The Utopia Experiment

13

Randi Russell eased left on the steep slope and leaned against a boulder, making the outline of her body unrecognizable as it melded with the stone. A three-quarter moon was nearly overhead and the hazy streak of the Milky Way cut across the black sky, casting a dull glow over the landscape.

The three men tracking the same fleeing Afghan she was were below, completely invisible in the inky bottom of the canyon. She’d made it to within a hundred meters of them a couple hours ago and spent a few minutes watching and listening. Languages were one of her greatest gifts but she hadn’t understood anything she’d heard beyond identifying it as Ukrainian.

Since the Ukrainians weren’t part of the coalition forces in Afghanistan, it suggested that these particular gentlemen were mercenaries. And not just any mercenaries. Based on their speed, silence, and equipment, they were highly trained operatives that even she felt compelled to give a wide berth.

So she’d taken the high road, creeping along the steep slope above them, concentrating on not knocking down any rocks that would alert them to her presence. It wasn’t the only reason for taking the most precarious possible route, though. In fact, she knew something they didn’t. About six months ago, she’d chased an al-Qaeda operative though this same corridor and had made the exact same mistakes the Ukrainians were making now.

The canyon walls steepened consistently as they rose, finally topping out in loose, slightly overhanging cliffs at least fifteen meters high. As a far better-than-average rock climber, she’d concluded that there was no chance of her target escaping that way and focused on keeping her pace quick enough to catch him before the terrain opened up. What she hadn’t known at the time — and didn’t learn until the terrorist was long gone — was that there was a narrow arch near the top of the canyon’s northern wall that went all the way through.

She looked up at the dark cliff band and took advantage of a powerful gust to push on, confident that any rocks she kicked loose would be written off as having been dislodged by the wind.

Randi slowed when things went still again, feeling the cold starting to freeze the sweat trapped between her back and the light pack she was wearing. Her eye picked out a movement twenty meters above and she started for it, worrying less about speed than staying completely silent.

She considered her options as she closed in but, as usual, none was good. Her best bet was the same as it always was — to turn around and get the hell out of there. Discounting that, it was a choice between trying to make contact while she still had room to maneuver, but also a terrific opportunity to fall to her death, and catching the Afghan in the arch where the confined space would neutralize what little advantage she still had.

Option one seemed marginally better. In fact, if she was clever, it might even work.

“Wait,” she said in Pashto, muffling the word slightly with her hand.

While she could communicate perfectly well in the language, she hadn’t been successful at fully eradicating her accent. Better to communicate in one-word sentences if possible.

The movement visible in front of her stopped abruptly. “Who is that?”

“Adeela,” Randi said, picking a woman’s name common in the region.

There was a long pause before the man spoke again. “Adeela? How did you escape? Come. Hurry.”

Randi slid the sniper rifle down in its sling on her pack. The butt hit her in the back of the legs as she climbed, but the long barrel wouldn’t be silhouetted over her head.

Ahead, the man slipped behind a low pile of rocks that had been created to obscure the entrance to the arch and provide a defensive position if it became necessary.

She approached slowly, eyes widening as she tried to penetrate the gloom and pick out the man she was pursuing. There was no way, though. The area behind the wall was so dark, it looked like a gateway to a dead universe.

Heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest, she let her assault rifle hang from its strap and pulled a silenced pistol from the holster on her hip. Stepping behind the wall was like going blind and she tried futilely to pick up a hint of the man she knew was only a meter or so away.

“Adeela,” he said quietly. “Are you—”

His eyes were obviously better adjusted and he lunged, but the motion was what Randi needed to pinpoint him. Before he could get hold of her, she had a silencer pressed up under his chin.

“Be calm,” she said in Pashto. “I’m not with those men and I had nothing to do with what happened to your village.”

“Then who are you?”

“Randi Russell.”

She felt him nod through the motion of the gun barrel. “The woman from the CIA.”

“That’s right. Farhad Wahidi’s friend,” she said, naming the elder she’d had occasional dealings with.

He let out a bitter laugh that sounded alarmingly loud in the silence. “He did not call you a friend.”

“Okay,” she said, searching for the correct words to get her thought across. “Occasional convenient acquaintances. Who are you?”

“Zahid. What do you want?”

“I want to know what happened in Sarabat.”

“Why should I tell you?”

It was a good question. Her eyes had adapted enough to see his rough outline and she took a step back, lowering the pistol as an act of good faith. “Why shouldn’t you?”

He stood there for what seemed like a long time before speaking again. “The men below were with the ones who attacked my village. They killed not only the men but the women and children.”

He was in no position to climb onto that particular piece of moral high ground, but she decided that now probably wasn’t the time to point this out. “So?”

“I have no weapon. It’s why I ran. So I could live to find them. To find them and kill them. Now God has delivered you to me.”

“I don’t think God had anything to do with this meeting.”

“I disagree. He has created an opportunity for both of us to get what we want.”

Randi frowned in the darkness. More likely, God was playing one of the cruel jokes he seemed so fond of. The risks of engaging the men below were high even by her standards, but Zahid didn’t care. In fact, he likely wanted nothing more than to join his friends in paradise soaked with the blood of men who had killed them. She, on the other hand, just wanted to satisfy her curiosity and retreat to base for a cocktail or ten.

“Fine,” she said, holstering her sidearm and handing the Afghan her assault rifle. “But we do it my way.”

“I’ve heard the stories about you, but I believe none of them.”

She dropped her pack and unfastened the sniper rifle. “Just another woman, right?”

“These men will not let themselves be distracted by the promise of sex from a whore.”

She found a stable surface to set up her rifle and scanned the canyon floor through the starlight scope. “I’m not looking to damage our new friendship with threats, but next time you open your mouth, it better be to tell me about Sarabat.”

There was a lengthy silence but finally he spoke. “Our village was attacked from the air and the ground. We killed a few, but they came on us too quickly and with too many weapons. They murdered everyone. I don’t know who they were. Not American uniforms. Many different accents and many different weapons.”

“You’re mistaking me for someone who cares, Zahid. Tell me about Sarabat.”

When he didn’t answer, she looked up and found him staring up at the stars.

“Do we still have a deal?”

“I said I would tell you if you helped me. You have done nothing.”

She returned to the scope and swept the weapon right, stopping when she got to the man bringing up the rear. He was partially obscured from her position and she kept going, finally settling on the point man. He was moving almost directly away from her and she held her breath, centering crosshairs between his shoulder blades and silently counting off the beat of her heart.

A gentle squeeze of the trigger was followed by a less gentle recoil and the earsplitting crack of the round leaving the barrel.

It struck a little low and left but the high-caliber bullet didn’t need to be perfectly aimed to tear away a substantial piece of his torso. She didn’t bother to watch him go down, instead pulling back as automatic fire erupted from below and began ricocheting off the rocks around them.

“One down,” she said, pressing her back against the stone wall. “Now start talking or you’re going to be next.”