by Brad Thor
Daoud put all the questions to the boy and then said, “His uncle’s family has a stomach flu. His mother made dinner for them and he took the food to their house. He was on the way home when we found him.”
“What about Taliban or other villagers?”
“He said he didn’t see any other villagers. He saw a truck with four Taliban in it twenty minutes ago, but nothing since.”
Harvath wondered if that was the same truck Baba G had taken care of. “Ask him where Massoud went.”
Daoud asked, but the boy replied that he didn’t know.
“How many of his men are still here?” Harvath asked.
The boy shrugged. “Only a few,” he replied. “No more than ten.”
“How do you know?”
“We have a small village. It is not easy for Taliban to hide here,” said the boy.
Harvath didn’t believe him. There was just something about this kid that he didn’t like. Looking at Gallagher, Harvath asked, “Did you bring any restraints?”
Baba G reached into his pocket and handed a pair to Harvath, who ordered Usman to stand up and hold out his hands. Sliding his knife back into its sheath, Harvath locked the boy’s wrists together with a pair of the EZ cuffs and then asked Daoud for his kaffiyeh.
Pantomiming what he wanted, Harvath waited for Usman to open his mouth and then used the long piece of checked cloth as a gag. He wrapped the remaining fabric around the boy’s neck and the lower part of his face. It wasn’t the world’s best disguise, but it was better than nothing, and if the boy tried to yell for help, nobody was going to hear anything unless they were standing right next to him.
Harvath made Usman Daoud’s problem and told the interpreter to keep hold of the boy’s arm and make sure he didn’t get away. Harvath then flashed his MP5 so Usman could see it, and had Daoud tell him that if he tried to run or made any noise whatsoever, he would shoot him. He told Asadoulah the same thing just in case.
Then, with the two teens in tow, Harvath gave the order to move out and prayed they wouldn’t encounter any more trouble before they made it to the jirga.
CHAPTER 44
When the center of the village finally came into sight, Harvath instructed his group to stop while he pulled on his NODs and took a long, careful look around.
As Fayaz’s map indicated, in the center of the village was an elevated wooden structure surrounded by a copse of trees. It looked like a tree house with a wide, wraparound porch. Lights burned inside, and over the tumble of the icy river as its water slushed down out of the mountains, Harvath could hear voices. The two shuras were still engaged in their jirga. It was time.
Harvath moved his three Afghan charges quickly through the open, over to the stand of trees, while Gallagher covered them. Once they were safely at the base of the structure, Gallagher traversed the open space and joined them.
“What do you want to do with him?” Baba G asked as he nodded toward Usman. “Should we cut him loose?”
Harvath powered down his NODs and stuffed them into one of his coat pockets. “We’ll let his elders decide what to do with him,” he said as he pulled out his knife and sliced off the boy’s plastic restraints. Daoud helped unwind the kaffiyeh from around his face and warned him to remain silent.
Putting Daoud in the lead, Harvath ordered his team up the stairs. At the door, the interpreter removed his loafers and stepped inside. Harvath and company immediately followed suit.
Inside there was a group of gnarled, weather-beaten men with automatic weapons. Some belonged to Fayaz and his shura, the others were local and immediately scrambled for their guns.
“Salaam alaikum. Salaam alaikum,” Daoud repeated with his hand placed over his heart in an attempt to reassure the men that they meant no harm.
The locals weren’t buying it. Harvath and Gallagher were Westerners and that could only mean one thing—trouble.
The men hurriedly leaped to their feet, the room filling with the metallic clicks of AK-47 safeties being flipped off.
“Salaam, salaam,” Daoud continued to implore the men. Peace, peace.
Gallagher took a step to his right to better shield Asadoulah. One of the locals recognized Usman standing behind Harvath and began speaking to him.
“Tell them we’re here to see the shura,” Harvath said to their interpreter.
Daoud relayed the message, but the man ignored him. Instead he kept speaking to Usman and was now cocking his head, beckoning the boy to step away from the strangers and join him on the other side of the room.
