Betrayed Read online

  “He is a true believer in peace.”

  “And sometimes even the peacemaker needs to defend his beliefs. If he remains passive against a direct threat, the spoken word won’t always save him.”

  “Thank you for that. One more thing. My son. Is Rafiq really safe?”

  “As far as I understand. I have to be honest with you. Communication with the man looking out for him has been broken. It appears an attempt to kidnap Rafiq took place in California. We are assuming your husband’s enemies would want to use Rafiq as a bargaining chip against him as well as you and your daughters.”

  “To prevent him attending the peace talks.”

  “And also to persuade him to hand over the incriminating information he has locked away.”

  “Mullah Homani would do anything to silence Sharif. Anything.”

  “My colleague went looking for Rafiq. We believe he located where he had been taken. Then communication was lost.”

  Leila’s eyes held a shadow of panic for a few seconds, then she recovered her composure, nodding very slightly.

  “We must not tell the girls anything about this for the moment. Will you agree?”

  Bolan nodded his reply.

  “Thank you for that, Mr. Cooper. Now, I believe you have a message to send.”

  Bolan made his way to the front entrance and dragged open the door. He stepped into the moon-bright night. Holstering the Beretta, Bolan took out the transceiver and activated it. He keyed the transmit button. A second button switched on the homing signal. He made contact after a couple of attempts. The call was brief, confirming his homing signal had just been received.

  Help, he was told, was on its way.

  “I’ve brought you some tea.” Bolan turned and saw Amina holding a steaming tin mug out to him. “It’s the last. There isn’t any milk or sugar, but it is hot and very strong.”

  Bolan took the mug. She was right. The hot liquid was as she had said.

  “It’s good,” he said.

  That drew a girlish giggle from her.

  “No, it’s really awful,” she said.

  “The helicopter is on its way, so you’ll see your father soon,” Bolan told her.

  “Mother will be happy. She has missed him so much.”

  “And Raika, too.”

  “I suppose. It’s hard to tell what she thinks lately,” Amina stated.

  “Oh?”

  “The past couple of months she’s changed. She used to be fun to have around. But now…well, she’s changed. She never laughs. She shuts herself away. Whenever she thinks she’s alone she spends ages on her cell phone. But if she sees me, she ends the call and shouts at me for spying on her.” There was a long pause and Bolan detected a gleam of tears in the girl’s eyes. “We used to be such friends. But since she was away things have changed. I hate it when she’s angry with me.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “It was while we were back in France. We lived in Paris.” For a moment her face brightened. “I like Paris. I can speak French.” The mood broke and the serious little girl returned. “Raika kept going away. And when she came back everything was different. Daddy said she probably had a boyfriend.” Amina made a face. “Why would she want a boyfriend? I don’t like boys. Well, except for Rafiq. I know he’s my brother, but I still like him.”

  “You’ll be able to tell him that soon.”

  Amina gave him a condescending look. “I could never tell him that. I’d be so embarrassed. And Rafiq would tell me to run away and play like a good little girl.” She gave a deep, heartfelt sigh. “Boys. They just don’t understand.”

  The moment was a breath of fresh air for Bolan. He spent so much of his waking time hip deep in conflicts of one kind and another it was easy to forget the reverse side of life. Where the simple words of a child brought pleasure, dulling the edge of pain and suffering. He looked at Amina Mahoud and in her bright-eyed stare he saw there had to be a better way to exist. Maybe not for himself though. As much as he might have wanted it, Mack Bolan understood and accepted his personal role in man’s destiny. Until men like Sharif Mahoud could bring about some kind of peace, no matter how small and fragile, Bolan would need to stand his ground. Honorable intentions still needed someone to offer support against those who sought to destroy them.

  “I hope my daughter has not been distracting you, Mr. Cooper.”

  Leila stood in the open door.

  “Right now her kind of distraction is welcome. Thank you for the tea, Amina.” Bolan turned. “We should go back inside.”

