by Brad Thor
“The Russian chose the American woman carefully,” said Baseer. “He knew about her mother’s relationship with your president and he knew that your president would find a way to get Khan freed from prison.”
“And then what was supposed to happen?” asked Harvath.
The elder held his hands up near his head and shook them as if to indicate that the Russian was crazy. “He expected the Americans to torture Khan until he told them the location of the Lake of Broken Glass. The Americans would then retrieve the diamonds and an exchange would be arranged for the girl. He would also insist on Khan’s release so that Khan could return to Mullah Omar and Sheik Osama and blame the Americans for everything.”
Harvath shook his head. It was an incredibly audacious plan. The downside for the Russians was next to nothing. Their man used his Afghan contacts to do everything. He used his Afghans to locate Khan. He then had them tip off the ANA to Khan’s whereabouts, and then he most likely used Massoud’s men to snatch Julia Gallo.
Then, if Khan was the real deal and there was indeed a cache of al-Qaeda gemstones somewhere in the country, the United States, or more specifically in this case, Harvath, would be forced to torture the information out of him to get the diamonds and trade them for Dr. Gallo’s release.
If the Russian was smart, which Harvath believed he probably was, he would arrange for Khan to be released as far away from where the diamonds were being exchanged for Julia Gallo as possible. Probably on the other side of the country. At least that’s how he would have done it, and then Khan would make his way back to bin Laden and Mullah Omar and fill them in. America would be the bad guy and no one would suspect the Russians or Mullah Massoud of having had any involvement whatsoever in the plot.
And if there were no diamonds, or Khan turned out not to be the right person to help locate them, Massoud and the Russian had a host of options to choose from. They could change their minds and accept the ten million Stephanie Gallo had offered for her daughter’s safe return. They could let Gallo go. They could sell her into the lucrative white slavery market that operated throughout the Islamic world, or simply slash her throat and dump her body by the side of the road. In essence, it was all upside with very little on the down. Harvath had to give the men credit.
That said, they had made one significant mistake. Though keeping prisoners with them in their villages was a Taliban tradition, doing so in this case had been a bad idea. Massoud and the Russian would have been better off stashing Julia Gallo in a deep, dark hole somewhere where only they knew where she was. Because they hadn’t, they had created a lot of problems for themselves, which Harvath hoped to add to.
“Do you know where Massoud and the Russian are now?” he asked.
There was considerable discourse among the elders this time. Harvath sensed in all but Baseer a reluctance to cooperate and give up Massoud’s location. Finally, the chief elder said, “We are not certain, but we think we may know where he is.”
“How many men did he take with him?”
Baseer calculated in his head and then replied, “The Russian left first. We believe it was shortly after he killed Elam Badar. Massoud wasn’t here. He was at a meeting with Taliban commanders in another province. The Russian took the woman, Massoud’s brother, Zwak, and ten of Massoud’s men. They left in three trucks.
“When Massoud returned to the village and heard that they had left, he organized about thirty men and divided them into six trucks. They left the village two trucks at a time to avoid drawing a Predator strike.”
Massoud was smart. If they traveled in too big a group or drove too many people to the same place, they would attract a lot of attention to themselves. “How many of his men did he leave behind here?”
Baseer conversed with his colleagues. “At least sixty,” he stated. “Maybe seventy-five.”
Seventy-five? thought Harvath to himself. That was a hell of a lot more than the “no more than ten” Usman had claimed. That kid either needed a remedial arithmetic class, or he was lying. Harvath felt pretty certain it was the latter. He also wondered if the boy had been lying about delivering food to his flu-stricken relatives. Whatever the case, Harvath was suddenly glad he had taken Asadoulah’s advice and avoided the Taliban buildings that dotted his original route.
“You said you think you know where Massoud and the Russian may be,” replied Harvath as he removed his map and spread it on the rug between himself and the elders. “Please show me.”
Baseer studied the map and asked questions of the other members of the shura before responding. “Here,” he said. “Here is where Massoud will be.”
“What is it?” asked Harvath as he removed a pen and marked the location.
“It is a high summer pasture for animal grazing; very difficult to access, especially this time of year. There will still be much ice and snow there.”
“Can you think of any place else Massoud might have gone?”
Baseer smiled and swept his hands wide. “He has many subcommanders and many allies throughout Afghanistan. He could have left for Pakistan, the Northwest Frontier Province, the Swat Valley.”
Of course, the old man was right. Massoud could be anywhere. Harvath massaged his eyes as he drew his fingers in to pinch the bridge of his nose. His back was beginning to ache again, and he wished he’d brought more Motrin with him.
“But,” said the chief elder, interrupting Harvath’s thoughts, “we don’t think Massoud went to any of those other places.”
“Why not?” asked Harvath.
“Because of the Russian. There are very few places the Russian would be welcome without Massoud. The Russian also was running a very big risk by taking the woman. It was an act of desperation. He needed to go someplace close, someplace safe that he knew he could reach quickly. It would have been someplace he knew. That is why we believe he went to the pasture compound.”
“I thought you said it was very difficult to access.”
