Page 33 of What Remains

“They are here.” Kazim’s voice cracked a bit, though his tone betrayed no alarm at all. “I see them.”

“Our rendezvous? Where?” He transferred his gaze back through the windscreen. “I don’t see?—”

But then he did: in the distance, a bright wink of sunlight bouncing off glass.

“Wow.” He eased off the gas. No point coming in hot and getting everybody all excited. “Good eyes, Kazim.”

“Yes.” The kid’s tone betrayed neither pleasure nor satisfaction. Just a statement of fact.

It occurred to him then that he hadn’t gotten any instructions about what to say or who to look for. On the other hand, roadblocks formed by a Humvee and a supply truck manned by personnel in the right uniforms armed to the proverbial teeth with weapons pointing their way could be said to be a give-away.

“Put your weapon down in the wheel well,” he said, as they slowed. “Tell the boys to raise their hands and then you do the same, so the soldiers see.”

He watched their speed as Kazim relayed his instructions. From the corner of an eye, he saw the flash of movement as the two boys in front put up their hands. A glance in the rear view showed that the kids in back had done the same.

Which left one kid, who definitely had not gotten the memo.

“Kazim,”he said, feathering the gas ever so slightly to keep them moving. Stopping too far away would be as bad as suddenly stomping on the gas. “Do what I say. Lower your weapon.”

“May be a trap.” The boy’s chin took on a stubborn jut. “I am no good if not ready to fight.”

Damn you, Mac.This was precisely what he’d been worried about. “I doubt it’s a trap. These men are waiting in the middle of the desert at precisely the right point.”

“Taliban listen all time.”

“You might have a point, but not this time. Unless the Taliban have a boatload of spare uniforms and equipment, these men are the right people at the right time.”

“Maybe first time for everything.”

He wasn’t going to get into a debate. “Let me spell this out to you. If you don’t put down your weapon, they will shoot and ask questions later.”

“Iam very fast.”

“And I don’t doubt that, but I guarantee that you are not fast enough to pick off more than three before the fourth gets you.” He thoughtheprobably could, but this was not the time to challenge the kid to an arm-wrestling contest. “What would you do if Shahida were the one giving the orders?”

A ripple of emotion through the boy’s face now. His lower lip quivered ever so slightly. “I do what Shahida says.”

“Well, Shahida wants you to get away and be safe. But if you don’t lower your weapon, the men will fire. They are very good at their jobs, and they will hurt you. They might even kill you. Are you saying Shahida would want that? She wants you to live. So, do what I say.” He didn’t addor else.The kid was the one with the rifle, not him. Although he did think for a split second about how he could come at the kid and take his weapon. He thought he’d have more than a fair chance of grabbing the barrel, which was one of the downsides of a long gun in a tight space. “And jack out that round you’ve chambered, too.”

For a long, seemingly interminable few seconds, nothing happened. But then came the distinctive clack of the rifle’s action cycling and snick of the cartridge being ejected and a wink of sun against metal as the chambered round popped out. Catching the bullet with a practiced movement, Kazim placed the round on the dash and his weapon in the footwell before raising his hands.

Thank you, Lord.Not a moment too soon either. They were now fifty yards away from the roadblock. Killing the engine, John showed his hands and waited.

After about ten seconds, two men dismounted. One was tall, carried a jerry can, and seemed slim, although no one in fullbattle dress ever looked very skinny with all that gear. The second man was smaller and rounder. Not quite as squat as a fire plug but close. Both wore wraparounds. Fire Plug stayed a step ahead of Thin Man, which suggested that Fire Plug was in charge. From a distance, the soldiers’ uniforms looked British, not American.

Which was interesting.Maybe Mac comes by that hint of Brit honestly.No rank insignia either, not even on the men’s helmets. A decent idea: enemies picked off medics first and then the guy in command second, though John figured no one would get too bent if it went the other way round. A good sniper could tell who was in charge by observation alone. The guy in command was likely to be the one who did the most talking or gave hand signals to the others. Since the guys in command never seemed to change their tactics, he bet no one had ever broken it to them that removing helmet insignia fooled absolutely no one.

“Captain Worthy?” Fire Plug said.

A formality. The polite thing to do, under the circumstances. But, honestly, how many American soldiers could there possibly be roaming around with a truckload of kids? Still, he lowered his hands and answered the guy’s question. “Yup.”

“Excellent.” Fire Plug beamed. He had very good teeth. “I’m Drummond.”

“Nice to meet you.” Hooked a thumb over a shoulder. “Got your beans right here.”

Drummond, baffled. “Beans.”

“It’s nothing. A private joke.”

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