Hotak stepped into his office. His heart fell. He had put a lot of time into decorating it, getting everything perfect. He had hired a Feng Shui master for that specific reason. And in one fell swoop, that ignorant American savage had ruined it.
He wheeled around inspecting the damage. Some of the art was irreplaceable. But he was a man of considerable wealth, and art was something to impress people with, not a significant loss. None of it was anything he couldn’t live without. He’d always known that one day, he might have to leave and maybe even destroy this place. It still hurt. It was the Americans who had dictated the loss, not him.
The window to the valley below was a spider web of cracked glass. The memory of his boys watching green tracers race through the valley had been a proud moment for him. His boys would someday be the masters of his empire, and the Americans had them. His anger tried to retake hold of him. The men around him slunk away. The schedule he set a year before had shifted forward prematurely, but not enough to be inconvenient. Like the office, it had been out of his control but not terribly troublesome. He opened his hand and reached for the radio in his vest.
At least before he left, he would kill the Americans. But, only after he informed them he would send people to find their families and kill them as well. That would be an excellent start to make him feel better about a bad situation.
“Badi. I’m in the office. Bring your men.”
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He went to his desk and sat down. The black leather chair had two little holes right where his heart was. Someone had removed the hard drive from his desktop. The desk draws were all open. His notes, satphone, and laptop were gone. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk. His fingers formed a point, his chin resting on his thumbs. His pose was one of introspection or contemplation. The reality was his fury was ready to boil over.
His men did everything they could not to make eye contact. They all understood what he was capable of if he became upset. What they might have found hard to believe was he tried not to allow that to happen. It could be counterproductive. But, it did happen on occasion to someone’s regret.
Badi opened the door and entered, followed by his men.
Hotak stood, pulled a Glock pistol from his shoulder holster, and put his other hand on Badi’s arm.
“They went downstairs. Alert the men down there. They are coming. I’ll take the elevator with ten men to meet them. You take the rest of the men down the stairs. With luck, this will be over with quickly.”
“Yes, Baabaa Hotak.”
Hotak raised his voice. “Listen to me. Take them alive if possible. I want my children back.”
“Yes, Baabaa Hotak.” They all responded.
Badi turned to go. Hotak caught his arm. “Listen, old friend. We only have about forty-five minutes to do this. If it can’t be done, get to the helipad.” Hotak let his chin drop, his eyes on Badi. “Understood?”
Badi put his hand on Hotak’s arm and squeezed. “I understand.” Badi turned to the door. The hundred-round bandolier swung from the side of the machine gun and settled again next to the metal receiver.
Hotak once again marveled how the gun could look so small in his savior's hands. “Good.” He pointed out ten men. “You men with me.”