CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Boone, Calliope, and Hawk followed Khalid up a gentle slope for about a mile until they were looking down on the central part of Aliabad. Up ahead was a ramshackle stone and wooden structure with an attached outdoor pen area made from scraps of wood and barbed wire.
Several sheep grazed around the area, moving in and out of the makeshift barn and yanking up the scant tufts of grass scattered around the sandy area.
Khalid stopped, held his finger to his lips, and signaled for them to gather close.
“This property and those sheep belong to Fahim Shirani,” he whispered as he cast a quick glance at the barn. “He is a solitary man who lives in a small room attached to that structure. Perhaps you will let me speak to him first?”
Boone nodded in agreement, and he heard a raspy smoker’s cough from inside the small building.
“He has smoked cigarettes since he was very young and was recently diagnosed with emphysema,” Khalid said. “Sadly, it has not stopped him from smoking.”
Their heads on a pivot, they scanned their surroundings as they closed the distance to the wide, open doorway.
Their noses were immediately assaulted by the stench of sheep dung and urine.
The floor was nothing more than packed mud, and the interior was lit only by sunlight pouring through two square openings in the exterior wall.
About ten feet away, opposite the entrance, a short, rail-thin man had his back to them.
He was slightly hunched over, and his shoulder blades and vertebrae could be seen beneath his long tunic shirt, which was as filthy as his pants.
His sandaled feet were caked with mud and who the hell knew what else.
Scraggly brownish-gray hair hung down and obscured his face as his body convulsed through a phlegmy series of coughs.
The coughing fit subsided. He straightened, hocked a loogie out the window, and adjusted his kufi on his head.
“Hello, Fahim.” Khalid stepped into the room.
He spun to face them, and a look of terror flashed across his features as his eyes slid from one person to the next.
“We have some questions for you.” Khalid approached him, weaving around sheep and careful to avoid the piles of shit pebbles everywhere. “I am sure you have noticed a man nearby. I want you to tell us what you know of him.”
“A man? What man? I … I do not know what you are talking about.” His voice shook and stammered. He was obviously lying.
Khalid flattened a hand to the center of his chest and shoved him up against the wall.
Eyes wild, Fahim banged against a small wooden shelf, his shoulder sending it crashing to the ground.
Boone stepped over a sheep and moved in to block the guy from one side.
Hawk moved to block the other side. Calliope nudged a sheep out of the way and placed herself with her back to them, facing the doorway and providing cover.
She lifted the bottom of her zippered hoodie so her right hand could rest on the pistol holstered at her hip.
Civilian clothes helped them blend in, and their jackets or flannel shirts provided concealment for their weapons.
Hawk wore an old ball cap with a buffalo stitched on it.
Calliope had her white-blond hair tucked up into a black knit hat pulled down over her ears.
Boone preferred cowboy hats, but a six-foot-two-inch Caucasian guy walking around in a Stetson would draw too much unwanted attention, so he opted for no hat at all.
“Oh, Fahim.” Khalid shook his head. “It is obvious you are lying to me. And if you do not tell me what you know, we will simply cut the throats of every single one of your sheep.”
Surprised by the severity of his threat, Boone and Hawk exchanged a look, and Calliope glanced over her shoulder at them.
As if understanding he was talking about them, some of the sheep bleated and became restless, brushing and bumping against each other as they moved away from the perceived threat.
“Please, please, I … I do not know anything.” The man’s eyes were huge and continually moved back and forth from Boone to Hawk. He totally dismissed Calliope, clueless to the danger she could rain down on him.
“You are lying, because nothing happens on this mountain that you do not know about it.” Khalid slowly slid a curved blade from his belt and held it up.
The sun winked off the blade like a warning. Then he reached down and grabbed the ears of one of the sheep, yanked its head back, and held the knife to the throat of the animal.
The animal’s tongue stuck out as it cried out loudly.
“Please, Khalid, do not—”
“Talk!” Khalid’s voice boomed, and the man jumped.
“Okay, yes, yes, I have seen an American coming and going from the old ruins up there.” His words tumbled out as he pointed a shaky, gnarled finger in the direction of the nearby trail.
“What did the man look like?” Hawk asked.
“He was … he was about your height but heavier,” he said. “He … he has dark hair to his shoulders, a very bushy beard with a mustache, and … and he always carries a pistol, right here.” He reached around and patted the center of his lower back.
