Part 33 (1/2)
”I'm moving closer to the vault. We're thinking if I can cut the main power, we can lock her inside.”
”Providing they're already in.”
”It's worth a shot, sir.”
”Do it.”
Juma and Lakota came up behind them. Juma paused a moment to take both a radio call and a cell phone call from his men. When he was finished he looked up gravely. ”I've already lost nearly half my army. I'm sorry, Brent. But I must call for a retreat-unless you can get us some help.”
Brent took a long breath and closed his eyes.
And there, of course, was Villanueva, with his Corvette burning behind them.
The punk shook his head. ”You know, you didn't have to do any of this. No one cares. You didn't make anything right by joining the Army. You thought you could get rid of me. But I keep coming back. You wanna race?” ”You know, you didn't have to do any of this. No one cares. You didn't make anything right by joining the Army. You thought you could get rid of me. But I keep coming back. You wanna race?”
”NO!”
”Now you feel bad that you got Juma into a fight you can't win.”
”I did.”
”What do you want, Brent?”
”I want her.”
”No, I mean what do you want in your life?”
”To get rid of you . . .”
Villanueva smirked. ”Joining the Army didn't fix that. And you think getting her will solve all your problems?” ”Joining the Army didn't fix that. And you think getting her will solve all your problems?”
”I never said that.”
”No, but you've been thinking it. Deep down. You've been telling yourself that if you get her, then maybe you're done. You'll just retire. Maybe teach. But you've done enough. Paid your bill. And I'll go away.”
”Yeah.”
”And what if that doesn't happen? Then what?”
”I don't know . . .”
Chopra lifted his head enough to see the computer screens in front of Hussein. The maps were complex, commissioned and produced by geologists working for the family, while others showed the locations of the hidden oil reserves. Two were aboveground, while a third was submerged within the Strait itself and carefully disguised.
The boy was giving her everything. Had Chopra placed too much faith in the goodness of the world? Probably. But did he have any other choice? Some would argue that he did. Admittedly, he'd listened to his heart. He knew no other way.
”Hussein,” he gasped. ”What's that smell?”
”Shut up, old man!” cried the Snow Maiden, standing over the boy's shoulder. ”You'll go to sleep soon.”
”Upload's complete,” Hussein said, handing something to the Snow Maiden.
”Let's go,” she snapped. ”We wait up top until they finish loading.”
”No, I'm not leaving,” he said. ”I'm staying with him.”
The Snow Maiden drew back her shoulders, and for a moment, Chopra thought she would shoot the poor boy.
”I told you to come with me.”
”No!”
She raised her pistol, thought it over, muttered something under her breath, then took off, running.
”Hussein, come here,” said Chopra.
The boy limped over and took Chopra's hand. ”I'm sorry for what I did.” His voice was m.u.f.fled by his helmet, so Chopra had to p.r.i.c.k up his ears.
”You're hurt?”
”Only a bruise. She shot my armor.”
”Listen to me. I want to tell you about the dreams your father had for this country, for our country. We don't have much time, and I want to share them with you.”
Hussein began to weep. ”I should have listened to you.”
”It's not too late.”
”She has all the gold. The oil.”
”But she hasn't escaped yet. I know they're coming for her. So it's not too late.”
”Okay.”
Chopra took a deep breath that hurt. ”Your father drove me out to the desert one afternoon. We walked one hour away from the car, and then he lifted his hands to the sky and said, 'Manoj, when I close my eyes I don't see the sand anymore. I see an empire.'”
TWENTY-FOUR.