  “Of course.” As they stepped through the door Leila said, “I feel I should apologize for my distrust earlier.”

  “No need. You were right to be cautious. And the name is Matt.”

  “May I call him Matt?” a small voice asked.

  “You may call him Mr. Cooper.”

  Amina let her shoulders slump in defeat, but she was smiling when she looked at Bolan. They stepped back through the door.

  “Raika?” Leila called.

  “I’m here,” the young woman said as she returned to the main room. “I went to secure the door at the back. We wouldn’t want anyone coming in through there and surprising us, would we?”

  “I suppose not,” Leila said, accepting the explanation and forgetting it almost in the same breath.

  Raika’s gaze swept the room, pausing on Bolan for a fraction, her expression fiercely defiant. She looked through him as though he didn’t even exist.

  Bolan moved to stand by the front window, unsettled by the young woman’s attitude.

  He tried to understand his feelings. Almost from his first meeting with Mahoud’s family, Raika’s presence, her cold disdain whenever they made eye contact generated unease. Bolan wasn’t the kind of man to make snap judgments without cause.

  In Raika’s case that judgment implanted itself.

  Bolan had to ask himself why.

  Raika Mahoud, what the hell are you up to? he wondered.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The pale dawn was barely edging over the horizon when the Army helicopter clattered into view and homed in on Bolan’s signal. As soon as it touched down, armed soldiers dropped from the door and fanned out. Bolan led his small group from the outpost, shielding their eyes against the gritty clouds of dust raised by the spinning rotors. They all climbed on board. The pilot increased power and the chopper rose, swinging away from the outpost, the village dwindling quickly.

  One of the crew passed around canteens of water. Only Raika refused, huddling alone in a corner of the cabin. After she had drunk, Amina moved closer to Bolan.

  “How long before we get there?”

  “Couple of hours,” the soldier replied.

  “And Daddy will be waiting?”

  “He’ll be there. Now why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  She did, leaning her slim body against Bolan, her arms holding on to him. When the soldier looked across the cabin Leila Mahoud was watching, a gentle smile on her tired face. It wasn’t long before she slept herself.

  Only Raika remained awake, staring moodily out through one of the side windows.

  The crew sergeant sat on the deck alongside Bolan. He was a tall, rangy man with a weather-beaten, tanned face and a shock of sandy hair. He draped his big hands across his knees.

  “Command warned us we might be getting a visit from the Taliban. Intel says they’ve been gathering a few klicks west of the base. Operations sent out a couple of teams to confirm. They reported movement. Lieutenant Pearson is going to do his best to get you people out before any attack.”

  “Thanks for that, Sarge.”

  “You look like you’ve been through a piece of war yourself, Mr. Cooper.”

  “Nobody can say Afghanistan ever lets you off easy.”

  “No shit. I’ve pounded dust in some places. This place beats the hell out of ’em all.”

  “They never tell you about this side of the Army at the recruiting office,” Bolan told him.

>   The sergeant grinned.

  “You got that right. Hey, what was your specialty?”

  “Sniper.”

  “Well, I can shoot,” the sergeant said, “but you need more to do that sniping stuff. Best I could do was to reach squad sergeant. Name’s Harry Munro. That’s the Oklahoma Munros.”

  “Couldn’t be any other,” Bolan said, grinning.

  For the next hour he and Munro talked Army, Bolan falling into the easy camaraderie of fighting men. Not with a little surprise he found himself completely at ease with the soldier. It was as if the years had fallen away and he was back in the service himself. Despite his roughhewn appearance, Munro was a man with a great deal of sense filling his head. His conversation was relaxed, informative. He learned a lot about the ongoing situation in the country as Munro talked.

