The Shroud of Heaven Read Online Free PDF Page B

near Kismet’s feet. Kismet saw the streaks of blood on his own BDU blouse and felt his gorge rise a second time.
    Another of the Gurkhas, the machine-gunner Private Mutabe, was down, his left arm opened to the bone by a slashing fragment of metal. The fourth soldier knelt beside the wounded African and fished out his Syrette, injecting him with a dose of morphine to dull the pain.
    “Jesus Christ,” scowled Higgins, stomping closer to where Kismet stood, reeling. “What the fuck was that?”
    “Car bomb,” murmured Kismet, feeling a fool for stating the obvious. “They booby trapped it. He tried to warn me.”
    “They? Who the fuck are they?” And then, phrasing it so it sounded like a curse, the sergeant added: “Sir.”
    “I don’t know.” Kismet’s answer was inaudible.
    “Well we’re fucked good now, sir.” He jerked a thumb at the column of smoke that spilled up into the night sky. “That’s going to bring everyone within fifty klicks right down on top of us, and in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re down to three.”
    “I noticed,” Kismet muttered. He turned away from Singh’s corpse, fixing the sergeant in his gaze, scouring his memory for the leadership skills he had been taught but never applied. When he spoke again, it was more forcefully. “I noticed, sergeant. Now get your shit together and let’s get moving. Those two can buddy up. You and I will carry Singh.”
    He felt like a fraud for saying it, for using a command voice; he had never commanded men before. And as he watched Higgins’ face quivering with barely contained rage, he wondered if he had made a mistake. Higgins would blame him for this. He was the officer, the mission leader, and responsible for the lives of his subordinates.
    An image of Hauser leering like a coyote flashed in his mind. No , he decided. I didn’t do this . Hauser had murdered Samir and his innocent children. Hauser’s men had rigged the car to blow.
    You and I will eventually meet again…
    In that instant, he knew that he would endure. For the sake of revenge, if nothing else, he would survive.
    Perhaps Higgins saw that light of resolve igniting in Kismet’s eyes. Or maybe it was simply the product of his years of military discipline. Whatever the case, the Gurkha’s expression softened. He took a step toward Kismet, then knelt beside the shattered form of Singh. When he stood, he held the fallen man’s kukri .
    Gripping the back edge of the broad blade between his thumb and forefinger, he extended the hilt toward Kismet. “When we lay him to rest, I’ll want this for his widow. Until then…”
    Kismet accepted the knife, acutely aware of the honor Higgins was paying him. He held the blade out, contemplating its balance and the visible keenness of its edge. He then did something that flew in the face of his training. Bringing himself to attention, he saluted the sergeant.
    Higgins stiffened respectfully and returned the salute, holding it until Kismet lowered his hand.
    “Sergeant, I promise you that we’ll give it to her together.”
    You and I will eventually meet again…
    And that’s the day I’ll cut your heart out, you sick bastard.
    But something else Hauser had said gnawed at him. It was a deeper mystery that he would have to solve before exacting his revenge, a conundrum that would supply impetus to his resolve to survive.
    Both Samir and Hauser had known that it would be he, Nick Kismet, coming to supervise the defection. Both men had believed that Kismet would have a particular interest in the ancient—perhaps even holy—treasure unearthed in the ruins of Babylon. But Hauser had added one more dimension to the enigma.
    Kismet, if I killed you, your mother would have my head.
    Nick Kismet had never known his mother. The woman that had borne him into the world had vanished forever from his life mere moments after completing her labor. No memory or trace of her had remained to prove she ever existed, save for a healthy male child of