toward the cave a hundred yards away. The Taliban were scrambling to position themselves for the coming aerial attack. No one noticed his approach as he hid behind available rocks and ridges.
The ANP officer yelled after Lourds. “Come back. The United States Army is approaching.”
He was right. Lourds saw the wicked shapes of the military helicopters against the blue sky, with US markings painted proudly on their sides. They were wide-bodied and had stubby wings with cylinders mounted under them.
As Lourds watched, the helicopters started an approach that took them toward the waiting Taliban. He stretched his stride, going so fast now that he almost couldn’t keep his feet under him. The backpack banged against his shoulders and hips, throwing his balance off.
He couldn’t spot Boris anywhere, not even among the bodies on the cold ground, which was a relief, as he’d been fearing that was what had happened to his friend. He didn’t see the Russia Today man either.
Fifty yards from the cave, Lourds saw both men. They were standing in the passageway, looking like they were simply talking.
Lourds started to yell Boris’s name, then he watched in horrified revulsion as the Russia Today man slid his borrowed rifle under the Russian professor’s jaw. The flat crack of the rifle shot blasted out of the cave, unique among the other small arms fire.
“NOOOOO!” Lourds felt certain that his voice was drowned out in the cacophony of shots and rockets bursting all over the immediate area. Helpless, he watched as Boris dropped from the Russia Today man’s grip.
A series of explosions detonated across the ridge where the Taliban warriors had been hidden.
Lourds stopped running, breathing hard, unable to comprehend the sight of Boris lying so still on the ground and the Russia Today man standing over him.
The man turned and spotted him. He lifted his rifle to his shoulder, and Lourds knew he didn’t have time to run.
22
39 Miles Southwest of Herat
Herat Province
Afghanistan
February 14, 2013
A roaring avalanche of flaming stone and dead Taliban rained down over the cave mouth, almost drowning out the rifle shot. Lourds heard the gun’s discharge, though, and expected to feel the pain of the bullet tearing through his body at any second. He did not, however, wait to feel that bullet.
He turned and raced back to the generator, which was his nearest cover. Putting his back to it, he ran his hands over his chest and stomach, pulled them away, and was grateful to see no blood. The bullet must have gotten caught in the avalanche.
Glancing back at the cave, Lourds struggled to see through the smoky haze covering the area. Flames leaped among the rubble of broken stone and corpses, and detonations popped from the pile as ammunition and explosives cooked off.
Incredibly, the Russia Today man ran through the destruction with the rifle held in both hands. On the other side of the flaming barrier, he searched the terrain, and Lourds knew who the man was looking for.
Pushing off the generator, Lourds ran, dodging among the tents and military vehicles the ANP had brought to the site. A bullet tore away a mirror on a truck ahead of him, and as the shiny fragments glinted and fell to the ground, Lourds knew the hunter had found him. He ducked and continued running.
***
Incredulously, Anna watched the destruction of the cave. The initial blast from the Army Airborne helicopters had to have weakened the infrastructure of the underground passageways, because when the second wave hit the Taliban warriors’ positions on the mountainside, the entire front sheared away and collapsed.
She stared at the devastation, knowing she would never see what Glukov had found within the cave. Only rubble remained where it had been. She thought of Boris Glukov and knew the man would be distraught over the loss. Then she hoped that the professor had gotten clear of the mountain before it had come down.
Her phone vibrated within her coat pocket. Reflexively, she reached for the device. She was surprised to see her father’s name and face in the viewscreen. The image was one she had taken a few years ago during a Defender of the Motherland Day after a ceremony where General Anton Cherkshan had been honored for his years of devoted service.
She put the phone to her ear, wanting nothing more than to hear her father’s voice at that moment. And she wanted him to tell her she would be all right.
“Father?”
“Anna? You are all right?”
He didn’t sound panicked. In all her twenty-six years, the