CHAPTER 58
Reshteen and his cousins had already finished unloading and were busy assembling breakfast when Harvath and Fontaine swept Julia Gallo into the cookhouse.
“Time to leave,” said Harvath as he pulled out another IR strobe, attached it to its battery, and tossed it to Fontaine, who walked outside to affix it to the top of Reshteen’s truck. Harvath had tossed his other strobe onto the roof of the structure where Zwak lay tied up. Taking him with them was out of the question. The best Harvath could do was to try to shield him from the impending airstrike.
Julia Gallo was looking longingly at the platters of fresh nan and hot kebab, and Reshteen gathered a bunch up and handed them to her.
As the CARE International doctor began hungrily eating, Harvath waved the Afghans toward the door. “There’s a 40mm hurricane headed this way and I’d like to beat the traffic. All right by you guys?” he said, though he knew the villagers didn’t understand a word of English.
Fontaine returned from taping the strobe to the top of Reshteen’s truck and tossed Harvath a heavy black nylon bag. He then stepped back outside with his radio.
Fishing out Gallagher’s blood-stained armor, Harvath said to Gallo, “You need to put this on.”
He helped her get ready, and as he did, Reshteen and the Afghans went outside to ready their vehicles. Fontaine remained at the door as a lookout.
Harvath had finished cinching up Gallo’s armor when Fontaine stuck his head back into the room, said, “Look sharp,” and then went back to peering out the doorway.
“What’s up?” asked Harvath.
“Company’s just arrived.”
“More sentries?”
“Negative. I’m looking at a big bushy Afghan with four bodyguards, and either Roman Polanski is thinking of shooting his next film in Khogyani, or I’ve got eyes on our Russian.”
Harvath finished tightening the straps on Gallo’s armor and then pointed to where he wanted her to take cover.
Joining Fontaine near the door he asked, “What are they doing?”
“They’re having a discussion with Reshteen and his cousins, but they’re doing most of the talking. I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” said Harvath as he tucked the stock of his MP5 up tighter against his shoulder.
“What’s the plan?”
“Let’s just relax. Maybe they’re only interested in the breakfast menu.”
“I doubt that,” replied Fontaine.
The two men held their position for several more moments until Fontaine said, “Okay, the bodyguards just raised their weapons and pointed them at Reshteen and the cousins. They’re now moving them away from the vehicles toward a wall on the other side. I think they’re going to execute them.”
Harvath swore under his breath. The last thing they needed was another full-on firefight with the Taliban, especially now, as they were in an even poorer position than they had been before.
“Are you sure?” he asked
“I could be wrong,” replied Fontaine. “Let’s wait until they pass out the blindfolds and cigarettes.”
Harvath was in no mood for the Canadian’s sarcasm. “If we open the door far enough for both of us to shoot, can we engage all six targets?”
Fontaine studied the scene outside for a moment. “Negative,” he replied. “At this point, I can only see the bodyguards.”
“What happened to Polanski and the bushy Afghan?”
“They’ve stepped out of my line of sight. Maybe they went for reinforcements,” said the Canadian. “Listen, the bodyguards are seriously getting ready to wax Reshteen and the cousins. We need to take them out.”
“If we take them out, you know what that means.”
Fontaine raised his NODs and pressed his rifle against the door frame. “If you’re trying to tell me that my application to the Kandahar Country Club might hit a few bumps with the membership committee, I can live with that.”
“Just make sure you only hit the bad guys,” replied Harvath as he joined Fontaine in the doorway.
“I’ll promise if you promise,” retorted the Canadian.
Harvath ignored him and gently slid the door open a few more inches. “You take the first two guys. I’ve got three and four.”
“Roger that,” whispered Fontaine.
“Now,” said Harvath.
Four suppressed shots snapped through the early-morning air in less than two seconds, dropping all four of Massoud’s bodyguards. Harvath waited for Massoud and the Russian to step out or return fire, but they did neither. Maybe they had gone for reinforcements. Or maybe they knew what was going on and had wisely taken cover. Harvath didn’t care, either way.
“Let’s go,” he said as he waved for Julia Gallo to join him.
“What about Mullah Shithead and Roman Polanski?” asked Fontaine.
“We don’t have the time to wait them out. Go, and I’ll cover you.”
Reshteen and his cousins were shaken but had enough presence of mind to already be running for the trucks. Harvath admired their courage. Though he didn’t speak Pashtu, he knew what Massoud’s bodyguards had been interrogating them about. And even though they surely must have known Massoud’s men intended to kill them if they didn’t get the answers they wanted, none of the villagers from Dagar had cracked. The dignity and honor of the Afghan people never ceased to amaze Harvath.
With Harvath covering them, Fontaine positioned Julia Gallo on the floor of the backseat of Reshteen’s truck. “No matter what happens,” he warned, “stay down.”
Fontaine then got behind the wheel and fired up his truck as Reshteen and his cousins scrambled into the other two vehicles and did the same.
Harvath’s NODs were back down now, and noticing movement off to the side of one of the buildings, he let a volley of silenced rounds fly from his MP5 and then hopped into the passenger seat next to Fontaine.
“Hold on,” advised the Canadian as he ground the vehicle into gear and punched the accelerator.
The vehicle’s tires spun until they were finally able to take a bite out of the frozen road and the truck jerked forward. As they did, the staccato crack, crack, crack of automatic-weapons fire filled the early-morning air.