Javed slowed even more, and the Talibs were gaining. Tyler had hold of his arm, dragging him, urging him with words of encouragement. "You won't help your sister like this, Javed. You have to run, faster!"

  “I'm trying."

  But he was too weak, and Tyler found a suitable place for him to hide and shoved him behind a clump of rocks where he lay crumpled and exhausted on the ground.

  "Stay there. I’ll take care of this."

  He left him and ran on until he found what he was looking for, a place he could backtrack and disappear into the rocks without leaving footprints as a marker. He climbed fast and began working his way back to where he'd left Javed. The first trail was clear, pointing like an arrow further along the track, and if they considered it strange there was one set of prints instead of two, he doubted they’d notice in the thrill of the chase. He dove behind the rocks next to the boy.

  "You said you knew how to use the rifle, kid, so now's your chance. Do you have any spare ammunition?"

  "No, just the magazine in the gun. I have twenty-two rounds left."

  And I have five rounds in the Colt, and two spare mags. It'll have to do.

  "Set the selector to single shot. If you burn up the ammo too fast, we’ll lose."

  "I understand.”

  He heard the snick as the boy moved the lever, and Tyler rested his automatic on the rock they lay behind, enough to give him the best possible aim. It wouldn't be enough, not with so few bullets, but he'd had worse. They came into sight, shouting threats and howls of glee as they ran, and he murmured to Javed, "Hold your fire. Wait until they get close."

  The boy nodded his head in reply, and they watched them come. Eighty yards, seventy, fifty, and he decided thirty yards would be optimum. Close enough to score hits, but not so close they could rush them. Forty yards, thirty-five, and they reached the point he'd fixed in his mind as where they'd start shooting.

  “Fire."

  He squeezed the trigger of the Colt. A good first shot, and the man at the front went down. He fired again, and the bullet missed, ricocheting off the rock inches from another Talib.

  Damn.

  Javed fired and missed. Fired again, and squeezed off five shots before the sixth found a target. A man screamed in agony, and with two of their number hit, the rest disappeared behind the loose rocks at the side of the track.

  He waited for any movement. There was none. The shots had come from where they least expected it. They’d assumed the runaways would be cowering in terror further up the track, not fighting back. Joe smiled to himself, thinking of their fury at the loss of two of their people to a boy and one unidentified stranger.

  Unless they know more, there is that possibility. The chance someone ratted us out, and I have a name.

  There were eight of them when they’d first spotted them, and now they'd nailed two. They'd be more than wary, and even nervous the easy kill hadn’t worked out. He turned to Javed.

  "We're going to move soon, but first we wait for them to show themselves again.”

  “Will they do that?”

  “Sure they will. In a few minutes they’ll get curious and make their move. We'll try to take down at least one more, and when they dive for cover, we’ll start to work our way south again. Not along the track, that would make it too easy for them to kill us. We'll go higher and travel through the rocks. We need more height to stay clear, as long as we stay below the crest. With any luck, we’ll lose them."

  "But it's daylight," the boy exclaimed, “How can they not see us?”

  “That’s true, it is daylight. But soon, it won’t be.”

  He hadn't seen what Joe had. He'd been watching the sky, and a huge mass of black cloud was scudding in. The Talibs had lost patience, and with screams and roars of fury, they leapt from cover and charged. Tyler took down a man with a bullet to the belly, and Javed managed to shoot another in the arm, forcing him to drop his rifle. Then they disappeared, crouched behind the rocks, and he nodded to Javed. "Let's go."

  The storm still hadn’t hit, and they were able to work their way higher, going from rock to rock, always making sure the boy was with him. He almost reached the crest of the hill, and found a tiny goat track that led in the direction they wanted. They followed the narrow path, and he looked back at the tracks they’d left.

  A few footmarks, but not very many, and if there’s a downpour, it’ll wipe them out.

