cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Nuclear weapons have been stolen, and it was clearly an inside job. Our enemy is unseen and has unknown contacts.” Hussain began reciting back Bolan’s report as if it were made up of his own experiences and opinions. He nodded to himself. “If we have traitors, they may well be members of the special forces.”
Makhdoom blanched but said nothing. “No, no members of Musa Company or the other special units. They often travel afar and who knows how they may have been corrupted.”
It was Makhdoom’s turn to start purpling.
Hussain was oblivious to Makhdoom’s outrage. “My service record and loyalty are unimpeachable. I choose my own men for the same reason. I will assemble you a team from among the most trusted men in my personal bodyguard.”
Makhdoom looked as though he wanted to shoot himself, if he didn’t shoot Bolan and General Hussain first.
“The contents of this meeting do not leave my office. Do not report back to your headquarters, Captain. Go home. The American will be under your supervision and will be your responsibility at all times. Report none of this to your superiors in special operations. I will contact you in the morning and we will begin our investigation properly.”
Hussain leaned back and steepled his fingers in deep thought. “You are dismissed.”
“YOU ARE INSANE! Do you know that?”
Bolan shrugged. Makhdoom had maintained a granite silence in the car ride all the way back to his house. He had stiffly asked his wife to make tea and bring refreshments. He had sat like a statue and watched Bolan drink a cup of tea and eat a piece of cake. Makhdoom had observed the laws of hospitality.
Then he had exploded.
“You are an idiot!”
Makhdoom’s wife, Zarah, was a lovely woman, and she looked on in horror as her husband screamed in rage at their guest.
“You turned our mission over to a man like Hussain?” The captain’s knuckles whitened as his hands clenched into fists. “Hussain is a cabbage! No! He is less than a cabbage! At least a cabbage can be boiled and eaten!”
He shook his fists at the ceiling. “Of what possible use is Hussain!”
Bolan was getting the impression that Makhdoom had had one or two run-ins with the general in the past.
Makhdoom’s roar shook the rafters. “Yet you have put us under his fist! Do you realize what you have done?”
“I do. What do you believe Hussain would have done had we not cooperated with him?”
Makhdoom spent several long moments collecting himself, then a few more considering the question. His hands fell to his sides as his reason overcame his indignation. “At the very least, Hussain would have raised bloody hell with my superiors over my conduct. Our investigation would have been blown wide open. For having taken you, an American, into the Al-Nouri facility, I could have been stripped of my rank. Regardless of the fate of my career, you would have probably ended up being thrown out of the country, though first you would have been extensively tortured. It is not outside the realm of possibility that you could be shot as a spy. Hussain is a toad, but he walks the corridors of power and he has the ear of the president. Though all he ever whispers into it is the word yes, if I am not mistaken.”
Bolan nodded. “That was my take on the situation. I decided it would be better to stroke the man rather than buck him. I apologize if I acted out of turn or superceded your authority. It was a choice that had to be made on the split second, and I stand by my decision.”
“Your actions were correct.” Makhdoom sank down heavily into his chair and picked up his cup of tea. “I do not like them, and I fear their consequences, but at the time, they were correct. I do not begrudge them.”
Two young men in their early teens appeared in the doorway of the living room. They were dark complected like their father but had the light brown eyes of their mother.
“Ah.” The captain visibly brightened. “My sons. Muhjid, Kaukab, come and greet our guest.”
The two young men entered and stared at Bolan wonderingly. Americans were a source of great debate among the Pakistani people. Most considered them godless, an enemy of Islam and unforgivable allies of the Israeli occupiers of the Holy Land. They were also supposed to be perverted, fabulously wealthy and famous. The two young men were somewhat cosmopolitan because their father had trained in the United States and he told very interesting stories about his experiences. They had also listened to their father roar at the stranger for ten minutes, telling him what an idiot he was.
The two young men nodded formally. “Greetings. Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you.” Bolan nodded to Makhdoom. “Fine young men you’ve raised.”
Makhdoom puffed up happily. Zarah beamed. Makhdoom waved them away. “You may go. My guest and I have much to discuss.”
The two young men ran off and Zarah disappeared back into the house.
“Nice family you have.”
“Thank you.”
“Get them the hell out of here.”
Makhdoom glanced up from his tea. “You think they’ll come here.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“I would. We’ve gotten closer than anyone has to them. We bloodied them. They don’t know who I am, but we have to assume they know you. They know we’re after them.” Bolan held up the strange, dully gleaming piece of fabric. “They’ll want this back. They’re coming. Sooner rather later.”
“Muhjid! Kaukab!”
The two young men came skidding into the room at their father’s call. Makhdoom pulled a large wad of notes from his wallet. “Take this money. Take the shotgun. Take the car. Take your mother out of the city.”
The two boys’ eyes widened.
“Do not dally! Evil men are coming. Take care of your mother. Go!”
Muhjid ran to the mantel and took a double-barreled shotgun off the rack and then a box of shells from the chest beneath it. Kaukab ran to find his mother.
Makhdoom rose. “My friend, I want you on the opposite roof. I will give you binoculars and a rifle. When they come, I will be inside and act as bait. When—”
Zarah ran into the room. “There is a car out on the street.”
“What kind of car?”
“A black one.” She glanced fearfully from Makhdoom to his guest. “It is full of men.”
Makhdoom picked up the phone. He clicked the old-fashioned receiver twice and grimaced. Most of Pakistan still used phone lines rather than cell phones. The phone line to the house had been cut. He turned to his boys. “My sons. Take your mother upstairs. Kill anyone either than myself or the American should they attempt to come up.”
Muhjid and Kaukab went wide-eyed, but they hesitated only for a second. They took the shotgun