  “The Afghans I’ve met—not counting the ones who’re shooting at me—are good people. Jesus, Cooper, they’ve been going through rough times longer than I’ve been alive. Seems like every damn country in the world has tried to beat them down one time or another. Like nobody will just leave them alone to do their own thing. Poor bastards have a hard time without being shot and bombed every which way. This isn’t exactly what I’d call God’s country, if you know what I mean. Rock and dust. Don’t rain all that much. Hot as hell in the day. Ball-freezing cold at night. Being a farmer here is crap. The land doesn’t yield much if they do get it planted. If they’re lucky enough to feed their families. And that’s what most of them really want. Food and a roof over their heads. But then they get the Russians blowing the hell out of everything. Near enough flatten the place to the ground. Now it’s the damn Taliban who want to run the country like somebody switched off the feel-good switch. Ban this. Destroy that. Don’t laugh. Don’t read books. Kick the women back into the Dark Ages. Then there’s the drugs. And the drugs. And the mullahs. If those mullahs could figure out how, they’d turn off the sun and make everybody slope around in the dark, and hell, I’m talking too much. Cooper. Why don’t you tell me to shut up?”

  “You’re doing fine, Sarge. You in for the duration?”

  Munro shook his head. “No. This is my last tour. Another three months and I go home for good. It’s time I started to look after my own family. Hell, I worked out my time. I’ll take my pension and go back to farming. Got two grown-up sons. We’ll take over my daddy’s spread. Keep it in the family.”

  “Hope it works out.”

  “How about you, Cooper? There a family back in the States?”

  Bolan shook his head. “No family…” He let the words trail off.

  WHEN THEY LANDED Lieutenant Pearson was there to meet them with his Hummer. Bolan made sure the Mahoud family was settled in the vehicle before he turned back to thank the helicopter crew. He shook hands with Munro.

  “Hope it goes well for you, Sarge,” he said.

  “You ever get down to Oklahoma you drop by, you hear? Won’t be hard to find us. Ev’ybody knows the Munros.”

  “I’ll remember that, Sarge.”

  As Pearson gunned the Hummer toward the base he asked, “You get the intel about the possible attack?”

  “I heard. How sound is it?”

  “It’s sound. We’re going to get you out ASAP.” He paused, then added, “I hope we have enough time to do that.”

  THEY PLACED A HUT at Mahoud’s disposal. While the family spent time together Bolan wandered across to the mess hall and ate. He was on his third mug of coffee when Pearson showed up. He helped himself to a drink and brought it across to Bolan’s table.

  “You don’t look too happy, LT,” Bolan said.

  “Chopper coming in to pick you up has been held back because of the Taliban. Until we know for sure about this attack, command won’t risk an evac.”

  “I see their point. Slow-moving transport chopper would be an easy target for an RPG. Look at it this way, LT, it means we get to enjoy your hospitality a little longer.”

  Pearson grinned.

  “I’d better go tell the family.”

  Bolan returned to the hut and explained the situation.

  “I was looking forward to another ride in a helicopter,” Amina said.

  “It’ll happen,” Bolan said.

  In the quiet moment as they considered the current situation the Executioner caught the shadow of concern on Sharif Mahoud’s face.

  “You worried about something?”

  Mahoud spread his hands. “Look what I have brought on my family. I should not have allowed them to come to Afghanistan. This is my fault. In my arrogance I imagined this would convince the people of my sincerity. By bringing my family to mix with them. To talk to them. My foolish pride. My naiveté.”

  “Sharif Mahoud, you stop that talk right now.”

  Leila’s voice cut through with its fierce tone. There was a strong rebuke in every word.

  Bolan glanced at her as she pushed to her feet and crossed to where Mahoud sat.

  “How long have we been married?”

  “Twenty-five years…”

  “And every day of those years I have watched you devote yourself to helping others. Even when you lived in one of those villages you were thinking of others. You built your career. Raised your family. Took us from obscurity to Europe. America. Studied tirelessly to reach where you are now.”

  “Perhaps I spent too much time on those things. I should have given more to you and the children.”

