Reprisal in Black

by Dan Fox

  Chapter 20

  New Delhi, India, late 2011

  Rani Desai picked up his bag from the overhead locker and joined the slow moving queue down the Aircraft gangway and out onto the steps at Delhi International Airport.

  He’d only returned home once before since he and Dado moved to America. He wanted to see his parents and report personally on all the happenings and their progress in America.

  The taxi dropped him outside the moderately expensive suburban house in a leafy street with the sun slowly dropping west over the houses. He strode to the door and rang the bell. Moments later he was greeted by his mother, a woman of about fifty-five. They embraced and made sure that if any of the neighbours were watching they would see only mother and son reunited.

  After their little show they went inside and into the kitchen where an old servant was making tea.

  They chatted broadly for a short while until his father entered the room. Dressed in typical Indian business clothes he looked every bit the model Hindu businessman and parent. They then began their coded discussion. They had learned to weave ordinary day to day items into their conversation, each different object having an alternative meaning. They were so slick at this that any eavesdropper would be totally convinced of their normality. Bugs and listening devices could be as common in India as they were in the States. It was much better to be safe than sorry.

  Rani explained how well Dado was doing and how he had managed to build up a profile of trust within both Boeing and the Air Force base. His parents were fascinated by their success and were now ever hopeful that all the sacrifices had been worth it.

  Following these discussions a plan had started to form. There was a way in which the Desai brothers could each play a part in the overall scheme. This was the turning point they had all been waiting for.

  Early in 2012 as Rani returned from Delhi he exited the Airport with his bags and Dado greeted him with a hug. Dado was anxious to hear Rani’s news from Delhi.

  They would drop the bags off at their apartment and then drive to the lake. They could sit near the edge of the water and talk privately and quietly for hours if need be with no fear of being overheard.

  They parked the car in a small lot about twenty feet from the edge of the lake. Very discreetly checking that no-one else was about, they sat near the water and Rani began.

  Chapter 21

  The Afghanistan Mission, late Spring 2012

  Steve Black was headed for Germany and the Ramstein US Air Force base in the German state of Rhineland Palatinate near Kaiserslauten for a direct flight to the closest US Air Base near to Kabul. That would mean flying from Madrid to Zurich on a scheduled flight and then hiring a car for the two hundred mile journey to the air base. The direct flight from there would take him to Bagram, the US’s biggest air base in Afghanistan roughly twenty-five miles north east of Kabul. It would be a very long and tiring trip.

  He would then find a property to operate from. Jean McKenzie and Marcel Jeveaux would exit via Lisbon and on to Paris for a direct flight to Islamabad. They would play the French interviewer and cameraman, Elodie and Xavier Deneuve, as they’d done many times before. Jackson Leonard would go to Madrid and on to Dubai, thereafter he would again change identity and enrobe himself as a Muslim cleric and head for Karachi. He would take an internal flight from there to Islamabad and then the express bus to Kabul. He would be the last one to arrive but would have established his credentials well.

  Steve would get all the supplies he needed at Bagram US air base, unofficially of course.

  This needed to be a very quick and dirty op. Assim Karuna had to be tracked down, lured somewhere remote and disposed of but not before he’d been drained of every ounce of relevant information. They would need to get rid of the body. At least that would stave off the hue and cry for a few days. It would allow Jean and Marcel to do their double act and leave as normal. Steve would be fine heading back to Germany under United States control, and Jackson in his most effective disguise could exit to almost any Islamist state and get himself back to their base in Spain eventually.

  Of course there was one other job to do which would be a little more difficult, Karuna’s Taliban contact. They would have to find him as well. He knew too much. They had to break that communications chain once and for all. It wouldn’t be until they all arrived at their Kabul bases that any plans could be made or put in place.

  Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan was a sizeable city with a population of around three million and was spread out over a wide area. It was a hotbed of crime and corruption with a real mix of ethnicities and languages. The Taliban influence was palpable. It was early April and the winter snows had gone from all but the high ground and the mountains on the horizon but it was still bitterly cold at night.

  The US military found Steve an old, war-damaged and empty farmstead in a remote area about twelve miles west of Kabul centre. There was no electricity but it still had running water. Steve noted the need for water purification tablets. Obtaining a small generator suitable for the odd light and the recharging of phones, cameras and laptops would not be a problem. It would be switched on for a few hours only in the dead of night, miles from anywhere, not overlooked by anyone.

  Whilst it was remote, isolated and derelict to a large degree, Steve knew that perhaps within forty-eight hours or maybe a lot less the place would be on the map. There were too many people owed favours or who wanted to keep their lives in tact for it to remain a secret for very long. The whisper network would be on overtime. It only needed one inquisitive eye to catch any movement and it would spread like wildfire. Still there were a few things he could do to hopefully extend his deadline. The rest was down to luck. Would his luck hold on this one? He would find out fairly shortly.

