Perhaps now he was trying to follow traditional social patterns to give, as far as possible, a "normal" element to his life, and he asked himself if he wanted Elizabeth as his partner. His demons laughed at him, stung him with images of his mother, memories he hated so much that he wished Elizabeth would just leave quickly.
“I'll call you when I get back,” he said softly, accompanying her to the elevator.
“Why don't you call me or maybe write when you're free during the conference?” Elizabeth replied, annoyed and surprised at the same time. “I don’t think I’m asking for the moon. I don’t think you'll be working 24-hours a day non-stop. Obviously you have little desire to talk to me,” she added, coldly pressing the call button for the elevator.
Mark did not answer. He kissed her on the cheek and waited for the elevator doors to close. A pleasant and intelligent woman was not nearly enough to make him feel alive.
The sex tired him, he had to control everything, taking command of her and then he was forced to step up the rhythm to get his pleasure, while she was practically “on hold”.
‘Par for the course, I suppose,’ he thought, wrinkling his nose as he slipped under the blankets after a hot shower and an evening that had not left a trace in his head or his soul.
He turned off the light at two in the morning and, before falling into deep sleep, he focused on the mission that he now had to complete: terminating Uday Bouda.
13
Tehran was terrifying: the traffic was crazy at all hours of the day. The city had been built hurriedly without taking into account urban and environmental issues; it was like a huge patchwork Persian carpet of overlapping pieces covering haphazardly the lowland that surrounded the City and separated the desert from the Elburz mountain chain.
There were five of them, all men; his companions were passionate about the mountains and well trained.
They were members of a Swiss club that organized difficult excursions to various parts of the world each year. This time they would be in Iran, Afghanistan and Turkmenistan.
They left for the Elburz the day after they arrived in Tehran. The scenery was stunning and their days were perfectly organized. They hiked for nine hours a day and stopped in shelters at night, traveling by helicopter only when it became absolutely necessary.
It felt like being on vacation to Mark; the company was pleasant and highly motivated, and Dizin, Shemshak and Darbashar had left a beautiful impression in his mind.
He needed to become familiar with fatigue and altitude again, as well as entering Afghanistan quietly, crossing the troubled and hectic commercial border.
They spent the last two days on Damavand, a dormant volcano, the highest peak in the Middle East, but they remained below 13,000 feet so as not to over-exert themselves needlessly after five days' march under conditions that would put a strain even on professional climbers.
As planned, the helicopter arrived in the early afternoon at the base camp, which had been set up at 6,500 feet.
They quickly loaded all the equipment and set off for the Afghan border. The helicopter would not enter Afghan airspace; it would drop them and their luggage at the border. There would be a driver to pick them up in Islam Qala and take them to Herat.
From Herat they would leave by plane for Kabul to test themselves for a few days against the Hindu Kush.
But Mark would be staying in Herat, and he needed to decide how to leave his companions without raising suspicion.
14
On arrival they were all exhausted. Esmatullah, the driver who was waiting for them, let them sit in his dusty and dented minivan, and much to his surprise they all fell asleep almost instantly.
Mark, however, was awake when they were crossing Islam Qala.
Lines of trucks loaded with goods filled the border crossing as truckers jostled one another to get into Iran ahead of each other.
Groups of dirty and hungry children without parents wandered beside the road, looking for odd jobs to get some food for their families.
Mark watched the whole scene with apparent detachment; he couldn’t be distracted from his mission and had to keep his eyes open and, although he knew the history of the country, the political and social issues it had suffered since the eighties, and was prepared for the tragic condition of these people, he felt a lump rise in his throat that almost prevented him from breathing.
He knew that the Iranian guards had no qualms about shooting people who crossed the border without permission, and yet there were many Afghan refugees who attempted to flee across the border, risking their skins in the hope of a decent life.
When the road returned to its straight and monotonous course, Mark judged that there were no impending dangers and went back to sleep. He woke up together with his companions on the outskirts of Herat feeling quite sore.
15
Mark began to fake stomach cramps in Herat during dinner at the hotel while eating the typical Afghan dish zarda palau, a spicy rice and chicken dish.
“Sorry guys, I’m going up to the room. I'm afraid I don’t feel very well,” said Mark to his companions as he stood up.
“Need any help? Shall I call a doctor?” said Philippe beside him.
“No thanks, for now I think not. I'm afraid I’ve eaten something that has made me feel sick. Philippe, if I feel worse, I'll call you. Thanks anyway.” Mark said goodbye and went up to his room.
He waited for about three hours. In the meantime, he wondered how he would find a contact that could provide him with the information he needed to carry out the mission. The hologram had not given any indication apart from the code "Durrani Empire in 1747."
At midnight he called Philippe in a weak voice, “Philippe, I'm so sorry but I’ve got stomach-flu and a fever of 102°. Please, get me a doctor. The door is unlocked but don’t come in until we know if it’s contagious.”
Mark hung up feeling ashamed about the lying, but he could not avoid it; his companions were going to leave the next day and he absolutely had to stay in Herat.