“Did you follow him?” Boone asked, and the man nodded. “What did you see?”
“It was late last evening, and I only followed him to the end of the trail, until he disappeared into the darkness.” Fahim spoke quickly. “I thought he might be hiding something valuable there. So, after he left, I looked around and … that’s when I heard it.”
“Heard what?” Boone asked.
“It … it sounded like … like children crying, and I think it was coming from inside the old ruins.”
“You thought you might have heard children crying, and yet you did nothing.” Khalid’s revulsion dripped from every syllable of every word.
“It was very dark and … and I was too afraid the man might return.” He shook his head frantically. “He is evil and very dangerous.”
Calliope glanced back at him. “Not nearly as dangerous as we are.”
“How dare a woman speak to me in such a way.” Fahim sneered at her with saliva gathering at the corners of his lips. “No woman is a danger to me.” He raised his arm and lurched forward, as if to attack her.
Boone drew his arm back and landed a nice solid punch to Fahim’s midsection.
Air exploded from his lungs. He doubled over, and his kufi slipped off his head and landed on the mud-packed ground. He groaned, sputtered, and tried to suck in breaths of air.
“You’re lucky he got to you before she did.” Hawk crossed his arms.
“Damn right.” Calliope mumbled, “Fuckin’ asshole.”
“You’re fine, you’re fine, just take a few breaths.” Boone spoke to him like a child, picked up his hat, and patted the guy on the back. “There ya go. Deep breaths.”
Fahim spit a few times, sucked in a few wheezing breaths, then straightened.
“Did you see any girls being taken up there?” Boone handed him his hat.
“No, no!” He shook his head frantically. “I did not see anything like that, but I was only just released from the medical clinic four days ago. Perhaps he took them up there then.”
“How often have you seen him up there?” Boone needed more intel before they went off on some wild goose chase, or worse, walked into a trap.
“Since leaving the clinic, I have seen him going up there two times, with a day in between each trip.” Fahim put his hat back on and frowned as he rubbed his belly.
“That first time I saw him, he was carrying two large, green military-looking bags. The second time, he was carrying canvas bags that I recognized from one of the vendors at the market.”
“Have you seen anyone else going up there?” Khalid had resumed his position directly in front of him.
“Yes, I have seen that crook Hamsa going up there.” His words dripped with scorn.
They all exchanged a look at the mention of the familiar name.
“He is a very dishonest man.” The irony of that statement was obviously lost on Fahim. “I know nothing more.” He laid his hand over his heart. “I swear to you.”
“Here, take this.” Boone pulled out eight, five-hundred-rupee bills worth about fifty dollars American and slapped them against Fahim’s chest. “If you find out anything else, tell Khalid. If we deem the information useful, there could be more where that came from.”
“Yes, yes, I will.” He grabbed the string hanging from his neck, lifted out a small leather pouch that had been concealed beneath his tunic, and stuffed the bills inside.
“Go now, and do not tell anyone of this conversation.” Khalid tilted his head toward Calliope. “Or I will let her cut out that insolent tongue of yours and feed it to your sheep.”
“Nah, I’d rather add it to my gator tongue collection.” One corner of her mouth lifted in a not-so-sweet half smile.
Boone assumed she was kidding about the tongue collection, but you just never knew with her.
Fahim curled his lips inward, as if to protect his tongue, and maneuvered his way around them, careful to give Calliope a very wide berth before dashing out of the building.
“Do you believe him?” Boone moved to the doorway, along with Hawk and Calliope.
“Fahim is a poor, ignorant sheep farmer.” Khalid joined them, and they all watched the man until he disappeared down the hill. “The promise of more money will be too great for him to resist.”
“What ruins was he talking about?” Calliope asked.
“The tomb of Shah Ah’harami.” Khalid explained how the shah’s body was removed nearly a century ago and transported to his birthplace in Kasmir.
“It was abandoned and has deteriorated into nothing more than some piles of stone and dilapidated columns. There are said to be catacombs beneath the rubble, but I have always assumed they were inaccessible.”
“If they’re not, they would be the perfect place to hide a bunch of scared girls.” Boone’s satellite phone beeped from inside his coat pocket. They all stepped out of the building to get away from the stench. He pulled his phone free and answered Cole’s call.
“Our target just left the hotel. We’ll pay our tab and follow him,” Cole said. “Did you have any luck?”