“At one time Shah Mahmood was sympathetic to the Taliban, Alex. He has confided to his friends he now hopes that his son might one day visit the United States.”
As I stood up, told Haji good-bye, I was struck by a sudden pang of guilt. I realized it was now early afternoon in Munich, and Irmie would have just returned from lunch at the canteen—or maybe she’d eaten at her desk. In another hour, I was planning to meet Wanda for dinner at the Serena, Kabul’s most fashionable hotel.
CHAPTER 24
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 2013
“HOW ARE YOU going to spend your time, Alex, once I’m gone?”
“I’ll be lonely, no question.”
Wanda and I were in the crowded main dining room of the Serena Hotel, a colorful room decorated with silks and flowers and with a platoon of white-jacketed waiters rushing back and forth. We’d both had lamb and were now considering dessert. We’d also finished off a bottle of very dry mineral water. I would have liked a very dry Riesling, but in the Serena alcohol is a no-no. All in all, it had been a nice dinner.
“Expensive evening,” I commented. I knew that rooms in this hotel could run up to a thousand dollars a night and with this lavish meal . . .
“You have to know how to live. Do you know what my mother used to tell me when I was just a child?” Before I could answer, Wanda said, “Always marry for money.”
“Your mother sounds like a very practical person.”
“She was more than practical. She was insightful. She understood what life was all about.” Wanda paused to take a sip of water. “I’m not saying that life is only about money. There are other things—”
“Name ten.”
“I’m serious. In order to live life—”
“Did you follow your mother’s advice?”
“I married Pete. No, I didn’t obviously. I married . . . for love.” She tried to smile, but didn’t quite succeed. “I’m not sure I’ll marry again, but if I do—”
“You’ll follow your mother’s advice.”
“My mother emigrated from Norway when she was a girl. Her younger brother, my uncle, did very well. He’s president of a Norwegian bank.” She shrugged. “You’re making a joke out of it. But yes, if I marry again, I will follow my mother’s advice. But Pete was . . . well, Pete. We always had enough to live on, but an Army colonel’s salary just isn’t that much.”
I said, “It’s my understanding that you and Pete were planning to divorce. Is that true?”
Before she could answer, the waiter arrived. Wanda said she wanted the watermelon. I ordered a cup of fruit. After placing our order, I took another swallow of water.
“Well?”
Wanda touched a napkin to her lips, then said, “Where did you hear that latrine rumor?”
“One of Pete’s colleagues told me. I’m wondering if it’s true. You never mentioned it.”
“Over the years Pete and I had our disagreements, sure. What married couple hasn’t?” Wanda sounded irritated. “Maybe the word ‘divorce’ came up occasionally, I don’t remember to be honest.” She paused. “But to answer your question. No, I had no intention of divorcing Pete.” When I only shrugged, Wanda said, “But maybe Pete wanted to divorce me. Maybe he’d found some chippie—”
At that moment the waiter arrived with dessert. After he’d refilled our water glasses and left, Wanda said, “I’m thinking about what happened down in Dubai. I’m glad you told me. My God! It sounds horrible. People shooting at you.”
“It was a shade unpleasant.”
“I should think so. Were they terrorists, or what?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do the police down there think?” When I said I didn’t know, Wanda said, “Didn’t you talk to them?”
“To answer your first question. I think these individuals had me in their sights. I was in the restaurant with a female companion.”
Wanda grinned. “I should have known. You’re never without female company. I’ve never known anyone like you. It was Corley, wasn’t it? God, I hate that woman.” I thought I knew why Wanda didn’t like Leslie Corley, and I supposed her dislike was natural enough. According to Captain Page, she may have had a romantic relationship with Pete, who, of course, was Wanda’s husband.
“Captain Leslie Corley. She’s stationed down in Salerno.”
“She’s working with you?”
I nodded, offering no further comment.
“What in the world were you doing in Dubai? I mean, what are you doing over here, anyway? You’re so secretive.”
“Ask Jerry Shenlee.”
