Page 28 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier
“Surely, my friend. Surely.”
14
Juan Cabrillo, still playing the role of ex-Wagner sergeant Stepan Saponov, limped his way over to the waiting MD-530 scout attack helicopter a hundred yards beyond the village. He climbed into the cramped passenger compartment while Yaqoob slid into the copilot’s seat. The Afghan air force pilot, one of Yaqoob’s nephews, throttled up the single Rolls-Royce turboshaft engine and they lifted off in a swirl of dust.
Fifteen minutes later, the chopper set down near a rugged plateau. Yaqoob led Juan into a nearby subterranean cave complex guarded by two heavy machine-gun emplacements providing crossfire against anyone approaching without permission.
Yaqoob gestured at the vast expanse of the cave. Stacks of crates and pallets of steel ammo boxes extended far into the darkest recesses. They approached the nearest pallet. Everything was stenciled in English.
“There, you see? Grenades, mortars, ammunition of various calibers—over five million rounds in this cave alone. Everything you need and more. Satisfied?”
“Somewhat.”
“Then follow me.”
As Juan shadowed him out of the cave he ground his right heel intothe dirt, hardly missing a step as he limped behind the tall Pashtun toward the waiting helicopter.
?
Another short hop on the American helo whisked them over to the outskirts of Ghazni, a former Soviet garrison from decades earlier.
They passed through a collection of abandoned mud huts, where sharp-eyed, well-armed uniformed guards kept vigil, hidden away from the prying eyes in the sky. They marched into one hut with an underground passageway and entered a vast subterranean concrete bunker built by the Russians. Acres of crated rifles, machine guns, pistols, and even sniper rifles were carefully organized.
Yaqoob marched over to one crate and popped the latches. He handed the rifle over to Cabrillo. He shouldered the weapon as Yaqoob spoke.
“M16A4. Never fired. Perfect working condition. I can deliver one thousand of these from this one storage facility alone. There are several more such facilities at my disposal.”
“Very good.”
“Convinced yet? Do we have a deal?”
“Ammo, guns. All good. But it’s the Humvees I really want to see.”
Yaqoob gestured with his big head. “Let’s go.”
Juan limped up the steps back to the ground floor of the abandoned hut. Yaqoob didn’t see him grind his right heel into the dirt just outside the doorway as they exited the building on their way to the idling helicopter.
?
“The Chinese built that for us,” Yaqoob whispered in his headphone, pointing at a giant hospital in the middle of Kabul. “It even has a pediatric oncology ward. The Chinese have done many good things for my people.”
Just wait until they call in their chits, Juan wanted to say.Afghanistan had massive lithium deposits, one of the most strategically significant minerals on the planet. The Chinese government would gobble them up and everything else of value thanks to goodwill projects like this one.
Cabrillo was surprised when the pilot nosed the helicopter down toward the hospital and even more so when he set the skids gently into the center of the circle-H on the rooftop helipad.
Juan followed Yaqoob to an elevator that whisked them down to the lowest level of the underground garage directly beneath the hospital. An armed guard opened a heavy steel door and the Pashtun led Cabrillo into the storage facility. There were dozens of crates of anti-tank and anti-aircraft weapons, including AGM-114 Hellfire missiles and Hydra 70 rockets.
“Hiding these beneath a hospital is brilliant,” Juan said. In fact, he was sickened by the callousness of the act.
“Everything you asked for and more—right here. If you like, I can take you to a doctor for that scar. It looks nasty. Maybe he can fix it up.”
“No need.” Juan dragged a hand over it. “My mother likes it.”
Yaqoob laughed and clapped Cabrillo on the shoulder.
“Funny man. Anything else you need to see?”
“What I really need are those Humvees you promised.”
