He brought back a steaming mug of hot coffee. Sugar and milk were on the table. Bernadette stirred in the sugar, added a splash of milk, and took a sip of caffeine that zoomed all the way to her solar plexus and struck her central nervous system in seconds. Everything was right with the world for the next few nanoseconds.
Aaron brought the steaming plate of food. Two eggs had been cooked sunny side up in an aromatic stew of tomatoes, onion and potatoes. A large portion of naan bread was on the side. Bernadette had eaten naan bread in East Indian restaurants; it was usually baked in a clay oven and basted with butter. She tore into the bread. It was light, buttery and hot; she felt like her spirit was returning with every bite.
She finished her breakfast, thanking Aaron profusely for the fine meal. He brought her three more coffee refills, making her stomach virtually swimming in caffeine and the butter from the naan bread.
When Aaron came back to offer her more coffee, she raised her hand. “Thank you, I’ve had enough. Please tell me if there is a shop nearby where I might purchase some things? I need some clothes and a cell phone.”
“Yes, Madame, there is bazaar very close, only minutes to walk, but you must not go on your own. I will accompany you,” Aaron said.
“But I can’t impose on you. You have work to do here,” Bernadette protested.
“No, my work is our guests. I will take you. I will also have my uncle from the front desk come as well. It is very dangerous on the streets right now. We will make sure you are safe.” Aaron raised his eyes to look at Bernadette for the first time. The seriousness was evident in his eyes.
Aaron and his uncle, Jangi Shah, escorted Bernadette to the bazaar. She was able to purchase several items of clothing including some almost passible undergarments, a small bag to hold them in, and a cell phone. She realized the disposable cell phone was probably the same one the Taliban used, but she needed it. She paid in the Afghani currency she had and made it back to the guesthouse with Aaron and Jangi.
Back in her room, she changed out of her hospital scrubs and into the new clothes. A long mirror on the wall showed her looking like an Afghan woman. The pants billowed to hide the form of her legs, and the long overcoat covered almost all of her features. She would be fine.
She pulled on her hijab, tilting her head to one side. The room spun around her. Stumbling to the bed, she sat down. “Damn vertigo.”
She straightened herself, letting the focus come back to her eyes. She would have to keep from looking down or to the side, as those motions seemed to set the vertigo off. When she had time, she would figure how to deal with this, but right now there was nothing to do but get back on the trail of finding Chris.
She dialed the number of Christina Lackey. She put the phone in front of her eyes to dial, not wanting another episode.
The phone rang several times before Lackey answered. “Lackey here, who’s calling?”
“It’s me, Bernadette Callahan.”
“You need to put an identifier on your phone next time you call.” Lackey said in terse tone.
“Ah, yeah, sure,” Bernadette said. She’d forgotten to do that and realized that Lackey probably did not answer calls from people she did not know in Afghanistan.
“I have a meeting set for one hour from now with the police chief. He said we can see the tape of the museum theft, but he won’t give us a copy.”
“How long will we be able to study it for?”
“Knowing him, it won’t be long,” Lackey said. “But if you’re willing to go outside the normal procedures, I know how we can get a copy.”
“No idea what you’re talking about, but if it gets us a copy of the tape, I’m in.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that. Be ready outside your place in a half hour, I’ll be there to pick you up.”
Bernadette closed her phone. She had no idea what outside normal procedures would be. Lackey was CIA, which meant she dealt outside of everything Bernadette was accustomed to; she just hoped it didn’t get her into trouble with the Afghani Police.
10
Lackey pulled up in an old Toyota SUV with a bearded driver who looked more Afghani than American. He motioned for Bernadette to jump in the back seat. Lackey turned around in her seat.
“Here’s the deal, Callahan, we’ll be there in twenty minutes so listen up. The Afghani police station is like an armed camp. It’s been attacked numerous times by the Taliban, and each time the Taliban have breached their security and killed numerous police and blown up part of the building.”
“Sounds like they need to work on a new security system.”
“They have, but it never works. Everyone knows there are Taliban infiltrators working in the police station; it’s just a way of life. So, you need to be very careful what you say and what you ask the police chief when we’re in there—you read me?”
“I totally get it. How do we get a copy of the video stream?”
Lackey pulled out a small, matte black device that was as thin as a dime. “This is remote copying device. It has a sticky on one side. You need to attach it to the police chief’s computer while I distract him. This will give us instant access to his files.”
“What if he finds it? Won’t he know we placed it there?”
“I have an Afghani who works for us in the maintenance department in the police station. He’ll remove it late tonight,” Lackey said.
“Sounds good. Any idea how to distract him?”
“We’ll think up something, just follow my lead,” Lackey said.
Outside the police station, steel and concrete bollards rose from the pavement to stop a potential vehicle from ramming the building with bombs. The windows were covered with wire and metal sheeting to keep rocket propelled grenades from piercing them. The top of the building had several machine gun turrets lining the roof and the doorway had two behind sandbags.
Bernadette felt her body tense as she exited their vehicle and walked to the entrance. Two police pointed rifles at them, telling them to lift up their arms and open their coats. After a pat down and scan of IDs the police allowed them to enter the building once the police chief cleared them for their meeting.
