Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (21 page)

A light shone through the latticed window.

Wrong one. She crawled on all fours another dozen feet. Looked up. No window. Wait. She attempted to get her bearings by taking in the shrubs, the trees … She’d passed it. Had to have. She went back. Again peered up at the window.

Oh no. The light—it was Bijan’s room. She groped in the dark for the jacket. If he was awake … Frantically patting the ground beneath the waxy leaves, she let out a yelp.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s awake.”

Candyman cursed.

“I thought you were a Christian.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes my mouth isn’t.”

Her fingers snagged material. “Got it.” She pushed to her feet.

Voices came from the other side of the house.

Timbrel broke into a sprint toward the front. With a quick look, she confirmed the guys were behind her. She just prayed Beo didn’t bark. Once they hit the gravel drive, Timbrel slowed and braved another glance back.

Candyman almost barreled into her. “Don’t stop. Keep moving.” He propelled her toward the waiting car and Rocky.

They dove into the backseat and Beowulf right behind. As the car pulled away from the front, she handed the jacket over.

Tony shook his head. “All that, and for nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“We wasted time in the house. You didn’t get the check, for one.”

Timbrel grunted and banged her head on the back of the seat.

“And two, we could’ve been long gone. Getting the bag …” He unhooked it from around his neck. “Didn’t even use it. Taking the back stairs, down through the servants’ passage—no need for the bag.” He dropped it at her feet. “So, what’d you go back for? What was worth risking your life—my life for?”

Five Months Ago

It soothed and restored the soul to be with his brothers at the mosque. To kneel and surrender his thoughts and troubles for a time of prayer. On his knees, he bent and pressed his face to the mat, silently reciting the Asr.

Allah is the Greatest
.

In the Name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful

All praise is due to Allah
,

Lord of all that exists

Most Gracious, Most Merciful

Master of the Day of Judgment

He went through the entire
salat
four times, standing when appropriate, bowing at other times, and kneeling and pressing his face to the floor, then squatting and looking to his left.

Once the prayer ended, he rose and moved into the outer foyer, trailed closely by Dehqan, Irfael, and two of the guards. As he moved through the small crowd of faithful, he noted the whisperings of the imam and his advisers.

“Colonel.” Irfael leaned in close. “They have requested a meeting.”

Excellent. Just as he’d hoped. Just as he’d planned. “When?”

“They will come to the house tonight, after dark.”

He strode to the armored car and climbed in. Dehqan took his seat at his side. “Do you feel better now?”

“I did not feel bad before.” Dehqan adjusted his jacket.

“What of your girl?”

Dehqan’s jaw muscle bounced. He drove his gaze to the blurring roads as they raced back to town. “She is willful.”

The boy might have taken the wrong approach to the girl, lulling her mind just like the incessant rocking over the ruts of the roads heading back to the compound. “She has gone astray—her father brainwashed her into believing the Christian’s twisted truth. You must break her. Make her see.”

“I am working on it.” His head lazily bobbed as it came back to him. “What meeting is this they have called?”

“A most important one.” The colonel settled against the leather seat. “If all goes as planned, then I begin the final mission.” He grinned at the boy.

“The bombs.”

He nodded. “You and I will both see the justice of Allah. Finally.”

Dehqan’s gaze drifted past him to the dusty road beyond the windows, thoughts seemingly lost. “I had begun to doubt Allah remembered my pain.”

The colonel gripped the teen’s neck and leaned in close. “Never doubt, Dehqan. Never!”

BooooOOOOOOoooooom!

Up flew down. Sideways went crossways. Down became up. Pain wracked his body.

His head hit the window. Something struck his temple. Blackness ate the day.

Warbling noises pervaded his senses.

The colonel groaned and forced his eyes open.
What…?
He turned and gained his bearings. Belly up, the vehicle sat in a ditch.

Shouts from outside warned him of an attack.

He scrambled for Dehqan, who was bent over, his head down and his back end up. “Dehqan! Dehqan!”

His son groaned and turned. Blood slid down his temple.

“Was he shot?”

The colonel glanced up where Irfael peered down through the open window.

“No,” Dehqan grunted, “just …”

“Move, get out!” Irfael shouted. “They’re coming!”

Climbing out, the colonel had his weapon drawn and ready. Perched on the side of the vehicle that faced the sky, he reached down. “Dehqan, hurry!”

The boy clutched his arm. He dragged him up onto the hull, and together they scuttled over the side and dropped to the ditch.

“Who has done this?” he demanded as he crouched there.

“Americans, probably,” one of the guards shouted.

