Jericho 3
Page 5
“Unfortunately AD will kill 79,000 Americans this year, and next year, and more the year after that as our population ages. Let’s just hope that Marburg fever doesn’t ever exceed those numbers, or we’ll all be in trouble.”
FOB Lightning
Paktya Province, Afghanistan
The convoy of Mine Resistant Ambush Protected MRAPs, long-bed flats and a wrecker team paused outside the checkpoint at FOB Lightning. Camp and Billy Finn exited the back access door of their MRAP. They showed their badges to two AK-47 toting Gurkha guards and walked up the gravel walk between T-walls to the checkpoint turnstile where US Army guards welcomed them in. Passing the path to Terp Village, they unbolted the wooden gate as the convoy drove out and exited the main checkpoint on FOB Thunder next door, before driving over to the city of Gardez.
US Navy Captain “Camp” Campbell fired off a stiff salute to an approaching soldier, a salute that was instantly, though hesitantly, returned.
“Specialist, where can I find the Mayor Cell?”
“Sir, veer to the right, about 700 yards up and on your right, next door to the Tactical Operations Center. And sir?”
“Yes, specialist.”
“This is a non-salute base, so…you know.”
Camp rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders as he and Finn made their way up the gravel road toward the Mayor Cell. The ominous hilltop fortresses of Alexander the Great began to emerge over FOB Lightning as they knocked on the Mayor’s door.
First Sergeant Ramirez was the Mayor of FOB Lightning and was responsible for heating, air conditioning, plumbing, and food and billeting.
“Good morning, sergeant, Mr. Finn and I just arrived by convoy, and we’ll be needing some rooms.”
“Rooms? Would you like carpeting, granite counter-tops, a mini-bar and indoor plumbing, too?” Ramirez asked with less than subtle contempt for a high-ranking military officer. “This ain’t no Hilton, captain. How long will you be here?”
“Several weeks, a couple of months, not really sure.”
Ramirez looked at Camp’s insignia badge.
“You’re a doctor. Replacement for Major Banks?”
“Yes, something like that. “
“Civilian or contractor?” Ramirez asked Finn.
“Civilian,” snapped Finn. He hated the question.
“GS level?”
“Fifteen.”
Camp got agitated. “What difference does that make?”
“Sir, I’m not going to bunk a GS nine with an O-six, but a 15 is equal to your level.”
Ramirez handed them two keys to Building 89.
“Soon as you stow your gear, you need to check in with the XO and then in at the TOC. Bring your orders. The DFAC serves lunch from 1100 to 1300 hours.”
Building 89 was a standard size B-hut. A long corridor down the middle was lit with two fluorescent light boards, and plywood walls were eight feet high on both sides. Camp and Finn had rooms across from each other. After getting past a simple key padlock on every plywood door, inside each soldier had an open closet with a bay for six hangers and two cubby holes for folded clothes. Four lines of three-inch plywood shelves would hold their toiletries, DVDs and batteries. Beneath the shelves a larger boxed-in bin stored weapons and ammo under separate lock and key. A three-foot by two-foot plywood desk was against the cement wall and beneath the window that was covered with black paper to prevent any light from being seen outside. Lightning was a dark base; no lights at night limited what a sniper might be able to get away with. The extended twin bed mattress sat on a plywood frame and was lifted four feet in the air so that sea bags and battle rattle could be stowed beneath. A 220-to-110 converter and a power strip were on the floor between the desk and the elevated bed.
“You unpacked yet, Finn?”
“Home sweet home. All done. Can we hit the head on the way to the XO’s office?”
“Aye, aye…let’s roll.”
The XO was a National Guardsman from Minnesota. He had attained the rank of a full bird Army colonel on the weekends, but was a full-time literature professor at Gustavus Adolphus College by trade. The longest war in American history required several rotations of reserves and National Guard in addition to active duty enlisted. Even on the front lines.
