Carver - By Tom Cain Page 0,52

‘and where I’m meant to be.’ No one else had ever been able to make her feel this way. And yet the fear still gnawed at her that they had not been able to make their relationship last before: why should this time be any different? She should be wise, and get out now, and yet she could not help wanting him more than anything she had ever wanted in her life. Having him next to her only reminded her of the emptiness of her life without him.

She began to say something, trying to express how she felt, but then stopped herself.

‘What is it?’ Carver asked.

‘Oh … nothing,’ she said.

He looked at her again, and then kissed her face with infinite tenderness. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I know.’

They kissed again. He stroked her cheek, then ran his fingers through her hair. ‘I’ve got to go soon,’ he said.

‘More business?’ This time there was only understanding in her voice.

Carver gave a rueful grimace. ‘Afraid so … It’s nothing too serious. I have to go to some ridiculous anti-terrorism summit.’

‘Is this anything to do with that woman – the one you were asking me about?’

‘Not directly, but there is a connection.’

Alix propped herself up on one elbow, a serious look in her eyes. ‘What kind of connection?’

Carver wondered what he should tell her. He trusted her implicitly. Yet she was supposed to be living with one of Zorn’s investors. She might have divided loyalties. On the other hand, she might also know something about Zorn, something that would help unravel the mystery of the American’s true intentions.

‘She works for a guy called Ahmad Razzaq. He’s Malachi Zorn’s security chief, but it’s not clear where his real loyalties lie. There’s a lot that’s not clear about Zorn.’

‘I agree,’ she said, surprising him. ‘I assume you know I’ve been living with Dmytryk Azarov.’

‘Sure … but it really wasn’t any of my business—’

‘It’s OK, you don’t need to be defensive. That’s over, anyway. I don’t think I’d be here if it wasn’t.’

‘So what ended it?’

‘That’s what I was coming to. We argued about Zorn. And I agree with you. There’s something wrong about that guy. Did you know that none of his fancy offices have leases longer than three months?’

‘Maybe he’s worried his business won’t pan out?’

‘Ha! Have you met Malachi Zorn? That man isn’t worried about anything. Every cent he earned he got by backing his judgement against the world. So if he’s only got short leases—’

‘It’s because he’s not planning to stick around. He’s only renting his house here, too.’

Alix nodded, relieved that Carver had taken her point. His trust in her judgement was an affirmation of the bond between them.

‘You and me,’ he said, shaking his head in wonder as if reading her mind. And then again, ‘You and me.’

‘Mmm …’

‘You think it can work this time?’

She smiled, thrilled that he, too, was thinking about their future. ‘I don’t know, Sammy … maybe we can be smarter this time.’

‘You know I don’t let anyone call me Sammy.’

‘You let me.’

‘Yeah … I do … but then, you’re not just anyone, are you?’

He kissed her again, and then, before she could stop him, got up out of the bed.

‘I really do have to go,’ he said.

Waygal Valley, Afghanistan: two months earlier

Corporal Chico Morales, a section leader in C Company of the 502nd Infantry Regiment, did not claim to be any kind of expert on theology. But he knew one thing: if God had been on the side of the Islamic insurgents in Afghanistan, he would sure as shit have taught them to shoot straight. Since he’d begun his tour of duty in the Waygal Valley in eastern Afghanistan, Morales had lost count of the number of contacts with the enemy when the men of ‘the Deuce’, as the 502nd was known, had been outnumbered, outgunned and in serious danger of defeat. And in every case, the single biggest factor in his getting out alive had been the Afghans’ obsession with ‘spraying’n’praying’. They didn’t fight as coordinated units, concentrating their fire on specific targets. They just blasted away in every direction, each man for himself, and hoped to Allah that some of their bullets actually hit an enemy.

Even so, they could still make a damn nuisance of themselves. Give a handful of insurgents a bunch of AK-47s, throw in some rocket-propelled grenades or a .50 calibre rifle, and give them a wall or a boulder to hide behind, or a gully to lie in,