Renegade (2013) (29 page)

“He went there to murder Zarif.”

“With all due respect, sir, I’m going to have to disagree with you there. If Pike had wanted to kill Zarif, he could have done that in the street and walked away clean. Instead, he nearly got killed exposing a situation that led us to the capture and confession of Deyneka. In addition to ending Captain Zarif’s participation in munitions dealing—” and that was as nice a face as Heath could put on the Afghan National Police captain’s death—“Pike’s involvement was also instrumental in uncovering Deyneka and his people. And the pipeline that we’ll be following up on. The way I see it, Pike is responsible for both of those results. That’s the way I’m putting it into my report.”

The last was a challenge and Heath knew it. In the future, Hollister would remember that Heath wasn’t exactly a team player. That was fine.

“That man doesn’t belong in the Marines.” Hollister spoke forcefully, but without the conviction he’d had.

“Again, with all due respect, sir, I’m going to have to disagree with you on that as well.” Heath hadn’t known he was willing to go that far with Pike’s case until he’d been standing at the edge of the cliff and
jumped. His commitment surprised him, but he knew he was willing to stand by what he’d said. Pike was different, and maybe he’d never make a conventional Marine, but he looked after his unit.

And for whatever reason, Heath knew Pike needed a second chance. Just like Darnell Lester.

Hollister glared at Heath, but Heath didn’t flinch. The judges he’d faced were more stern, and even they paled when compared to his father’s displeasure.

“Fine, Lieutenant. Get your man out of the brig, but find a way to keep him out of my sight.”

“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.” Heath saluted as the major turned and walked away. Then he headed back to Pike’s cell.

“WHAT YOU GONNA DO
with your newfound freedom, Private?”

Standing outside the barracks, Pike had been watching the sun go down. He hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to seeing it and how much he’d missed that over the last few days. Back in Tulsa, he and Monty would crack open a couple beers some evenings and watch the sun sink as the cool crept into the city. That small thing had meant a lot. Now it almost seemed like a celebration.

Another thing Pike had learned was that he never intended to be in lockdown again. No matter what it took, he wasn’t going to be that vulnerable. The road was calling him, and he’d never felt its pull so strong before. Petey’s memory was whispering in his ear constantly.

But he also felt the weight of Hector’s letter and that secondhand compass sitting in his pocket.

Pike turned and faced Towers, who was pulling out a pack of gum. “I was thinking maybe I’d go out to eat.”

Towers snorted and shook his head, grinning as he shoved the stick of gum into his mouth. “Nah, you can forget that. Grab something and go is what you’re gonna do. You’re standing guard tonight. Got a lot of Marines that were pulling double duty to get your sorry self out of the hoosegow. You can cover for them some, let them catch up on rack time and downtime.”

For a minute, Pike got angry and wanted to argue; then he let it go. If he was standing a guard post somewhere, he could be gone anytime he wanted to be. By morning, they’d never find him. He could leave all his problems behind, and he could leave Tulsa behind too.

“Time to do that, bro.”

So instead of arguing, he just nodded. “Sure, Gunney.”

Pike stood at one of the perimeter posts around the camp and gazed out into the dark night northeast of the city. He’d fallen back into routine without a problem, and he felt better geared up again. The M4A1 rode in the crook of his arm as he scanned the area.

Boots crunched on pavement as someone walked toward him. Warily, Pike turned and spotted Bekah approaching with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in each hand.

“Coffee, Pike?”

“Sure.” Pike took one of the cups and sipped. The burning liquid nearly scalded his tongue. He turned back to face the perimeter, feeling more than a little uneasy at being there with Bekah. He stood so he could see the Marines on the left and right of him, and every now and again he spotted the squad sniper on one of the buildings behind him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Bekah didn’t walk away. She stood there and sipped her coffee as well. She didn’t talk, didn’t say anything to let him know what was on her mind, and that bothered him.

“You come out here to bring me a cup of coffee?”

“That wasn’t the only reason.”

When she didn’t continue, Pike’s irritation grew. “You gonna tell me or you gonna make me guess? I’m not much into games.”

Bekah took a drink and stared out at the darkness leaking into the perimeter. “Lieutenant Bridger went the distance for you today.”

Pike looked away from her and clamped down on the guilt that stirred within him. He didn’t like guilt, but he knew that it was only something other people offered. He didn’t have to accept it. So he walled himself off from it and sipped coffee that almost burned his tongue again. “He did that because he wanted to.”

“He did that because he takes care of the people around him. Whether you deserve it or not, you’re one of those people he takes care of.”

Pike glanced at her then. “One of us don’t want him taking care of him.”

Bekah’s features hardened. “And that’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Whatever’s going on between me and Lieutenant Bridger—and whatever you
think
is going on—that’s a no-fly zone. I gave you a free shot because you were in the brig and I thought maybe you didn’t have your head on straight. Like you said, I ain’t one of those high-society women or a cheerleader. I’m small town to the bone. You push me, I push back. So if you bring up mention of some
imagined
relationship between me and the lieutenant again, you try any derogatory comments with me, I’ll have you on KP and latrine duty till you go blind. You’ll never get rid of the smell and you’ll have dishpan hands the rest of your life. Is that understood?”

The harsh forcefulness of her words surprised Pike, but they also triggered that immediate impulse in him to lash back at any show of authority. He shut his anger down just before the torrent of cursing was set free. He nodded and shifted his attention back to the perimeter. “Crystal.”

“When you get off duty, grab some rack time. It’s gonna be the last you get for the next couple days. In the morning we’re leaving to help with the S & R for those CIA agents. Scuttlebutt is that our unit got picked for the detail because Major Hollister is seriously tweaked that you’re no longer in the brig. A lot people in our unit aren’t happy
about leaving the comfort and safety of the camp here for roughing it. Nights are gonna be cold and drafty up in the mountains.”