It was at least an hour and a half before the doctor arrived. Meanwhile, Mark had taken some acetylsalicylic acid that would simulate a profuse cold sweat and he could say that the fever had dropped in the meantime.
The doctor, an Afghan who spoke English, knocked on the door and came into the room after identifying himself.
“Mr. Lebaron, I'm the doctor, your friend is here but he is not coming in. I will now come in to examine you.”
Mark was in the bed, the sheets of which he had moistened with a little water.
The doctor asked him what he had eaten in the last three days and what symptoms he had. Mark told him about the food, his abdominal cramps, the fever and the dysentery.
“Now I'll press your lower abdomen, measure your blood pressure and take your temperature again. If I cannot find anything suspicious, I’ll prescribe an antibiotic and some rest for you.
“In any case, unfortunately, you will not be able to go with your companions,” he said seriously, pulling his instruments out of the bag.
The doctor put his hands on Mark’s stomach and unexpectedly came up to his face and, in a very low voice, said, “Durrani Empire in 1747, 12:00 o’clock at the secondary entrance of the Friday Mosque.” Then he continued the visit and took his blood pressure.
“Well, Mr. Lebaron, I think that you have nothing serious enough to put you in the hospital. I’ll give you a prescription for an antibiotic and leave you two tablets to take every twelve hours. I’ll also leave you two packets of mineral salts.
“This is my phone number. If the situation gets worse call me immediately. You need to rest and drink plenty of water to rehydrate your body. I wish you a restful night.”
The physician, or supposed physician, walked out of the door and spoke with Philippe, whose voice was rather worried. He reassured Philippe about Mark’s health and the fact that he was not contagious, but he also told him that Mark could not continue the journey with them. Philippe thanked him and asked him about his fee, b
ut the doctor said that the hotel would make arrangements for his fee through the tour operator that had organized the trip. The group was insured, so there would be no problem at all.
Before going back to his bedroom, Philippe entered Mark’s room.
“Mark, I'm so sorry; we were having fun together. Don’t worry, our guide will organize your trip home as soon as you are able to travel, so... Goodnight, try to rest, I'll return tomorrow with the others to say goodbye.”
Philippe left the room and closed the door.
‘Fuck. What a mega-galactic sweat for nothing. I seriously thought I was going to collapse!’ Mark thought with dismay. Then he called room service. They changed the sheets and he took a quick shower and went to sleep.
16
The Swiss left for Kabul at eight o’clock in the morning after having said goodbye to him, and promised to visit him again on their return two weeks later.
Mark left them his Swiss cell number which, like all his phones, was connected to his safe line, so it was impossible to locate his position while he was on the phone with someone.
He carefully dressed and went sightseeing in the streets of Herat for a couple of hours. The city was much less chaotic than Tehran and the citadel, despite having been damaged in recent decades as a result of the wars, was very beautiful, so he spent half an hour visiting its walls.
He reached the Friday Mosque at about 11:30 am: He hadn’t imagined it would be so huge or would have had such a green and well-kept garden. He could not figure out which entrance was the secondary one, since there were many different entrances besides the main one.
He asked a man sitting on the ground which door was the secondary entrance of the mosque, and the man, without saying a word, pointed his finger to the right side of the building.
Mark walked to the exact spot that had been pointed out to him and leaned against the wall, expecting to see the doctor from the night before appear at any moment.
A few minutes after 11:30 am, a boy of about ten years tugged at his jacket and said in halting Arabic, having probably learned the phrase by heart.
“Sir, it seems to me that the antibiotic and mineral salts have taken effect. Can you follow me to the pharmacist please?”
Mark asked him where he wished to lead him, but the boy repeated the exact same sentence. A little suspicious, he followed him, keeping about four feet away to attract no attention and to observe any signs of potential danger.
They walked deep into the narrow and winding streets of the bazaar, until the child gently knocked at a door with several layers of peeling blue paint. When the door opened, the child reached out and took the tip that was offered and then vanished immediately into the crowd without looking back.
Mark went through the door and found himself in a dark room. Three men, presumably Arabs, who had been sitting around a table, stood up.
One of them, the one in the middle, took a smartphone from the table and pointed it at Mark’s face. Mark did the same. He pulled his smartphone from his pocket, measuring his movements to ensure that there were no misunderstandings and that no one mistook it for a weapon.
The pupil scanners immediately sent the images to the operations center of the two agencies that were working on the mission "Uday, one who runs fast."
“Lisunov-Li-2,” said the Arab, reading from his phone’s screen.
“BAT FK23 Bantam,” Mark replied without hesitation, because he was finally certain that he had found his counterpart.
Each of them then pulled a black-and-white card from his pocket.
They put them on the table; the edges matched perfectly and displayed the stylized image of a tiger.
Both Mark and BAT FK23 Bantam aimed their smartphone cameras at the card. Both screens displayed a 3D-image with the time, address and a street number in Herat.
“See you there in thirty minutes,” Mark said in Arabic.
“Lisunov-Li-2, you have to go on foot. Don’t take any public transportation. It isn’t safe these days. We’re expecting some martyrs in the bazaar and on the buses,” said BAT FK23 Bantam.
