The Genesis Plague (2010)

dead in the water without him.’
    ‘You guys really do march to a different drummer. If he fucks up, it’s on your head, Yaeger. Not mine. Got it?’
    Jason nodded.
    Crawford pummelled agitatedly to the Blackhawk pilot that the request had been granted.
    They watched as the copilot helped Hazo into the fuselage jumpseat and secure his flight helmet. Then the copilot took his place in the cockpit. The rotors wound up and the chopper lifted into the air, spinning sand in its wash.
    The colonel frowned as he scanned the inside of the tent. ‘Christ. How long you been living like this?’
    ‘Six months, give or take.’
    ‘Shit, cavemen had it better.’
    ‘We specialize in dirty work,’ Jason subtly reminded him.
    ‘Don’t play the martyr, Yaeger,’ he warned. ‘We’re all in the trenches in this shithole.’
    Jason let the comment roll.
    ‘So tell me what we’ve got. I see a lot of blood and meat out there. Any of it ours?’
    Jason shook his head. ‘No, sir. Four kills on the hill, eight more on the road. Five more holed up in that cave.’ Then he took a breath and dropped the bomb: ‘And we suspect that Fahim Al-Zahrani is in there with them.’
    Crawford’s eyebrows tipped up. ‘Is that right,’ he said with a sardonic grin. ‘You expect me to believe that?’
    ‘See for yourself,’ Jason said, moving over to Meat’s laptop and bringing up the side-by-side pictures. ‘Took these myself. Ran facial rec on them. Perfect match.’
    Crawford sat rigidly in the chair and gave each image a critical, dismantling stare, his sharp chin protruding outward. Finally, he said, ‘Well fuck my mother. This raghead is supposed to be in Afghanistan.’
    ‘They were trying to move him through the mountains.’
    ‘Sure they were. Slippery bastards are probably trying to bring him over the border to his buddies in Iran. Shit.’ He exhaled heavily. ‘Heard you called in an air strike. You sure some of that gunk smeared over those rocks isn’t him?’
    ‘Negative. Called off the strike on his position. I saw Al-Zahrani run into the cave. I’ve got video of that too.’
    ‘And he’s not buried under all that stone?’
    ‘Already pushed a Snake through the rubble. All clear on the other side. So far, we’ve seen no blood or bodies. And one of the hostiles managed to smash the camera. We’re pretty sure they’re all still trapped in there.’
    Crawford nodded. ‘All right, Yaeger.’ His covetous eyes stayed glued to Al-Zahrani’s digital portrait. ‘I need this fucker alive.’
    And there it was, thought Jason - the colonel’s subtle jockeying for claiming the prize as his own.
    Then in the reflection of the computer monitor, Jason caught Crawford staring sideways at the cracked-open ID badge casing and its extracted chip which Meat had left beside the laptop. He swore he saw the colonel’s eyes go wide with alarm. It lasted only a fraction of a second.
    ‘You should know that that’s no ordinary cave up there,’ Jason said.
    Crawford stood up, squared his shoulders and crossed his arms tight across his chest. ‘How so?’
    Jason told him about the blown-out security door and the strange images carved into the entry tunnel’s wall. For now, he refrained from telling him about the ID badge they’d found - a calculated, risky move.
    Crawford took fifteen seconds to mull the facts. Then he said, ‘All right, Yaeger. I get it. So what do you say we go ahead and plunge this toilet?’

13
    Thirty kilometres south of the cave, the Blackhawk glided over a lush plain framed by the Goyzha, Azmir, Glazarda and Piramagrun mountains. Hazo peered out the fuselage window to Kurdistan’s economic hub, As Sulaymaniyah. The city was a dense wheel of three- and four-storey buildings, spoked with roadways. He mused how from the air, he could see satellite dishes on practically every rooftop. Kurds loved their television, he thought.
    Instead of heading for the international airport a few kilometres to the west, the pilot eased to a hover along Highway 4 and set the chopper down in a vacant parking lot. At the far end of the lot, Hazo spotted the Humvee escort the copilot had arranged while en route. Two severe-looking US marines in desert fatigues and mirrored sunglasses stood in wait, each clutching an M-16.
    The pilot killed the turbine and the blades wound down.
    The copilot assisted Hazo out from the chopper. As he escorted him to the Humvee, he asked, ‘How long will you be in Suly?’
    ‘Maybe