  “No. You have given us everything we could ever have wished for. A wonderful life. But most of all you allowed us to share your vision. Listened to us and asked our advice. Now this—your great dream, to bring together the people who have the ability to share that vision, to make a real attempt to broker peace. You bring the voice of sanity into all this madness and hatred. Do you really think we could let you come here alone? We came willingly because your dream is our dream, too.”

  Mahoud reached out to touch her hand.

  “But I did not intend that you should all step into danger. To have to hide away in fear.”

  “In those villages we visited I talked with people who thanked us because they have been left to suffer and there was no one to speak for them. The simple fact we spoke face-to-face with them meant a great deal. And they were surprised that I had come with you. A woman walking into the danger zone. With her daughters by her side. I think that helped so much to get them to open up to me. They told me of the things they have seen. Death. Destruction. Starvation. They told me of their fears at losing husbands and sons to the fighting. All they want is for someone to listen to their stories. Such a simple thing, Sharif, but because of you they have a little faith now. They held my hands and they said for me to ask you to be their voice. To speak for them. They have no one. Only you. When we were separated and your friends guided us to the outpost, we knew you would ensure our safety as you always have. And Mr. Cooper came and brought us back to you.”

  Amina embraced her father.

  “The children said they were afraid when the fighting came. They asked if you would stop it. Just so they could be happy again.”

  Sharif Mahoud looked down at the smiling face. When he found his voice again he said, “Am I not a man blessed many times over, Matt?”

  “No doubt of that.”

  Beyond the tight group, Raika Mahoud lay on one of the Army cots, her back to them all. She was feigning sleep. Bolan saw her shoulders tense as she listened to the conversation. She was awake yet made no effort to join her parents.

  AMINA HAD FINALLY succumbed to fatigue and slept. Her sister remained on her own cot, still pretending. Bolan guessed she was listening to every word being uttered.

  Leila was the one who finally broached the subject they had been ignoring while they settled in.

  “The arrangement between Sharif and the President. Wasn’t it to be a close secret?”

  “Yes.” Bolan understood where she was going. “Security has been breached. Somehow Sharif’s movements have been transmitted to people who want
him stopped.”

  “Stopped, or killed?” Leila asked.

  “Both,” Bolan replied.

  “Explain to me.”

  “Opposing groups,” Mahoud said. “Working from different agendas. Right, Matt?”

  “We have two separate factions at work here,” Bolan said. “One has no other intention than to kill you. They see the solution to their goal in your elimination. Plain and simple. If Sharif Mahoud dies, the talks will fall apart and the status quo remains.”

  “If I had to put a name forward for that, it would be Homani.”

  “It’s no secret Homani has called for Sharif’s death on numerous occasions,” Leila said. “He declares it openly. Calls on his followers to denounce him as blasphemer. Homani incites the act.”

  “Will he be attending the talks?” Bolan asked.

  Mahoud smiled. “Oh, yes, he will be there. His arrogance will not allow him to stay away. He wants his day. To speak his piece.”

  “And the other group?” Leila asked.

  “A little more complicated,” Bolan said. “Sharif dead would only satisfy part of their agenda. They also need to get their hands on the data he has. There’s a deeper motivation here—reputations, covert alliances, men in high positions who do not want their identities brought into the open. Important individuals here in the region. I’m also certain there are others in the U.S., maybe even Europe, who see the Middle East as a chance to offer them means of control. The region has mineral wealth and of course oil. They want their hands on the reins.”

  “This is why they kidnapped Rafiq?” Mahoud said.

  Leila had quietly, calmly told him about Rafiq once they had been settled in the hut.

  “Coercion. A demand for your data in exchange for the life of your son.”

  “I would respect them more if they faced me openly. Like men. Not hiding behind my son.”

  “We’re dealing with people who work in the shadows. They arrange their deals behind closed doors. Away from the light because what they do is unlawful. For their benefit, not for the good of others.”