A long line of local Afghan Pashtuns, each wearing a blue janitor’s smock, stood watching two of their brothers emptying the trash out of the XO’s metal can as two more replaced the liner bag. They were expressionless as Camp and Finn walked past them into the building.
“Ah, Captain Campbell and Special Agent Finn, we’ve been expecting you. The Mayor said you’d be over so, I took the liberty of inviting Captain Henry to join us.”
Camp read the name tag.
“Colonel Kierkendahl, pleasure to meet you, sir. Sounds like a good Nordic name.”
“Sixth generation Lutherans from Minnesota don’t ya know. Campbell, that’s Scottish right?”
Camp tired of the small talk he had initiated.
“Henry? You were with Banks the day he was abducted.”
“Yes, sir, I run a MEDEVAC mentoring program for the Afghan Army with a team of six medics from the 82nd Airborne Division. I was assisting Major Banks that day.”
“On the tularemia outbreak?” Camp asked.
“Yes, sir, it’s been contained. The patients got their full treatment of antibiotics and have been released.”
“Released? Or do you mean arrested?” Camp asked.
“Sir?”
“The report says all three were Taliban.”
“Roger that, sir. The commanding Afghan general on Thunder is well-known in the province, and he thought it would be viewed as an act of compassion to let these patients go.”
“How did the ambulance manage to leave Thunder with an American inside?” Billy Finn questioned.
“Sir, the checkpoint doesn’t usually inspect outgoing vehicles, especially an ambulance with emergency lights on. They ambulance comes and goes throughout the day. The Paktya Regional Hospital is the most sophisticated hospital between here and Khost.”
“How about coming on to the base? Do the Afghan Army guards inspect the ambulances then?” Finn continued.
“Affirmative, Mr. Finn. They do a quick inspect and release. Just to make sure there’s no car bomb.”
“So Captain Henry, the guards know who comes on to Thunder. The guards’ commanding officer knows who comes on to Thunder. And by extension, the commanding Afghan general knows who comes on to his base too.”
“Roger.”
“Once you verified that an abduction took place, who pursued?”
“I can answer that one,” Kierkendahl chimed in, hoping to satisfy Finn’s interrogation. “We immediately called the Afghans and asked for ground pursuit and requested alerts for the various checkpoints in the province. We sent ground units out as well.”
“Air?” Camp asked.
“Unfortunately, no. We don’t have air assets here, and by the time the weather cleared, it was pretty pointless,” Colonel Kierkendahl answered.
“Did the Afghan Army find anything? Any clues? Any leads?” Finn asked.
Captain Henry and Colonel Kierkendahl shifted in their chairs as the colonel abruptly stood and started to pace the room.
“Well, sir, the Afghans were not able to pursue that day,” Henry said.
“To be fair, they complained that they were out of fuel. There was really nothing they could do,” Kierkendahl added.
“Captain Henry, have you had other tours in Afghanistan?” Finn asked.
“Yes, sir, 13 months in Kandahar two years ago.”
“Did you come across any corruption problems with the Afghans you worked with then?”
“Roger that, every week. In fact, most of the time, the issue was fuel. We’d bring in a fully loaded tanker. By the time the generals and the colonels and local government officials siphoned off what they wanted for personal use, there was hardly anything left for the Afghan Army vehicles.”
“The day before the abduction.”
“And they were already on ‘E’? How often do they send patrols out, colonel?”
“They typically send out a three vehicle patrol on a humanitarian mission once a week.”
Colonel Kierkendahl said as his agitation grew. The colonel sat down behind his desk. “Listen, bottom-line, we did everything within our power. We immediately notified the ABP, Afghan Border Patrol. I’m certain that no American soldier has left this country out their back door.”
“The ABP? You’re not serious, colonel. Two TVs, a smart phone, a pack of smokes and some pirated porn, and they’d let you smuggle Jimmy Hoffa into Pakistan,” Finn said as he stood up quickly and walked out of the HQ building, slamming the door behind him for dramatic effect.
“Captain Henry, can you take me over to the base clinic? I’d also like to meet the Terp.”