Pike nodded and shelved his thoughts of making a break before morning. Out in the mountains, it would be even easier. He’d also be that much closer to Pakistan.

“And you owe me the price of a cup of coffee too. You can settle up in the morning.” Bekah was already headed back before he could think of anything to say.

Pike swallowed his resentment and embarrassment with the bitter black coffee and looked out into the darkness.
“Don’t worry about it, bro. Gonna be gone soon enough.”

That wasn’t entirely true, though. Pike knew he couldn’t get gone soon enough.

Coming down out of the mountains at night was difficult, but the new-fallen snow helped more than it hindered. With the moonlight flashing through the scudding clouds, it was bright enough to see pretty well. The cold was another factor that ate into Yaqub and the men with him. He pulled his cloak tighter around him to block the knife-edged wind and walked through the gray fog of his own breath.

He thought of his father back at the village. Sabah had almost looked strong when Yaqub had said his good-byes. The old warrior was definitely a shadow of his former self, bereft of his limbs and his strength. The fire had returned to his father’s eye, though. Sabah had held the device Yaqub had provided him in his clawlike hand.

As far as final images of his father, Yaqub had to admit that it was one worth keeping. His memories of his father as a younger man were better, but they were so distant now.

The sadness that touched Yaqub was a weakness. He forced his
mind away from it and focused on the walk ahead of them. They had to cross sixteen miles of torturous mountain terrain to reach the vehicles they had waiting.

They had been walking since first dark, following donkeys that broke a trail through the hip-deep snow. The men—twenty of his best, all handpicked—marched with him. Wali led the way. Faisal walked just behind Yaqub.

A shadow passed over the snow-covered terrain, and Yaqub’s grip tightened on his AK-47. Rags covered the assault rifle, protecting it from the cold. He stared up, searching the star-filled sky between the heavy clouds. A moment later, he discovered the shadow had been made by a passing cloud, not one of the Americans’ drones.

Over the last few days, Yaqub’s men had seen a few of the observation craft crisscrossing the sky. Yaqub had known to expect the Predators. The spy vehicles were the greatest threat to his operation, but he was also counting on them to provide distraction when the time came. The Predators could cut both ways.

The ground was uneven, and the rolling hills of snow made traversing it even more problematic. Yaqub stayed focused on his goal and kept moving, wishing he could run to arrive at his destination more quickly but knowing that it was better to err on the side of caution. So he kept walking.

Ahead, the lead donkey breaking through the snow suddenly stumbled and went down. The animal brayed loudly and struggled to get to its feet. The line stalled as Wali knelt beside the squalling beast. The men hunkered down and made personal tents of their cloaks to break the cutting teeth of the wind.

Impatient, Yaqub went forward. Despite the scarf and his beard, his face felt stiff and frozen. He trudged through the deep snow and reached Wali’s side.

“What is the matter?”

Wali caught one of the donkey’s legs and held it so the animal couldn’t kick him. “Broken leg.”

Irritated at the setback, Yaqub drew his
pesh-kabz
in one hand and placed the other on the donkey’s head, pinning it against the snow with his knee. He drew the knife across the animal’s neck, and hot blood spurted out to splash over the snow. The blood melted the snow and caused brief flurries of fog to rise before the wind swept them away.

Yaqub cleaned his blade on the donkey’s thick coat as it kicked through the final moments of its life. “We have more donkeys, Wali. Get another.”

“Of course.” Wali called to one of the men leading the string of donkeys, ordering him to bring up another animal.

Yaqub slung his AK-47 and dug his hands deeply into the snow. He shoveled quickly, digging a hole for the donkey. Faisal helped him, and within minutes they had created a depression. They grabbed the donkey and pulled the animal’s corpse into the space, then covered it over with snow so the drones wouldn’t spot the dead creature the next day and perhaps track it back to the village before they were ready. Possibly the dead thing wouldn’t be found for months.

When the corpse was covered and the new donkey was in place at the head of the caravan, Wali urged the beast into motion and they resumed the trek down from the mountain.

Hours later, shortly before dawn, Yaqub arrived at the village where he’d arranged to have the vehicles that would take them back into Kandahar proper. The vans and trucks had been hidden under a camo net amid trees only a short distance from the village, where more of his men had stayed to supervise the care of the vehicles.

The people in the village gazed on fearfully as Yaqub and his men clambered aboard. The vehicles carried work tools. With all of the
attacks that had gone on in Kandahar, seeing such vehicles had become commonplace. They would be, for the most part, invisible.

Despite being fatigued from the long hike through the mountains and the cold that had constantly plagued them, Yaqub felt alive and ready to go as he took his place in the passenger seat of a plumber’s van.

“Here.” Wali handed over a thermos of tea and a sack of rice cakes to eat during their final journey into Kandahar.

Yaqub accepted the items and poured the tea into two cups while Wali slid behind the steering wheel. The younger man handed his rifle and pistol back to the men seated in the cargo area of the van. They lifted the false bottom and secured the weapons. In the well space, the missile launchers Yaqub had bought in Parachinar stood out among the rifles and pistols.

The cover was replaced over the weapons as Wali started the engine. After a few moments to make certain the other vehicles had started, Wali engaged the transmission and pulled onto the one-lane road that led farther down the mountains to the highway that snaked into Kandahar.

Forcing himself to eat despite his excitement, Yaqub bit into one of the rice cakes. He glanced up into the mountains, at the snowcapped peaks where his father lay waiting for his final battle, thought briefly of the old man as he had been when fighting the Russians and later the Americans and the warlords.