“Who’s Jerry Shenlee?”
“The guy who sent me over here.”
“Todd says you’re here to investigate Pete’s death. I guess I can understand that.” Wanda paused to scoop up some watermelon. “But then you’re traveling to Dubai for some reason.” She shook her head. “I mean, what’s the connection?”
“One thing always leads to another.”
“Does it have anything to do with the Kabul Bank?”
“I can’t go into detail, Wanda.”
“Okay, I know I shouldn’t be asking questions like that. Still, we’ve known each other a long time.” She smiled. “It’s not like I’m working for the Taliban.”
“This much I can tell you. I was unable to do what I wanted to do in Dubai.”
“Which was?”
“Find out what really happened at the Kabul Bank.” I went back to eating my dessert.
When Wanda had finished her watermelon, I said, “You have an early day tomorrow.”
“Not that early. Do you know what I’m going to suggest? That we adjourn to my room and break open a bottle of champagne.”
“You have champagne?”
“The proprietor of that restaurant has gotten to know me. That’s where I bought the brandy. Half a bottle of brandy is still in my room.”
I said, “We can’t let it go to waste.” Our meal had been good, but the truth was, I would have enjoyed a bottle of wine.
Before I could say anything, Wanda said, “My last night in Afghanistan. Who knows if I’ll ever come back? We’re celebrating. Get the check, Alex.”
* * *
“Cheers.” Wanda lifted her glass and flashed a look of irritation. “We’re drinking champagne out of water glasses.” It was a half hour later, and she’d seated herself alongside me on the love seat in her hotel room.
“No champagne flutes?”
“Since the Serena doesn’t serve alcohol, there’s no need for them.” Wanda smiled. “I spent a half hour at one of the bazaars looking through glassware. I couldn’t even find wine glasses.” Still smiling, she said, “Cheers anyway.”
“These really are nice rooms,” I said, checking out the furniture, the neat little kitchen on one side, a desk on the other. The bed was inside the small bedroom.
“At eight-hundred dollars a night they should be nice.”
“When I was in the Army I never could have afforded—”
“When you were in the Army—that was a while ago. Didn’t you once say you made corporal before the agency recruited you?”
“Now you’re pulling rank on me.”
“Kiss me, Alex.” When I didn’t respond, Wanda smiled. “Remember RHIP. Rank has its privileges.” When I wavered, she said, “I know. You’re engaged to be married.” Wanda picked up her glass and leaned into me. As she sipped, she gazed at me over the rim. Her eyes, round and deep blue, were slightly red-rimmed. She placed her hand on my thigh. “Your fiancée is in Germany. She’ll never know.”
“Of course she will. Women can read men’s minds, as you well know.”
“I’m certainly having a hard time reading yours.” As she put down her glass, Wanda said, “I think I’ll open another bottle.”
“You’ll have to drink it alone. I’ve had enough for one night.”
“You’re such a spoilsport. Were you always like this?”
“Like how?” When she placed the softnes
s of her lips against mine, I felt myself beginning to weaken. Not good. Wanda seemed eager to move us from the sofa to the bedroom.
“When did you become such a fuddy-duddy, Alex?”
“It’s probably in my DNA.”
“No, it isn’t. You never used to be like this. I have the feeling I’m kissing . . . a stone statue.”
As I raised my hands defensively, she sighed and readjusted her seat on the sofa. “Okay, Alex, I know.” Then she smiled. “You’re engaged. But you’re still not married, you know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wanda continued to smile. “What it means is, you’re still fair game.”
“Why can’t we just be friends?”
Folding her arms across her chest as though she was shivering, she said, “I’m cold, and I can see you’re not going to warm me up. Would you mind adjusting the air conditioner?” She pointed toward a small switch on the wall. I got to my feet, crossed the room, and gave the dial a tiny push downwards.
As I returned to the sofa, I said something about leaving. Wanda pointed again to the nearly empty champagne bottle. She poured out the last of the bottle into our glasses.
