The Sixth Martyr Read online

  ‘What the hell is that?’ The final words of my older brother, the last of my family. Slaughtered by primitive throwbacks to the first millennium, and a philosophy of butchery.

  Something disturbed Javed in the early hours. He came awake, his eyes darting around in alarm. Tyler’s eyes flicked open.

  "Mr. Tyler, they’ve come. They are here.”

  “You mean the Talibs?"

  "Yes, they passed very close to where I was sleeping, no more than a few yards away. I heard movement, and I woke up.”

  Joe was on his feet in a second, searching for the hostiles. He followed the path the kid had indicated and found he was right. In the moonlight, he could see the tracks of two men had gone past. "Pack up. We're leaving."

  Less than a minute later, they were on their way. Heading south, when the Talibs had gone to the west. The reasoning was sound; going in the opposite direction should have evaded them. Except two men had decided to circle around to the south, intersecting the track Joe and Javed were following. He sensed rather than heard them coming, and motioned to a clump of bushes just off the track. "Hide in there," he whispered to the boy, “I'll take of them as they come past. Anything goes wrong, you make a run for it."

  "You mean to kill them?" His mouth was wide open with astonishment.

  "You have an alternative? Is there any other way to stop them from hunting you to kill you, Maryam, too? Or did you want them to live and make another try?"

  He shook his head, his eyes still wide with astonishment, like black saucers. "No."

  "Okay, just stay in cover. I'll deal with this."

  The first man came past where he was hiding, and Joe waited. As the second man came adjacent of where he was crouched in the darkness, he leapt at him, holding the big combat knife he’d taken from his pack. He carried the Colt 1911 automatic in a belt holster at his side, and he could have taken them both down with two shots. But he didn’t want to risk the sound of a shot, in case there were others in the vicinity. He plunged the knife into the man's heart, but the blow was less than perfect, and the point glanced of his breastbone before it sunk in. The fighter had time to cry out a warning, and the man in front spun around, as fast as a striking cobra.

  He brought up his assault rifle and fired a burst of three shots that whistled inches past his shoulder. Then Tyler was on him, and he pummeled him to the ground. He’d made a mistake in not shooting them both, and it was a mistake he’d have to correct, if he could. The Talib was much bigger than he’d realized in the darkness, a huge, muscled man built like a wrestler. A long beard, and in the middle of the bushy foliage the lips parted in a snarling grimace as he rammed a fist into Tyler’s belly.

  The air whistled out of him, and he made a grab for the arm with one hand, and with the other, intercepted a knife thrust that came out of nowhere.

  Jesus Christ, this guy is fast. Bigger and faster than anyone I’ve ever fought. I need to get on top of this while I still have the chance.

  Both his hands were busy fending off the attack, and he jerked his body away, giving space for his legs, bringing a knee up into the man’s groin. The reward was to hear a shriek of pain. But he still had to stay clear of those hard, swinging fists, and one of them held the dagger. He twisted again as the man retaliated with a kick that slid past his left kidney. The fight had descended into a brawl, and they were unevenly matched, the Taliban much heavier and doubtless stronger against Tyler’s unarmed combat skills.

  The fight went on in near-silence. The only sounds were the grunts as each man tried to land a blow, and then disaster struck. Tyler saw the AK the first man had dropped lying a few feet away, and he managed to get to his feet. He lunged for it and slipped on a patch of loose stones. He tumbled over sideways, and the hostile was on him in a flash. He defended himself as best he could, but the other guy had the advantage. He had the greater strength, and even now he was swinging the knife toward Tyler’s exposed side. With a last, gigantic effort he twisted, and the blade slashed past him, gouging out a slice of skin as it went past.

  “Tyler.”

  The boy’s voice, Javed, but he ignored it. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. They fought on, and he ducked and weaved from the blade, occasionally scoring a hard punch into the man’s face. He remembered his gun and reached for the holster at his waist. But before he could snatch it out, the dagger was coming at him again, and he had to use both hands to defend himself. He heard Javed’s shout.

