“I’m serious. She tried to kill me. I didn’t have a choice.” Camille pulled her fingers from the wound and Iggy handed her the packet. She poured the grains directly into the hole. The substance turned dark. “This stuff always reminds me of kitty litter.”
“Jesus. Pete’s our mole?”
“Whoever she was working for must not want me comparing notes with Hunter. And I’m guessing that’s the CIA.” Camille stopped pouring the grains into the wound when the top layer quit soaking up fluid and remained light beige.
“Who the hell is our prisoner?” Iggy said as he gathered weapons from the dead guards, all the while looking around for any movement.
“Dammed if we know,” GENGHIS said.
“You ask him?”
“We’ve been busy getting this bleeding under control. I can sew the artery up later.” Camille took a piece of gauze and applied pressure. The QuikClot made the wound give off so much heat, she had to add an extra layer to insulate her hand. When she was convinced the coagulant had worked its wonders, she wrapped a dressing around his arm to maintain the pressure.
Iggy yelled to the prisoner. “You got a name?”
“Larry Ashland.”
“I’ve heard of you.” Iggy laughed. “You’re the French spook the Agency nabbed yesterday, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m on your side in this. Cut me free,” Ashland said, kneeling exactly as Camille had instructed him.
“I have a hard time imagining me being on the same side as the French,” Iggy said.
Camille squinted. Even with her dark sunglasses, the sun was glaring. Her undershirt was completely drenched between her breasts and her skin was burning. “No way is the Agency going to nail some French mole, then hand him off to Rubicon, even if Rubicon is running some of their rendition flights. It doesn’t add up.”
“Nothing about Rubicon adds up,” Ashland said.
“You got that right,” Iggy said.
Camille pulled out an IV bag of saline from the medic kit. It was hot. Too hot. She broke open an instant ice pack and duct-taped it to the bag. “I’m going to get GENGHIS into the shadow of that dune, then start the IV as soon as it cools.” Camille stood. “I want off this runway when Hunter makes it. If he’s alive, he’ll be back. I’m not sure if he saw me, but he’d never leave a man behind. He’ll be back for GENGHIS and the others.”
“My legs are good.” GENGHIS stood slowly, then plopped back down.
An oily puddle had collected underneath him. One down, four to go. She was surprised he wasn’t going into shock. GENGHIS was one tough mother.
“You grab the weapons and keep an eye on the prisoner.” Camille reached under GENGHIS’ arms, careful not to re-injure him and took a deep breath. He must have weighed over two hundred pounds-all muscle. She turned to Ashland. “Tell me something I don’t know about Rubicon and we’ll let you come into the shade with us. Otherwise, you’re going to bake here until that plane comes back and runs you over.”
“As I said, we’re on the same side. I’ll share all I know.” Sweat rolled down Ashland’s forehead.
“Start talking.” Camille started walking away, supporting GENGHIS.
“Rubicon is working with al-Zahrani. I don’t know exactly how or what, but the project’s called SHANGRI-LA.”
Camille stopped when she heard a code name Chronister had used in the intercepted conversation. “What do you know about SHANGRI-LA?”
“I’ve spent nearly two years at Rubicon trying to find out about SHANGRI-LA. It’s highly compartmentalized. I only know the Iraqi side. Rubicon ships weapons seized from insurgents for use in the project.”
“Where is SHANGRI-LA?”
“Uzbekistan.”
“You’re joking.” Iggy chuckled. “SHANGRI-LA is in this hellhole? At least they have a sense of humor.”
Camille walked GENGHIS to a strip of shade, a dune’s thin shadow. Even without the direct sun, the temperature was agonizing. She eased him down, praying the QuikClot didn’t pop out.
Iggy carried the scavenged weapons to the shady spot, piling them beside Camille. She knew the only reason he wasn’t in a greater hurry to get back to the overwatch position had to be because he wanted to move out immediately. She wanted to give Hunter more time, though she couldn’t imagine what could be taking him so long to circle around and land the damn plane unless the pilots had somehow taken him out first. But it was Hunter. He had to be fiddling around with some cool gadgets, making sure he mastered them before he set it down. He had to be.
She harvested a pair of cheap sunglasses from one of the guards and handed them to GENGHIS.
“Thanks,” GENGHIS said as he put them on.
Iggy started checking the weapons one by one. “Get him mobile. I want to egress and get to that LZ. Someone from Rubicon is going to come looking for their buddies.”
Camille tightened GENGHIS’ belt and raised his feet onto a rucksack to slow down the onset of shock. Cutting back on circulation to the lower body was usually not a good idea, but in this case she was more worried about the vital organs. “I’ve got to pump fluids into him. And I don’t want to move. Hunter will be back.”
“Cam,” Iggy said as he shoved a magazine back into an AK. “It’s been twenty minutes. That’s about two hundred miles in a Gulfstream.”
“It’s fifteen minutes and he’ll be back.” She was certain of it. Hunter had convinced her of his loyalty and that loyalty would extend to his fellow prisoners. She wasn’t going to doubt him again.
“We need to send a burst to our contact in Zarafshan and get the hell out of here.”
“He will be back.”
“We can’t wait.”
“I’m not moving.”
Iggy shook his head as he stared at her. “You’ve got fifteen minutes and that’s it.”
She scanned the area, ready to provide cover fire as Iggy climbed back to an overwatch position. Then she touched the IV bag and decided it was good enough. She tore open a needle packet and pushed the needle into GENGHIS’ forearm to start the IV. She studied Ashland, unsure what to make of him.
Camille said to him, “What do you really think SHANGRI-LA’s all about? You have to have a theory.”
“I can’t prove it, but I’d bet everything I own that Rubicon is helping al-Zahrani train terrorists.” Ashland wiped sweat from his brow. His wrists were still bound.
“This al-Zahrani guy isn’t exactly a politico who can be bought off. He’s a true believer.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t know he has corporate sponsorship.”
“You know, sometimes I even feel a little guilty the War on Terror has been so good to me, but there’s nothing I’d like more than to see every tango wiped off the face of the earth. I can’t imagine even Rubicon supporting the fuckers.” Camille squeezed the bag, forcing the saline into GENGHIS’ arm faster. She radioed Iggy. “He’s going to need more than this. There’s another one in Pete’s ruck.”
“I’ll get it,” Iggy said.
“No. I will. Maintain position.”
“I’ll go,” Iggy said. “You don’t need to see her again.”
“Yeah, I do,” Camille said. Her lips were cracked and her mouth parched. She sipped from a canteen and leaned her head back, looking at the deep blue sky.
No Hunter.
Chapter Seventy-One
Gora Muruntau, Kyzyl Kum Desert, Uzbekistan
A carpet of black flies and beetles already covered Pete’s throat and face. Their constant movement made it harder for Camille to stare at the motionless body. She forced herself to reach for the butt of the Makarov in Pete’s hand, but the muscles had already tightened so that she would have to break the fingers. Rigor mortis came fast in the desert heat. One 9mm pistol wouldn’t make that much of a difference in their arsenal, so Camille decided to cut herself a break and let it go.