They were introduced to Chief Ahmad Khan. He looked young, in his late 20’s. He had short-cropped black hair with a light beard. He was thin and tall, wearing military fatigues with red markings on his collar that signified his rank.
Lackey had told Bernadette on the ride over that Ahmad Khan had been a general in the Afghan forces, taking the position of police chief after the Taliban had murdered the previous one.
Khan greeted them. “As-salam alaykom.”
Lackey and Bernadette responded with wa‘alaikum assalam.
“I am not used to being visited by the head of the CIA,” Khan said. “Why am I being honored with your presence?”
Lackey didn’t smile at his inference; the Afghani’s sense of humor was known to be dry and he often threw in questions to catch his guests off guard. “Thank you for seeing us, I have brought Detective Callahan with me. Her fiancé was taken by the Taliban with Mr. Lund.”
Khan focused his eyes on Bernadette. “I see—” He stopped himself, waiting for Lackey to continue.
Lackey hated the way Kahn did these cat and mouse interviews. She had two other meetings with him, and getting to the point was always a roundabout exercise.
“It seems that Mr. Lund and Ms. Callahan’s fiancé are implicated in the theft of the robe from the museum.” Lackey volunteered. She needed to move this along.
“Ah, yes.” Khan turned to Bernadette. “Your man is in very grave trouble. We want to find him and charge him with theft.”
Bernadette turned to Lackey. “Can we see the evidence they have?”
“Yes,” Lackey said, turning back to Khan, “we’d like to see the video taken from the museum.”
“You do not believe our police report?” Khan challenged.
“I saw the police report, it’s just that the detective would like to see the video w
ith her own eyes. She would also like to see that it was in fact her fiancé.”
“I am a very busy man. Showing you evidence of a theft that we know has already taken place is a waste of my time.”
“Please, Ahmed Khan, if you would indulge us, for this woman has traveled all this way to find her fiancé,” Lackey said in a soft tone.
Bernadette watched this exchange. She could see Lackey was very good at her job. She made no demands, just reasoned. She hoped it worked.
Khan looked at both women, and sighed. “Very well.” He turned and punched some keys on his laptop, found the video, and brought it up. He turned the laptop around and pushed it towards them. “You can see for yourselves, these two men are thieves.”
The video came on. Bernadette stared at the laptop screen as the front of the museum came into view. The front door opened. Two men walked out. One of them was holding something.
“May we enlarge the screen?” Lackey asked.
“Please do.” Khan replied.
Bernadette moved her hand forward to hit the button. Her other hand slid the thin receiver disk under the computer.
The enlarged screen showed Chris and Lund walking out of the building. Lund stopped. He was holding something then handed it to Chris. Someone was behind them. The lights in the square went out. Chris and Lund walked down to the SUV in semi-darkness.
Bernadette sat back in her chair. “How does this prove they stole the robe?”
“They were the only ones in the building with the Imam. He believes they picked the lock and forced open the sacred chest.”
“There’s no time stamp on this video,” Bernadette said.
“But you can see the darkness of night. There are no streetlights on. It is after curfew. Therefore, they entered after the museum closed for the evening,” Khan said.
“So you’re saying Lund and Chris had a meeting with the Imam to figure out where the robe was, then picked the lock, smashed the case, and stole that night?”
“Yes, detective, you are clever. They did what you call ‘case the joint’,” Khan said with a smile.
“There’s only one problem with your idea,” Bernadette said.
“What is that?”
“Chris is not that stupid.”
“Please explain…”
“Chris is a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, trained in criminal investigation techniques. No one in their right mind would come into a museum the very night of robbery, meet with the imam and then steal a high valued asset that same night.”
Khan took the laptop back and turned it towards him. “But, as you can see, this is the evidence we have. Your fiancé was the last one seen holding the robe. I think that speaks for itself.”
Bernadette was about to say something—she saw a hand signal from Lackey it was time to end this meeting.
“Thank you, Ahmed Khan, you have been most generous with your time. We will leave you to continue your duties,” Lackey said.
Khan smiled. “It was my pleasure. I’m sorry that the evidence is so clear.”
They walked out of the police station. Numerous police were milling around with AK47’s and rifles. Bernadette didn’t feel comfortable until they got back into their vehicle.
“What do you think?” Lackey asked Bernadette.
“Total bullshit,” Bernadette said. “I think this is some kind of a setup. How soon can we view the tape again? I need to see real close-ups of the video.”
Lackey turned to the driver of the vehicle. “What do you think?”
He smiled at the small device he had in his hands. It looked like a large phone with an antenna. “I just downloaded the video and a whole shit load of police files in the same folder. We’ll need our translator to transcribe it, but we could have this inside of six hours.”
“Will you call me when you have it?” Bernadette asked.
“I’ll be happy to,” Lackey said. “If we find the robe, I stop about a dozen tribes from killing each other, makes me happy. What’s your next move?”
“I’m going to see Vincent Caprinski. He was the team leader of the security force. I want to find out where they were possibly headed. Maybe I’ll know where to look.”
