The Emerald Scepter

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Amir’s village was in complete chaos.

The Cadillac braked to a stop just inside the gate, unable to proceed further in the traffic gridlock. Hawkins got out of the desert vehicle and strode over to the touring car.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“I gave orders for women and children to move to safety,” Amir said. “I assumed that the evacuation would be well under way. This is insanity. I will take care of it.”

Amir rose from his seat and in a booming voice issued a series of angry commands. All commotion ceased and every eye fell on the sheik before the people once again sprang into action. Within minutes, the traffic had parted just enough for the caravan to continue to Amir’s compound. His daughter Nagia stood on the veranda with his granddaughter Yasmeen. Nagia was trying to herd the aged cook and housekeeper into a khaki-colored Land Rover.

Nagia’s expression of angry frustration changed to relief when she saw the procession drive up to the house. Amir and Nagia had an exchange in Pashto, and then he gave her a quick embrace, picked up the little girl and handed her to his daughter, who had gotten into the vehicle. He told one of his men to drive the Land Rover. As the vehicle left the compound he came back to the jeep.

“My daughter will lead the villagers to some caves a few miles from here where they can hide,” Amir explained.

“Good move,” Hawkins said. “The village will be a death trap if the choppers attack.”

“Why didn’t they shoot at us back at the lake?” Calvin said. “They had us dead in their sights.”

Hawkins shook his head. “Haven’t a clue, but it’s only a matter of time before they return.”

“We’re not completely defenseless. I have something to show you that might help,” Amir said.

Hawkins and Calvin were still in their wetsuits, and now they were sweating profusely under the tight neoprene coverings. “But before you do that, you don’t know where we could get some street clothes?”

Amir told them to wait and disappeared into the house.

Abby and Cait got out of the touring car. “What’s going on?” Abby said.

Hawkins repeated what Amir had said.

“What do you want us to do?” Abby said.

“The sheik’s daughter may need a hand getting the villagers to safety. We’ll follow as soon as we see what Amir has up his sleeve.”

“See that you do, Matt,” Cait said. “I’m holding you to that dinner invitation.”

Abby shot an unfriendly glance at Cait and turned to Hawkins with narrowed eyes.

“What dinner invitation is that, Matt?”

Hawkins was struggling to come up with a diplomatic answer when Calvin came to his rescue.

“Dinner we’re all going to have to celebrate getting out of this mess,” he said.

Abby flashed an alligator smile, and then she and Cait climbed into the jeep and headed out of the village to catch up with the evacuation.

“Thanks for the save, pal,” Hawkins said.

“You wouldn’t be much help fighting the bad guys once Abby got through with you, Hawk. She doesn’t like you hound-dogging other pretty ladies.”

Hawkins told his friend to assume a position that would have been anatomically impossible.

Amir came out of the house and handed them two sets of clothing. “This is all I have, unfortunately.”

Hawkins and Calvin stripped down to their bathing suits, then put on the baggy tribal trousers and robe, and the mushroom-shaped hats. They got in the car and the sheik drove to the airstrip. They stopped in front of an old hangar that Amir said the Russians had built. Amir asked for help sliding open the wide wooden door, then led the way into the darkened interior and switched on the overhead lights.

Hawkins let out a low whistle. The walls were covered with weapons that spanned centuries. More weapons were displayed on wooden shelves and in glass cabinets.

“Looks like a military museum,” Hawkins said.

“Actually, it’s a museum dedicated to the folly of empire. These weapons were left behind by armies that invaded my country. We’re in the small arms section.” He reached up and touched the sharp point of a long spear hanging from the wall. “Alexander the Great’s infantry used these Macedonian sarissa pikes with devastating effect. Next to it is a bronze helmet and shield of the same era. This curved sword came in with the Arabs. That saddle was used by a cavalryman in the time of Genghis Kahn.”

Calvin ran his fingers along the wooden stock of a rifle. “Nice Martini-Henry. We saw tribesmen still using these when we were in the SEALs.”

“That weapon goes back to the British invasions,” Amir said. “These are Russian weapons. Kalashnikov automatic rifles, Spetsnaz and Malarov pistols. Grenade launchers. Now the Taliban are using them.”

“I don’t see any U.S. weapons,” Hawkins said.

