“One, this is Two. Roger. Will advise when we are in position.”
“Good copy. One out.”
The teams continued to move to their predetermined positions. Derek, Shafi, and Carson dimmed their lights and parked on a quiet alley adjacent to Agha Jan's compound. No spotters were visible, and the street was dark and quiet. Perfect, thought Derek.
Meanwhile, Randy and the others arrived on a similar street directly behind the compound. The alley was dark and narrow and void of cars and pedestrians until a pair of men strolled around the corner and toward the team's car.
Randy squinted to see what they were doing and piped in over the team's comms unit, “One, this is Two. We have two strollers out for a walk.”
“Do what you have to do,” responded Derek. “We are approaching the target's street now.”
As one of the men in the alley reached into his jacket, Miller quickly exited the vehicle and placed two rounds in the man's chest and one in his head. Nearly simultaneously, Randy followed suit and eliminated the other with two rounds from his suppressed MS AR-15 assault rifle.
“One, this is Two. Tangos down. We are approaching the back door.”
The men knew the stroller could have been innocently reaching for his phone, but they also knew they couldn't take the chance. These were the types of split-second decisions that operators had to make and live with.
The team was to blast through the double green doors Derek had seen before in front, while Randy and his crew breached the rear guest door.
Derek, however, still had to reach the front without signaling those inside that they were there. That would entail quietly removing all the security from the front door.
“Two, this is One. Hold your position and prepare for breach.”
Derek and Carson sneaked around some parked cars as they approached Agha Jan's street, Shafi creeping closely behind. As they did, the sound of children laughing echoed down the road. Derek paused and peered around the cars to determine the children's exact location but was unable to cut through the darkness. He hoped they weren't making their way toward his and the men's position. Being compromised was one thing, but having to unnecessarily eliminate bystanders, especially children, was not something he wanted to do.
Derek signaled to continue as the children's voices softened and seemed to be moving away. The entrance to Jan's compound would be far better illuminated than the alley that he and Carson currently were calling home. They would have to time their approach with a lull in traffic and remove some of the ambient lighting from neighboring compounds and storefronts.
Derek looked to Carson and whispered, “OK, watch my right. I'm going to turn out the lights.”
Carson nodded as Derek whipped around the corner and fired a round from his silenced Glock into a streetlight across the way, followed by a second shot into a storefront sign not more than three meters from his position. The area went dark.
The men crept closer and were now able to see the entrance to Agha Jan's compound. Two guards stood out front, conversing with their AK-47s slung over their shoulders.
“This ought to be easy,” whispered Carson.
“Hold up, Carson, which one do you—”
Before Derek could finish, Carson stood from behind the vehicle and capped both guards, sending them lifeless to the ground without a peep.
“Nice work.”
They rushed to the entrance and placed a small breaching charge on the door.
“Shafi, stay right here. Two, prepare to bang and breach.”
“Roger.”
“Three, two, one … go.”
Derek heaved a flash-bang over the wall into the open courtyard as both doors were blown and the team entered the compound.
Carson rushed in first and fired on two men kneeling and disoriented from the flash-bang near what appeared to be a rose garden. Carson and Derek then dashed into the nearby guesthouse as sounds of suppressed fire continued. They exited seconds later and made their way to the back living quarters, where Randy and Miller were already doing their handiwork.
When Derek and Carson arrived, they had to step over the body of a younger Afghan in the door. Inside the main room, three men lay lifeless on the floor, as well as an Afghan woman, likely Jan's wife.
Randy lowered his weapon and approached Derek. “Let's get Shafi in here and ID this guy so we can get out of here.”
“Yeah. Carson, grab Shafi and cover the door. Grimes, you watch the back. We move in thirty seconds.”
Carson sprinted to the door and sent Shafi in as he covered the main entrance.
“Did we get him, Shafi? Show me the body.”
Shafi took only a few steps before stopping. Agha Jan had been one of the two men sitting in the courtyard that Derek and Carson had killed as they first entered. “This one, sir.”
Agha Jan was an overweight man dressed in traditional garb with a shawwal khamis, and had a long, flowing beard.
“Do we want to search these guys?” asked Miller.
Derek shook his head. “Not our job. Our mission is over. Let's get out of here.”
Typically a raid team would search individuals for pocket litter, such as phones, receipts, pictures, notes, and other materials that might help lead to additional targets or assist in the prosecution of the target. This mission, however, was different. The team was to get in, get the job done, and get out, plain and simple.
The men retreated to their vehicles and exited the area.