I said, “Don’t forget. You have to be up early. You still need to shop.”
“You’re right.”
“Have you ordered a taxi to take you downtown?” What a dumb question. There are plenty of taxis.
“That’s nice, Alex.”
“What’s nice?” I suddenly felt kind of strange.
“That you’re concerned about my welfare.” Wanda’s voice seemed to be coming from far away, out of an echo chamber.
It hit me hard, a wave of light-headedness sweeping downwards through my body, from my head through my legs and into my feet. Although the sensation wasn’t exactly unpleasant, my alarm bells began ringing. I didn’t like what I thought might be happening.
Without hesitating, and summoning all my willpower, I got to my feet. I found I could stand. When Wanda said, “Alex!” I didn’t answer, only focused my eyes on the door on the far side of the room. Unsure of whether I could reach it, I stumbled in that direction. As I went, I thought the floor seemed to be tilting. Wanda was alongside me now, calling my name. When she tried to grab my arm, I shook her off. She continued calling my name. Feeling around for the door lever, but unable to focus my eyes, I finally got my hand around it. I yanked the door open. Where was the elevator? To my right. Holding the wall, I felt my way along.
Two women were standing, waiting. Waiting for what? The elevator. When it arrived, I pushed by the women. Seconds later, the elevator door opened, and I saw the hotel lobby, the registration desk at the far end, heard the sound of voices. People were coming and going, everyone too busy to take any notice of me. Outside the elevator, I negotiated the last twenty feet to a large armchair and fell into it. In a daze, I sat there silently for probably thirty minutes, long enough for my head to clear and the dizzy feeling to finally pass.
I waited another ten minutes to make sure. The dose, whatever it was, probably hadn’t been that strong, not strong enough to knock me for a loop. Or I just hadn’t swallowed that much of my drink. Either way, I was lucky, very lucky. Finally, I got up, tested my legs. I was fine, my old self again. Outside, there was a line of waiting taxis. I decided the safe thing was not to drive. Twenty minutes later I was back at Camp Eggers, strolling up Gator Alley toward my billet, and taking deep breaths as I went.
The van, in which I’d driven to the Serena, was in the hotel parking lot. I’d pick it up the next day.
As I lay on my bed, I couldn’t keep from smiling, but I didn’t feel I am that wonderful—or desirable. I supposed that Wanda, on her last evening, wanted to rekindle feelings we might have had for one another way back when. Whatever she’d given me, I recognized the sensation immediately when it hit me. A long, long time ago, someone had fed me what is commonly called a “Mickey Finn” but what is actually chloral hydrate, which, when combined with alcohol, packs a punch. From what I’d heard, there were all kinds of drugs easily available to do what the Russian woman in East Berlin wanted to do.
Wanda must have dropped something in my glass when I’d gotten up to adjust the air-conditioning. Thankfully, I’d not drunk enough to render me totally immobile and I’d reacted immediately. As it was, I’d had just enough presence to be able to make it out of the room, onto the elevator, and down to the lobby.
I decided to take the incident in stride and not let it bother me. In fact, I should be flattered that a woman thought enough of me to go to such extreme lengths to get me into bed.
CHAPTER 25
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 2013
THE E-MAIL MESSAGE arrived during the night. “Attention Alex Klear: Report to my office at ISAF Headquarters, Room 216, 20 February 2013 at 1500 hours. Gardner Boyd, Colonel, U.S. Army, ISAF Mission Command.”
I had an idea I knew what that was about. It wouldn’t be good.
The following morning, I was able to hitch a ride halfway to the Serena with a couple of GIs on their way to the airport. It was a cool, pleasant day, and I walked the final quarter mile through the broad Kabul streets. At the hotel gate I spoke briefly with the three guards, passing the time of day and giving them an opportunity to practice their English. I then made a short tour of the Serena’s garden on the way to the parking area. If I’d approached the parking lot, which was chock-a-block with guests’ cars, from the hotel side, the two people climbing out of a blue Mercedes sedan would almost certainly have seen me before I saw them.