“Difficult,” said Baseer, “but not impossible. If I was the Russian, it is where I would have gone.”
Daoud leaned over the map and, after surveying it, pointed just below where the pasture was located and added, “If this is where they went, they would have passed through this village right here.”
Harvath studied the map again. “Which means, someone there would have noticed all of those vehicles passing through.”
The interpreter nodded. “I know this village. It’s not very big. The people there definitely would have noticed.”
For all Harvath knew, it could be a wild-goose chase, but he was inclined to trust the intuition of the village elders. What’s more, their read of how the Russian would rationalize his moves made sense. It was also the best lead they had.
Harvath looked at Gallagher. “Do you have anything to add?”
“It’d be great if the elders’ militia could escort us to where the cars are,” said Baba G.
Daoud translated the request and Baseer was happy to oblige. The men stood, embraced, and wished one another peace. Harvath gave Baseer his Afghan cell phone number and asked him to please call if he thought of or heard anything else about Massoud, the Russian, or, most important, Julia Gallo.
When they stepped out of the meeting room, Fayaz’s security detail snapped to their feet as they said good-bye and Baseer told some of his men to escort the party back to their vehicles. Harvath could tell that the man he’d locked eyes with earlier and who was calling for Usman to cross the room and come to him was not happy, but there was little he could do. He had his orders.
And though Harvath wanted to smirk, or toss him a wink, out of respect for the elders he kept his urge to be a smartass in check. It was only a fleeting thought anyway. His mind was already on where they were going and what he prayed they’d find there.
After putting their shoes on, the group descended from the wooden structure and readied to head off toward the vehicles. Gallagher placed Asadoulah close to his side. Harvath looked for Usman, but he was nowher
e to be seen. Harvath figured that the kid had already run home to spin the story of being held at knifepoint into a saga of how he had singlehandedly fought off an entire battalion of bloodthirsty U.S. soldiers. After his father and brothers knocked the crap out of him for stretching the truth, they’d run out and tell their friends this story, but by then the American force would be upgraded to brigade strength at least. That was, of course, if the men in Usman’s house didn’t beat him unconscious for the shame he had brought upon them in accosting the American woman, who’d been, even as a prisoner, under Mullah Massoud’s protection. However it happened, Harvath hoped the kid got a top-notch ass-kicking.
As they moved out of the copse of trees, Harvath pretended to be talking to Gallagher as he raised Fontaine over the radio. “Convoy 2, this is Convoy 1. Do you read me?”
“Loud and clear,” said the Canadian.
“We’re on our way down to the vehicles. What’s your position?”
“I’m in a hide about thirty meters from the trucks. I already swept them. No bombs. They’re clean.”
“Anything we need to be on the lookout for?” asked Harvath.
“It’s all quiet down here.”
“Good. What about the Welcome Wagon crew we laid out?”
“I got some cell phones,” said Fontaine. “That’s it.”
“No maps? No radios?”
“Nope. None of that. One of them had a couple of naughty pictures that looked like they were from an old Playboy magazine, though.”
Harvath marveled at the hypocrisy. Ancient statues of the Buddha, bad. Pictures of Ms. April, not bad.
“I can see you guys coming now,” said the former JTF2 operative. “I’ll hold here until everyone has mounted up. Don’t go driving away without me.”
“Don’t worry,” said Harvath.
The group entered the small clearing on the very edge of the village where Gallagher’s Land Cruiser and the two other vehicles had been parked.
With no need to deal with checkpoints on the way out of the village, the vehicle assignments were changed. The battered pickup truck was the lead vehicle and carried a mixture of elders and their security. Fayaz and Asadoulah rode in the middle vehicle with the rest of the security team and Harvath, Fontaine, Gallagher, and Daoud in the rear position.
Once everyone was in their respective truck and the small column started moving, Harvath radioed Fontaine and told him to come out and hop in. As a precaution, Harvath stood next to the Land Cruiser with his weapon out and at the ready. Though he hadn’t seen anyone, he’d felt eyes all over him since they had left the jirga and begun their walk down to the trucks. If someone was going to try something, now would be the time.
Fontaine appeared out of the darkness on the other side of the makeshift parking lot and made his way to the Land Cruiser.
“We all good?” he asked as he stood up on the running board and prepared to hop in back next to Daoud.
Harvath took one final look around and said, “I think so.”
“Then let’s roll.”
Sliding into the front passenger seat, Harvath closed the door, but left it unlocked. Rolling his window down, he balanced the suppressor of his MP5 on the windowsill and tried to twist his body in such a way that the seat wouldn’t be jabbing into his sore back.
“You’re going to waste all of my heat,” said Gallagher as he put the truck in gear and pressed on the gas to catch up with the vehicles in front of him.
“It’s just until we clear the area.”
“So,” said Fontaine. “How was the party? Did they serve tea?”
For a moment, Harvath forgot about the throbbing in his lower back and the cold wind blowing through the window onto his face, and he laughed. “Yeah, they did. They also served up a nice juicy lead. I think we may know where Massoud and the Russian took Dr. Gallo.”
