Bishop's War (Bishop Series Book 1) (17 page)

“Thank you,” Meecham said without emotion. “What do you have on Mr. Bishop?”

“I have something here Dad!” said Caleb Meecham.

“Blake, you remember my son Caleb.”

“Sure,” Blake replied, barely disguising his distaste. Caleb was rail thin with a sickly pale complexion and the darting, lifeless grey eyes of a reptile.

“Dad, I’ve been researching the incident when Felix Valdez was convicted of manslaughter. In the original police report it says there were two assailants that attacked the group of Yale students.”

“Two?”

“Yes sir. I have copies of each statement made by the four students and something’s fishy. These three statements all indicate that there was only one assailant, the soon to be convicted Felix Valdez. But look at the dates. All were made two days after the incident took place. Why only three witness statements and why weren’t they made the day it happened?”

“The police had them revise their stories to get an easy conviction,” Mike Meecham said.

“That would be my guess. I dug deeper and found one hand-written report from the fourth witness and it’s from the actual night of the murder. It states that there were two muggers. It says here and I quote, ‘The guy who did it was a real mean looking kid with an ugly scar running down the right side of his face.’ I’m leaving for New York now to see what else I can find.”

“You do that, Caleb, and call me the second you get anything.”

“Yes sir.”

“So, Blake, it appears your war hero isn’t such a good kid after all.” Turning to his blond secretary he said, “Get Josh Fishman, the New York DA on the line. It’s time to reopen a sixteen year old murder case.”

Chapter 24

Lambs No More

Bronxville, NY

The secluded four
bedroom home could barely be seen from the road making it an ideal location for those who cherished their privacy. Thick untrimmed bushes and ancient trees with low hanging branches made the entrance almost invisible.

The off duty police lieutenant missed the unmarked turnoff on his first attempt to find it. He drove slower the second time and eventually spotted the old tree with the arrow carved in its trunk. He didn’t turn in. He kept his foot on the brake and sat there thinking.

Don’t go in. Just keep driving and never look
back.

I can’t. Where would I
go?

Anywhere. Start a new
life.

A new life? I owe too much for the one I have now. I owe too
much.

He knows that. He will use it against
you.

I know, but I have no choices here. There is nowhere to go. Nowhere to
run.

Then be
prepared.

For
what?

Death.

He turned the wheel and hit the gas a bit too hard, spinning his tires and tearing up the gravel driveway. Once past the dense foliage the property was well kept and opened up so that no one could approach the safe house from any direction without being seen.

Even with the air conditioner on high, the lieutenant was sweating as he guided the Jeep Cherokee towards the house. He pulled over near a set of lawn chairs where a lone figure sat casually in the midday sun. The shirtless sentry was a man in his sixties who appeared to be working on his tan. He spoke to him in Dari and instructed him to pull into the garage. The officer parked, stepped out of the SUV, adjusted the .40 caliber Glock on his hip holster and took the safety off before he stepped through the doorway into the main house.

“Hello Atal,” said Amir Khan.

“I haven’t been called that in long time, Amir.”

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Yeah, sure. Your picture and your fuck ups are all over the news.”

“Be careful, Atal. Or do you prefer to be called Adam?”

“I know who
I
am. Your uncle Aziz got us out of the refugee camps and sent us here. He gave us new names and we built a new life. I’ve never forgotten my debt to him. No one can question my loyalty. I am still Pasthun. The question is, do
you
know who the fuck you are, Amir Khan?”

Amir’s temper once again got the best of him. He jumped up out of his chair too quickly and was overwhelmed by the pain. He glared at Atal Wazir as he slowly sat back down.

“I see you still have control issues. Just so we’re clear, if you try to stand up again, or if your hands leave the table I’m going to shoot you and call it self-defense,” said NYPD Lieutenant Adam Harbey, his hand casually resting on the butt of his pistol.

“You would have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Really? I don’t think so. It’s called probable cause, asshole. I’ll just say I made a wrong turn and saw your big broken nose in the window. That schnoz of yours is on CNN night and day. Shit, they’ll give me a medal for bagging public enemy number one.”

“Enough! Who are you to question me?” Amir said through gritted teeth.

“I am a soldier of God and a Waziri warrior. I fight for my tribe, my country, and for Aziz Khan. Who do you fight for Amir?”

“I am no less loyal, Atal.”

“Is that why you’re waging war and wasting men against one man, this John Bishop?”