“Where?” the colonel demanded. He would wipe them out.

“I … I don’t know.”

Shots peppered the armor.

Dehqan pointed across the street to a building. “The rooftop. Sniper.”

“Irfael—put that RPG to use.”

“Yes, sir!”

He waited for his lieutenant to hoist the launcher from the vehicle then take aim. Bullets ripped through the air. Pinged off the armor plating. Seared along his face, so close he could smell its path. Once he did, the colonel grabbed Dehqan’s shirt. “Go. Move!”

Only, Dehqan wasn’t moving.

At all.

The colonel stopped. Knelt. Froze at the blossoming dark stain on the boy’s shirt. The hand clutching his chest, blood spurting between his fingers. At the pain squeezing his eyes shut.

Another well-placed RPG bought them the time to scurry to an alley, two guards carrying Dehqan with them. His men radioed for backup, and within minutes an armored SUV leapt into the confined space. Then another and another as the sky rained ash, cement, and bullets.

Irfael and the guard loaded Dehqan into the back of the middle one. “Mahmud, have the doctor ready. Dehqan has been shot. Chest wound,” he spoke into his phone then ended the call and turned around. “They’re waiting. They got word minutes ago about the attack.”

Fury had no name like his right now. “They will pay for this.” He pushed his gaze to the darkening day outside and braced against the bumpy roads. “We are sure it was the Americans?”

“Yes. I saw the sniper’s team hustling toward the SUVs.”

“Then they have targeted me.”

“They have targeted the colonel.” Irfael grinned. “They do not know who
you
are.”

“It must stay this way. Especially with the imams’ arrival tonight.” He cut his gaze back to the lieutenant. “Make sure they’re still coming.”

Another grin. “Mahmud said they’re waiting for you now.”

Good. Good. Allah be praised!
No matter how many times the enemy attempted to thwart his plans, to remove him from the map, Allah protected him. He shifted and looked back at the guard acting as medic. Now, if Allah would extend that protection to Dehqan. Allow him to live.

I have given you everything, Allah. Please—save my son. Every step has been made to follow your word
.

The gate flew open and the SUV caravan launched into the compound. Seeing the urgency with which everyone moved did nothing to soothe his fears. Especially when they rushed Dehqan on the stretcher into the house. The blood … he’d lost so much blood.

A dozen guards surrounded him as he moved into the house. “Get away! Guard the gates. Guard the roads. Not me, you fools. I’m here. I’m safe.” Light attacked his eyes as he stepped into the house.

And stopped short.

Twelve men waited in the foyer.

“Assalamu alayikum,”
he forced himself to say, though he did not want or seek peace at all. But for now … for now he must abide the talk. The flat, meaningless talk.

“Wa alayikum assalam.”

“Colonel,” one said as he emerged from among them. His white kufi stirred the icy shards of the colonel’s blood.

“Salaam.”

“And peace be upon you,” they muttered almost in unison.

“Forgive me for the delay. We came under attack, as you know.” He managed a half bow/nod to the imam. “I am surprised to see you here, Imam Abdul Razaaq.”

“We would like to speak to you. But it seems you are injured.” He motioned to the colonel’s head. “Would you like time for the doctor to tend it?”

“I am well, praise Allah.”

“It has come to our attention, Colonel, that you have worked hard and long to purge the country of ways contrary to that of Allah.”

His heart hiked into his throat. “It is my greatest honor.”

“All speak of your devotion to scripture, to our people.” The imam turned, the hem of his gold cloak spinning as he did so. “And you have done well in raising Dehqan in the way of Islam.”

A surge of protection spiraled through him. “He is as my own son.”

“Which is why it is agreed you should be named an imam.”

“I am … humbled. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Abdul Razaaq said. “It would be necessary for you to renounce your position within the ISAF, but you would be allowed and even encouraged to continue … defending Islam, instructing others.”

“It would be my honor.” As he embraced his new calling, he was reminded of the words of the Prophet—peace be upon him—”
And we appointed Imams from among them who should guide after our command when they had themselves endured with constancy, and had firmly believed in our signs.”

Mashallah
. Just as Allah has willed. Now, if Allah would clear his path for the big event.

        Fourteen        

T
he evening went nothing like she expected. Bad, she expected—
anticipated
—but coming out of it feeling like she’d betrayed Candyman … She wasn’t ready for that, nor did she want it. After Rocky pulled away from the hotel, they made their way up to the suite. Tony had only spoken a handful of words the entire time. Even now, tension wove a thick band around their awkward pseudosilence.