Page 10 of The Devil's Ransom

He heard a woman’s voice say, “Jahn? Jahn Azimi?”

He said, “Yes. This is Jahn. Who is this?”

“It’s a friend. We understand you’re in Tajikistan. Dushanbe. Is that correct?”

He felt the relief flow over him, embarrassed at his earlier chastisement of the United States. He said, “Yes. I’m on the run. I have a small child with me.”

She said, “No problem. I’m going to set up a meeting with you, and we’re going to get you out.”

“I’m being hunted. I know it. There are people here who will kill me and her for what I’ve done.”

She said, “I understand. Listen to me closely. I’m going to giveyou information to get you out. It has to happen quickly. Do you have the ability to write something down?”

“No. I’m in an alley. I can’t write anything down.”

Soothingly, she said, “That’s okay. Do you know the Victory Park?”

“Yes. I’ve seen it on maps.”

“That’s where we’re going to meet. You bring the girl, and you will get out clean.”

“I don’t think you understand. There are dangerous people hunting me. I can’t show my face. I can’t go to a park.”

She chuckled and said, “I don’t thinkyouunderstand. I work with dangerous people. I’m bringing a wrecking crew. You get there, and you’re good.”

Chapter6

I parked on a side alley, circling around until I was right at the intersection of Bekhzod street, the road that ran in front of the Dushanbe Mall entrance, with a clear view of anyone exiting. It had taken a little over three hours to pack our stuff up and drive from the dig to the capital city, with a detour to the Bokhtar airport just outside the site, but we’d made it in time for the meet.

We could have flown into Dushanbe on our plane, but given that the Mi-17 helicopter that had brought the man we were tasked with exfiling was now guarded by about a hundred goons, and that the security apparatus was grilling everyone who came and went because of the stink involved, I’d decided to do the two-hour drive to the city instead of attempting to smuggle the Afghan past immigration and security at the Dushanbe airport. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t take a little bit of what was hidden within the bird.

Leased to Grolier Recovery Services through about four hundred different shell companies to hide its provenance, it was a Gulfstream 650. We called it the Rock Star bird because it’s the same model that drug-addled musicians used to travel the world, the difference being that instead of hot tubs and a king-sized bed, ours held a wealth of lethal instruments hidden in compartments throughout the interior.

Outfitting everyone with long guns, ammunition, surveillance gear, and anything else I thought would be necessary, I told thepilots to remain on alert, because I wasn’t sure if I’d be coming back here, or calling them to come to us somewhere else. They took it in stride, because that’s what always happened to them. As the men were unloading the kit, I pulled Jennifer aside.

She said, “What’s up?”

“What about Amena? We should leave her here with the pilots. We don’t know what’s going to happen. She’ll be safer here.”

Jennifer said, “I don’t know about that. You want to leave her in the care of these guys? They don’t have any way to take care of her, and probably have no idea how. Is she going to stay in a tent next to the plane?”

Taking a look at the pilots, both in their thirties, she had a point. Still, I said, “She can go to their hotel. We’ll get her a room at the same place. She can order room service. It’s not like I’m asking them to babysit, and we’re only going to be gone for a day.”

Amena saw us talking and came up to our little tête-à-tête.

Jennifer saw her coming and sighed, saying, “Yeah, okay. I guess we can’t take her on the mission itself.”

Amena reached us and I explained the situation, to which, as expected, she immediately balked. Things began to grow heated, with me sternly saying, “You can’t come. We have a mission. Be thankful we brought you to Tajikistan at all. We could have left you with Kylie.”

Kylie was Veep’s girlfriend and sort of our go-to nanny in Charleston. She was supposed to watch Amena while we were gone, but Amena had insisted on coming with us, and I’d relented.

Amena said, “I’ve done missions with you before! Remember Zurich? Remember Geneva? Remember Nice? That was me!”

Which was actually true, but that had been because of the knowledge in her head about a terrorist we were tracking, not because I thought my team needed her limited skills.

I saw the rest of my team loading up the Land Rovers and surreptitiously glancing our way. I said, “Amena, it’s not going to happen.”

She wound up into what I recognized as an Amena temper tantrum, and Jennifer took her arm, leading her away. They spoke for a few minutes, and I saw a tear in Amena’s eye. I knew Jennifer had won, but it sure didn’t feel like victory.

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