The Dualist: Black Ops Blackmail

Sergeant Erik Wegman squeezed off the shot and watched through his scope as Aarash Faydeen's head exploded. 

A cloud of blood was all he could see, all that was left of the Taliban chieftain's skull and its seamy contents. 

Now he had to get the two of them out of here, out of this cave – himself and the officer in charge of the hit, who shouldn't have been here in the first place, Major Karyn Trivers. 

He pushed himself up onto his knees and looked down from the cave's mouth, across the river that ran through this deep Hindu Kush canyon. A dirt road was cut into the cliff over there, the road Faydeen's convoy had driven in on. The vehicles had had to pull up at a bridge a U.S. air strike had blown apart, dumped into the river, which was what had set up the situation for him to get his shot.  

The Taliban chieftain's entourage of twenty or so guards, and the small crowd that had gathered at the bombed bridge, were hunkered down and pointing up this way, knowing where the shot had come from. It was where Faydeen himself had meant to wind up, Wegman realizing this after he'd found that stash in a side cave back there that branched off this one. 

Trivers came over and stood next to him, raised her binoculars and zeroed in on where Faydeen's head had been, bits of it clinging to the tribal pakol he'd been wearing and was now upside-down on his chest. "Nicely done," she said. 

"And you're outta here," said Wegman. "When you get clear, you call in that chopper." 

"I'll say it again – what about you?" 

"We've been through this, Karyn." He jerked his head toward the rear of the cave. "You go out like we came in." Then he nodded toward the river, toward the Talibans who'd started wading across it, coming this way, automatic weapons held over their heads. "I'll pick off as many as I can, slow them down and catch up to you."  

"They fire an RPG up here, you're toast." 

"Karyn, this is what I do, for chrissake. I've got my own grenades. Now beat it." 

"Sergeant Fucking Stubborn." 

"Just go." 

She knew his ways from another time, from when they'd had a thing at West Point. He'd dropped out when she dropped him for another cadet, him leaving as a way to give her the finger, as she'd put it, never mind how he'd tanked his officer career. Now fate and a little maneuvering on her part had brought them to this Hindu Kush cave. They'd had no choice but to talk while they waited for Faydeen, had gotten to where there might be a chance for some kind of reconciliation. 

But no time for that now. 

"Keep your mic on," she said, stepping closer to him and touching his earwig headset. 

"I will," he said. "Now go." 

She held his gaze – then leaned in and kissed him. Held it for a moment – then stepped back and looked down toward the river. 

"Here they come." 

The first of the hostiles were pulling themselves up onto the near bank. Wegman raised his M110 rifle and opened up, sending two Talibans spread-eagle back into the water. The others ducked down behind the bank and started firing this way. 

"Go," he said to Trivers, and cocked his head behind him. "There's only room for one of us to fire here anyway." This was bullshit, but it got her going. 

She slung her own rifle over her shoulder and, with shots pinging off the granite entrance, turned for the back of the cave. 

"Hey," he called after her.