The man inside slowly and fearfully emerged, his hands in the air. Now Bariyan grabbed him, frog marching the guy to the other vehicle. The prisoner protested, You must have the wrong man! I have friends in the Taliban! Bariyan made no reply as they both got in the back. Then Abiska once more hit the accelerator, driving away from the scene of the kidnapping.
Zaid Aburrani was in custody.
.
SEALs BIVOUAC
0900 HOURS
THE C-130 was expected due to a radio alert transmitted to the Brigands from Shelor Field Operations. There had been no request for resupply, but it wasn't unusual for unexpected materiel or personnel to be dispatched into a situation that had strong probabilities of combat operations. It could be extra ammunition, chow, reinforcements, or even Commanders Tom Carey and Ernest Berringer coming in with some additional information or perhaps a briefing for a new operation.
When the distant drone of the four T56 turboprop engines could be picked up by the Brigands' dirty ears, all activity came to a halt. The arrival of a plane always meant there would be some tasks to attend to, and was a welcome break in the routine of the camp. Even the horses on the picket lines turned their heads toward the sound. The animals were well tuned in on the happenings and habits of their human companions, and knew the arrival of one of the noisy flying machines caused great excitement. Puglisi's Ralph snorted and stomped his hooves a bit, nervous about the airplane. He was not fond of flying.
The approaching aircraft was a black dot in the sky, closing in fast as the apparition morphed into that of a proper aircraft with wings. Lieutenant Bill Brannigan and Senior Chief Buford Dawkins had walked from the hootches out to the edge of the LZ to wait for the landing. It was cold and both men huddled into their parkas as they silently observed the visitor drawing closer.
What the hell? Brannigan exclaimed. He reached for the leather case on his pistol belt and withdrew the binoculars. He focused in on the aircraft, saying, That's not military.
Dawkins snorted a chuckle. What is it? United Airlines?
Take a look, Senior Chief, the Skipper said, handing over the field glasses.
Dawkins studied the sight, then said. The damn thing is white. I think... Yeah! I can see the letters now. It's a UN aircraft.
Oh, brother! Brannigan said. What in the hell do they want?
I can't figure that out, sir, Dawkins said. If they're thinking on working with the Pashtuns, they're gonna be shit out of luck. I'll bet they ain't got permission to come here. He was thoughtful for a moment. Wait a minute! Gomez said they had clearance from Shelor Field Operations. How can that be?
I'll tell you how, Brannigan said. This operation is classified. There's no way they can be kept out without tipping our hands.
Now the aforementioned Petty Officer Frank Gomez trotted up with a page ripped from his message pad. He handed it to Brannigan. I just got this, sir. The commo center at Shelor ain't prioritizing their transmissions right today.
Brannigan quickly scanned the missive. It's a good thing we got this, even if it was out of sequence. It tells me a UN mission is coming in and we are to keep them close to us and not allow contact with the Pashtuns. We're to tell them there's a blood feud going on and it's too dangerous right now. They are definitely not to go roaming around the Pranistay Steppes. He turned to the RTO. Gomez, you go to each section commander and team leader. Give them that cover story and have 'em pass the word to their men ASAP. You tell Doc Bradley yourself.
Aye, sir!
At the moment Gomez ran off, the big UN plane touched down, its engine reversed as the pilot stood on the brakes to bring it to a halt. Rather than shut down one engine for unloading like most military planes, both power plants were cut, creating a dead silence over the area that had been engulfed by the roars of the turboprop quartet. The rear ramp immediately whined and began to lower. When it hit the ground, a familiar figure appeared. Dr. Pierre Couchier, the Belgian chief surgeon and head of the mission, looked out, then spotted Brannigan and Dawkins. He actually smiled, leaping off the ramp and walking rapidly over to the two SEALs with his hand outstretched.
Brannigan shook with him. I'm glad to see you're not still angry with me, Dr. Couchier.