“That’s excellent news,” replied Fontaine. “Are we going to go check it out, or do you want to hand this thing off to the higher-ups?”
Harvath turned around to look into the backseat. “That depends on Mr. Daoud. We’d need his help for a little bit longer.”
Fontaine put his muscular arm around the pudgy Afghan. “What do you say? It could be fun.”
“I most certainly disagree about it being fun,” said the interpreter. “But that does not mean we cannot come to some sort of an arrangement.”
“A diplomat and a capitalist,” said Fontaine. “You ought to think about running for office.”
Harvath smiled as he turned back around in his seat and thought about rolling up his window. Suddenly, he heard the distinct, pressurized sound of gas releasing as a rocket-propelled grenade was launched.
He had barely yelled the words, “RPG!” when everyone in the Land Cruiser saw the lead vehicle explode in a roiling fireball.
CHAPTER 46
THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.
“I know it’s hard for female agents to get dates, but please tell me that things haven’t gotten so bad that you’ve resorted to seeing Hutch.”
After her meeting with Hutchinson, Elise had walked over to the White House to check the Secret Service duty roster and see if she could arrange for a couple more days off. Right now, with so many unanswered questions, she didn’t feel that she could rejoin the president’s detail and do her job effectively.
Turning around to see who was talking to her, Elise Campbell discovered Matthew Porter, a forty-year-old agent on Terry Alden’s detail. He was a decent guy with two kids and an attorney wife at the DOJ who processed FISA warrants.
“What are you talking about?” asked Elise.
“Don’t bullshit me, Campbell,” said Porter, as he smiled and shook his head. “It’s written all over your face.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“C’mon. I saw you two canoodling in Lafayette Park.”
“Me and Hutch?” stated Elise. “You’re crazy. Besides, who even uses the term canoodling anyway?”
“Whatever it was,” said Porter. “It looked pretty serious to me.”
“You’ve got an overactive imagination. It was nothing.”
“Well, you’re a big girl. You can make your own mistakes, but Hutch? You can do so much better than that. In fact, Claire and I’ve got at least a dozen guys we could set you up with.”
Elise looked him right in the eyes so he’d know she was serious. “Matt, there’s nothing going on between me and Hutch. We were talking shop.”
“Sure,” said Porter as he made quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “Talking shop. Without being crude, that guy’ll nail anything that moves.”
“News flash, Matt. That was crude.”
Porter shrugged. “You know what? You’re right. It’s none of my business.”
“Thank you.”
“I just have to admit, I don’t know what women see in him. Especially girls like you.”
“Girls like me,” repeated Campbell. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean women who are not only out of Hutch’s league, but out of his planet system.”
It was an interesting remark, and since Porter had brought it up, one that Elise felt worth pursuing. “Women like the first lady?”
Porter had a coffee cup in his hand and had made the mistake of just taking a sip. Though he tried to hold it in, he coughed the coffee back into his cup. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he laughed as he picked up a paper towel to wipe his mouth. “Hutch and Mrs. Alden? Now, that would be incredible.”
Campbell looked around. At the moment, there was no one else in earshot. “So what did you mean then?” she asked.
“I meant very good-looking women, like you,” Porter replied awkwardly. “Not that the first lady isn’t attractive, she’s just—”
Elise put up her hand to stop him. “Setting aside the first lady for the moment, what other women were you referring to when you alluded to girls like me?”
“I feel like I’m getting grilled by my
wife.”
“Don’t change the subject, Porter.”
“All right, all right. Wow, you don’t have to be so touchy.”
“I’m not touchy,” replied Elise.
“I was just talking about some of the hot women Hutch has managed to land. I meant it as a compliment.”
“Who are we talking about? Anyone I’d know?”
“What are we, girlfriends all of a sudden?” asked Porter. “I didn’t come in here to gossip. I just want some coffee.”
“Porter, you started this.”
“Hey, you were the one in the park with the guy. And if you’ve got something going with him, that’s cool. Just be careful.”
“Careful?” said Elise.
Porter dumped his coffee out and reached for a new cup. “The last hot chick Hutch hooked up with ended up drinking herself into a stupor and slamming her car into oncoming traffic.”
Campbell knew Hutchinson had been lying to her, but she still had trouble believing what she was hearing. “Are you talking about Nikki Hale?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah, I am,” said Porter, “and why are we whispering? Was she a friend of yours?”
Elise shook her head. “No, she wasn’t.”
“Good. For a second there I thought maybe I’d really put my foot in it.”
“How do you know he hooked up with her?”
“Because I saw the two of them the night of the accident.”
“Together?” asked Elise.
“No, they were down on the beach doing semaphore. Of course, together. Come on, Campbell.”
Elise grabbed hold of Porter’s lapel and led him further away from the other agents in the room. “I want you to tell me everything you saw. Right now.”
“You know what?” said the agent as he removed his colleague’s hand from his jacket. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I actually feel for the guy. Short of turning a woman gay, I can’t think of a worse thing that could happen. Let’s just forget I said anything, okay? Hutch has been through enough.”