“Roger that, Captain Campbell. I’ll have my team escort her over to the TMC now.”
Camp got up to leave then hesitated.
“Hey Captain, where do I go on Lightning to make a Skype call back home?”
Kierkendahl and Henry were amused.
“Captain, this Forward Operating Base isn’t quite on the edge of the Earth but we can see it from here. One satellite dish provides barely enough bandwidth for all of our computers to run, let alone ‘shits and grins’ for the folks back home. Better send a letter and hope for good weather to get it out of here.”
Camp had never been on any mission where basic communications were so difficult to come by. His heart wanted to reach out and touch Leslie Raines. But American bandwidth in Afghanistan wouldn’t allow that connection to be made, at least not on FOB Lightning.
* * *
5
* * *
Datta Khel Village, Miran Shah District
North Waziristan, Pakistan
A Taliban guard bent down and cut the plastic straps that bound Major Banks’ feet together. He stretched his legs and knees out for the first time in what seemed like months. He had lost track of time. When he finally regained consciousness from the hit on the head in the ER, he was already out of the ambulance, gagged and rolled into an Afghan rug and was bouncing in the back of an old pick-up truck. The temperatures were extremely cold, so he figured that he had been moved over the mountain pass and into the lawless villages of North Waziristan in Pakistan.
The windowless room in the building refused to betray either night or day.
Kazi was the only one who spoke English. He seemed friendly enough, American educated, but Banks didn’t trust the others.
The captor walked him over to a wooden table that was covered with a few rudimentary operating room devices. Six bottles marked diethyl ether were sitting on the back of the table. Several dozen Ethicon Prolene visi-black M3 surgical suture cartridge spools were scattered around.
Kazi walked into the room.
“Dr. Banks, I’m sorry for your difficult treatment earlier. I apologize. I hope you have enjoyed your meal and some water.”
Banks said nothing.
“This woman is very important. She is the wife of a Taliban commander. We do not have the expertise that she requires.”
Banks looked at the table and the woman on the bed next to him. Her eyes screamed but her mouth was covered with tape.
“She needs surgery, Dr. Banks. Do what they need done, and these brothers will take you back to Paktya, completely unharmed. They can’t take you back to Thunder the same way they took you out, for obvious reasons, but they will drop you off on a nearby road where the ANA will pick you up.”
Hope started to build. Banks stretched his fingers to make sure his hands weren’t injured.
“Yes, we made sure your hands were protected,” Kazi said with some pride.
Banks walked closer to the woman.
“What’s wrong with her?” he said in a raspy voice.
Kazi and the other captors in the room nodded and smiled with each other. This was progress. Perhaps they finally had a cooperative hostage.
“This is difficult to explain, Dr. Banks, but the woman does not bring her husband pleasure. She has been married one year but has not brought him children. He is not attracted to her.”
Hope disappeared as fast as it had arrived. Banks looked at Kazi with contempt.
“The commander is not satisfied with her breasts?”
Kazi pointed to the two devices on the table.
“The commander wishes that you implant one of these in each breast. The commander has acquired these Poly Prothese PIPs from France. They are industrial grade silicone. The best.”
Banks examined the packaging around the PIPs.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to put this woman to sleep with a couple of bottles of diethyl ether, then open her up in here, in this room, and insert industrial grade silicone PIPs? All to make her more satisfying and attractive?”
Kazi smiled. “Precisely, Dr. Banks.”
“I assume you’re aware that the United Arab Emirates and all other civilized countries have recalled these industrial PIPs because they rupture? Does he want his attractive, faithful, and satisfying wife to die in three to four years?”
“Dr. Banks, this is not your concern. Three to four years is ample time to give him a son. She won’t live even that long if she does not bring him a son.”
The Army major started to grasp the purpose of his abduction. But he couldn’t fully process the notion of performing cosmetic surgery on a Muslim woman under such harsh conditions. There had to be other options. Banks mustered enough saliva in his mouth as he could then spit on the floor near Kazi.