  He’d borrowed a very old Nissan Primera from the base. It was supposed to be Post Office red but age and the sun’s work had stripped the pigment from the paint work and given it a matt finish and a pinkish hue. Nevertheless he had promised to return it intact. Some hopes. He loaded up his equipment and set off towards the farmstead later that night which was the fourth day of his travels.

  He expected calls from Jean and Marcel the following morning and contact from Jackson later in the afternoon. Jean and Marcel would hire a car at the Kabul International airport, something not too new or conspicuous but enough for their photography assignment. Jackson would just be Jackson and find his own way.

  Steve drove the last mile without lights having stripped out the brake lights and those for the dashboard. He laughed to himself when he remembered to remove the bulb from the interior light as well as that had caused a major problem on a Saudi Arabian job some years before. He pulled into the shadow of the building away from the track to the main road and waited as the ticking of the cooling engine slowed down and eventually stopped. All was quiet. Only the very faint barking of a distant dog and the honking of a few geese flying overhead caught his senses.

  After half an hour he got out of the car having drawn his Glock and checked the safety was off. He then began a slow and deliberate walk around the building and gradually expanded his orbit until he’d circled all the land up to about eight hundred yards out. Now satisfied there was no immediate threat he made for the car and started to unload the gear.

  There wasn’t a great deal to unload, some more weapons and ammunition, a sniper rifle, two laptops, a small well silenced generator with two gallons of fuel, and four coded Satellite phones and some chargers. There was a box of mixed field rations and five gallons of mineral water. Finally he unloaded two thin but sturdy rubber groundsheets and a couple of sleeping bags. Having had some cold rations and water, he relieved himself in a small trench he’d dug at the back of the house. Then he got himself as comfortable as he could and dozed fitfully with one hand holding the pistol.

  As dawn broke he came awake and listened intently for anything unusual. Nothing. Utterly silent. Unnervingly quiet.

  He stood up and made his way to the window
less hole in the wall and gradually moved his position so he could see out. There was enough light to determine a few buildings on the horizon, but there was no traffic, no visible vehicles, it was if the whole area had been abandoned. He crossed to the back of the house to where the car was parked outside. He looked around that side of the property and found nothing there either. It was eerie. Too quiet for comfort.

  Anyway, satisfied that he was not due to receive unwelcome visitors imminently, Steve busied himself sorting out the equipment in readiness for first Jean and Marcel, and then Jackson.

  There would be a message waiting for Jean and Marcel when they arrived at their hotel, the centrally located Kabul Serena Hotel on Froshgah Street, only twenty minutes away from the airport. The message would tell them where to meet Steve at noon. Jackson would hit the bus station sometime between four and five that afternoon. One of them would pick him up from there.

  That evening, way after dark they would all meet up at the farmstead and put their plan into action, honing it with any local knowledge gained since their arrival.

  However, it was pretty certain that they would spend at least the next twenty-four hours on surveillance. The information on Karuna was very good but by no means complete. They had to find out a lot more before any of their lives were put at risk. They were not only vulnerable to the Official Afghani Police and Security forces, but also from the Taliban who controlled an ever increasing part of people’s daily lives. They were also not going to be too happy when Karuna’s Taliban friend disappeared.

  The first things to do were to establish the exact location of Karuna’s house or apartment. They weren’t sure which, and check out the café where he and the Taliban guy had their meetings. Following that they needed to document his chosen route between his house and the Government buildings where he worked. They would end up with a form of triangle of the three locations with all the important hiding and or ambush places well marked. Their drawing would also show the relative positions of any security premises or patrols. When they’d got all that they could start to plan properly. Steve had already decided where to dispose of the two bodies.

  Steve had arranged to meet Jean and Marcel (or Elodie and Xavier Deneuve as they were professionally known for their clandestine photography operations) in the Café Kabul, a very busy, cosmopolitan meeting place slap in the commercial centre of the city. It had its plus points, the strange mix of people and the hustle and bustle which were slightly countered by the number of bombs that had gone off in there over the last few years. Still they were surveillance experts and should be able to pinpoint anything of danger.

  Steve arrived there wearing typical western contractors gear, working boots, soiled jeans and a tartan lumberjack style jacket and a cap with ear flaps and carrying a guide book and a camera. He waited until he could get a small table at the rear of the café and be able to sit with his back to the wall. He kept quiet, head low, sunglasses on and a tourist guide on the table in front of him. He’d asked for a coffee with milk and it arrived after a five minute wait.

  Jean and Marcel, as Elodie and Xavier, entered the café as if they owned the place. She’d clocked Steve straight away but made no move to approach him. She was in theatrical mode gesticulating and complaining in French that there were no suitable tables available. Within a couple of minutes, however, the two Scandinavian blondes, statuesque and beautiful, stood up from their table next to Steve, gathered their bags and left

  Jean rushed over and flopped into a chair with her back to Steve whilst Marcel sat opposite. They ordered espresso coffees and began chatting animatedly in French. After a moment or two the rest of the café’s patronage started to ignore them and get back to their own business. Steve waited a couple of minutes, stood up and moved towards Jean holding his guide book out towards her. In very bad French he asked if she could help him find the building in the photograph.

