structure overhead. The thousands of spectators who lined the shore on both sides and along the bridge above them cheered and roared as the famed University of Washington rowing teams led the way.

Kendall told herself that Rashid would never have liked it. There were too many people and too much frivolity. Life had been so serious to him, and he probably would have hated all the water. Salt water and fresh water everywhere. She felt worse, and realized it was because she was already thinking of him in the past tense. The other important person in her life, her dear mother, had also apparently died while she was away. Yes, people were dying all around her, including the innocent smiling boy, Poya. And the one she thought was the love of her life, Jeremy, who she was prepared to spend the rest of her life with, had
turned his back on her in the name of money … and his mother. Just like that, it was all gone.

She hoped the end would be quick, like Rashid’s. But she resolved to go down fighting. They wouldn’t take her spirit. She said a quick prayer for her mother and Rashid, but dismissed the memory of Jeremy Levy as nothing more than an aberration in her life.

In the cold morning light, the soldiers actually let her have a bathroom to herself, where she was allowed to take a shower. They provided her with clean women’s attire—robes and head scarf—and said something about dying before Allah and the need to be cleansed in body and spirit. She was grateful for the shower and felt like a new person. They brought her a bit of food, and she could hardly choke it down.

General Omar arrived mid-morning and came right over to see her. His eyes glinted with cruelty and something she couldn’t identify. But it caused her to back away from him. He made her stand in the middle of the courtyard while he walked around her. Weapons were pointed at her from every angle. She wondered if she would be shot right there in the military compound.

She’d been standing in the hot sun for an hour with nothing to drink when there began a slow rumbling sound. Everyone looked around and then at General Omar. Thinking they were about to be overrun, he ordered everyone to secure the doors. As the thundering grew louder and the ground began to shake, it was clear this was an earthquake. It was a sizable temblor with the epicenter just outside Mazar-e-Sharif. Because it was shallow, the ground shook more violently than usual. One of the mud-brick walls of the military base gave way.

Kendall was standing in the most perfect place in the center of the courtyard. The heavy stone walls came down on top of the soldiers. Dust and debris swirled everywhere. Omar, who was very superstitious, was sure that Allah was angry that Kendall was still alive. But right now, he needed his troops to regroup and take stock of the casualties. He knew that the citizens would need his help in rescuing trapped citizens, clearing water lines, and moving the injured to the local hospital.

He grabbed Kendall and roughly pushed her into the closest cell. The ground continued to shake, and she couldn’t believe she was now going to die in an earthquake. The irony didn’t escape her. As she fell onto the hard ground, she watched curiously as the soldiers ran about. Most of them left the compound and headed out to the
Blue Mosque
first to see how bad the damage was. Some of the structure was first built around the twelfth century and was destroyed and refurbished many times over the years due to earthquakes, battles, and expansion at the sacred site.

Suddenly the lights went off. The power grid had been compromised … again. As the ground took its last shake, Kendall could feel the outside wall on
which she was leaning, giving way. She quickly scrambled to the interior wall just as the outer wall crumbled down onto the spot where she had been sitting. She couldn’t believe her luck. She was now looking at daylight and people scurrying all around her. There was chaos, shouting, and wailing. No one paid attention to the lone figure in the dark cell.

She made her way to the park at the
Blue Mosque.
Hundreds of people had gathered there for safety in the wide-open space yet within the confines of the compound. Kendall could not believe it when the
muezzin
assigned to call the faithful to the
Zuhr
—or early afternoon prayer—began their unisoned chant from the four corner minarets of the
Shrine of Hazarat Ali
or the
Blue Mosque.
Since they obviously did not have the benefit of audio amplification, they yelled out in their own voices which carried over the carnage below them. The melodious chanting was strained but beautiful over the din of the chaos. Everywhere, people stopped to pray right where they were. It brought tears to Kendall’s eyes, knowing that even with the pain and uncertainty the city’s residents were feeling, they were pausing in their misery to give thanks and praise to their God.