Bloodstorm

21

Franklin watched through the narrow space past the inside door as Jeru opened the outer one. He heard the words but didn’t understand them. Franklin watched Jeru reluctantly step back and let the man come in. He was darker than Jeru and had black hair and a full beard. Jeru had dressed in her man’s clothes, and with her short hair, horn rimmed glasses, and loose shirt passed easily as a man.

“I see that you are still unemployed.”

“I have my travel agency.”

“But not enough business to make a living.”

“I have an inheritance from my late father.”

“I don’t know your father. He must have been wealthy.”

“Of modest means, but thrifty. What do you want?”

“Just a regular visit. You sometimes have foreign customers. We are curious.”

“Yet you encourage tourists.”

“Only when they bring lots of money.”

“Can I arrange a trip for you somewhere?”

“I am a working man.”

“So am I.”

“You look nervous today, should I be concerned?”

“Only if you are worried about my missing an appointment that could lead to a good customer for me. A merchant who does considerable traveling.”

The man frowned, then laughed. “You are trying to get me to leave. Perhaps I should search your apartment?”

“Anytime, just don’t touch anything.”

They stared at each other, both grim faced. At last the bearded man nodded. “No, I won’t look today, but we are watching you. If we have any suspicions we will simply eliminate you. Remember that.” He turned, opened the door, and left.

Franklin rushed through the door and stood in front of her. She fell against him and he held her.

“He is an evil man. He doesn’t like me, and hopes he can close down my business or simply shoot me.”

“Maybe it’s time you came in, quit this dangerous business. How long have you been with the Company?”

“Almost four years.”

“When this is over, you should get away. The regime will make a lot of heads roll if we’re successful. Yours could be one. Do you have identification papers in another name?”

She shook her head. “How can I leave my home, my country?”

“It’s easy to decide if you face a firing squad if you stay. We’ll talk more about it. Today you said we’d find some submachine guns.”

“Give me a minute, and hold me tight. I need to forget about that terrible man.”

He held her, and gradually her breathing slowed and she relaxed. She moved and came away from him, then bent back and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Jeru sighed. “Sometimes I want to forget all of this and travel somewhere so I can sit by the sea and drink a fine wine, and let the soft breezes billow over me. Then I go swimming in the warm water and I’ll have no agenda, no worries, no danger.”

“This will be your last mission. You’ll come out with us. What you need are new identity papers. We’ll change your look. We’ll get you out. Now, let’s concentrate on getting the weapons.”

Jeru drove, and took only Franklin with her. They went to a shopping district, parked, and went inside a big store. Quickly she led him out the side entrance into a cab. They changed cabs twice.

“I must be certain none of the regime has followed us,” she said. They walked two blocks in a part of town that would make Franklin nervous even if he had all of his weapons.

They went into a small corner store that sold a few food things and some clothing. A mom-and-pop-type place. The woman inside smiled at Jeru, and watched the front while Jeru and Franklin went through a beaded door and into a back room. From there Jeru led him down a series of steps, then along a tunnel he figured ran under the street, then back up steps to a third floor room where a man sat smoking a water pipe.

Franklin sniffed the smoke that layered heavily in the room. The man was on heroin. He didn’t seem to notice them enter. Jeru reached out, gently removed the pipe from his mouth, and talked to him in gentle tones. Franklin couldn’t catch what she said.

The man laughed softly. Franklin guessed he was in his seventies, with deep sunken eyes, cheekbones prominent under soft leather skin. His eyes were black marbles. He lounged on a recliner chair fully extended, and even in the warm weather had a blanket draped over his body. One bony hand came out and touched fingers with Jeru.

They spoke softly for a minute. Then she turned and introduced Franklin to the man she called only Gunner. He stared at Franklin for a moment, then smiled through his gaunt facial structure.

“Yes, an American. I lived once in San Francisco. Good town, plenty of rain. You want weapons to kill Mohammad Omar?”

“Gunner, I’m afraid that isn’t our mission. At least this time. We’re after the devil bomb, the holocaust-bringer, the vaporizer of whole cities in the blink of an eye.”

“The warhead from the Russian ICBM,” Gunner said. “You are surprised. I might be old and dying, but I’m not stupid. Yes, you can have any weapons you wish, no charge for such a noble mission. Qalat will show you the goods. You will need ammunition as well. I hear the caves are well protected.”

“I saw fifty soldiers there and two quad fifties,” Franklin said.

“Quad fifties? Were they mounted on a half-track?” Gunner asked.

“No, on the back of a half-ton truck.”

Gunner nodded. “Even so, those four closely mounted fifty-caliber machine guns can plow up the ground you walk on. It’s a murderous weapon.”

“Those two quads will be the first thing we take out when we attack,” Franklin said.

“First the driver, then the man firing the weapon,” Gunner said. “The hardware itself is hard to harm.”

Franklin smiled. “You sound like a soldier.”

“Once, long ago and far away. Now, here is Qalat, he will help you. I am tired. Forgive me.” He lay down fully and closed his eyes.

A tall thin man with flowing black hair and beard motioned to them. The subbasement Qalat took them to was heated and temperature- and humidity-controlled. It was a room fifty feet square, filled with weapons and arms of all types.

“You want submachine guns,” Qalat said. “Over here.”

It felt more like a swap meet than a normal gun store, but they had the goods. Quickly Franklin picked out four H & K sub guns of the same basic design the SEALs normally used. He found four more weapons that used the same 9mm parabellum ammo, the Beretta 12S made in Italy. All four were used, but all had the forty-round magazines. Franklin tested the weapons and examined them and pronounced them fit for service.