  As he had that thought, the skies opened, and the rain hammered down in torrents. Relentless, heavy, and within seconds they were soaked through. He urged the boy on, thanking their lucky stars they had a chance to get clear. They stumbled along the narrow path, slipping and frequently tumbling over. Once, he had to grab Javed by his coat to stop him slipping into a ravine. They'd made several miles when he called a halt. It was mid-afternoon, the rain was still hammering down, and he considered they’d put enough distance between them and their pursuers to be safe. Besides, the boy was shivering violently, and the priority was to find him shelter and warmth before he became sick.

  After another half mile, they came upon a cave. Inside, the dark space was dry, and he began collecting pieces of wood that had blown inside over the years. Perhaps over the decades, or even the centuries, but it was enough to fashion a small fire. Smoke was a risk, but the boy’s teeth were chattering, his body wracked by shivers, and he had no choice. He managed to get a small blaze going and laid him on the floor of the cave. He was cold, and he took off his own coat and covered him, massaging his arms and legs to restore circulation.

  Throughout the rest of the day and through the night, he kept watch for signs of the enemy. Twice he went outside to gather more wood and put it to dry near the fire. The boy was asleep, and he sat beside him, watching, ensuring he was okay, and feeding the fire to keep him warm. Still wondering what he'd got himself into. He thought about Jessica and Joe Junior. Victims of another gun crime, one of many, and the cops had gunned down the shooter as soon as they arrived on the scene. Then he thought about his brother Chuck, and about the murdering scum who’d ordered the attack. Then there were those who spread the words of hatred, torture, and death. They were here, people like this Mullah who was trying to kill Javed and his sister.

  If I can’t target the main man, not immediately, I can still do wicked damage to the perverted cause of Islamism.

  His head began to clear, and it was like a fog slowly lifting.

  I’m in the right place. Revenge is what I crave, first by keeping this boy and his sister safe from the madmen. Kill the scum before they carry out their plans of mass slaughter, and I’ll have some of what I want. It feels good. Some Chinese philosopher once said revenge was a dish best served cold. Forget cold, forget waiting for tempers to cool off; I’ll take my revenge while it’s still hot. Hot enough to send them into the flames of hell.

  After a long, cold night, the first rays of dawn lit up the interior of the cave, and he got a better look at Javed. What he saw wasn’t good. During the night, the kid had deteriorated, and his skin was pale for an Afghan, pasty and sweaty. Like he was running a fever, and Tyler knew the priority had to be getting him to shelter and warmth. The alternative was for him to die out in the wilderness of Bande Pitaw.

  He ran through the possibilities, and they were pitifully few. Less than a few, they amounted to one, the horse ranch run by Sarah Glass. He estimated the distance was around twenty miles, around thirty kilometers. A tough distance through rough, mountainous territory alive with hostiles, but it wasn’t an option. If the boy was to live, he’d carry him every step of the way, and there was no time like the present.

  The rain still fell, although not as torrential as it had been. Javed was a considerable weight on his shoulders, and he staggered when he adjusted his body to balance the load. He picked up the boy’s ancient AK-47 and stepped outside. With a gulp of breath to fill his lungs, he began walking through the cold, wet morning. Within an hour, he was exhausted. With little sleep, almost no food, and carrying the boy, he was forced to stop. He checked his watch, and after five minutes rest, hoisted the boy back onto his shoulders. He started walking again, slogging along narrow, fractured trails and almost invisible goat tracks. He followed the compass bearing on his satphone; in the Afghan boonies there were no road signs.

  He set a hard pace, fifty-five minutes walking, and five minutes rest. Soaking wet, freezing cold, and the mindset the U.S. Navy had instilled in him during his SEAL training kicked in. He wasn’t cold, he wasn’t wet, and he wasn’t tired. His muscles didn’t ache. All that mattered was the mission. Focus on the mission, and keep going forward until he’d completed the task. There was no fail.