Lackey’s eyes narrowed. “You really believe your fiancé is alive? There’s been no demand for ransom. This is so outside the Taliban norm. They fire off a ransom note inside a week tops. They start with an outrageous sum and we negotiate for about a month and get a release. They get their money, we get the person back.”
Bernadette lowered her eyes. “Yeah, I read all this on the reports. I know it’s crazy, but I just feel he’s out there, still alive.”
“Okay, you stay out of trouble until I get the downloads and video feed from my IT guys, then I’ll call you for a meet-up.”
They dropped Bernadette off at her guesthouse. She walked in to see Reza standing in the lobby.
“I thought you’d left me,” Bernadette said.
Reza put his hand over his heart and bowed his head. “Please, I am sorry. I tried many times to see you in the hospital, but they would not let me in. I heard from my sister who works at the hospital that you had left. I came here today to enquire how you are.”
“I’m fine,” Bernadette said, aside from the vertigo, she thought. “I just had a meeting with the chief of police, it seems I did not need your assistance. Is it possible that you can go to the hospital and have your sister get my things? I had some clothes there, and maybe my phone and iPad survived the attack.”
“Yes, of course. I will do this right away.” Reza bowed and walked away.
“Good, meet me back here in three hours. I’ll have need of your translation for someone I want to visit.”
Reza stopped and turned. “This meeting will be in Kandahar?”
“Yes, it will be. But if we have to go into the country, do you have a problem with that?’
The color drained from Reza’s face. “All the teachers in my country school were murdered by the Taliban. I alone escaped. They have an oath to torture and kill all translators that they find. You must understand the danger I’m under.”
“Yes, Reza, I will make sure you are protected if we have to go to the country or I’ll find someone else if you are not feeling up to it,” Bernadette said.
Reza opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. He bowed with his hand over his heart and walked away.
Bernadette returned to her room. She wanted to lie down. Today had been more taxing on her than she would have thought. She opened her door and walked into the room. Something about the room was off. It looked like someone had been in it. She walked around and looked at the drawers. She hadn’t anything to unpack so hadn’t opened or closed them. They were slightly ajar.
She checked around the room and looked for any small devices similar to what she’d seen Lackey use. She couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean that someone hadn’t left something in an air vent. She went back to the front desk and asked for a room change. She would be diligent when she left her room the next time.
Police Chief Khan was busy on his phone. The reports were coming in from all over the city of tribal battles. Men with rocket-propelled grenades had taken over the rooftops in the central market. He needed to coordinate with the Afghan National Army and the NATO troops. If this tribal warfare became worse they could cut off the main road to the airport, then the city would shut down.
He told his sergeant they would have a meeting in the conference room. As he grabbed his laptop, a small disk fell from the bottom, dropping to the floor and rolling until it stopped at the door.
He picked it up. It was thin with a smooth surface on one side. He swore under his breath. “Those women were very cunning. But they are playing with the wrong person.”
11
Bernadette was heading out the lobby of the guesthouse when Aaron caught up to her. “Where is madam going?”
She stopped and looked at the boy. “I have someone I need to see.” Her mind w
as set on seeing Caprinski, and she did not want or need an interpreter in her way.
“You cannot go into the streets of Kandahar without some protection. I will arrange it for you. Wait here.”
Aaron disappeared behind the front desk. There was some shouting and much conversation. He appeared holding the hand of an old man. He was hunched over, he limped slightly, and his face was withered with so many wrinkles and lines it was hard to see where his eyes unfolded out of the crevasses on his face.
Bernadette put up her hand. “Please, Aaron, I do not mean to offend, but this man looks like he should be lying down and taking a nap.”
“No, madam, this is Fazel. He is old, but one of the fierce fighters of the Mujahedeen against the Russians.”
“Mujahedeen,” Fazel exclaimed with a smile that showed few teeth.
“But…I’m not sure if I need protection,” Bernadette protested.
“The streets have become very dangerous, madam. Fazel will keep you safe. He is very low cost, only two thousand Afghanis per day.”
Bernadette looked at Fazel. He held an AK47 that he used to keep himself upright. In his belt was a long knife. One of his eyes was partly clouded from a cataract the other bright blue and searching her face for approval.
She sighed and smiled. “Yes, Aaron, I will take Fazel as my bodyguard, thank you.”
Fazel put his hand to his chest and bowed, saying something in Afghani.
“What did he say?” Bernadette asked.
“He said he will protect you with his life, as if you were his own daughter,” Aaron said. “And I will accompany you as well. You will need me to translate to the driver.”
They moved out of the guesthouse, which was slow going as Fazel could only shuffle using his weapon as a walking stick. Bernadette hoped that seeing a man in the the cab with a weapon might deter any would-be attacker. She hoped he didn’t fall asleep on the journey.
With the help of Aaron, she gave instructions to the cab driver and they were on their way. Fazel perked up. He somehow became more upright in the back of the cab. His weapon was sitting across his hips. He racked the AK47, placing his finger across the trigger guard.
Caught In The Crossfire: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery Page 5