As Shafi's Corolla rounded the corner and approached Double Circle, an intersection with two traffic circles, Shirina's Toyota Prado passed them, traveling in the opposite direction.
Shirina and her security escort pulled up to Agha Jan's compound moments after the team had fled, only to find Jan and his family members killed in their own home; Jan's guests had shared their unfortunate fate.
“What the fuck!” screamed Shirina. “Fucking Americans. They had to have done this. Years of work down the fucking drain! Let's get out of here.”
Tuesday, January 26
Kabul, Afghanistan
Safe House
2112 Hrs
After a long surveillance detection route, Derek's vehicle arrived at their own compound. He flashed his vehicle's lights to gain entry, and the guards opened the gates. Inside, Randy and the other men had just arrived and were waiting.
Derek exited the vehicle and carried his gear to a nearby table. “Good job, guys. We did what we were supposed to, and the best part is we don't even have to write it up. No reports happening here.”
“There's going to be some blowback from that shit,” said Carson. “We took out almost ten people there. Station is going to shit a brick.”
“That's their problem. Don't worry about it.”
“Are you gonna call Carlisle and let him know it's done?”
“No. He'll know soon enough.”
“Let's break out some scotch, then. We're done for the night, boys,” Randy said as he reached into a Pelican case and grabbed two bottles of Johnnie Walker Gold.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Derek said. “Let me go change.”
C H A P T E R 11
Wednesday, January 27
Kabul, Afghanistan
CIA Station
0734 Hrs
Karen walked into COS's office looking half awake. The phones had been ringing all night, and she had gotten little to no sleep.
“The Brits are planning to be here in twenty minutes, sir.”
“Good. This should be a fun meeting. Let's make sure we have coffee and tea in the conference room for them. They are already pissed; maybe the truth and some hospitality will help calm them down a bit.”
Station had received word about Jan's death a little after eleven o'clock the night before. The wheels had been spinning ever since, and every office had been reaching out to their contacts to try to determine who had killed him.
The Afghan president himself had been in contact with Bell and sternly warned t
hat if the Americans had conducted such an attack there would be severe ramifications. Bell had assured him that the agency was not involved, but he would check with his military and foreign partners and provide more information in the morning.
Dave poked his head into the room. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, Dave. Do we have any new chatter? Anything at all I can use to calm the Brits and President Naser?”
“I am sorry, sir, but the only chatter we have heard is that he is dead. No claims of responsibility. Everybody else is just as confused as we are.”
“How about chatter on him getting Habib squared away? Is he going to be released?”
“Well, I just spoke with targeting and liaison. That may be the one positive thing that has come from this. Habib was transferred this morning, but I think without the local support of Agha Jan pushing to get this guy out, we may have caught a break.”
“Well I'm sure it's only a matter of time before he is out, but this may have slowed them down so we can think a bit. OK, good. Keep on it and let me know of any updates.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Karen!” yelled Bell, “Can you come in here for a second?”
Karen appeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”
“Any word on this Stevens character?”
“No, sir. Janet and I have both searched all over. Janet even placed a call to the project manager at his old company, but he has been off contract with them for months now. This guy is nowhere to be found.”
“Well, he has to be somewhere. Keep up the search. I'll ask some of my people as well. I'm headed down the hall to meet the Brits. We need to get somewhere with this Habib Rahman story, though, or I won't hear the end of it. Get targeting to intensify their search and ask USMIL if they know this guy.”
“OK. I'll tell them now.”
Bell stood and walked down the hall to the conference room, where two British officers waited for him, sipping coffee.
The first, Mark Harper, stood as Bell entered the room and shook his hand. “Cheers. Thanks for having us over.”
“No problem. No need to thank me. Sorry for all the chaos and confusion. Hopefully we can clarify some of this as soon as possible.”
A woman sat at the end of the table and stood to shake Bell's hand as he made his way to her. “I am Shirina. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, as well. I'm sure you know Grant, here, our liaison officer at station.”
The Brits both nodded.
“I am assuming you were the female officer involved in this case?”
“That's correct. Agha Jan was my asset.”
“Well, please sit, everyone. I can assure you, Shirina, we were not involved in this incident. In fact, just yesterday at a staff meeting, Agha Jan came up and I instructed my people not to target him at this time. While he is a character of interest for obvious reasons, we were instructed not to deal with him right now. Washington politics.”
Mark piped in. “So who could have done this, then? Have you conferred with your military forces? Sometimes they are a bit jumpy and conduct missions without telling anyone.”