Mark reached the building just half an hour after leaving the bazaar. It was a dilapidated building.
The back of the building faced a drainage ditch in the Mahal Mohammad Ha district, the oldest and poorest in Herat.
The door was open and there was a strong smell of sewage.
Mark went up a small flight of stairs and into a room which was almost completely dark. The shutters had been closed, and sunlight was filtering through holes in the wall caused by mortar fire.
Mark found himself sitting at a table again with BAT FK23 Bantam, but instead of the two men he had met in the bazaar, surprisingly he found Colonel F. Braxter of the CIA and his deputy J. Randles, who were responsible for the operation on the American side.
“Lisunov-Li-2, we have no reliable information as to where Uday Bouda is at the moment, but both our and your operatives have told us that Bouda has a large opium poppy plantation in the southwest of Afghanistan, and more specifically in the region of Helmand. About 66% of the opium production in the country is concentrated there and, needless to say, this is where the Taliban have greater penetration and presence; in fact, they control thirteen districts of the province.
“Furthermore, Bouda has a laboratory to make and refine heroin inside Pakistan. From there the heroin comes back to Afghanistan, after which it is sent to Iran through Turkey, or in some cases, through Iraq, and finally it arrives in Europe.
“These are the images of the region sent via satellite.
“As you can see the area of poppy cultivation is extensive but also defined for each farmer. According to our information, Bouda is the owner of only one poppy plantation; it is, however, very large.
“He was able to obtain it through the Taliban in the period when they had lost power and used Bouda as a mercenary to organize their new outposts.
“We’re in the harvest season, the best time to start the mission.
“With the support of BAT FK23 Bantam, and our Pashtun operative who will pick up you in the morning at your hotel, you will reach the plantation and you will follow the next consignment in order to identify the location of Bouda’s laboratory, and obtain all possible information to get to Bouda.
“You absolutely must not cause any damage to the building, you must remember that you will be in Pakistan and, for obvious reasons, the ISI has not been informed; so you will have all the necessary technology available, but only two men with you, and you will have to trust them if you want to complete the mission successfully and get home in one piece.
“For security reasons all information will be sent simultaneously to the two agencies within five hours of it being received.
“When you find Bouda, you will terminate him and leave him in the field. A team of specialists will handle the next step; he "will be killed" in a firefight with UK and USA services in Kabul during an auction for batches of heroin with the Chinese Triad.
“The agents on the ground, representing the two western countries most involved in the fight against drugs, will "find" documents in his stronghold that link the terrorist, Uday Bouda, to al-Qa'ida in the "Saddam Hussein weapons of mass destruction" affair.
“The two external relations offices will deal jointly with the media, whereas you should already have been back in London for a few days. I would say that's it.
“Beware of "green parrots" as they call them here; these are landmines that were left by the Soviets more than twenty years ago.”
Braxter stood up, shook hands with the two agents and, before leaving the room, showed them a color picture.
“Lisunov-Li-2, Kamaal Sadeh will be in the lobby of your hotel at 7:30 am, BAT FK23 Bantam will already be in the jeep. Good day, gentlemen!”
The Colonel and his deputy, Randles, turned on their heels and left the building immediately without another word.
Mark had to spend the afternoon hanging around the center of Herat. He was bored and
wandered aimlessly, but in spite of everything, he kept checking that no one was following him.
17
Kamaal Sadeh was reading the newspaper in the lobby of the hotel at 7:30 in the morning.
He was wearing a typical Afghan kurta over a pair of khaki pants, a pair of combat boots and a beige pakol on his head.
He did not know Mark’s face, but he knew that Mark knew his, so now and then he looked around to see if he could spot his partner in adventure.
“Good morning, Kamaal!”
Mark greeted him as he approached with a cup of hot coffee in his hand, the coffee that Kamaal expected to see as a password and also counted on to fully wake up.
After he drank the coffee, they went to the parking lot of the hotel together. BAT FK23 Bantam was sitting in the car with a sleepy face worthy of an adolescent who had stayed awake on the beach to watch the sunrise.
“Hey, Lisunov Li-2,” said the American agent with a scowl. “Is your per diem so small that you couldn’t even buy a cup of coffee for me? Do you think it's fair that only Kamaal gets to enjoy this privilege that we can forget about completely for the next few days?”
“Listen Bat, next time you can get that tired old ass of yours up and come and get your own. You're not exactly a beautiful, ready and willing girl, are you? And anyway, Arabs are not my type,” Mark replied in the same angry tone. “You could have at least thrown out the papers in the car. What a pigsty! If the bullets or the mines don’t kill us, the pathogens that live here will do it!”
“Shut up and get in!” Kamaal said laughingly in Arabic, the language that they would speak till the end of their mission.
The off-road was not an ordinary vehicle: even if it appeared dirty and non-descript, it was fully armored and equipped with extremely sophisticated detection and data transmission equipment.
Black Hawk Day Rewind: An action packed spy thriller (Mark Savannah Espionage Series Book 1) Page 4