  It didn’t work perfectly. Still five klicks out from Sarah’s ranch he stumbled, and this time, no amount of SEAL training helped. He went down, and he stayed down. With no alternative, he took a few minutes and tried again, but his strength had gone. He couldn’t get up, but he had to get up. He managed to put an arm behind him and grab Javed’s collar. Then he began to crawl, dragging the boy along behind him. He made a few hundred meters, and then incredibly heard the clatter of hooves on the hard ground.

  “Who are you?”

  The rider, a woman, was staring down at him in shock, and he looked up. “I told you I’d visit, Sarah. I should have called first, sorry.”

  Her eyes were huge and round, and she opened her mouth in astonishment, showing white, perfect teeth. Her dark, bushy hair was hidden beneath an Afghan style pakol cap, and she wore a waxed riding coat against the rain. “Tyler?”

  She dismounted from the tall chestnut mare and knelt at his side. She was short; most would say petite, with creamy, freckled skin and those big, dark round eyes. Full, rich red lips, and right now they were parted in a concerned expression.

  He tried to smile a greeting and failed. “Am I glad to see you. Sarah. I need help. This boy is very sick.”

  She inspected Javed and touched his forehead. “He’s running a fever. We need to get him inside. He’s a friend of yours?”

  “He is, yes.”

  “How come?”

  He sighed. “It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you some other time. Can we take him back to your place?”

  “Of course. Wait here, I’ll send someone back with the four-wheel-drive.”

  “I can walk.”

  “That boy’s not walking anywhere, and besides, you look as if you couldn’t make another ten yards. Just wait. It’ll be a few minutes.”

  She climbed back onto the horse and cantered away. He estimated less than ten minutes had elapsed when he heard the noise of a vehicle, and a British Land Rover appeared with Sarah at the wheel. She stopped next to them, and another man, an Afghan, stepped from the passenger side. He looked at the boy in surprise, and back at Tyler.

  “I am Nasrat Amiri, and I know this boy. He’s my nephew, Javed Amiri, from Chiras. What is he doing out here?”

  He grimaced. “Like I said to Sarah, it’s a long story.”

  Nasrat nodded. “I’ll carry him to the Land Rover, and we’ll get him back to the house. Where did you walk from?”

  “The park, Bande Pitaw.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’re a long way from the main highway. Do you mean you came cross country in the storm?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t want to bump into any Taliban surprises.”

  “That’s very sensible, but don’t you know about the minefields?”

  “Javed mentioned something about those, but I didn’t see any mines.”

  “Then you’re a very lucky man. The entire area is strewn with mines. The Soviets planted them in the tens of thousands before they pulled out. People die every day when they stumble onto them, and it’s a miracle you missed them.”

  He thought back to that desperate escape at Bande Pitaw, when all hope was gone, barring a miracle. And a miracle had turned up, a miracle in the guise of four of his old pals from the past, four old Alpha Squad buddies. Sneaking around inside Afghanistan and doing all kinds of dirty work, like always. Now he’d been lucky again, another miracle by avoiding the antipersonnel mines. And then Sarah happened across them just when he was on the point of collapse. He grinned to himself.

  Whatever I’m doing, someone up there is watching out for me. A good sign, or am I pushing my luck too far? Probably, but what choices do I have? None. Another one of those damned Chinese proverbs. The man who seeks revenge should dig two graves. Well, okay, that may be true, but I’ve started, and I always finish what I start, no matter what.

  He climbed into the passenger seat, and Sarah wrapped blankets around Javed to try to warm him. Nasrat took the wheel, and he drove back the short distance to her ranch. A substantial, stone built building, and unlike most such edifices in Afghanistan, she’d kept it in a good state of repair. A few yards away was a line of stables, and despite the rain, someone was exercising a horse in a corral. The Afghan carried the boy into the house and laid him gently on the sofa.

  Sarah bustled around like a mother hen. First, she stripped off the boy’s clothes, and wrapped more woolen blankets around him.

  “If it is a fever, we need to get it down fast.”

  She worked on him for a while, before she pronounced herself satisfied that she’d done as much as possible. He was standing opposite, watching, and she joined him.