“He is a symbol of America. He must die.”

“He’s an ex-soldier who broke your nose and killed your men before he shot you.”

“It was his cousin that broke my nose.”

“Whatever. Bishop and his cousin are not your mission.”

“The bar was a mistake, but now there is no turning back.”

“Why?”

“The warehouse was attacked. Five of my men were killed by assassins and two more were taken alive. Khalid and I were a block away, otherwise we would be dead too.”

“I haven’t heard anything about it so it wasn’t NYPD. Who were they? FBI or CIA?”

“It was the FBI that killed Nazir and his men at the safe house in Queens, but the warehouse in Redhook was something different. They were in and out in ten minutes. I believe they were the uncle’s men.”

“Fuck. Well that’s bad. Real bad. Gonzalo Valdez has his own army. They call him El Gato Negro, and like Aziz, he’s a power unto himself.”

“I knew nothing about Bishop’s family when I went after him.”

“You went after his family, and now Valdez is coming after you. Alright, he killed some and captured some. They can’t know much. The good thing is you have more men.”

“But not more explosives.”

“What?”

“They took all the C4 and TNT.”

“Then it is over, Amir. You shouldn’t have called me. Now you’re a lamb hunted by wolves. There’s no place you can hide.”

“I once was a lamb, many years ago. But never again. We will get the explosives back and I will finish what I started.”

“How? They could be anywhere.”

“Bishop will bring them to me.”

“For a man that looks as beat down as you do, you sure sound confident. What time is Bishop stopping by?”

“Not long after you kidnap his woman.”

“I hope you’ve got a backup plan, because that one ain’t happening.”

“You really sound like an American. I would never know you are one of us.”

“I’m a mole. It’s my job to blend in. You know, you’re not gonna be alive much longer. You sure you wanna waste what little time you’ve got left discussing accents and phonetics?"

“Listen to me, Atal. You are the only one that can get close enough to do it.”

“You’re nuts. Where is she, at the hospital?”

“Yes. Khalid’s daughter saw her there. Here is her picture.”

“Pretty,” Atal said looking at a color photo of the Asian beauty. “But this is a suicide mission and that’s not in my job description. She’s going to be surrounded by family and like I said before, Gonzalo Valdez has his own troops. She’ll be protected.”

“The injured cousin is still in surgery, but people are constantly going in and out of hospitals. You can get close enough to observe without arousing their suspicion, and when the opportunity presents itself, you take her.”

“How the fuck do I do that? This isn’t a spy novel or some action movie! She’s in a crowded public place with tight security. She sure ain’t gonna follow me out and get in the car. Or should I crack her in the jaw and just walk out the main doors with her body over my shoulder? I’m thinking someone might notice.”

“You must be patient, yet decisive.”

“You’re the last man who should be preaching patience, my friend. It’s your lack of it that created this mess.”

“Yes, you are right. It is my fault. Going after Bishop got our men killed and the explosives stolen. I cannot change what’s been done, but together we can still win this battle for our people. I can’t do it without you, Atal.”

“Okay, I’ll play along. Assuming against all odds I manage to get her. What then?”

“I remember the day my family was killed as if it happened only moments ago.”

“You have my condolences, Amir, but let’s not lose focus here.”

“I am more focused now than I have ever been. Do you remember Kurram Valley?”

“How could I forget? We could see the valley from our refugee camp. Kurram looked like paradise from our dusty hell hole.”

“It was a magical place, though now the trees are all gone and the grass grows only in scattered patches.”

“War kills our people and scars the land. Thanks be to Allah that our women bear more children and the land will heal itself in time.”

“Not there. God has cursed that patch of earth.”

“Why?”

“Let’s have some coffee. You can either take your hand off the gun or shoot me,” Amir said. He carefully got up from the desk and limped over to the couch.

Khalid Mulan, Amir’s right hand man, walked in carrying a tray with three steaming cups of strong black coffee that were already heavily sweetened. Atal sat down and exhaled heavily to help release his tension. They each took a sip and placed their mugs down at the same time as Amir began his story.

“The clan was gathered for my grandfather’s eightieth birthday. He was a respected elder and had reached an age that few men in our land ever hope to achieve. Many came from great distances to honor him. The Russians killed our people on sight so we traveled by night into Pakistan in small groups, climbing the mountains in the dark. We thought there was safety across the border and we reached the valley at Kurram on the fourth day. I remember the air was cool for mid-summer and the grass was the greenest of greens. I ran through it laughing with my sister. The wind blew from the west and pushed us along as if God’s own hand was on our backs.”