The interpreter once more repeated his request and the man swung his rifle barrel over and focused his sights right on the center of Daoud’s face. Immediately, all of the color drained from his face.
It was a very aggressive move, and in unison Harvath and Gallagher pulled their weapons out from under their patoos and trained them on the handful of Afghans who were aiming at them from the other side of the room. It was a Mexican standoff, Afghanistan style.
Across the room, the man began raising his voice as he called for Usman to come to him. “Na,” Harvath said. No.
The man did not like that answer and was about to reply when a door on the other side of the room opened. In the doorway stood an older man with a long, gray beard, coal-black eyes, and a thick scar that ran from his nose to the bottom of his left ear. He appeared to be one of the village elders, and he was very angry.
He yelled at the villagers to put down their guns and, reluctantly, they did. He then turned his eyes upon the group of strangers.
Daoud bade the elder peace and, as they had not been invited into the village like Fayaz and his shura had been and were in effect trespassing, immediately requested melmasthia—protection and hospitality.
The elder studied the strangers and then slowly granted his approval. With that, Harvath and Gallagher lowered their weapons. As they did, Usman bolted for the elder and began yelling out what had happened to him.
The elder fixed the boy with a glare that stopped him in his tracks. He looked at Daoud for an explanation, which the interpreter quickly gave. The elder was obviously not happy with what he heard and he locked eyes with Harvath.
Harvath returned the man’s stare and refused to look away. Finally, he held up his hand to silence Daoud and called for the strangers to follow him into the other room.
As they entered, Harvath, Gallagher, and Daoud politely greeted Fayaz and his shura as well as the members of the local shura. Their chief elder, who introduced himself as Baseer, asked the men their names and then invited them all to sit down and take tea. When the teenagers tried to join them, Baseer hissed through his teeth and dismissively waved them away to the back of the room, where he ordered them to remain standing.
The men sat down on a large blue rug. Baseer had more tea brought in, and small plates of food. Harvath knew that he had no choice in the matter. Taking tea was an ancient, time-honored tradition meant to show respect and secure good relations. Rejecting it would have been an incredible insult to his hosts. Nevertheless, Gallagher had taken out four Taliban soldiers on the edge of the village, and as Fontaine had said, where you see four Taliban there are always at least forty more nearby, or if one wanted to believe Usman, no more than ten. Whatever the number, Harvath felt like a sitting duck and wanted to be on his way as quickly as possible. To do that, though, he would have to convince Baseer and the other members of his shura that it was now in their best interest to work with him.
Daoud and Fayaz spoke briefly, and then the interpreter filled Harvath in on everything the two shuras had thus far discussed.
Waving Asadoulah over, Fayaz made the boy apologize to Baseer and the other members of his shura for how he had treated the American woman and for lying about his altercation with Zwak.
Usman was then summoned by Baseer, who severely chastised him and demanded the names of the other boys who had joined them in assaulting the American woman so that they could be dealt with. Once the boy complied, he and Asadoulah were d
ismissed from the room. It was now time to discuss the most serious issues.
Fayaz made it clear to Baseer and his shura that Harvath had the biggest stick in the room. He could call upon American and NATO militaries at will and they would do his bidding, including leveling this village with a massive airstrike.
As Daoud translated, Harvath was concerned that Fayaz might be laying it on a bit too thick, but if there was one thing the Afghans recognized and respected instantly, it was force. Watching the faces of Baseer and his fellow shura members, it was clear that Fayaz’s words were sinking in.
Baseer looked at Harvath finally and said, “You have come for the woman?”
“Yes, we have,” Harvath replied through Daoud.
“Mullah Massoud is one of the most powerful Taliban commanders in all of Afghanistan. If he had caught you here, he would have killed you.”
“But he is not here, is he?”
“Na,” replied Baseer. “He is not.”
