came out from the hallway. “Kaukab!”
The young man’s voice came from the top of the stairs. “We are all right, father!”
“Stay where you are! Do not move from your post until I tell you!”
“Yes, father!”
Makhdoom stared around his bullet-riddled home. “Do you think the unseen ones come?”
Bolan looked around the living room. His eyes fell upon the low table where he had set his teacup. It was also where he had left the length of strange fabric he had cut from his own throat in the warehouse in Rawalpindi.
The fabric was gone.
“They were here, and they’ve left. They took what they came for.”
Makhdoom straightened in shock. “The fabric! You left it out where they could find it!”
“I did.” Bolan nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a three-inch length he had cut from it. “But not all of it.”
“But did they not also come for our lives?”
“That was what the muscle was for. I remember reading in the intelligence report on the Thugs that their religion forbids them to shed blood except in certain ritual circumstances. The goons were for us. But the Thuggees came for the evidence.
Makhdoom’s smile turned feral. “So, they think they have what they came for.”
“Yeah, and I need to get this to my people in the United States ASAP, and without General Hussain knowing about it.”
“That I can arrange.” Makhdoom glanced around again. The corpses piled around his house were just that, corpses. “But it appears we are without leads once more.”
Mujhid’s voice shouted excitedly from upstairs. “Father! There is a man! Thrashing about in mother’s roses!”
“You saved one,” smiled Doom.
“I figured we’d give him to Hussain.” Bolan shrugged. “We have to let the General do something.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
General Fareed’s office
“I understand there was an altercation in your home, Captain.”
“Yes, General.” Makhdoom nodded. “But it was prosecuted to a fruitful conclusion.”
“Yes, very well and good, and congratulations on taking a prisoner.” The General smiled unpleasantly. Along with performing the function as military yes-man for whoever might be occupying the presidency of Pakistan, Hussain was also firmly entrenched in the highest echelons of Pakistani secret police. The prisoner’s two shattered thighs had probably been the least of his discomforts during the night. Hussain’s smile went smug as he regarded Bolan. “Our guest was correct. The weapons used on the attack on your residence were Kiparis OTS-02 submachine guns.” Hussain paused dramatically. “Of Kazakstani origin.”
Bolan met Hussain’s smile. “And your prisoner?”
Hussain glowed with self-satisfaction. “He is of Kazakstani origin as well, as were most of the confederates, as far as we can tell. His name is Yusef Zagari, a gangster involved trafficking heroin from the poppy fields in Afghanistan and Pakistan that flow into the former Soviet Republics and Russia.”
Bolan nodded. “He’s muscle.”
“Yes.” Hussain savored the English slang. “Yusef is drug muscle. It is my belief he and his men are mercenaries, hired by our enemies.”
General Hussain had a firm grasp of the obvious, but Bolan kept that to himself. “Excellent.”
“There is more. We have learned of Yusef’s contacts here in Pakistan, as well as their lair near the border.” Hussain smiled again. “But first, I feel somewhat remiss about the incident that occurred in your home, Captain.”
Makhdoom stared. It was the closest thing to an admission of error out of General Hussain in ten years of interservice conflict. Doom shook his head diplomatically. “It is nothing, General. Who could have known the enemy would strike so swiftly?”
“Nonetheless, we must be prepared for any eventuality.” The General spoke with utmost seriousness. “Let me assure you that you shall not be caught outnumbered nor unprepared again.” Hussain knocked on the top of his desk twice and gestured behind them. “Behold, your men.”
The door to the General’s office opened, and Pakistani men in plain clothes began filing into the room.
Bolan suppressed a smile. General Iskander Hussain may have picked his bodyguards for their loyalty and unimpeachable records, but it appeared the General also picked his bodyguards on the basis of body mass. Not one of the twelve men jamming themselves into the room was less than six feet tall or running less than two hundred and fifty pounds.
They were a brute squad. Pure and simple.
Hussain lifted a hand toward their leader. “This is Captain Ghulam Fareed. My most trusted man. You shall find him invaluable, as I have.”
Ghulam was six foot five and tipping the three hundred-pound mark. His eyebrows met over the bridge of his nose forming a single coal black wing that dominated his Neanderthal brow. Startling green eyes peered out from the shadow beneath it. He measured Makhdoom and saluted sharply. The Captain’s stars, jump wings and Special Forces badges he wore demanded respect even out of a pampered General’s head goon.
Captain Ghulam Fareed regarded Bolan with open suspicion.
Bolan smiled. “Do any of them speak English?”
Hussain blinked. He hadn’t thought of that.
“I speak English,” rumbled Fareed. “So do Hossam, Farrukh, Iqbal and Asad.”
Hussain nodded benevolently at his Captain and gestured at Bolan and Doom. “This is Captain Makhdoom. He is in command of this mission. You will follow his orders explicitly. You are authorized to requisition any weapons or equipment the Captain deems necessary. This is our American guest. You will render onto him any assistance he requires.”
“Yes, General.”
Hussain’s smile widened. “And you will report all actions taken directly to me.
“Yes, General.”
“Captain, I have also stationed some of my men in your home. Your family and residence will be guarded at all times.”
“Thank you, General.”
Bolan kept his sigh to himself. He and Makhdoom were now being officially babysat, and they would be watched at all times. He ran his eye over the massive examples of humanity filling the room.
Any kind of undercover operation was going to be extremely interesting.
Shoghot, North Pakistan
“WHERE
