Page 51 of The Fourth Option
Paladin lifted his head.
“Blijf,” Walker said as he followed her outside.
“And Chris.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
They embraced, and as he watched her walk away he found himself in another memory, watching someone else walk into the dust of Afghanistan, the weight of the past rising to meet him in the present.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Afghanistan
2021
WALKER GLANCED INthe rearview mirror of the Toyota Hilux truck as he sped along the dirt road toward Torkham on the Pakistan border just west of the Khyber Pass, watching the dust swallow up the Mitsubishi Montero that followed.
He turned his head to see the young girl, Naji’s daughter Zahra, asleep in the back seat with a blanket, astonished at how relaxed she looked. Her father sat next to Walker, in the passenger seat. He wore a white-collared shirt, pressed slacks, and the haunted look of a man on the run. The word from Langley was that Naji was to stay in place as part of a stay-behind covert intelligence network and continue to pass information to the Americans on conditions in Afghanistan. They had set up a way for him to communicate by shifting his business to focus on areas near Pakistan where he could meet American intelligence officers, trusted agents in the ISI, and cutouts from the Turi tribe in the months and years ahead. Walker and Staub were instead using that same route to get him and his family out of the country for good.
They had enough money, CIA contingency funds Walker had liberated, to live on in Pakistan while they pushed the special immigrant visa through proper channels. Naji and his family would get to the United States; it would just be from Islamabad instead of Kabul. In their infinite wisdom the Agency had put Naji on a terrorist watch list and multiple coalition High Value Individual target lists to make it appear as if America considered him an enemy. The intent was to protect him from Taliban death squads killing all those who had worked with the United States. Someone in an air-conditioned office at Langley had come up with that idea. Whoever it was didn’t know the Taliban. One consequence was that he could not board any of the flights leaving Kabul. They had to get him out another way—through Pakistan.
The country was deteriorating quickly. The Mansour family needed to get across the border while they still had a chance.
Walker had driven these roads many times. His low-profile Velocity body armor was hidden beneath a loose button-down shirt, sleeves rolled, sweat already soaking through the fabric. His M4 was on the floor behind him, his Glock 19 holstered at his side.
Naji’s wife, Rina, along with their eldest daughter, Fatima, were in the trail SUV driven by Staub. Both vehicles were thin-skinned, meant to blend in with local traffic.
Walker’s eyes scanned the terrain as he went. Even with the Taliban taking Afghanistan back province by province, the IED threat was still prevalent.
Ahead, the road narrowed between two low ridgelines. Walker brought the Hilux to a stop. Staub’s Mitsubishi skidded to a halt behind them.
“What’s wrong?” Naji asked, voice tight.
“Stay put,” Walker replied, reaching for his rifle and stepping out into the dry and alkaline Afghan air. He grabbed a set of Vortex binos from the door-panel pocket and walked back to Staub, who rolled down his window.
“How’s everyone doing back here?” he asked, trying not to alarm Rina and Fatima.
“I think we have two ladies who could use a bathroom break,” Staub responded.
“Okay,” Walker replied. “This is a good place for it.”
Staub turned to Rina and said “bathroom” in Pashto, indicating a patch of nearby boulders just off the road.
As Rina and Fatima exited the dirty SUV, Staub picked up his rifle and binos and joined Walker.
“See them?” Walker asked.
“Where?”
“Dark boulder at the turn about five hundred yards ahead.”
“Got it.”
“Okay, come back toward us about thirty yards. There’s a mound of dirt.”
“On it.”