Harvath had been right, but there was little satisfaction in the knowledge. The important thing was getting Julia Gallo back safely. Removing his cell phone, Harvath showed Baseer the pictures he had taken and said, “We know the woman was held here and I have proof. I have sent these pictures to the American military commanders at Bagram. They know and I know that Mullah Massoud couldn’t have kept Dr. Gallo here without your knowledge. Because of this, we make no distinction between you and the Taliban. If you do not cooperate with us, airstrikes will be launched immediately against your village. There will be nothing left here but dust.”
Harvath was bluffing again, of course, but he’d dealt with enough village elders in his day to know that their primary obligation wasn’t to a man like Massoud, but to the people of their village, whom the Taliban relentlessly manipulated, extorted, and hid behind.
“Give me the woman,” added Harvath, “and we will go in peace.”
Baseer shook his head. “I warned Massoud that taking her would be bad for our village.”
“He should have listened to you.”
“The only person he listens to is himself.”
“And the Russian,” offered one of the other elders.
Harvath’s eyes studied the man as the interpreter translated his remark. “It sounds like this Russian has also caused much trouble for your village,” said Harvath.
“Too much trouble—” continued the elder until Baseer held up his hand to quiet him.
“Did Massoud order him to kill Elam Badar?”
Baseer nodded. “Massoud was afraid that Elam Badar might tell the Americans about his prisoner.”
“Who is the Russian? A mercenary?” asked Harvath.
Harvath studied the faces of the shura after his question had been translated, but none of them appeared anxious to answer it. Having already threatened to use his stick, he knew it was time to dangle a carrot.
“If you help me, I can help you,” said Harvath. “I am in a position to be extremely generous.”
“How generous?” asked Baseer.
“That all depends. What do you need?”
“We want a small hydroelectric dam built at the bottom of our valley. We also want new roads built.”
Harvath thought about it. “These are both very important projects. Control over such projects would not only increase your village’s wealth and power, but also the authority of your shura.”
“And we want generators,” said Baseer, “until we can generate enough power ourselves.”
The elder certainly wasn’t shy with his list of requests. “If you give me what I want,” replied Harvath, “I will do everything I can to help you secure these things for your village.”
Baseer listened to the interpreter’s translation and then conversed briefly with his fellow elders. Turning back to Harvath, he said, “We only know the Russian by his Afghan name, Bakht Rawan. He is not a mercenary.”
“What is he?”
“He is a Russian intelligence agent.”
Harvath looked at Gallagher and then back to the chief elder. “What’s his connection with Massoud?”
“The Russians never really left Afghanistan,” said the chief elder. “Not completely. Many supported and maintained intelligence networks throughout the country. Massoud was the Russian’s student. He helped place Massoud in the NDS.”
“Massoud was in the NDS?” replied Harvath.
“Hoo,” said Baseer. “But he grew tired of it. He wanted to change Afghanistan, and for him, the Taliban was his answer.”
“What about for you?”
“I have never believed in the Taliban,” replied the elder.
Right answer, thought Harvath. Now let’s see if he can keep them going. “And what does all of this have to do with kidnapping Dr. Gallo?”
Baseer looked at him and spoke slowly so Daoud could translate. “They offered to give you the woman back if you freed Mustafa Khan from prison, correct?”
Harvath nodded.
“What they didn’t tell you was that the Russian was the one who helped the Afghan National Army locate and capture Khan in the first place.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would they do that?”
The elder looked at Harvath and asked, “What do you know about the Lake of Broken Glass?”
CHAPTER 45
“I’ve never heard of any Lake of Broken Glass,” replied Harvath.
“It is a story,” said Baseer. “A fantasy.”
“Then why are we talking about it?”
“Because the Russian was obsessed with it.”
Harvath looked at Gallagher. “Have you ever heard of this lake?”
Baba G shook his head. “No, but I’m not exactly the resident expert on Afghan folklore.”
Harvath turned back to the elder and through Daoud said, “How does this fit in with Dr. Gallo’s kidnapping?”