  “Mr. Tyler, there are more men coming, and they’ll be here in minutes.”

  All the hostile needed do was hang on until his pals arrived, and it would be all over. He punched again, this time ramming his knuckles into the guy’s throat, and he did some damage. He almost destroyed his larynx, but he was so strong and filled with fury, he ignored the pain. Ignored everything, in his ruthless and single-minded determination to kill the infidel in front of him.

  “Mr. Tyler.”

  He swerved away from another blow. “Not now, kid. I’m kind of busy.”

  But it was desperate. He took a chance and dove for the other man’s ankles in a hard-charging football tackle he’d last used at college. It worked. The guy lost his balance and toppled to the ground. The problem was he’d landed next to the rifle he dropped earlier, and his arms stretched out to cushion his fall and touched the hardwood stock. He snatched it up, and a single shot rang out.

  Strange, he didn’t feel a thing. Tyler groped around his body for the location of the wound and found nothing. The other guy had fallen after Javed shot him, but he hadn’t dropped the rifle. The wound wasn’t lethal, and he was still bringing up the weapon to shoot. In a moment of clarity, he remembered the Colt and pumped a bullet into his opponent. The round hit him in the heart. This time when he went down for good, as dead as the coldest corpse in the cemetery. Joe took a second to recover, and then he moved fast. The other hostiles were seconds away.

  “Javed, on me.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but snatched up the fallen assault rifle, a later model AKM, and ran. He could hear them now, loud footsteps on the path. Men shouting, calling orders, and he estimated there were three of them. They’d heard the shots, and now they knew their pals were in trouble. They were very close, and then they appeared, sprinting at him, rifles spitting bullets. He swung up the AKM to return fire, and nothing happened. Safety off, set the selector to burst mode, and still it wouldn’t fire. Javed got off a couple of shots that both missed, but more bullets were hissing around them when he grabbed the kid and dragged him behind a pile of boulders.

  They kept moving through the rocks, and the scrabbling noises of pursuit followed them. Angry voices, and they were in a losing fight. Yet he had to protect the boy, and felt responsible for the kid he’d come across half dead in the park. He shouted at him to run on, dragged out the Colt and turned. He was behind a rock next to a crevasse, and when the first man appeared, he pulled the trigger and put a bullet into his head. He went down, but the other two were right behind. They leapt over the corpse, and this time the hurricane of gunfire almost overwhelmed him.

  He pulled back fast, praying Javed had made it. He kept retreating through the rocks, and now he had no time to return fire. The Colt is a useful, reliable weapon, but they’d switched their fire to full auto, and every time he tried to turn back, another storm of bullets smashed all around him. He had to hit the deck and snake away, looking and failing to find somewhere from where he could shoot back.

  He thought he’d found it, and he stopped, but they’d second-guessed him. One man was still coming up behind him, but the other had climbed a steep slope to flank him. Where he crouched behind the rocks he was exposed to rifle fire from above. The first burst peppered the rocks around him, and flying chips of stone slashed into his exposed skin. Bullets ricocheted off the rock, and still the other man was still coming up behind him. It was almost over, and he had to get the boy clear.

  “Javed, get away from here.”

  Tyler finally
did the one thing he had left to do. He couldn’t reach the man in the rocks above him, so he ran at the one who’d been coming up behind him. A confident smile on a dark, bearded face suddenly faded, and the last thing he’d expected was for his quarry to turn and fight.

  Too bad, sucker. If you corner a wild beast, this is what it’ll do. Turn and fight.

  He fired several shots from the Colt and saw the man in front of him go down. He’d no idea how many bullets were left in the magazine, but now the guy’s assault rifle was his for the taking. He still had hold of it in a death grip, and Joe wrenched it from his hands. Immediately he swung around, looking for the remaining Talib. He’d seen what was happening, and had descended from the rocks to come up behind him. Maybe ten feet away, and the rifle was aimed dead center at his belly. He’d always known he’d die fighting, knew this was his time, yet still he brought up the rifle to shoot back.