“All in storage while the war is in progress. No doubt future insurgents will be using leftover firearms from the current war.”

“No doubt,” Hawkins said. “You said this is the small arms section.”

“That’s right. The bigger toys are in the next room.”

Even if Abby had not stomped the Russian jeep’s gas pedal with a lead foot, she and Cait would have had no problem catching up with the fleeing villagers. The more-or-less orderly procession had degenerated into a rout. By the time they caught up it was at a standstill. In their panic, some of the truck drivers had tried to sprint past the slower moving vehicles. The rear guard had gone after them and pulled them over like traffic cops, blocking the narrow road.

Abby drove off the road past vehicles loaded with young and old women, terrified children and wailing babies, eventually pulling up to the head of the line. Some of the armed guards were brandishing weapons at the cowering truck drivers. Amir’s daughter was shouting at the guard leader. She was backed up by several women, all talking at the same time. Some of Amir’s men stood behind the women shouting their side of the debate. Abby leaned on the horn to catch their attention. She took advantage of the pause in the altercation and jumped out of the jeep.

Striding over to Amir’s daughter, she said, “What’s going on?”

When Nagia replied in English the guard excitedly cut her off in Pashto. Abby joined in and within seconds, she too was shouting.

“Maybe I can help,” Cait said. She said something in Pashto and after a moment had managed to silence both speakers who looked expectantly at Abby.

“Thanks,” she said. “Now please tell the guy to move the guards away from the civilians. We will lead the parade. Everyone must stay in line.”

The arrangement seemed to suit the warring parties. The procession slowly got moving again with the Russian jeep at the head of the line.

Abby glanced in the rear view mirror and allowed herself a smile. “Thanks for the help,” she said.

“Anytime,” Cait replied. “About that dinner with Matt.”

“Before you say another word, take a deep breath, look behind us and think about where we are.”

“I see what you mean,” Cait said with a glance at the parade of panicked villagers and their scruffy guards. “We’re a long way from the Ritz.”

Abby smiled. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Amir pressed an electrical switch and a section of wall slid back on its runners. They stepped into another section of the vast hangar and found themselves looking directly into the barrel of a gun on a massive turreted vehicle painted in camouflage green and tan.

“Whoa!” Calvin said. “Ruskie combat vehicle.”

“Correct,” Amir said, “It was used by Russian Special Forces. It was in bad shape from rocket grenades when I restored it, but the same mechanics who got my car and the troop carrier running rebuilt the engine. I don’t have ammunition for the machine gun, unfortunately.”

They walked around behind the combat vehicle and into another section of the shed occupied almost entirely by a huge biplane.

“This is a British Handley Page bomber dating to World War One. The British used planes like this to bomb villages in the second Anglo-Afghan war. Villagers found it on the other side of the lake many years ago and showed my grandfather who saved it from being cannibalized for parts. It was passed to my father, who left it to me. The body has been meticulously restored, as you can see, and the engines taken apart then reassembled.”

Calvin ran his fingers along the fuselage.

“I’ve heard of these planes, but never saw one before in the flesh. She’s in fantastic shape. Better than anything in my collection.”

“You’re collecting planes now?” Hawkins said.

“Got bored with cars. I’ve got a Sopworth and a SPAD. Still air worthy. Has anyone ever tried to fly this crate?”

“No, but my mechanics are the best and they swear it is fully operable.” He moved toward a large metal storage locker and opened the doors. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

The wall locker held six long metal boxes that were identical in size and color. Stenciled on the outside of the olive-drab containers were the words: Property of the U.S.A. At Amir’s direction, the two men picked up a container and placed it on the floor. Amir removed the lid to reveal a Stinger missile and launcher carefully packed in foam peanuts.

Calvin lifted the missile out of the container.

The Stinger surface-to-air was only sixty inches long and a few inches in diameter, and weighed just over thirty pounds. But as the Soviets had learned to their dismay, the shoulder-fired projectile that the CIA supplied to the mujahideen could knock an aircraft out of the air at a range of nearly three miles and an altitude of more than twelve thousand feet.

“There are more than enough missiles here to shoot down our enemies,” Amir said.

“Not so fast,” Calvin said. “Shelf life of these babies is seven years. The batteries are probably dead and there could be mechanical degradation.”

Calvin spent a few minutes examining each Stinger and its serial number.