“Afghanistan,” the elder responded, “can seem like a puzzle. To understand it, you must put the pieces together correctly. Even if some of the pieces are only a fantasy. Through his network, the Russian became convinced that the Lake of Broken Glass was not a fantasy, but in fact a reality.”
“So what is the Lake of Broken Glass?” Harvath asked.
“It is where Sheik Osama is said to have hidden all of his riches.”
“Bin Laden?”
Baseer nodded. “Before his attacks on New York and Washington, he knew his money would not be safe in bank accounts. People say he took all of his money from these banks and used it to buy diamonds.”
“I think I actually read something about that,” said Gallagher.
“Me too,” replied Harvath. “It’s not a bad idea. Diamonds are easy to hide. They retain their value and they’re virtually untraceable.”
“They’re also easily converted to cash and can be transported anywhere in the world without dogs being able to sniff them or setting off alarms.”
“So how does this Lake of Broken Glass fit in?” Harvath asked.
“Sheik Osama was said to have hidden his diamonds in a cave somewhere in Afghanistan. To keep them from being stolen, he then had the cave flooded with water. Eventually, the wooden cases used to store the stones rotted away and the diamonds spilled out across the cave floor. The diamonds are said to sparkle so brightly that the flooded cave looks like a lake of broken glass.”
The Afghans loved their tall tales, and while obviously the story had been embellished as it passed through the Afghan grapevine, Harvath couldn’t help but wonder if there was something there. He remembered hearing testimony released after one of the first Gitmo trials that spoke of an Afghan man who had drowned with his pockets full of diamonds. He’d also heard of a DHS alert for dive shops to be on the lookout for Arab men wanting to purchase diving equipment which was born of confusion over SCUBA tanks discovered in a terrorist stronghold along the Afghan-Pakistan border. DHS believed al-Qaeda was training men to carry out attacks on bridges, cruise ships, and other water-related targets. Now, Harvath strongl
y suspected those two dots might connect in a way that no one had ever considered.
Whether there was fire behind all this smoke or not, Harvath had more questions he needed answered. “Explain to me why the Russian had Mustafa Khan arrested,” he said.
“It is believed that Khan is the person who encouraged the sheik to remove his money from the banks and purchase the diamonds. People said that Khan also helped the sheik hide the diamonds. He was one of his most trusted lieutenants. When money was needed for an operation, it was Khan who went and fetched the diamonds from the lake.”
“So if the Russian got hold of Khan,” said Harvath, “he believed he could force him to reveal the location of the lake?”
The chief elder nodded.
“So why not just grab Khan himself? Why kidnap Dr. Gallo and go to all of this additional trouble?”
“From what Massoud said, the Russian was warned by his country not to betray their involvement. If the lake could be discovered, the diamonds were to be removed. Even though al-Qaeda has other sources of funding, they would be greatly weakened, and so would Taliban leader Mullah Omar. Always overly ambitious, the Russians intended to transfer the money to Massoud so that he could use it to unite the other Taliban commanders under his control, purchase more weapons, build his army, and wear down the American and other Western forces in Afghanistan exactly the way the mujahideen had done to the Soviet Union.”
It was a bold plan and Harvath could see a lot of upside in it for the Russians. Al-Qaeda was the primary source of a lot of the radical Islamist trouble they were having in places like Chechnya. Also, if they succeeded and Massoud ending up running the country, the Russians would be able to ask for almost anything they wanted in return. Harvath’s guess was that they would want to pick up on the abandoned pipeline project that had ground to a halt when America had bombed al-Qaeda terrorist training camps after the attacks on the U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania.
Considering the way Russia actively bullied both Europe and its former Soviet republics, like the Ukraine, by regularly cutting off their natural gas supplies, Harvath could only imagine how much influence it would have if it controlled the only pipeline from central Asia straight through Afghanistan to ships waiting in the Arabian Sea. Russia would have a stranglehold on the entire region.
