One Child (38 page)

Chapter

74

Moscow, August 25th, 7:58 pm - 2 minutes until the concert

They walked together through the concrete hallways leading to the stage. Four men whose music defied convention and defined the direction of rock.

The house lights dimmed and tens of thousands roared approval. Moments separated them from the instant when U2 belonged to them, and them alone. The band was in their town, playing for them. Fans took ownership of U2's early struggles and their relentless rise from talented, obscure musicians to greatness. Many felt a connection to Africa, and to the barefoot children who stood beside Bono as his equal. Every heart beat with anticipation.

U2 was here. In
their
stadium.

They walked onstage, veterans ready to play like it was the first time. The giant screens above and around the circular stage slowly came alive. Murky and indistinguishable at first, an image began to take shape as the screens brightened. It was a person. A face. A girl. The corners of her lips curled down - in thoughtfulness, not sadness. Her scarf covered her hair - in respect, not subservience. Her eyes looked out from her world to another - in wonder, not want.

It was an iconic image that had spread across the globe over the past forty-eight hours.

Halima.

The first riffs from The Edge's guitar cut through the air and Moscow went crazy. The chords were haunting - fitting for a girl who had lived with nothing, in a country with less. Bono stepped up to the mic and his lyrics told a story of hunger - for a better life. Of need - for those around her. Of desire - to change her world. Of hope - for her country.

The song drifted on the still Moscow air. It diffused through hundreds of high-resolution microphones and ran along the fiber optic cables that captured every note and every word, then shot it up to satellites streaking through the airless space above earth. From the sterile abyss of space, the music rushed back down to millions upon millions of people, all waiting for the new song by U2.

All waiting for
One Child
.

The band delivered, and the band played on.

Chapter

75

Moscow, August 25th, 8:03 pm - 3 minutes into the concert

Julie
and
Carson
struggled with the grate and managed to push it to the side. They crawled out of the tunnels and staggered across the grass to the SUV. In the distance, Luzhniki Stadium was brightly lit and the sound of U2 playing floated across the parking lot. The signal to divert the power had yet to be sent. But it was coming.

"Oh, damn."
Carson
pulled back as he saw the driver's body under the bushes.

Julie
pushed past him, opened the rear doors and climbed into the cargo area. She was dangerously dehydrated and her left shoulder was screaming for her to stop. She ignored the throbbing pain and pulled out the portable jammer. She had run this drill a hundred times.

Power on, antenna up, input the frequency. 117 MHz. She double-checked the frequency and hit the button.

Nothing happened. Nothing changed.

The stage lights from the stadium continued to dance across the sky and the opening staccato-like chords from U2's
Where the Streets Have No Name
ripped into the night air.
Julie
slumped back against the side of the SUV and stared at the jamming unit. She couldn't remember how many times she had lugged the machine in and out of a concert without using it. It was a key component of their anti-terrorism gear, purpose-built for incidents that might involve a bomb. Never once had she regretted having it on site, and this was why it was one of the first pieces moved into place and the last to be removed.

Carson
was framed in the open rear doors of the truck. Moonlight reflected off his face, showing pain and relief. He pulled himself into the vehicle and sat opposite
Julie
. They both stared at the machine - listened to the songs from Luzhniki. Neither spoke for a few minutes.

"That's quite the machine," he finally said.

She nodded. "It is." Her head drifted slightly to one side. "I think I need a doctor."

Then she fainted.

* * *

Moscow, August 25th, 11:45 pm - one hour after the concert

It was almost midnight when Dimitri
Volstov
came looking for him.

Carson
was in
Volstov
's study, sitting on an overstuffed leather chair and surrounded by walls filled with leather-bound books. He took a handful of them off the shelf and leafed through them. There were first editions of Tolstoy - in Russian. And first editions of Mark Twain and Edgar Allen Poe - in English. He replaced them and retook his seat, looking around and taking in the details.
Volstov
's desk wasn't large and
Carson
wondered what sort of business deals had been struck in the room. Outside the closed doors were the sounds of a party in full swing. He turned as the study door opened.

"I'm Dimitri," the man said, offering his hand, then sitting in a chair next to
Carson
. He was thickset with bushy eyebrows atop lively eyes. His hair was deep brown and thick for a man in his early fifties. "And you are
Carson
Grant." His English was almost perfect.

"I am,"
Carson
said.

"How is the arm? Did the doctor take care of things properly?"

"Yes. Thank you."
Carson
hesitated, then asked, "How is
Julie
?"

Volstov
's face remained serious. "She's in the hospital, stable, but they're keeping her overnight. I'll visit her once my guests leave. This is very serious - what you and she were involved in tonight." His face grew dark. "
Fleming
."

"Yes. He came very close to pulling it off."

"So I hear.
Julie
gave me all the details over the phone." He pulled a package of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and offered.
Carson
shook his head.
Volstov
lit one and blew out a heavy cloud of smoke. "I understand you were the one who caught on to
Fleming
."

Carson
kept his answer simple. "Yes."

"Androv was sent to kill you."

"He was."

A couple of party guests opened the door and started into the room, but
Volstov
barked something in Russian and they turned and left. He waited until the door was closed. "You risked a lot, my friend."

