Camouflage netting.
The pickup turned down a switchback road and began its descent into the mine. A dozen structures were clustered along the north wall of the crater on the wide upper bench. Most of them were oversized tents being whipped by the high winds, but there were five buildings and more were under construction. They looked like they were made of plywood and had scrap metal for roofs. Beyond the building sites, a firing range was set up on the far side of the compound and she could see obstacle courses with coils of barbed wire.
She was being taken into a terrorist training camp-into SHANGRI-LA.
Paradise had never looked so hellish.
Chapter Seventy-Four
The boom in Iraq is just the tip of the iceberg for the $100-billion-a-year [private security] industry, which experts say has been the fastest-growing sector of the global economy during the past decade.
– The San Francisco Chronicle, March 28, 2004, as reported by Robert Collier
Above the Kyzyl Kum Desert, Uzbekistan
GENGHIS lay on the cabin floor, bleeding and breathing rapidly. He was barely conscious and slipping. Iggy dragged him partially into the galley so he’d have room to work. GENGHIS was covered with so much blood, it was impossible to be sure where it was all coming from. Using his combat knife, Iggy sliced open his prison coveralls to search for worst bleeders. He kept the knife close in case he needed to use it against Ashland.
GENGHIS seemed to be bleeding only from the earlier gunshot wound and from the vein where an IV had been. Chunks of QuikClot had popped out of the wound and the dressing was soaked with blood. Keeping Ashland in his sight at all times, he pressed against the wound with his bio-hand and used his mechanical one to stop the blood loss from where the IV catheter had been ripped out.
“Where the hell are we going?” Hunter yelled through the open cockpit door.
“Got a man down. Stand by,” Iggy then made eye contact with Ashland. “Get me an IV now!”
Ashland plowed through a medic kit and held out the IV to Iggy.
“You know how to spike a vein?”
“In theory.”
“Forget it. Press here and here.”
Ashland wrinkled his face.
“Do it now you motherfucker or I’ll kill you.”
Ashland kneeled down and gingerly placed his fingers over Iggy’s.
“Harder,” Iggy said as he moved his bloody fingers away.
In seconds, Iggy inserted the IV into one of GENGHIS’ veins and started the saline flowing. To hold it into place he slapped duct tape on it. He took over the bleeders from Ashland and ordered him to find blankets. Ashland had the bleeding from the vein under control, so Iggy quickly put a pressure bandage over it.
“Hey, it’s your captain here. I’m taking destination requests,” Hunter said from the flight deck. “I’ve got to head somewhere.”
“Fuel status?” Iggy said, then spoke to GENGHIS, “Come on, come on, buddy. Hang with me.”
“We’re in good shape,” Hunter said.
“Then circle the area and keep an eye out for anything that looks like a tango training camp. I couldn’t get overheads so this is going to be the only look we get.”
Ashland covered GENGHIS with several blankets, carefully tucking them under his legs.
Iggy took out scissors and a set of prepared sutures from the medic kit. He cut away the old soaked dressing, pulled out a big dark clump of QuikClot and several smaller ones and threw them onto the floor. He picked up a needle with his left hand and he stared at it. In the four years since he’d lost his right hand, his left had grown much more adept at everyday tasks, but the needle felt awkward. It was better than using his artificial one that lacked the fine motor coordination and the tactile feedback. He hated himself for not anticipating the need for one-handed sewing and practicing it along with the billion other simple tasks which he had to master all over again. Asking for help wasn’t something he did easily, but he wouldn’t let his pride endanger a teammate. “Ashland, any chance you have experience tying off arteries?” He knew the answer before the question had left his mouth.
“A button pops off my shirt, I donate it to charity.”
“Then get your ass up front and help Stone search for the tango camp.” Iggy snarled at him. Stone could now take his turn babysitting him. “Find a camera. I want pictures.”
“One of the guards was taking pictures on the flight over here,” Ashland said as he ruffled through a bag stowed in an overhead bin. “Here.”
“Great. We’ll need all the shots you can get. Hurry it up,” Iggy said in a normal voice, as he checked on his sidearm. He then turned toward the flight deck and shouted. “Stone, how are you at suturing? I can do it left-handed if I have to, but I’d rather not.”
“Can you fly?” Hunter said.
“You don’t want that,” Iggy said. “Can’t you put it on autopilot?”
“You don’t get it,” Hunter said. “I’m winging it here, trying to keep it between the ditches. This bird’s light years beyond anything I’ve ever flown before. I haven’t even figured out how to turn the autopilot on.”
“Have a seat.” Hunter glared at Ashland as he walked onto the flight deck. The first officer’s body was pale, but it hadn’t abandoned its post. “Think you better pile him in the back. Take the captain, too, while you’re at it.”
Hunter scanned the ground below while Ashland dragged the bodies away. He wanted to work him over, but knew he had to concentrate on keeping them in the air. Ashland returned with a blanket that he spread out over the bloody seat before he sat down on it.
“You’re the son of a bitch who started this whole mess for me. Anything you want to say for yourself?” Hunter turned the yoke, awkardly coordinating the foot pedals. The plane banked to the left. He still didn’t know what the important information about Rubicon was that he’d unearthed. He hoped to finally find out.
“You recognized me. I was afraid you were going to blow my cover. I’ve been investigating Rubicon for nearly two years and I didn’t want to take any chances,” Ashland craned his neck to look out the window. He held a digital camera.
“That’s it?” Hunter turned toward him, his mouth agape. “You’re saying I didn’t come across some great Rubicon secret? Shit. That can’t be all there is to this goat fuck.”
“I’m sorry. I was the secret.” Ashland shrugged his shoulders. “I set things in motion so that Rubicon and the CIA and even your Force Zulu all believed that you were a threat that had to be neutralized. It was the only way I could protect my cover.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Nothing personal.”
“Right. I’m just a pawn in the Agency’s battle with the Pentagon. So the OGA’s now willing to take out a Force Zulu operator to protect its agents.”
“They’re willing to do it. But I don’t work for the CIA.”
“Who the fuck do you work for then?”
“France.”
“No fucking way. I got screwed by a goddamn French spy?”
Iggy yelled from the cabin. “Believe it, Stone. You got French kissed.”
Hunter shook his head in disbelief. “So what the hell were you doing on the torture express?”
“My cover was blown.” Ashland looked at Hunter and flashed a smile. “But not by you.”
Hunter wanted to take him out, but he didn’t dare let go of the controls for that long until he figured out the autopilot. He had thought of himself as a new breed of super-spy/warrior, believing he had discovered one of the most important secrets of the War on Terror. That had made it worth risking his life. Now it seemed he was a minor player in an unremarkable skirmish. Then he thought of Stella and what she must be going through. He seethed with anger. “If anything happens to Camille Black, I will kill you.”