“I can see it,” Atal said with his eyes closed.

“My father, Aman Khan was clan leader then. I have not been blessed with his height. He stood a head taller than most men and he was a great and fearsome fighter. He killed every man that dared to challenge him and he was an expert at killing Russians. With all their weapons and all their technology they couldn’t beat him. In the end they put a large bounty on his head.”

“Was he betrayed?” Atal asked.

“Yes... Yes he was.”

“By who?”

“Over the years I have very slowly and very painfully killed many men trying to find the answer to that question. It remains a mystery.”

“What happened in the valley?”

“My uncle Aziz was my father’s younger brother and his second in command. That afternoon I was with Aziz and his two sons scouting high up on the mountain slopes. We were looking down on the valley when the infidels sprang their trap. The Soviets always relied on their airpower, but on that day they surrounded our people with a ring of soldiers on horseback. My father and his men surrendered, knowing their own deaths were certain. They did it to protect the women and children. It was a mistake. The Soviet commander had them tied up so they could watch the women being raped. I saw my mother and sister defiled by those animals before the soldiers shot them all, one by one. Even the youngest of the children were not spared.”

“Why doesn’t anyone know about this?”

“Those who know are ashamed.”

“Ashamed?”

“The Russians could not have crossed the border and surrounded the clan without help from the inside. It was one of our own people that led them there.”

“Who lived?”

“Only me, Aziz and his two sons. His sons were just kids like me back then, and they’re both dead, killed later on by a landmine. I know it wasn’t me and Aziz watched his wife and his daughters being raped before they were murdered. No man could endure life after being the cause of so much suffering to those he loved most.”

“I know I shouldn’t even ask, but what happened to your father and his men?”

“They laid my father, Aman Khan, on the ground and tied each of his arms and legs to four horses. They ripped him apart. The riders laughed as they dragged his limbs behind them. The rest of the men were shot where they stood.”

“My God.”

“My cousins and I shed the last of our childhood tears that night. With the moon as our guide Aziz took us up to the mountain’s peak. We stood at the summit with the clouds below, the stars just above and the spirits of our loved ones whispering on the wind. My uncle spoke softly to us and explained that we too were dead. We had all died in the valley below along with everyone else. He said that before the massacre we had all been lambs, laughing and playing like sheep waiting to be slaughtered. We were lambs no more. From that day forward we lived only to avenge our loved ones. We were instruments of death that would kill without mercy.

The next morning we went back down to our people. It took the four of us five days to bury all two hundred and thirty eight of them. I never cried once, not even when I carried my six year old sister to her grave.”

“I don’t know what to say Amir. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. And sorry I called you a lamb before. I know you’re not that.”

“Look Atal, not every man has the will to choose his own destiny or the strength to decide his own fate. Only a select few of us have the power to die for something we believe in. This is Tuesday, June fifteenth. I know you didn’t wake up this morning thinking today is the day I give my life for my country. And it still may not be, but the question is: are you willing to die today?”

Atal Wazir, better known as NYPD Lieutenant Adam Harbey stared down at the plush Persian rug under his feet. He tried to follow the intricate pattern, but his eyes refused to focus. Amir said something else to him, but the voice came from far away. The world around him was muted by the sounds of rushing water in his ears and the hammering of his heart beating uncontrollably in his chest. He didn’t want to die, and up until this moment had expected to live a long life. His mind was racing so he forced himself to take his time. He knew he was at the crossroads. Whichever path he chose had monumental consequences. Death, or worse yet life in prison, on the one hand, and dishonoring himself and his family on the other. He took a deep breath and the world slowly came back into focus. His heart steadied and his ears cleared.

“Funny, I can hear that bee outside the window,” Atal said. Suddenly, he felt relaxed and at peace. He saw and heard the world around him like never before.

“The Japanese samurai wrote a lot about death. Once you accept it, embrace it, and even welcome death, it is very enlightening. The world around you appears brand new as if you have just been reborn. All the senses become more acute. It happened to me all those years ago on the mountaintop with Aziz and my cousins.”

“I saw a movie once where an Indian said ‘today is a good day to die.’ Always liked that line. Never thought I’d be using it myself though,” Atal said.

“The Sioux were great warriors.”

“Japanese samurai, Sioux Indians. For a Pashtun from the mountains of Khost you’re an educated man Amir.”