of lying. The thought danced through his watering, fearful eyes. Then it was gone. “Thomas has them. God forgive me.”
When he heard the professor’s final words, Linko knew that the man fully understood his predicament. And he was going out from this life ashamed of himself and his weakness.
Linko smiled at the man and pushed the rifle barrel up under Glukov’s chin. Coldly, he pulled the trigger and watched the top of Boris Glukov’s head shatter as the bullet cored through.
Then the world blew up.
***
Captain Eddie Trainor, United States Army Airborne pilot of the 101st Airborne Division—designated the Screaming Eagles—banked his UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter toward the target mountain. Through polarized lenses, he stared down at the white-capped mountain. It was an unusual sight. Three winters out of four in this region of Afghanistan, the snow melted nearly as soon as it hit the ground and ran off.
First Lieutenant Blake Shannon pointed at the line of Taliban warriors on top of the mountain. “Got a flanking position set up.”
“I see them.” Trainor nodded and opened the radio frequency that had been set up with the Afghanistan National Police unit on the ground in the firezone. “Major Sarkhosh, this is Captain Trainor of the 101st Airborne.”
“I read you, Captain.” The man at the other end of the frequency sounded nervous but solid. “Glad to see you.”
“You’ll be gladder in a minute, Major, I guarantee that.” Trainor knew the trapped archeologists were lucky. He and his squad had been running maneuvers and were loaded for bear. In addition to the two 7.62mm machine guns in the cargo area, they also carried a pair of .50-cal GAU-19 Gatling guns and 70mm Hydra 70 rocket pods mounted on the Black Hawk’s stubby wings. “Have you got your people out of the immediate area where the Taliban are?”
“Yes. We have pulled back from the mountain.”
“Excellent news. We’re about to introduce these bloodthirsty terrorists to the twenty-first-century United States Army Airborne.” Trainor nudged the stick forward and armed the rocket pods. “Pick your targets, guys, and make ‘em count.” His thumb slid over the FIRE button as he got a lock on the ridge.
The Black Hawk stuttered a little as the rockets left the pod. A moment later, the warheads struck the ridgeline, and a bouquet of orange and black explosions blossomed along the mountain. Rock and flaming debris tumbled down the face.
***
Lourds panted for breath as he helped support the wounded ANP officer in the rush to get away from the mountain. He kept trying to turn and look over his shoulder to see where Boris was, but he couldn’t manage that and helping out with the injured man at the same time. Finally, he gave up and concentrated on getting the man to the large cargo truck ahead of them.
Several people had gathered at the truck. Evidently, the ANP officers—those who had survived the initial assault—had decided to pull the archeologists and media people back there. Wounded lay on the ground, and other people huddled in whatever shelter they could find.
Lourds still couldn’t believe how the violence had erupted and swept over the dig as it had. He knew about the Taliban. He’d even seen them in action up close and personal before. But this was utter devastation. It reminded him of far too many close calls he’d had of late.
Insanely, he thought of the ring he’d bought Layla and hoped the bullet that had holed his backpack hadn’t damaged the ring. Of the ring and the scrolls, he didn’t know which he was more prepared to sacrifice. Rings could be replaced, the scrolls couldn’t. But there could never again be the first ring he had bought for Layla.
Another ANP officer came to aid him with the wounded man. Lourds gladly handed him off.
Turning back, Lourds slung the backpack over his shoulder, looking back up the hill. Anna was there, her cheeks burned red from the cold and from her agitated state.
“Where’s Boris?”
Anna shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since the cave.”
“The Russia Today man hasn’t brought him out?”
“No.”
Growling curses, Lourds was certain that Boris had probably insisted on going back into the tomb to save what he could of the artifacts in case the site was robbed before he could get back to it. He knew they’d be leaving, at least for a little while. The ANP, ANA, and ISAF would insist on it. Boris would want to get his hands on everything he could.