I dropped into a low crouch behind an SUV.
They stood talking quietly before heading off through the maze of cars in the direction of the hotel.
The man was Abdul Sakhi, and his left arm was in a sling.
Three days ago he and his female companion had tried to kill Corley and me in the Dubai restaurant.
Now, they were back in Kabul in the hotel parking lot waiting for me to retrieve my van.
Why? Then I thought I might have the answer to that question.
I slid under my vehicle and saw it immediately. It was, in fact, easy to spot, and I vividly recalled the heads-up and the advice we received during our readiness training: Always check out your vehicle before climbing in. The military calls them VBIEDs—vehicle-borne improvised explosive devices. This one was attached to the underside of the van’s chassis with a magnet. Fastened horizontally next to the manifold was a small tube half-filled with what could have been mercury. Two wires ran from the explosive to opposite ends of the tube. A small bump while driving would have been enough to close the circuit and set off the explosive.
Using my Leatherman, I unscrewed one of the wires at the explosive end, then unscrewed the fasteners holding the tube. Holding the tube with my left hand, I lifted off the IED itself. Once on my feet, I checked the mercury in the tube. It wouldn’t require much of a bump to detonate the explosive.
The operation had required five minutes. I’d need another five. I assumed that Sakhi and the woman were having breakfast. Whatever they were doing, I didn’t have much time. Underneath the Mercedes, I attached the explosive to the chassis, found a place to fasten the tube, then tightened the two screws. Working carefully, I screwed on the connecting wire.
When I was again on my feet, I didn’t see Sakhi or the blond woman.
I got the engine of the van started and drove slowly out to the road leading to the hotel gate.
For people in Kabul, a car exploding was like another day at the office.
As I drove, another question occurred to me: How would these characters have known which vehicle was mine?
I needed some time to think, and since I didn’t have anything pressing to do, I decided a ride around the city might help to calm me down. Unfortunately, Kabul’s chaotic traffic only served to make me jumpier. I finally stopped at the zoo. After touring the animal cages, I sat down on a bench. My phone went off.
Corley said, “I just learned you have an appointmen
t at Headquarters this afternoon.”
“Roger that.”
“Not good. This could mess things up badly.”
“Why, ma’am?”
“We’ll be going to the States, but right now I need you over here. I can’t handle everything alone.” Before I could respond, she said, “We’ll talk tonight.”
* * *
Colonel Boyd waited for the printer on the table adjacent to his desk to discharge three pieces of paper.
“What this is,” he said, “is a Breach of Discipline Report.” He seated himself behind his desk. In front of the wall to my right stood three flags, NATO’s, Afghanistan’s, and the Stars and Stripes. On the wall behind his desk was a picture of the president. As Colonel Boyd reread the document, he shook his head, then cleared his throat. “I asked for this, Mr. Klear, after you and Captain Withers began fighting.”
“I’ll admit, sir, that it was my fault.” When he nodded, I said, “I threw the first punch.”
“Boys will be boys, Mr. Klear, and I understand that.” He paused. “All our tempers become frayed from time to time.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But it’s not the brawling that disturbs me. It’s everything else I’m reading here.” Again he paused. “According to Captain Withers, you made a trip to COP Franklin, and then were responsible for one of his troopers being killed.”
I then explained the information that had led me to the COP.
“You lost your weapon out there.”
“My weapon was taken forcibly. I’ve explained that in a report. I’ve also explained the loss of the money. It was an ambush. They were all over us within a matter of seconds.”
Colonel Boyd shook his head. “How would they have known you were coming? An ambush seems unlikely. Captain Withers thinks you stole the money and made up the ambush story.”
“I can only say—”
“All right, all right. But there’s also this account of being—captured? And then you mysteriously make it back to the COP four days later? Everyone is skeptical of that. The Taliban don’t let Americans go, not without paying a ransom. Or else they kill you. You didn’t say what happened. According to your account, you and the interpreter were captured by a bunch of Talibs.”
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