Hawkins saw the slow shake of Calvin’s head.

“What’s wrong, Cal?”

“The news ain’t good. These are all from the same lot.”

“Are you saying they’re useless?” Amir said.

“Probably, unless we can throw these puppies at the choppers.”

“I’ve heard about degraded Stingers being rejuvenated,” Hawkins said.

“Me, too. I’d be willing to give it a try.”

They carried the Stingers back to the car and placed them in the rear seat. Calvin found batteries and electrical tools in a workshop. A pickup truck came screaming along the road to the hangar and braked to a stop. One of Amir’s men jumped out and started shouting. Amir turned to Hawkins and Calvin.

“The helicopters have returned,” he said.

Abby felt the air vibrating and a second later, three Cobra gunships flashed overhead. They followed the road for a quarter of a mile or so, then stopped and pivoted, three abreast, their Gatling guns facing toward the village procession.

Abby slammed on the brakes and stood up in the open car.

The three aircraft hovered a hundred feet above the ground like wolves about to close in on a wounded deer.

“What should we do?” Cait said.

“Not much we can do. They’ll make the first move.”

The seconds ticked by like years, then the gunships tilted down so that their guns faced the ground. They advanced at an angle and fired their guns in bursts, moving slowly ahead, the torrent of bullets kicking up fountains of dirt. They stopped firing when the fusillade was less than fifty feet from the jeep.

Abby stared at the narrow aircraft, thinking how ugly they were. “They’re herding us.”

“What?”

“Get out of the jeep,” Abby said. “Start walking back. Tell everyone in line to get out of their cars and trucks.”

“They’ll kill us.”

“Maybe. They could have wiped us out with a rear attack, though. Tell the guards not to fire at the choppers. Please help me, Cait.”

They got out of the jeep and began to walk back along the line. Cait shouted in Pashto for people to abandon their vehicles. As the villagers slowly made their way back to the compound, only then did the Cobras stop firing their guns.

The sheik was visibly shaken by the news that his family was in danger and didn’t protest when Hawkins slid behind the wheel of the touring car and told him to get in the back. Calvin was hanging on the running board when Hawkins took off, but he managed to get into the front seat.

They had traveled less than a mile when they heard the sound of guns and explosions. The villagers were under attack. They’d be caught in the open with no chance to escape. Black smoke billowed into the air. Hawkins had no desire to witness the scene he conjured up in his imagination, but he pushed the accelerator to the floor. Moments later, they rounded the base of a low hill.

The villagers were trekking in their direction, some running, some walking. Three Cobra gunships followed, flying abreast at an altitude of a couple of hundred feet, firing into the ground behind the villagers, herding them as if they were a flock of frightened sheep. The Blackhawk was hovering behind the Cobras. Leading the line were Abby and Cait. Nagia and her daughter, and the elderly servants were walking behind them. In the distance, the cars and trucks were ablaze.

Hawkins drove up to the head of the parade. He told Abby and the other women to get in, then he and Calvin got out to make room. Amir joined them and despite his limp, led his villagers back to the village on foot. The villagers flooded back into the settlement in a reverse version of the bedlam that had ensued during the evacuation. Amir ordered his men to get the women and children under cover. Cait and Abby went back to Amir’s house with the family and staff.

The gunships flew over the village with an ear-shattering clatter, broke formation and landed out of sight. Hawkins and Calvin climbed to the top floor of the house and peered through a window. The Cobras were on opposite sides and to the rear of the village.

The Blackhawk made a slow circle over the village and set down a few hundred yards from the main village gate. Hawkins and Calvin quickly descended to the veranda.

“What did you see?” Amir asked.

“The Cobras have cut off escape on three sides,” Hawkins said. “The Blackhawk is sitting just outside the front gate. Let’s see what they’re up to.”

Hawkins and Calvin drove toward the gate and parked behind an abandoned house. Amir followed with three men. Hawkins put his back flat against the wall of the house and edged around the corner. He watched as the chopper’s rotors spun to a stop, saw the door open and a man get out.

Calvin was waiting for all hell to break out, but the only sound was the oath of surprise that came from Hawkins’ lips.

“What the hell’s going on?” Calvin asked.

Professor Saleem was walking cautiously toward the village with a white flag in his hand.

“I think they want to surrender,” Hawkins said.