Ah! Couchier exclaimed. Mon cher lieutenant vaisseau, I realize how unfair I was to hold you in total blame for the complete and utter destruction of my camp near the Iranian border. It was an honest mistake on your part.
Brannigan growled in his throat. If you recall, Doctor, it turned out that the number of enemy were three times what you told me they were. That caused me to make a tactical error in my defenses.
We are even, Monsieur le Lieutenant Brannigan, Couchier insisted. I made a mistake in counting and you made one in your tactics, no?
No! Goddamn it! No!
Mmf! Couchier said with a frown. Well, laisse tomber! He looked around. Where is the best place for me to go to set up my operations, eh?
Your best place is right here, Brannigan said sternly. It is very dangerous out on the Pranistay Steppes.
Mmf! the Belgian said again. I am not afraid of things dangereux! Nor are any of my people. We have a job to do and we will do it, comprendez?
There is a clan feud going on out there, Brannigan said. I am working hard to bring peace to the area. Until I do, you will have to set up your operations right here.
I insist in going wherever I might better serve the people who dwell on the steppes.
Brannigan gave the doctor a no-nonsense glare that spoke like thunder in the sky in spite of the silence.
Couchier shrugged. Ah! Tr+?s bien, monsieur le lieutenant. He pointed over to an open, flat area. L+ there?
That would be fine, Doctor, Brannigan said.
At that same instant, three females came out of the plane. The SEALs knew them from previous visits to the mission. They waved and hollered at the attractive young women. Irena Poczinska, a Polish X-ray technician; Josefina Vargas, an RN from Spain; and the German dietician, Ericka M++nchen, smiled back at the enthusiastic greetings. There was sensual quality about the women despite the rather baggy white coveralls they wore, and now their smiles turned to delighted laughter as they began to remember and recognize familiar faces among the Brigands.
The trio of females, like Dr. Couchier and the rest of the mission, were members of the United Nations Relief and Education Organization, or UNREO. They were part of a group of people that lived the real meaning of the United Nations. Dr. Couchier and his crew were not to be numbered among the embezzling, dishonest executives, the hypocritical senior ambassadors from nations led by despots, nor the Americanbaiting Third World cretins of the general assembly of that organization.
The UNREO mission, so splintered off from the main organization that no one was sure who they really belonged to, were the frontline soldiers of true humanity. They served in hellholes full of danger, deprivation, sickness, poverty, and hopelessness. Those people, like the three young women exchanging greetings with the SEALs, truly wanted to help humankind, and did so with shortages of funds while enduring harassment from criminal elements that were most times under the sponsorship of the national governments where the work was being done.
Couchier, knowing he would get nowhere arguing with the local military authority, left Brannigan to get his people to work unloading the plane. A good number of enthusiastic off-duty Brigands joined them in the job.
Chapter 22
STATION BRAVO, BAHRAIN
BARRI PRISON
ISOLATION CELL
1 DECEMBER
1000 HOURS
THE conscious mind of Zaid Aburrani reeled in terror, the awful fear making his body shake as much as did the coldness of his steel surroundings. The utterly frightened man was clothed only in his undershirt, boxer shorts, and socks as he sat in darkness so complete the only thing he could see were floaters dancing around in front of his eyes. The man pressed up against a wall in an instinctive protective posture to draw away from the source of whatever dang
er he faced. The prisoner wasn't sure where he was, not even the location of the entrance to the mysterious chamber he had been cast into. If he had to guess, Aburrani would say it was a metal box. He was too frightened to move enough to pace the interior to determine the length and width, or reach upward in an attempt to find the height.
His mind had been clouded for an undeterminable amount of time, but seemed to be recovering from the confusion. His thoughts abruptly turned away from his present predicament to the incident that had led to his incarceration. It was a sudden remembrance that erupted through his mental turmoil, bringing back the sharp sounds and images of the strange car pulling alongside his own fishtailing vehicle, then the eruption of shooting, the cracking and breaking of the glass, and the driver's head exploding as he was flung across the front seat. Only the safety belt saved the poor man from being slammed against the opposite door.