  The Talib never pulled the trigger. One moment, he was a living, breathing, fighting man, his head ablaze with medieval religious malice. The next, he halted, and his body jerked as though hit by a bolt of lightning. The gun hammered like a road mender’s drill, a yammering roar that went on for several seconds. When the noise stopped, it was only the colossal, kinetic force of the bullet strikes that had kept him upright, for his body crumpled. Like a punctured balloon, and when the corpse hit the ground, it was no more than a bloodied ruin of shredded flesh.

  He didn’t know who’d saved him. Except they were on his side, and he holstered his weapon and held his hands empty, in full view. Waiting for them to approach through the darkness, so he could identify them. Moments later, they appeared, moving like shadows until they were near enough for him to make them out, and he couldn’t prevent his mouth dropping open in utter astonishment. Miracles didn’t happen, not once, not ever. But he was seeing a living, breathing miracle. Four miracles.

  During his contract with CIA, his four-man team frequently teamed up with another Alpha Squad unit for certain operations. Four men, like himself all former Special Forces. Their names were Tony Hammett, Chris Murphy, Julio Diaz, and Jimmy O’Donnell. They were standing right in front of him, and Chris Murphy’s black face had split into a wide grin.

  “Tyler, what the hell are you doing here? We heard the gunfire, and the last person we expected to see crazy enough to be wandering around these parts at night was you. It looks like you’re lucky we turned up.”

  He fought back the impulse to give them all a great, big hug. “I think it must be Christmas, and then some. That was good timing.”

  Tony Hammett grinned. “Christmas ain’t far away, so you can take it as an early Christmas present. We owed you a couple, Joe. You helped us out of a jam more than once. Like when that informant was leading us to a stash of surface-to-air missiles, and it turned out to be a monster IED waiting for us. As I recall, he was about to trigger it remotely when you blasted his ass. You never told us how you knew.”

  “That was a cinch. He took out his cellphone to make a call. No cell towers for about fifty klicks in that region. This is Afghanistan.”

  He smiled. “That was a good call. What brings you back, you here for Christmas?”

  “No Santa Claus in this Islamic Paradise. It’s just something I need to do. Personal business.”

  “Uh, huh, well, whatever it is, good luck with it. Damn, this is some coincidence. You promised never to return to this miserable land. Shouldn’t you be home with your family?”

  “They’re dead. A mall shooting outside Boston.”

  “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe it. I didn’t realize…”

  “That’s okay.”

  It’s not okay. How can it ever be okay? Some Islamic crazy in Afghanistan, or a psycho with an illegal AR-15 in Massachusetts, what’s the difference? Innocent people die, and sometimes, they’re your own family.

  “I’m really sorry, we all are, but it doesn’t explain what you’re doing back here. How much did they pay you?”

  “They didn’t pay me anything. After Jessica and Joe Junior died, my brother was killed.”

  Their expressions sobered. Hammett stared at him in astonishment. “You lost your family and then your brother. Christ, that’s beyond bad. Is the death of your brother something to do with the reason you’re back here?”

  “I’m after his killer.”

  “The guy who killed your brother, he’s here, in Afghanistan?” His expression showed astonishment, “How come?”

  “Chuck was in the North Tower. His office was near the top, and he didn’t get out.”

  In the aftermath of the 911 attacks, no one needed to explain what he meant by North Tower. One of the most infamous sneak attacks in history, with parallels to Pearl Harbor, the events of that terrible day were imprinted on men’s minds forever.

  They looked suitably shocked. Murphy shook his head, “Christ, Joe, you’ve had it more than hard. Didn’t you know the men who flew those planes died in the attack?”

  “Not the guy who gave them the orders.”

  “Osama?” Tony Hammett looked even more shocked, “You mean you’re looking for him?”

  He shook his head. “Right now, I don’t know who or what I’m looking for. It’s just I don’t feel I can sit on my backside in the States while the man who pulled the trigger runs around free.”

  He nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I get that. Up to a point. What about the other guys in your unit, are they here?”