  When they accepted that no-one else was listening in on their conversation, Steve confirmed the location of the farmstead and that one of them would be at the bus station to meet Jackson. After more theatricals from Jean, which she did particularly well, Steve thanked her and left the café. They would meet again shortly when Marcel opened the rear fire exit to their hotel and let Steve in. They would continue their conversation in their hotel suite.

  Steve ambled his way to their hotel, using the guide book to pretend to look at a few places of interest whilst always keeping his guard up and his eyes peeled for any one he recognised, which of course apart from Jean and Marcel, there shouldn’t be.

  Twenty minutes later he walked around the rear of the hotel carefully avoiding over-full rubbish bins and old cardboard boxes. It was a rat’s paradise. He found the fire exit partly obscured by a delivery van that had obviously been there for hours. The engine cover was cold. It was however convenient because it meant that no-one would be able to see him enter and he didn’t expect the hotel to have surveillance cameras over an emergency exit.

  Marcel opened the door quietly and let Steve in. ‘Room 539, fifth floor’ said Marcel and went back towards the hotel’s reception. Steve climbed the five flights of stairs and peeked through the double doors into the corridor. All the room cleaners would have finished by now and Steve checked on the room number sequence and aimed for the fifth door left of the stair well. The door opened before he could tap on it. Jean, still in French mode, kissed him on both cheeks and then laughed at herself. She could be very funny and very sexy and very deadly, but Steve was not interested in going any further. They waited for Marcel to return. After a few minutes of idle banter, Steve heard the key in the lock and Marcel entered being careful not to trip over the cameras and sound and lighting equipment that lay strewn on the floor near the door.

  ‘Good to see you both’ said Steve, ‘your trip over was okay?’

  Jean said ‘It was fine but very long’ and then dropping into the vernacular she said ‘I’m fucking knackered.’ Steve and Marcel laughed.

  ‘Right then’ said Steve pulling the papers and maps from an inside pocket and laying them out on the coffee table. He placed a small ash tray over the hotel to hold the map still and used his knife to hold the edge of the map flat. He pointed to a circle in red about two inches north of the hotel, and then to another about an inch to the left. Finally he pointed to another red circle more than three inches away to the right.

  ‘The first one is Karuna’s place, the second is where he works but it is a huge building and I haven’t pinpointed where his office is yet, and the third one is the café where he met Taliban Joe, okay?’ They both nodded.

  ‘Marcel I want you to take your camera while it’s still light and see how close you can get to the office building. Find out anything you can. Jean, if you would, I would like you to reccy Karuna’s home’ It still surprised him how deferential he still was to her. Perhaps she scared him. Well he wouldn’t be the first and laughed to himself. ‘I’ll go to the café and then pick up Jackson later on between four and five, okay? Again they nodded their assent. ‘You know where the farmstead is. When you come off the main road there is a track about a mile long to the house. Make sure you turn your lights off as soon as you leave the main road, and don’t use your brakes.’ Again they nodded. ‘Try and be there for about eight o’clock. If you’re not there by nine we’ll meet back at the café Kabul to see what’s gone wrong. We’ll know from who turns up who is in trouble and react accordingly, okay?’

  With that Steve opened the door, scanned the corridor and then made for the stairwell. A minute later he was back outside the hotel walking towards the east with his guide book open. The afternoon sun was dipping now away to the west and throwing uncomfortable shadows over some of the streets and alleys that pervaded this part of Kabul. In any other western town or city the area would be recommended for development. That would not happen here unless a large bomb went off and even that would probably count as an improvement.

  After strolling through the streets for a while he spotted
the café about two hundred yards away on the other side of a narrow alley. He stopped whilst he looked carefully for bad people using his ever useful guide book for cover. He needed to be vigilant now, this was the kind of place where innocent tourists had their throats slit. With a self-induced air of confidence he sauntered towards the café and then stopped in his tracks.

  What day was it? He counted the days since he’d left Spain on Monday morning. Three days to get to Kabul. It was now Friday. He hurried on towards the café. Looking through the filthy windows he saw few people in there and thought it worth a risk. He went in and asked for a coffee. He then went to their toilet and immediately wished he hadn’t. What he had to put up with in the line of duty.

  While he was in the toilet he pulled out the papers that Jean had collected from Madrid about Karuna and confirmed that he had met up with the Afghan guy in this café at a few minutes past six o’clock exactly two weeks ago. There was a chance that they’d meet again here tonight. The intelligence gathered by the Beggar had mentioned two weeks. It had to be worth a shot.

  Steve drank the almost drinkable coffee, paid and left heading towards the bus station. It was now three p.m. Only an hour or so before Jackson arrived. He scouted the area of the bus station and found a vantage point. He sat upon a low wall protruding from the side of an old property and relaxed a touch. His back and left hand side covered. A little rest taken every now and again preserves energy for the next flight or fight. He knew how important that could be and continued the appearance of being absorbed in his guide book whilst keeping a very watchful eye on all the happenings around him.