Aburrani's mental state began to settle a bit now, and it was strange that he would impulsively recall the chauffeur that night was not his regular man. This was the brother of Kaid, who usually drove him; the brother had taken his place because Kaid wished to attend a program at his youngest son's school. The boy was going to play a piece on the piano. It suddenly occurred to Aburrani that Kaid's conscience would nag at him for the rest of his life because his brother had died in his place.
What tragic irony.
But irony is not supposed to be tragic, Aburrani thought. Irony can be amusing, frustrating, or even contemptible if it smacks of stupidity or ignorance. But it should never be tragic. The word unfortunate would normally fit in those circumstances, but this had been an undeniable tragedy.
A close association with violence was not a part of Abur-rani's existence. He had read about it and heard about it, but he had never actually witnessed violence in his life. He had seen the result of it, of course; what person in Afghanistan had not? Dead and mangled corpses or maimed living people were common sights following bombing incidents, but he always felt distanced from such misfortunes as if he weren't at all concerned. No matter the bloodshed or suffering of the victims, he moved on through his life disconnected and remote from brutal behavior.
But now he had an intimate relationship with carnage after the ambush of his automobile. In a few stunning seconds he had been hurled into that abyss of violence that he had managed to avoid for so many years. As his mind continued clearing, he became aware of a slight discomfort in his right deltoid muscle. It was a sensation not unlike that experienced after getting a vaccination. He rubbed a hand over the sore spot on his shoulder. It was a sure sign he had been drugged sometime in the mishmash of confusion.
A door to his direct front suddenly opened, letting in a flash of brilliant light. Aburrani blinked against the brilliance as the figure of a man entered the chamber. The stranger knelt down and spoke in a concerned tone. My dear Mr. Aburrani! I am so distressed to find you in this condition. I had no idea of your predicament until a short time ago.
Now another man came in, and Aburrani could make out he wore a camouflage-pattern uniform. He had a bundle of clothes of some sort that he thrust at the prisoner. Aburrani took them and held them close.
Please get dressed, the first stranger said. I must apologize that I cannot find your clothing, but I am sure it will be located eventually. He reached down and helped Aburrani to his feet.
Aburrani discovered he had been handed a pair of coveralls and some sort of slippers. As he dressed, he realized the stranger had been speaking to him in American English. It gave him a sense of well-being, as did the apologies he had just received. There is the explanation of this strangeness. A mistake! A colossal stupid mistake! They had obviously gotten the wrong man.
The clothing was much too large for him and it was difficult to walk in the slippers as he was gently led by the arm out into a corridor. The hallway was constructed of steel similar to the room he was taken from. He now fully realized it was a cell, and he was in a prison of some sort.
Where am I? Aburrani asked.
I am afraid I am not at liberty to reveal that to you at this time, the stranger said as they walked down the corridor to a far door.
The man who had brought the clothing hurried ahead and opened the steel portal to allow them to enter a small room with a staircase. He stayed behind as Aburrani and his escort ascended the steps to the floor above. It was similar to the lower portion of the building, with a series of cell doors along the length of the hallway. They went halfway down to a door and the stranger opened it. When Aburrani obediently stepped inside, he saw that it was a paneled room with a couple of padded leather chairs that appeared to be most comfortable. A small table holding a coffee machine, cups, and a bowl of pastries was off in one corner. All these amounted to very good signs indeed.
Another feature of the place of which he was totally unaware was a hidden microphone that led to a recorder in another room.
Sit down, Mr. Aburrani, the stranger said. My name is Mr. Leighton.
How do you do, Aburrani said, settling onto a chair.
Can I get you a cup of coffee? Leighton asked. And perhaps a roll.
Just a cup of coffee, thank you.
Leighton served them both, and then also sat down. After taking a sip of from his cup, he remarked, You are a surprise visitor here.