Carson
didn't answer, simply nodded slightly.

"This night could have been a complete disaster. People might have been seriously hurt. Or killed."
Volstov
settled back in the chair. "I'm indebted, Mr. Grant."

"There's nothing I need, Mr.
Volstov
."

"Please, call me Dimitri."

"
Carson
."

Volstov
remained serious, and said, "Perhaps there is one thing."

"What's that?"

"Your fiancee, I believe her name is Nicola."

"
Nicki
."

"
Nicki
has a terminal illness and her medical coverage has been dropped. She needs an operation."

Carson
stared at the Russian billionaire, wondering how he knew. Then he remembered telling
Julie
the story. "That's true."

"I can make this operation happen."

Carson
's eyes locked on the man, frozen, unblinking. "How?" he asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

Volstov
smiled. Benevolence simmered through the tough exterior. "I will simply pay for
Nicki
to have her new lungs. We will have to wait for a donor, just as you would in the United States, but
Nicki
will be first on the list. My plane is at your disposal and I have a house in Moscow for you to use until the operation. Anything you need will be provided."

Carson
sat, speechless.

"You have earned this."

"Thank you."
Carson
said.

"Good."
Volstov
stood. "I have many guests who have come from the concert. Please stay here with me and we'll talk again in the morning." He started out of the room, then stopped and picked up the television buttons. He pressed the volume control. "This story is amazing," he said.

The newsfeed was from Washington DC. The reporter was a pretty English woman with a cultured accent.

"
...and Halima continues to capture our hearts. Money is pouring in - destined to help the most disadvantaged in Afghanistan, with ample funds to build new schools and medical clinics, and to create jobs and infrastructure. So many changes are in store for a country that has suffered for so long. And tonight, in Moscow, the Irish rock band, U2, opened their concert with a song for Halima. The name is
One Child
, and it is being transmitted globally across the Internet tonight. The band only asks that if you wish to download the song, you make a donation to help in Afghanistan. But what is truly incredible, is that little Halima, destitute and with no hope for the future, has made such a difference. That one child could change the world. This is Selma Black, reporting for BBC News, Washington, DC.
"

"Amazing,"
Volstov
said, handing the buttons to
Carson
. "Absolutely amazing."

Chapter

76

Ma'sum ghar, Afghanistan, August 25th, 11:55 pm

Russell
found
Andrew
sitting by himself on a stack of sandbags fifty meters inside the wire. He was smoking a cigarette and staring south to the desert.

"Hey,"
Russell
said. He sat down next to the soldier.

"Hey." There were a thousand words he could have responded with, but using the same one seemed easiest.

"You okay?"
Russell
asked.

Andrew
flicked the spent cigarette butt onto the ground and nodded. "Yeah. Actually, I'm fine." A minute passed, then he said, "Your video sure did well."

"It's been played a lot,"
Russell
conceded. "People seem to be responding to it."

"It's important,"
Andrew
said.

They both sat staring at the night sky, then
Russell
said, "It must be tough on you."

"No, it's not. I'm okay with it."
Andrew
shook his head and was quiet again. Finally he added, "It was necessary."

"You think?"

Andrew
lit another cigarette and settled back into the sandbags. He sucked in some smoke, held it in his lungs for a few seconds, then blew it out slowly. It hung in the still air, a tiny cloud against a black sky. "I came back to Afghanistan because I wanted to make a difference here. I really wanted to do something of value. But the longer I stayed, the deeper I sank into the realization that it was impossible. That the country was beyond repair." He stared straight up at the sky. "But you know, I'm beginning to think that this is fixable. It's going to take time, and it won't be done with guns."

"Are you saying you shouldn't be here?"
Russell
asked.

"No, we should be here. We
need
to be here."

"Not everyone agrees with that."

"Then they should come to Afghanistan and have a look around." He took a deep breath. "Any one of us could have shot that girl. It just happened to be me."

"I suppose you're right."

Andrew
shifted a bit so he could see
Russell
. "I heard you're leaving tomorrow. Heading back to Boston."

"I am."

"Are you looking forward to it?"

Russell
considered the question carefully. "I want to see Tina. I miss my wife. And I miss having chicken wings with the guys on Wednesday nights, but other than that, not really."

Andrew
smiled. "This place kinda gets to you."

"Yeah. I don't think much of the weather. It's mostly the people."

"It's always about the people."

Russell
stood and stretched. "It sure is." He gave the specialist a small wave. "I'm off to bed. See you in the morning."

"Good night."

Andrew
stretched out on the sandbags. The moon was alone in the sky, no clouds for company.

He let his mind drift and it went back to a time when he had been naive enough to think his life was normal and his mother and father were happy. He was about Halima's age and it was summer. School was out and the days on the beach with friends were long and lazy. They were digging for clams and talking about what they were going to do after high school. Everyone had a vision of where they were going. He remembered his friend's faces, bright with smiles and trying to look serious as they shared their hopes. Racecar driver. Professional baseball player. Doctor. Scientist. He wondered if any of them had followed those dreams.

When they had asked him, his answer was simple.

I'm going to be important
.

He closed his eyes and the moon vanished.