  He shrugged, thinking back to the men with whom he’d shared those two hard, crazy years. They’d emerged with nothing more than a few minor wounds, and enough money in the bank to set them up in a new career. As far as he knew, they’d left the Company’s employ and were spending their hard-earned cash. “They’re back in the States.”

  He grimaced. “You should have stayed, Joe. We have a few months left to see out our contract, and then we’re going back. We’ve all been briefed to look out for this guy, so if we find him, you better believe he’s going down. You’ll get your justice.”

  “You mean he’s around here, Bande Pitaw?”

  A chuckle. “We wish. Nah, we’re just cleaning up. Chasing down the usual suspects, preparing the ground for a new Coalition offensive.”

  “Have there been any sightings of him?”

  Tony chuckled. “Wouldn’t you like to know” There’ve been rumors, like there always are. The last we heard, he was holed up in a cave. They say he may have escaped on horseback, although that could be hearsay, who knows? People say he rides well, and uses horses to travel some of the wilder, more remote country.”

  Horseback. Horses made him think of Sarah Glass, and her business. The string of ponies she kept at her ranch, where she struggled to survive in the middle of chaos and ruin. He still hadn’t made contact, and he resolved to talk to her soon. Explain how things had changed since he came across the boy, and now he had unfinished business looking for the sister. He’d make the call as soon as he was fixed.

  Tony and his men were looking at Javed with curiosity. He introduced him and explained how he was helping him look for his sister. The four mercs looked at him in surprise, but they didn’t comment, and it wasn’t their business, so he didn’t give them any more details. They began to search the bodies for documents, anything useful they could provide for their handlers back at Langley.

  Hammett shook hands before they left. “We haven’t forgotten what you did for us the last time we met up, Joe. Anything you need, we still owe you one. You take care now.”

  “You, too, and thanks.”

  They melted into the shadows, and they were gone. Tyler looked at Javed, who was sitting on a rock, almost frozen into immobility. Shock.

  “You all right, kid?”

  “I… don’t… know. I’ve never…”

  He understood. He’d never seen men killed like that before, five men, and all dead in a matter of minutes. Blood and corpses, and he realized he and the four mercs had reacted the way they always did. SOP, nothing unusual. A dead
hostile was a dead hostile. But for Javed, it was anything but normal. Scary.

  “You’ll get used to it, Javed.”

  “I will?”

  He grinned. “Only if you live long enough, kid. Get some rest, and as soon as it’s light, we’ll go looking for her.”

  * * *

  The black eyes were narrow slits in the lined and weathered face. A head covered by a black turban, and the long, straggly beard hung down to his chest. The brown robes of the pious covered the flabby body, but the expression was anything but pious. Mullah Habib Ahmadi was incandescent with anger, and his men looked on with concern. He'd already marked down six young people for martyrdom, and the man was more than capable of adding six more names to the list.

  "You let him escape!" he snarled, "Your failure to bring him back could amount to blasphemy."

  Each man felt a tremor of fear. They were all former Mujahideen, veterans of the vicious fight against the Soviets. They'd lost friends and family, had taken bullet wounds in the service of Allah. They’d fought bravely, and never concerned themselves with the consequences. But this was something different. Blasphemy was a crime with a single punishment. Death, dishonor, and a sentence to hell.

  Ahmadi was satisfied they’d got the message. The threat of terrible punishment would spur them on to greater efforts.

  "I have spoken to one of the martyrs who knows the direction they went. Bande Pitaw, the national park. They are certain to head for the lake, so you will gather your men and go there and find them." He looked to the side of the room where five young men sat apart from others. The martyrs, and they were silent. Staring down at the floor, not wanting to meet the gaze of these hardened, grizzled warriors. Except for Akram, who nodded with enthusiasm.

  Ahmadi continued. "You will leave at dawn. I suspect the other men I sent after them are already dead, so do not waste time looking for them. The boy carried a rifle, and he may have ambushed them before they had a chance to shoot back. Which means you have even more reason to find him and his sister and bring them back. Especially the coward Javed."