That unpleasant condition is mutual, Mr., er, Mr. Leighton, Aburrani said. And I would like to be returned to where I belong. That, sir, is my office in Kabul.
I hope that can eventually be done for you, Leighton said. However, I do have some rather specific instructions regarding your stay here.
Again, I ask you, where am I? Aburrani said, becoming angry. Leighton's remarks made it appear as if his capture was planned after all. I demand to know not only where I am, but the meaning behind the attack on me and the murder of my driver. What idiotic fool machinated that outrage?
You will learn all in due time, sir, Leighton said. One of the subjects I have been charged with discussing with you is your ties to the Taliban.
What an outright absurdity, sir! Aburrani exclaimed. And I resent it. I am in the employ of the government of Afghanistan.
Mmm, Leighton mused. You are not making a very good start, Mr. Aburrani. You see, we are well aware of your relationship with that particular terrorist organization, as well as your association with the smuggling of opium poppy gum out of Afghanistan to international criminals. May I suggest that you drop all pretenses and falsehoods and get down to the facts of the matter? It will save us both a lot of bother and unpleasantness that I am sure you wish to avoid as much as I.
I deny your preposterous allegations! Aburrani snapped.
I shall ignore that last statement and go to work, Leighton said. In truth, just about everything about Aburrani's past was already known and documented. The purpose of this interrogation was to confirm the intelligence known, as well as get some of the finer details of the Afghan's dealings. We will forget the Taliban for the time being. What I would like to discuss with you, for the moment, is your relationship with certain criminal elements in Tajikistan. Names, please.
Aburrani clammed up.
You are not going to get anywhere with this bad attitude, Mr. Aburrani, Leighton said. When I said I was distressed at finding you in your underwear in that cold cell, I was telling the truth. I thought it totally inappropriate for a man of your intellect and education. That is something that is reserved for those rough fellows that are dragged in from the battle areas. You are not a soldier, Mr. Aburrani. From your dossier, I would assume you do not even like soldiers very much.
Aburrani continued his silence.
Leighton got to his feet and went to the coffeepot. He poured himself another cup, then brought the container over and warmed up Aburrani's drink. After returning to his seat, he gave the prisoner a studied gaze. He took a long, slow breath, then said, I can guarantee you a good amount of creature comforts, sir. Decent food, acceptable accommodations, and courteous treatment from the prison staff.
Are you aware of the alternatives?
Still Aburrani chose not to reply.
Leighton leaned back in his chair and began speaking slowly and methodically. Well, let us see... You will be stripped completely naked... A cold cell with a brilliant light permanently illuminating your miserable abode... surly and brutal guards... Awful food served irregularly and carelessly... A single bucket for urination and defecation that will be taken away and replaced only occasionally... not allowed to sleep... Remain standing at all times... vicious and long periods of questioning... encouragement to respond truthfully with beatings... electric cattle prods inserted into your rectum... the unpleasant prospects of
Which do you wish me to speak of first?
A brief history of your opium poppy deals would make an excellent start, Mr. Aburrani.
I began with a warlord by the name of Ayyub Durtami, Aburrani said in a low voice. I had accepted some bribes from foreign interests to make it easy for him to grow and harvest the opium plants. The arrangement was quite profitable.
You say you 'began' with this fellow, Leighton said. Was that relationship broken off?
Yes. Durtami was defeated during some activity in which some American Navy SEALs were supposed to bring out a defector from his compound. The man had been tortured to death before the Americans arrived and Durtami was foolish enough to try to keep them from leaving his domain.
I take it the SEALs got away.
More than that, Aburrani said. They wiped him out and sent him and his surviving people fleeing. I know this for a fact because I was present in the area at the time as a representative of the Afghan government. He wiped away the perspiration that had begun to form on his face. It is the truth. The name of the SEAL commander was Lieutenant Brannigan. William Brannigan.
Combat Alley (2007) Page 22
