Don Pendleton - Appointment in Kabul

Katrina remained in the tonneau. She casually lifted a hand to brush an errant strand of hair away from her forehead in the brief moment the interior light of the car went on.

Corporal Fet positioned himself close to the limo.

Voukelitch left the opposite side of the vehicle. He approached the waiting hillmen, who had not moved. His boots crunched the ground with his even strides, the only sound in the gloom.

The jukiabkr smelled as bad as ever to the Russian, a fetid combination of hashish and body odor.

The jukiabkr stepped forward.

His bodyguards remained behind, gripping their rifles in both hands, their eyes riveted unblinking on the general and the driver, who did not move from beside the car.

The jukiabkr kept a hand to his shoulderstrapped Kalashnikov rifle to facilitate swinging it around rapidly.

This hardly concerned Voukelitch. He read more greed than wariness in the faces of these men.

"You kept us waiting," the leader growled in his own tongue.

"We were delayed," the general replied in precise Pashto. I can use the bitch to advantage right now, he decided, and continued in the jukiabkr's language. "A woman deserted on the highway. A very, lovely woman."

The jukiabkr licked his lips.

"A... Russian woman?" Voukelitch nodded.

"Very provocatively clothed. Would you like a glimpse, my friend? Or... more? She is my prisoner of sorts, though she does not know it yet, an enemy of the Soviet state. Perhaps I could share her with you." The jukiabkr started toward the car.

"An excellent idea, my General."

Voukelitch lifted a hand to the man's arm, then quickly wiped his fingers on his uniform trousers.

"Ah, I would suggest business first though, my friend. And I understand you have arrived with information for me."

The Afghan turned reluctantly from the limousine to reach beneath the folds of his robe and produce a wrapped package. He extended the brick of hash to Voukelitch.

The Russian extended a wad of currency that quickly disappeared into the hillman's grasping hand, then into the voluminous robe. The Afghan purred.

"A satisfactory transaction as always."

"And this information you have brought for me?" Voukelitch prodded.

The jukiabkr oiled a crafty smile.

"You will understand, surely, my General, that all things have a value."

Insolent swine, thought Voukelitch.

"And you will appreciate, friend jukiabkr, the value of trust. I shall determine the price of what you have to sell as in our other dealings. And above that, you can have the woman. I am done with her." The hillman liked that.

Voukelitch had the desert snake right where he wanted him. "I shall tell you then." The Afghan nodded, unable to keep his eyes from the dark windows of the limo.

The gray of false dawn etched the eastern hills in sharp silhouette tinged with pink, not enough light for the jukiabkr to see the bait, and that made the lure all the more effective, Voukelitch knew. "Be quick," he snapped. "I have a most busy day ahead of me. It is about the ambushed convoy last night, is it not? That happened near your village."

The jukiabkr forced his attention away from the car.

"You anticipate me. A force of mujahedeen led by Tarik Khan was responsible."

"Kabul must surmise as much," Voukelitch snapped again, impatient now for this to be over. As he spoke he angled toward the car. The jukiabkr accompanied him, the smuggler's bodyguards remaining at a suitable distance. "Tarik Khan is known to operate in the hills between Kabul and the Pass."

"An American traveled with Tarik Khan and his force, my General."

Voukelitch felt interest flicker in his eyes.

"What was his name?"

"One of my people heard him referred to as Bolan. I have heard of this man, as have you, eh, General? Is this information not worth a handsome price?"

Voukelitch paused next to the rear door of the ZIL. The Afghan did the same.

Voukelitch quelled a mixture of reactions, all of them indicating his immediate return to the base.

The Russian general had been willing to pass up his visit to the brothel in Parachinar for what he would do to Katrina Mozzhechkov. He had considered not turning her in exchange for certain favors. Then perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in a few days, he would contact Kabul after he grew bored with her.

Everything changed when he heard the name Bolan.

The general knew all about the Executioner's war against the KGB. He could not accept that the Executioner's presence in Afghanistan, and the Devil's Rain project, which was about to begin, were unconnected. It all made sense now: the man Lansdale, killed during a breakout staged, or so reports from Kabul claimed, by one man. This was not told to the rank and file, of course. But Voukelitch knew and had been too preoccupied with final preparations for tomorrow for it to register. But it registered now, and he knew he must make fast work of the jukiabkr and his men and the Mozzhechkov woman.

Security at the fort could not be left in the hands of the imbecile, Ghazi.

Bolan could already be in the area!

The KGB man paused for a moment with the jukiabkr beside the limo. He reached into a pocket and produced his cigarette holder and cigarettes as if idly fiddling while he considered. In fact, the lighting of the cigarette would be Corporal Fet's signal to open fire.

Voukelitch figured separating the leader from his bodyguards would be best. Katrina Mozzhechkov was the perfect bait, the only pity being that he would now have Fet kill her, too. Voukelitch had no time for dalliances, not with Mack Bolan in the area, and anyway, he reasoned, Kabul would be just as happy with a dead traitor as a live one.

He stepped nonchalantly away from the smuggler and reached for his lighter. "Yes, I would say you have earned payment," he said, nodding as if reaching his decision, all the while easing back farther, pretending to make way for the jukiabkr's access to the car. "I shall speak to my man about arranging payment. In the meantime..." Voukelitch motioned graciously to the car door "...amuse yourself with the woman. Do as you please. She is yours."

The jukiabkr smacked his lips noisier, sloppier than before. "With pleasure, General." He reached forward and opened the door.

The interior light went on to bathe Katrina Mozzhechkov in its spill. She was sitting with her back to the opposite door, facing the jukiabkr, one hand dipped into the purse she held against her like a shield. Voukelitch raised his lighter but did not flick it. Not yet. Corporal Fet leaned with his back against the front of the car in a casual pose, like a bored grunt waiting on his officer, but close to the open front window on the driver's side of the limo. Fet watched Voukelitch. He would not make his move until the lighter flared.

The general expected the jukiabkr to yank the woman from the limousine, then when Fet opened fire they would be done in at the same time as the bodyguards.

The Afghan hillman's eyes popped with surprise and his jaw dropped when he got a better look at the woman. He started to turn toward Voukelitch. The jukiabkr began, "She is the..." Katrina drew the pistol from her purse and rapidly fired two shots. The gunfire echoed hollowly inside the ZIL.

The bullets caught the hillman on the side of his head, pitching him to the ground; the surprised look stayed on his dead face. Katrina scrambled from the far side of the ZIL.

The Afghan bodyguards, unable to tell from their position exactly what had happened, swung their rifles around as they dashed forward. Voukelitch forgot about signals and the lighter and pawed for his side arm. He raced around the back of the car in an attempt to intercept the woman.

"Do it," the officer snarled at Fet. "Now!"

Fet snaked a hand in through the car window and withdrew a Czech Model 23 submachine gun. He stepped away from the front of the car and planted himself squarely to open fire across the hood at the two hillmen. The Afghans saw too late what Fet was up to, both starting to turn and track rifles in his direction with frantic pleas for him not to shoot. He opened fire, the impact of so many bullets flinging the men off their feet into shrubbery nearby where only their legs protruded, tremulous in death.