The Maverick Experiment

by Drew Berquist

  C H A P T E R 9

  Tuesday, January 26

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  CIA Station

  1345 Hrs

  James Bell rushed into the conference room at the CIA's Kabul station. “Sorry I'm late. Let's begin.”

  The chief of station was arguably the most important man in the country. COS, as he was referred to, was in charge of all major intelligence operations in Afghanistan, no matter which agency was conducting them, and signed off on military operations as well. The COS was responsible for dealing with not only US senior advisers but also Afghan officials. Bell frequently met with President Naser and the Afghan intelligence service, known as the National Directorate of Security, or NDS.

  The conference room was rather empty, but the key players were there. The chief of targeting (a branch that worked to track phones and locations of key terrorists operating in the country), counterintelligence, liaison, and a National Security Agency representative were present.

  “So, what's the good word, people?”

  The chief of targeting chimed in first. “Well, sir, we have another hit on Agha Jan's phone. He was in contact with the general over at Pol-e-Charkhi prison early this morning.”

  “What was the gist of the conversation?”

  “Apparently, NDS arrested a guy last night and struck gold.”

  “Who did they get?”

  “Well, they are calling him Habib Rahman on the phone, and he apparently is thought to be one of Malawi Rafq's key deputies.”

  Malawi Rafiq was quickly becoming one of the most notorious bad guys in the region, if not the world. While mainstream media continued to focus on Osama bin Laden and Ayman al-Zawahiri, the agency and its military partners knew that Rafiq was behind most of the major attacks in the region during the past five years and had strong outside support from al-Qaeda. Bottom line was: stop Rafiq and you would put a huge dent in the Taliban's efforts on either side of the border.

  The problem was that Rafiq remained in Federally Administered Tribal Areas of Pakistan at all times and never used his phone. Although many terrorists learned—in the form of a Hellfire missile—that using your phone can and will lead to your death, others like Rafiq learned quickly and ceased to use all forms of traceable communication devices.

  “I haven't heard this guy's name before. Dave, can you confirm this report as well?”

  “Yes, sir, we can,” said the NSA representative. “We have no numbers or data on Habib Rahman, but from the chatter we are hearing, I would have to agree this guy seems important and is likely to have key information on Rafiq's pattern of life and most recent whereabouts.”

  “Well, where is he now?”

  Grant, the chief of liaison, an office that primarily dealt with other foreign services and the Afghan agencies, chimed in. “He is at NDS now but is expected to be transferred to Pol-e-Charkhi later this evening or in the morning.”

  “Why there? Isn't NDS detention more secure?”

  The chief knew Pol-e-Charkhi was notorious for its corruption and violence. Months before, a joint military strike force had raided one of the several cell blocks and killed a group of Talibs that had secured weapons and were holding Shura meetings within the prison. Those within the cell block who had opposed the Shura's propaganda had been promptly executed. In fact, several blocks had been off limits to even the guards because entering would likely result in their death or, perhaps worse, being kidnapped.

  “We are assuming there was a deal made with someone high up in NDS to get him to Pol-e-Charkhi, as it will be easier to get him out, or at least communicate with him, from there.”

  Pol-e-Charkhi had hosted several major Taliban members who had been directly involved, via the use of cell phones, in attacks that had occurred all over Kabul. Station was never able to do anything to prevent the calls, so instead, they let them occur and hoped to listen in and get some important information.

  The problem was, there were so many guys inside chatting on the phone, it was never easy to determine whom to listen to. But the biggest problem wasn't the phones—it was the corruption. Dirty parliamentarians, government officials, and prison officers made the system almost irreparable. Bottom line was that if Habib was important, he would be able to communicate freely and get out sooner, rather than later. And without his number, there was no way for station to monitor him.

  “Who do we have with access at Pol-e-Charkhi?”

  “Tat's just it, sir … no one,” said a visibly uncomfortable Grant.

  “No one?” The chief began to get flustered. “This is one of the most critical hard targets in all of Afghanistan, and we have no one? There are thirty-five hundred prisoners in there with nearly bottomless intelligence, and we have nothing?”

  “Well, we had a guy, sir, but he isn't here. He was the first in and the only one who ever made contact inside the prison.”

  “Who was it?”

  “It was a gentleman named Derek Stevens, sir; well, maybe not a gentleman, but certainly a good forward-leaning officer. He was before your time here. He was a contractor, sir.”

  The agency could not complete its mission without contractors. Some offices within the agency were made up of more than 70 percent contractors, and this peeved many traditional careerists within the agency. Nevertheless, the contractors' experience and willingness to expose themselves to risk added an irreplaceable dynamic. Simply put, contractors didn't care about the internal agency politics, only the mission. The case at Pol-e-Charkhi was a perfect example of certain contractors' willingness to initiate relationships that the agency would need but was too hesitant to create on its own.