“Well, Mark, I can tell you I have spoken with all the major commanders in the country, and none of them conducted an operation anywhere near the home of Agha Jan last night. I understand USMIL gets a bad rap sometimes and does its own thing, but trust me, if they were doing an operation last night, especially one of this magnitude, I would know about it. Grant contacted the Ministry of Interior, Afghan National Army, and the Canadian Service to see if their folks had anything. Is that correct, Grant?”
“That's correct, sir. We contacted everyone we had a number for, and no one has any idea what has happened. We've tasked our assets to put the word out and see if anyone within the ranks wanted Agha Jan out of the picture. But the honest truth is it would make no sense for the Taliban to have done this. He is primarily a facilitator and gives them political support. He is not the regional commander with others wanting his job.”
Shirina nodded. “I agree. I don't think the Talibs would have done this, either.”
“So it looks like either someone is lying or we all are doing a poor job of knowing what goes on around here,” said Mark.
“There is some truth to that, Mark, but again, we are not lying here. I have no reason to lie to you about this. There would be more heartache than it's worth for me if I went after this guy.”
Tuesday, January 26
Washington, DC
Director's Residence
2330 Hrs
The director sat up in his recliner as the red line to CIA headquarters rang. One of the less inviting parts of being the head of the world's most powerful spy agency meant that there was never a minute when you were truly off duty. The director was on call at all times and was required to respond with poise and professionalism to events that were unfolding anywhere, at any time. Tonight was no exception.
The director sighed, then picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“Sir, this is Griggs. I am afraid that chief of station Kabul needs to speak with you. Agha Jan has been assassinated.”
The director reached for the remote control and shut the television off. “By whom?”
“We aren't sure, sir,” replied the staffer. “They took out his whole family, though, and station, along with the British, are working to develop any possible leads.”
“When did this happen?”
“Sometime late last night local time, sir.”
“Very well. Is Bell on the line now?”
“No, sir, but he is waiting in his office.”
“Go ahead and give him a call and patch him through.”
“Will do. One moment, sir.”
The line went quiet as Griggs worked to reach Bell in Kabul. Meanwhile, the director began to ponder how he would play this with Bell. He was not certain that this was a result of the Maverick Program and Carlisle's crew, but he had a sneaking suspicion it was. If it had been, it would be the first of potentially many controversial actions by the small force, which was to bring justice in ways that the standard agency folks could not. The reality of the director's double life—which he would have to live with, even within the walls of the agency—was rearing its ugly head, once again.
The director often pondered how he had even been able to get to this position. As a forward-leaning operator and intelligence officer, it had seemed unlikely he would climb the ranks. The agency was notorious for promoting the wrong people, often moving personnel up the ladder simply because an office was unwilling to fire them. A culture of fear had been created long ago; fear not just of doing the wrong thing, but also of hurting people's feelings. You could be assured that if you made constant mistakes and were an abrasive character within your particular office, you would stand a good chance to be promoted out—a problem for someone else to deal with, as the thinking went. On the contrary, those who wished to accomplish the mission at all costs and bent the rules when necessary were usually held down for fear of making a branch or division chief look bad. The director had always been the latter type and had often heard a mouthful from his superiors until he was eventually given an opportunity to rise in the ranks at the agency.
Now that he was there, he was finally in a position where he could accomplish the mission the way he saw fit, but he would have to tread carefully, very carefully.
“Sir, I have Mr. Bell on the phone for you.”
“Thanks, Griggs. Bell, what's the story out there? I hear we had an incident.”
“Good evening, sir. I am terribly sorry to disturb you at home. I will try to make this brief.”
“No need to apologize. Just tell me how we can help.”
“Well, sir, we are still trying to determine that ourselves. As you probably heard, Agha Jan, a key parliamentarian, was assassinated last night in Kabul.”
“And we had nothing to do with it?”
“No, sir, we did not, and USMIL is denying any knowledge of operations in the
area last night, as well. I just left a meeting with the Brits, who are quite confused and angry. One of their officers had been running Agha Jan, and they are under the belief that we did the hit.”
“Well, we can't give them information we don't have. I am sure they will continue to believe we did it until evidence proves otherwise. What is Naser saying?”
“He is quite angry too, sir. I think he believes the same thing as the Brits, that we did this. I have assured him we will investigate the incident and help the Afghan authorities in any way we can. I also stated that we had no intentions of backing down on our deal to leave this guy alone.”
The Maverick Experiment Page 9