The ammunition was a problem. How much would they need? At last Franklin decided on two hundred rounds per weapon. The sniper rifles were harder to find. In the far corner they discovered them: two brand-new Stoner SR-25’s. The weapon is actually an M-16 modified to fire the NATO 7.62mm round for greater stopping power. These weapons had twenty-round magazines and a twenty-power scopes on top of the barrels.

All the guns and ammo went into three suitcases. Jeru tried to pick one up, and hurriedly lowered it back to the floor. Two men came to help them carry the goods out to their car. They stopped to speak to Gunner, who again refused payment.

“If it is something that strikes at this government, then I shall be well paid. When you’re through with the weapons, you can return them if you wish.”

Franklin said that sounded like a good plan, and they left. In the car, he noticed that Jeru kept looking behind them and twisting a strand of her hair. Her hands were trembling.

She drove back streets, and now and then she shivered. “You know if the Secret Police catch us with these weapons, we’ll be shot on the spot?”

“Instant justice, or what they call justice,” Franklin said. He took one of the submachine guns out of the suitcase and loaded a magazine and charged a round into the chamber. “Now we’ll be ready for them if anyone tries to stop us,” he said.

Jeru held her mouth tightly closed so her teeth wouldn’t chatter. She almost sideswiped a car on a narrow street.

“Pull over and take a break,” Franklin said. “This is really getting to you. Maybe I should drive.”

“No, you don’t have a license. That could cost you three months in jail. I’ll drive.” After a short stop she did better, and they made it back to her apartment without incident.

Upstairs, the two SEALs examined the weapons, and found them all in excellent condition. They loaded the magazines they had with the rounds and felt more ready to go.

A message had arrived for Jeru while they had been gone. It was from the Afghan Produce Company.

“That’s one of the cover names for the CIA here,” she said. She opened the envelope. They both read the letter.

“Have confirmation of plans for potato production. Special seed will arrive at the airport tomorrow just after 8 P.M. Please pick up the seed there. There will be eight cartons.”

“Might seem like kid talk to you, but we found out this is the best way to fool the people here,” Jeru said. “Anything that has to do with more food production is praised and promoted. We’ve been working on potatoes now for three years.”

“So it’s set. Murdock and his seven SEALs will be here Friday night about eight. We can go right from the airport, head southwest, and get to the first roadblock by midnight. Can you get two more cars to haul us?”

Jeru said no problem.

“Good. We take out the roadblock, then drive right up to a spot a thousand yards away and start hitting them in and out of the caves with the twenty-millimeter exploding rounds.”

“Sounds good to me,” Khai said. “ ’Course Commander Murdock might want to make some changes when he gets here.”

“Fast in and fast out is the best. Jeru,” Franklin said. “Can we change our round-trip return tickets to catch an earlier plane? Several days earlier?”

“No problem.”

It wasn’t noon yet. Khai went from one window to another looking out.

“Would you like to take a walk, Mr. Khai?” Jeru asked.

“Hey, that would break up the day. I’m about slept out.”

“Security, Jeru. He speaks no Afghan Persian.”

“I’ll send Jabal along with him. He’s a good shepherd. No one will even notice Khai in this neighborhood.”

Franklin hesitated. He had the con. A hundred things could happen. Relax. It would be fine. “Yeah, Khai, take a hike. Can’t hurt you any.”

“Thanks, Captain,” Khai said. He checked his money. “Plenty of good Afghan cash. Where is Jabal? I’m ready.”

Franklin watched them from his window when they walked down the street. They were supposed to be back in two hours.

When Franklin turned around, Jeru stood there watching him. She had taken off her blouse.

“Colt, there’s something I want to show you.”

“Hey, Jeru, I thought I saw everything last night.”

She laughed and let her Western-style bra fall into her hands, showing her heavy breasts.

“Sometimes things look differently in the daylight,” she said. She moved to the bedroom door and locked it, then walked back to him slowly, her breasts swaying, her hips pounding out an age-old rhythm.

“Looks like we have two hours to find out if anything is different,” Franklin said.

On the street, Khai looked at everything. It was a new world to him that he hadn’t seen much of. The people, the style of dress, the faces, the buildings. They all fascinated him. He wished he had his camera. He could get some amazing black and white shots to play around with in the base darkroom.

They walked down pathways labeled as streets that wound between buildings and around corners. Merchants, food vendors, and small business firms lined the streets. Then they came across a kind of farmer’s market where many types of fruits and vegetables were for sale. There were also several kinds of bread, and here and there some goat cheese.

He took it all in, buying nothing. Jabal bought some fruit they munched on as they walked.

They came around a corner, and in the wider street they saw a police sedan stopped. Three officers were questioning everyone who came by. Too late Jabal saw them and started to turn. One of the policemen yelled at him. Jabal turned back and shrugged. “Go back the way we came,” he whispered in English, not looking at Khai. Jabal walked to where the policeman was finishing questioning a woman. He looked up at Jabal.

“Where is the other one you were with,” the policeman said.

“With? I was walking alone. Yes, someone was near me, but he wasn’t with me, just walking past me.”

“Liar. We saw you with him before. He may be the one we are looking for. You stay here. I’ll find him.”

Khai had turned away from Jabal the moment the cop yelled. He heard the whispered warning, and walked away slowly to the corner. Then once around it, he ran. He went through one small street after another, not sure where he was. Then he looked behind him and saw that there was no one chasing him.

He paused and looked around. Nothing seemed familiar. He’d never been here before. He started to retrace his steps. No. The cop might still be back there somewhere. What was the address where they had been? What was the name of the street? Khai searched his mind and then shook his head.

He was lost in a city of over two million people, he didn’t speak a word of the language, and he didn’t have the slightest idea how he could ever find Jeru’s apartment.