  “Can we get him back for some help? Where is he?”

  “No idea, sir.”

  “Karen,” the chief said, turning to his secretary sitting next to him, “make some calls and find out where this guy is. Let's see if we can't get him out here for some knowledge on this place.”

  “Sure thing, sir,” she replied, making notes. “I'll get on it as soon as we're done here.”

  “No, go now, Karen. This is time sensitive.”

  Karen got up and exited the room.

  The chief of targeting chimed back in. “Sir, what about Agha Jan? We have so many derogatory calls on this guy. We know he's dirty. Maybe he can get us some more answers if we go after him.”

  “Absolutely not. I agree with you, but President Naser has said we can't go near him. Not us, not the Afghans. Last thing I need is to get Washington all spun up and caught in a political battle over us arresting Agha Jan. We leave him alone. Sorry, that's just the way it has to be.”

  “But he—”

  “No buts, guys. Leave Agha Jan alone. Dave, you guys have anything else for me?”

  “Not now, sir.”

  “OK, let's cut this one short and everyone go start digging on this Habib Rahman guy. If he is important, I am going to need some ammo as to why we should take him, but we have to do it fast or he'll already be released. Break.”

  Tuesday, January 26

  Jacksonville, Florida

  Stevens Residence

  0530 Hrs

  Heidi was startled awake by the ringing of the phone. She never liked calls at unexpected times, especially when her husband was away on a trip.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Stevens?”

  “Yes. This is she.”

  “This is Janet Hayes. I am calling on behalf of the US government.”

  Heidi immediately sat up. She felt the blood draining from her face.

  “Mrs. Stevens? Are you there?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am here. Is everything OK? How can I help you?”

  “Ma'am, we were wondering if Derek was around?”

  “What do you mean? No, he is not. He is working right now. He is on a trip. Is he OK?”

  “I am sure he is, Mrs. Stevens. We just need to ask him some questions. Can he be reached where he is?”

  “I am afraid not. I don't even know where he is.”

>   Heidi knew Derek was in Afghanistan but would never admit it to a stranger.

  “OK, ma'am, thanks for your time. We'll track him down.”

  “Wait. He is fine, though, right? Is he in any kind of trouble?”

  “None at all, ma'am. Just some standard work questions. Thanks for your time.”

  “Sure.”

  “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.”

  Heidi sighed in relief and fell back into her sheets as she stared at the ceiling. It was at least an hour before she was able to go back to sleep.

  Tuesday, January 26

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  CIA Station

  1445 Hrs

  Karen walked into Bell's office. “Stevens is on a trip somewhere, sir. Janet just called his wife from headquarters, and he is away.”

  “OK, have her start searching cable traffic. See if we can determine where he is. You help her. It has to be documented somewhere.”

  The agency was like a system of compartmentalized cabinets for data. Each had its own audience and subscribers. If you didn't have the need to know, you didn't know. Within the cabinets, officers wrote their cables, the agency's version of a report, to document everything shy of a request to use the bathroom.

  Karen nodded and walked back out.

  “Thanks, Karen,” the chief called to her back before returning his attention to his monitor.

  Tuesday, January 26

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  Agha Jan's Residence

  1446 Hrs

  Agha Jan sat with his longtime friend Shirina and a few of his bodyguards, sipping tea.

  Shirina had worked at the British Embassy and was on her third tour to Afghanistan. Three years before, when she had first arrived, her counterpart, Ian, had turned Agha Jan over as an asset. Shirina's true name was of course not Shirina, but Allison. Agha Jan was none the wiser, however, nor did he care. All that mattered to him was that she was with British Intelligence and was able to relate to him culturally and, more importantly, with money.

  Shirina's ancestors were Persian, and she had Iranian blood, which made her cultural upbringing and skin tone conducive to spy work in Southwest Asia. On top of that, she was sweet as could be and had used her personality to gain Agha Jan's trust, at least to a certain extent.

  Agha Jan used the extra funds from working with Shirina to live a life of luxury and afford more security and the ability to hobnob with high-ranking officials, such as the Afghan president. In return, he provided Shirina with intelligence information that had led to the capture of several midlevel Taliban figures and some other key intelligence information. Agha Jan intentionally provided only information that would not connect him to senior Taliban leadership in Pakistan or to the deaths of Coalition forces in Afghanistan. He was adamant that he had never been connected or involved in any fashion with such incidents.