  “He needs a few days to get over it, and then he should be fine. What about you, how long since you last ate?”

  “About one hundred years.”

  She grinned. “I’ll make that a priority and rustle up some hot food. Then we can talk about old times.”

  While she worked at the stove, he heard a strange voice, a child, and a moment later he realized it wasn’t so strange. The high-pitched voice of a young child, and a moment later, a teenage Afghan girl entered the room. She was holding the hand of a young boy, who looked to be about five-years-old. Sarah smiled at her, and at the boy.

  “Is there a problem, Layla?”

  She replied in perfect English. “No problem, Mrs. Glass, he was just curious about the new arrivals.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. This is an old friend, Joe Tyler. Joe, this is Layla, and the handsome young man is Junior.”

  He felt a stab in his guts.

  Junior, just like Joe Junior.

  He nodded a greeting. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Layla, I’m cooking a meal for Joe, and I have this boy to attend to. Take Junior back upstairs and read to him. I’ll call you when we’re ready.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Glass.”

  They left the room, and she finished preparing the meal. She served it on the huge wooden table that dominated the kitchen, and piled steaming bowls of hot food in the center. He hardly spoke, filling himself with generous helpings, and gradually, his strength returned.

  “Thanks for this, Sarah, you’re an angel. I didn’t know Gary left you with a son.”

  She smiled an acknowledgement, but didn’t answer for a few seconds. She stared him up and down, thinking. Looking at his long, lean body, the unruly hair hanging down in rat’s tails and several days beard growth on his chin. She liked what she saw. Nothing had changed.

  He watched her, admiring the combination of the dark eyes and the freckles that made her look cute. One hell of an attractive girl, and why she’d buried herself out in the Afghan boonies he’d no idea, especially with a kid to look after. He asked her how she managed, and she explained that Layla was the boy’s nurse. They chatted about old times, and Layla brought Junior downstairs again to meet Joe. The kid was bright and intelligent, and he envied Sarah having a family, where he had none. Later, Layla took the boy to his room, and they were on their own, except for Javed, who was still asleep on the sofa.

  “What did you think of Junior? Isn’t he a nice kid?”

  “Junior? Well, sure. I can’t imagine how you bring him up out here in the wilderness.”

  “It’s not always easy, Joe, but I manage. You know you can stay here for as long as you want.”

  “I have to leave in the morning.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “In the morning? You need time to recover after carrying that boy all the way from Bande Pitaw. Something most men couldn’t have done.” She grinned, “Okay, I know you’re pretty tough, but all men have their limits.”

  “And some people are under sentence of death.”

  She was solemn. “Tell me about it.”

  Nasrat joined them from outside, where he’d been helping settle down and feed the horses. They listened to Joe’s account of the suicide bombers. Their expressions darkened when Tyler described how they’d made Javed a prospective martyr, and when he ran, substituted Maryam, Nasrat’s niece.

  “That’s why I need to leave in the morning. I’m going back to Chiras, to find Maryam and get her out. I made a promise to Javed.”

  Sarah didn’t like it. “You won’t make it on your own. You know there’s a big battle in the wind, and Taliban fighters are pouring in from all over the country. Then there are the anti-personnel mines. They surround Chiras. I still can’t believe you made it here from Bande without any trouble.”

  “Mines, yeah, that’s not good. I could do with knowing which routes to use and which to avoid.”

  “I may be able to help,” Nasrat said immediately, “We have learned how to look for the telltale signs of landmines. Although there is one who has much better knowledge than me. Javed. He has always taken his goats far from the town to find better grazing, and over the years, he’s developed an expert eye for the mines. He knows what to look for, and more important, where the ground is free of them.”

  “Except Javed won’t be coming.”

  He shook his head. “No, he won’t be coming. He’s not recovered, and he needs a period of rest. I will do my best to direct you to the cleared paths. Although I’m not sure what you’ll do when you get there. You're one man, and they are many. Besides, Chiras is thirty kilometers from here, a long way to go on foot. And to return, if you should find the girl.”