Simon Hawke - Khyber Connection

Forrester had never fully recovered from his guilt over what his son had come to, and Nikolai Drakov never understood why, at the crucial moment when he had his father at his mercy, he was unable to kill him. it had been to much. Too many things had happened to further unhinge an already unstable mind.

He escaped and formed the Time Pirates, composed of bloodthirsty mercenary soldiers from every period of time imaginable. Determined to strike back at his father and at the entire system that gave birth to him, he took upon himself the mantle of fate’s avatar. He stole a Soviet nuclear submarine and planned to use its missiles to fragment the timestream. His father’s commandos beat him once again, aided by the turncoat, Martingale. But they had not defeated him completely.

The consequences of that last great battle, Drakov was convinced, had brought about the confluence effect between two timelines. And he had been granted yet another opportunity. He would split the timeline, shatter it if possible into a thousand different timestreams, and in one of them, he knew, he would finally find peace. In his moments of lucidity, which came fewer and further between, he subsided into deep depression, an unutterable melancholy which made him weep for his mother and long for the normal life that might have been. At such moments he was tempted to escape, to find some tranquil period in time where he could forget it all and live out his extended lifespan in peace. But he was never able to escape from his worst enemy-himself.

The traitor Martingale had gotten away, but Drakov felt confident he would return. His father’s people now knew what was being planned, and they would retaliate. So much the better. The more chaos introduced into the scenario, the greater the chance of further disrupting history. He thought the commandos had been captured, and since there had been no report of Priest, he thought one of the other prisoners might have been him. He wondered what Lucas Priest’s reaction would have been when he was confronted by his twin. Now all three of them were unaccounted for. That bothered him. They were too damn resourceful, those three. And too damn lucky.

They would know about him being present on the scene now. He counted on them coming after him. it was one of the things he had tried to impress upon the soldiers from the alternate timeline-their plan had to be a multileveled one with fallback positions. The com mandos had never failed in an historical adjustment, and these three were the best of the lot. This time not even they would be able to stop it. They might stop one facet of the plan, but they would never stop the others. The moment the assassination of Winston Churchill was accomplished, and the moment the Tirah Expeditionary Force marched into the ambush, the advance team and he would move to execute the third part of the plan. They would teleport to Kabul and assassinate the Emir Abdur Rahman, pinning the blame on the Pathan warlord, Umra Khan.

The Russians would be certain to take advantage of their "friend" the emir being murdered by a Pathan warlord. They would march into Kabul and launch a punitive expedition against the tribes on the frontier, then not only control Afghanistan, but the British frontier buffer state between Rahman’s empire and India. It would lead to war, and history would be unalterably changed.

He activated his warp disc and clocked to his camp headquarters, materializing in his private chambers. Sadullah fell on his knees before him.

"I have failed, Holy One!" he moaned. "Forgive me! You have worked wonders to give me the chance to strike at the firinghi once more, and I have failed again. How can I make amends" How may I redeem my unworthiness in your eyes""

"You have failed no one save yourself, Sadullah," Drakov told him. "I warned you of this before. I did not expect for you to succeed at Chakdarra, only to light the flame of rebellion so that it would burn on after you had gone. Even now Hadda Mullah carries on your work. I am not displeased."

""Oh, bless you, Holy One! Truly, you are the most charitable and forgiving of-""

" "Charitable"" "said Drakov. "Forgiving" Let me show you how forgiving I am."

He beckoned Sadullah forward. The mullah followed him to one of the towers of the house, the entrance to which was barred by a heavy door. Drakov unlocked it. "In here," he said, "you will see the priceof failure."

He swept his arm out to indicate that Sadullah should ascend the stairs. Fearfully the mullah went through the door and slowly climbed the stairs. Drakov waited down below. He did not have long to wait. Moments later, a shrill throat-rending scream came from the tower.

Sadullah had climbed to the top of the tower, where he saw himself. Knowing nothing of Zen physics, he did not understand that he, who had been brought from the alternate timeline where he had already lost his holy war, now confronted his own twin in this timeline, whose place he had taken. He only saw himself, staked out naked on the floor, dying the Death of a Thousand Cuts.

The man Sadullah saw was beyond reason. He had been kept alive for weeks, given only bread and water to sustain him while slowly, over a period of time, Drakov’s guards had made hundreds of small incisions in his skin, pushing in the thorns while the wounds were still raw and bleeding.

Those wounds now festered with infection. The gangrenous skin was turning mottled green and black. Flies covered the filthy, scrofulous body, which despite it all was still alive. Lice crawled in the long, matted white hair. The eyes, protruding from their hollowed sockets, stared blankly at the ceiling, seeing nothing. Bilious spittle ran out of the corners of the mouth and maggots writhed in the infected wounds.

The screams from the top of the tower continued unabated. Drakov smiled. After seeing that, the mullah would risk anything, even death in battle, to avoid that fate. Sadullah would not fail now.

"What an extraordinary adventure! — Churchill said. "Attacked by Ghazis, escaping, and then traveling all alone through miles of hostile territory to find safe haven with the regiment. Incredible. I will be sure to mention it in my dispatches. What a sterling example of indomitable English spirit!"

" If it’s all the same with you, Winston, I’d rather you not mention it at all," said Andre. "A story such as that would only result in notoriety when I returned to England. I really have no wish to be deluged by requests to lecture upon my ‘harrowing adventures in Afghanistan.’ Nor would I wish to be known as an adventuress. I would much prefer to enjoy my privacy."

Churchill nodded. "Yes, well, certainly, since you put it that way, I quite understand. I will accede to your wishes. There is no lack of things to write about. We have had ourselves quite a time since we departed the Malakand fort. I said earlier that you had found safe haven here, but I must admit I do not quite know how safe it is. We have had reports the camp will be attacked tonight."

"Tonight"" said Finn. "Where did this intelligence come from""

"Thekhan of Nawagai has informed us so. He states that he has ‘definite information’ that a determined assault will take place tonight. I shouldn’t be surprised. fle will play both ends against the middle until he sees how it all comes out, whereupon he will give his allegiance to the victor. The politics of expediency seem to be a way of life with the tribes on the frontier. Friends one day, enemies the next, one battle decides the outcome and then the next is approached afresh." He chuckled. "Much like the House of Commons, in a way.

" "How does General Blood plan to deal with this threatened attack""" said Andre.

Churchill. shrugged. "There are no alternatives except to make a stand. Retreat in such uncertain political circumstances would be unthinkable. We must hold our position until General Elles arrives. The pass must be kept open, the khan ‘expediently’ loyal. And the Hadda Mullah’s Ghazis must not, under any circumstances, be permitted to join with the tribesmen of the Mamund. Therefore we are entrenched, a bold course, but soundly conceived. Our position is commanded by the surrounding heights, but unlike the Malakand, in this case the range is long. If an attack is launched, orders are to strike our tents, and all those not employed ‘ in the trenches must lie down, thereby reducing the risk of casualties. If they attack in force, we stand and fight.