  Shirina, of course, knew otherwise but held out hope that her long-term relationship with him might pan out and get her a bigger fish. Intelligence work was all about reporting and performance evaluations. If she could utilize Agha Jan to get to key figures in Pakistan and eliminate them, she would make quite the career for herself. Things were no different in American intelligence, except for the fact that the CIA would likely not allow an officer to run someone who was linked to the deaths of several Americans and Afghans alike.

  “Tonight is my son's birthday, Shirina. I think you should be here for dinner.”

  “I know it's his birthday, and I actually bought him a gift, but I have another engagement that I must attend. Can we perhaps do dinner later this week?”

  He finished his sip of tea and responded, “But Jamil's birthday is today, Shirina. Please make an effort to attend.”

  She smiled and stood, signaling that the meeting was over. “I will certainly try.”

  Agha Jan had grown to love Shirina's British accent. Afghan men in general were quite fond of any type of Western woman. Shirina was even more intriguing because of her understanding of Islam.

  Agha stood and escorted Shirina back to her security detail. Shirina looked at them. “Boys, are you potentially free for another movement tonight? After our other meeting, of course?”

  The men shrugged and smiled. “Whatever you need, Shirina,” one of them said. “You just tell us and we'll make it work.”

  “OK, my friend,” she said to Agha. “I will do everything I can to make it back in a few hours to at least poke my head in and say hello.”

  “That would be most gracious. Thank you, Shirina.”

  “In the event that I don't, here is something for Jamil.” Shirina reached into the back of her armored Toyota Prado and grabbed a wrapped gift. “Tell him happy birthday, and I will hopefully see you later tonight.”

  Shirina gave Agha a hug as he smiled.

  “Khoda-hafez, Shirina.”

  The truck pulled away, and Agha Jan returned to his quarters.

  C H A P T E R 10

  Tuesday, January 26

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  Safe House

  1912 Hrs

  Derek knew the action against Agha Jan would have to be a quick strike, and the team had planned accordingly. They would wear their local garb and execute quickly. The concept was to be in and out by the time anyone in Agha Jan's residence or the neighboring compounds were aware something had happened.

  Standard policy and protocol throughout many of the agencies and military, including the most sensitive units, was to do a callout prior to entering the home. This was essentially an opportunity for those inside to surrender without any violence or destruction to their home. The obvious problem was that those inside, if hostile, could arm and prepare themselves as well as destroy any key intelligence before the raid team entered.

  Derek's team would take a different approach.

  “OK, boys, remember our discussion. Let's do this right and get back here soonest. The only loud noise should be the initial bangs that go in, then it's quick and quiet. Got it?”

  “Got it,” they responded.

  The men geared up and entered their vehicles. Randy and Miller would take Grimes and go in the Hilux while Shafi, Derek, and Carson would take a separate route in Shaf's Corolla.

  The vehicles exited the gate and split in two directions before Randy's voice came in over the team's comms unit. “One, this is Two. Comms check.”

  “Two, this is One. We got you Lima-Charlie,” Derek said, using the military term to indicate that the signal was loud and clear.

  Derek redirected his attention to Shafi, who was now a passenger in his own car. “Remember how you used to joke about how cool it would be to have one of our guns since you didn't have one?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, your time has come, my friend.”

  Derek reached back and passed Shafi a silenced Glock 19, the same type of weapon Derek carried when he and Shafi first met. The agency routinely provided its officers with the Glock because of its ease of use. It was a simple weapon with internal safeties, and the pressure required to fire was not unbearable for less-trained and less-experienced officers. If they knew the basic mechanics, it was simply point, aim, and shoot.

  “It's all yours, buddy. Here are some extra magazines, too. Just don't use it unless you absolutely have to or I tell you to, OK?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Tuesday, January 26

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  Kote Sangi

  1933 Hrs

  Traffic had subsided, and both teams were able to make it to the Kote Sangi area faster than expected. They had yet to lay eyes on each other since leaving the compound but drove through the area, awaiting a call from Shafi's source.

  “Hey, bud, just give your guy a call and get an update. We got here quicker than expected,” Derek said.

  Shafi dialed his friend and had a brief dialogue before hanging up and speaking to Derek. “He is there now, sir, and some other friends just arrived. Security is still
out and about in front of his compound.”

  “OK, thanks, buddy. Tell your friend to get some more distance between him and the compound, but stay close enough to know if he moves. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Shafi dialed his friend one last time as Derek notified the other vehicle of the status. “Two, this is One. We have a green light. The target is at the location. Let's make this happen. Remember, this guy will have spotters on the streets a few blocks out, so keep a low profile.”