“Screw you,” Banks snarled seconds before the butt of an AK-47 opened a gash on his head as he fell to the dirt unconscious.
The captors carried him over to his bed and threw him down as Kazi warned them not to hurt his hands.
Level One Clinic - TMC
FOB Lightning, Afghanistan
Camp was sitting on the edge of an exam table in the clinic. Seven soldiers were in line at the window waiting to get another week’s supply of Ambien. Two young Army medics walked Miriam into the clinic and over to Camp.
“Salam,” Camp said gently covering his heart with his hand.
Miriam smiled.
“Miriam, I am Captain Campbell, and this is my associate Billy Finn.”
“It is my pleasure to meet you.”
“Your English is excellent. You were Major Banks’ interpreter?” Camp asked.
“And four more doctors before him. I have been working for coalition forces for five years now.”
“Where do you live, Miriam?” Finn asked.
“Interpreter village.”
“Well, your file says that you work seven weeks straight then take one week off every two months. Where do you go when you’re not in Terp Village?”
“My home is in Khost, Mr. Finn.”
“Do you have family, Miriam? A husband? Parents? Children?”
“Such questions are interpreted as rude in Afghan culture, Mr. Finn.”
“Well, then pardon my damn potty mouth and answer the freaking questions. In American culture, kidnapping is hardly interpreted as high-brow social etiquette either.”
Miriam nervously stroked the single glass bead on her necklace.
“I have one son, he is six years old. My husband is a farmer.”
“What tribe are you, Miriam?” Finn pressed.
Miriam was now irritated with the excessive line of questioning.
“I am Pashtun, Mr. Finn, my father was Mezi clan of the Zadran tribe.”
Finn smiled and shook his head slightly. He got the answer he wanted. The interrogation was over.
“Am I in trouble Dr. Campbell?” Miriam asked trying to stop the questions. “I desperately need my job to feed my family and take care of my parents and cousins. Many people depend upon my salary.”
“No, Miriam, you’re not in trouble,” Camp said trying to be reassuring. “Mr. Finn and I are here to help figure out what happened to Major Banks. Do you know of any reason why the Taliban would want to kidnap an American doctor?”
“No. He was a good man.”
“Was?” Finn asked.
“He is a good man. Dr. Mahmoud and the rest of the staff think highly of him.”
“Dr. Mahmoud…I’d like to walk over and see him. I presume that’s the hospital we saw across the street when we were pulling up to the checkpoint?” Camp asked.
“Yes, but I’m sure Dr. Mahmoud has gone home for the day. It’s almost four o’clock,” Miriam said.
“Geez, nice hours. Then tomorrow morning, 0900 hours?” Camp asked.
“Yes, I’ll be waiting for you at the checkpoint.”
Camp nodded, and the medics took Miriam out of the clinic and escorted her back to Terp Village. Finn got up and followed behind her for several steps, stopping only when she had left the clinic.
“Anything?” Camp asked Finn, as he searched for useful conclusions.
“Mezi clan. Zadran tribe. Jalalludin Haqqani became a powerful military leader back in the day, during the Soviet occupation. He also got tight with our CIA, Pakistan’s ISI and the new Afghan government. His son Sirajudin Haqqani runs military operations for the old man now with capable help from his little brother Badaruddin. The Haqqanis are also Mezi clan, Zadran tribe. In fact, Sirajudin selected Sangeen Zadran to be the shadow governor for one of the provinces.”
“Let me guess…for Paktya Province?” Camp asked as Finn touched the tip of his own nose.
“Bingo.”
National Interagency Biodefense Center
BSL-4 Facility
Fort Detrick, Maryland
Raines was examining Phase One study results on Marburg’s fever when the call came in.
“Lieutenant Colonel Raines.”
“Ma’am, this is Sergeant Perkins at the Fort Detrick visitor’s center. You’ve got a visitor here, says she doesn’t have an appointment.”
“For me?”
“Yes ma’am, says her name is Ruth Campbell.”
“Ruth Campbell…oh my gosh, Mrs. Campbell?”