“The other thing I should mention is that you are being sought right now by station to come to Kabul and assist in gaining intelligence from within the prison.”
“Of course, because no one else ever had the balls to go out there. I had to break several station policies to even initiate contact at the prison.”
“Precisely, and now your hard work is finally paying off and they want you. Funny how that works, huh? Before, you were just a contractor; now you're their only option on this case. Anyways, we will continue to deflect the attention from you as best we can. The boss is working on that himself, but between that and the Brits breathing down the chief of station's neck about Agha Jan, station is under a lot of pressure to perform right now. We don't have much time to eradicate all these problems and focus their attention elsewhere.”
“Wait a second, sir. Sorry, but why are the Brits so pissed at station?”
“They had an officer running Agha Jan. Apparently, they showed up moments after the mission was accomplished. So, good timing on your part on getting out of there. Needless to say, they are pissed off and blaming station.”
“So what is our objective?”
“I need you to work quickly to regain access to Pol-e-Charkhi and make this problem go away. Whatever that means. You are the only one who can do it.”
“Understood. What does 'quickly' mean? What is our time frame here?”
“Not sure. The chatter about an attack continues to increase, and I would guess that if that doesn't occur, there will be some resolution on his release within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, or at least we should assume so without any better intelligence.”
“Wow. OK, this is going to be difficult. We'll find a way to make it happen, though. Anything else, sir? I'll need to get on this right away.”
“No, that's it. Good hunting, Derek, and be safe.”
“Roger. We will be in touch.”
Derek set the phone down and called to the team, “Hey, guys, need you over here right now. Shafi, I need you, too.”
The men assembled around the patio table, which had become their de facto ops center. It was cold outside, but the patio had a covered area and the men preferred being out in the compound's courtyard rather than having their meetings indoors.
“OK, listen up. We just got really busy. I mean really busy. I am going to need everyone's input on this. Shafi, you chime in too, OK?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here is the situation: Without getting into every detail this second, we have a guy named Habib Rahman that NDS arrested. He is one of Malawi Rafiq's top deputies, which somehow our glorious intelligence service failed to know about. We have nothing on him, other than signals intelligence, which is indicating either an attack plan to get him out or some type of under-the-table deal to outright release him. He is a big deal. Agha Jan had worked to get him to Pol-e-Charkhi prison, where he is now, so they could have an easier time springing him. Now that we sent Jan down for a dirt nap, we may have some more time, but boss said that chatter is indicating an attack in Kabul. With limited intelligence, we need to assume it's going to happen at the prison and that it could happen at any time. We are behind the eight ball here, guys. We need to get into the prison and either grab or eradicate this dude ASAP.”
“Well, you used to work there, right?” Carson said.
“Yes, Shafi and I ran some operations in there and have some contacts, I think. Shafi, does your neighbor Colonel Latif still work there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can he get me back in?”
“Yes, sir, I think so.”
“What are you thinking?” asked Randy.
“Well, I am thinking we are going to need some of those funds we have with us for sure. I need to get back in that prison and figure out where this guy is because this place is huge. It's like its own little city. That's step one. We can't go in there blind, or the guards and the detainees will dominate us. The problem is that Latif is the cell block commander for Block Two, and chances are Rahman is not there.”
Derek explained that Pol-e-Charkhi prison had several cell blocks, and although all of them had started with a specific type of detainee in mind, most were unorganized, and there was little rhyme or reason to a detainee's placement. The prison had Cell Blocks One, Two, Four, and Seven; Cell Block Zoon, which was intended for the worst detainees; and the Drug and Poppy Cell Block, which had been built by the British.
Grimes raised his hand as though in school. Derek looked at him with an odd grin and pointed. “Grimes?”
“Why don't we set up a meeting with Latif somewhere and get the story on this guy and which block he's in?”
Derek laughed again at the obvious. “Good thought. I knew you were here for a reason. OK, Shafi, call Latif. Tell him Mr. Derek is back in town and wants to meet with him, but to keep it quiet. Let's meet him at the king's tomb tonight. See if he can make it. No details over the phone about the other guy, just make sure he can be there. Guys, in the meantime, I'm going to draw up the best sketch I can of this compound, and I want you to start working on the ingress and egress plan. We will shoot to move tomorrow night and hope it's not too late. Even that is pushing it, but if we were to go today, it would get ugly fast. Randy, you come with me to the meeting.”
As Shafi called Latif, Derek began to sketch out the compound while the men looked over his shoulder. “OK, here is the deal. This place is pretty out in the open, and they have enhanced security quite a bit since I first started going there. It's going to be tough to approach without being noticed, but I think we can manage at night. The compound itself is a large square structure with about twenty- to twenty-five-foot stone walls. But before you get to those, there is a trench and a concertina wire fence all around the structure. Each corner of the main compound has a tower, with two additional towers above the main entrance housing heavy machine gunners. Inside, Cell Blocks One and Two are over here in their own walled-in structure, right near the commander's office. Latif sits here. Then inside of this large circle wall, which is also about twenty feet high, are Cell Blocks Four, Zoon, and Seven. The old Cell Block Three, the guard quarters, and the hospital are also inside the wall. The wings are designed such that this center round building is like a wheel and its spokes. They are all independent of each other, though. Finally, down here past the motor pool, construction, and storage area is the Drug and Poppy Cell Block. It's pretty damn secure and well built, I'll give the Brits that. This entrance up front is the only vehicle entrance. Staff members approach mostly from this side, near Pol-e-Charkhi village, while visitors and guests mostly approach from this side near Arzan Qimat, which, by the way, is where this handsome Afghan lives.” He pointed to Shafi, who had finished his call and was now listening in.
“You can use my home, sir. If you would like?”
“Thanks, buddy. We'll see. Guys, you work on that.”
“Sir,” Shafi said.
“Yes?”
“Latif said he is glad you are here and will meet you tonight.”
“Good. When?”
“Seven o 'clock, sir.”
“OK, good. Let's all work on this some more and reconvene in a while. Randy, come with me.”
C H A P T E R 14
Wednesday, January 27
Kabul, Afghanistan
Kampanai Area
1835 Hrs
Omar arrived right on time at the guesthouse, which belonged to a strong Taliban supporter and associate of Malawi Rafiq named Sayed Ahmed Shah. Ahmed Shah was not directly involved in conducting attacks or even providing monetary support but had offered a long time before to house any fighters coming through the area. This was not uncommon and made it much more difficult for the infidels to locate Taliban fighters, even when the military or intelligence services knew the fighters were in town.
Omar was the first of many who would arrive that night.
“Salaam alaikum.” Ahmed Shah greeted Omar at the gate to his residence and gave him a hug and
a handshake.
“Wa alaikum salaam,” replied Omar. “Thank you for having me. Allah is grateful for your service.”
“And yours as well. How many will be coming?”
“I am not sure exactly, but several. We will meet the rest at another home in Pol-e-Charkhi village tomorrow.”
“Whoever comes has a home here.”
“Tashakur.”
“You are welcome.”
Wednesday, January 27
Kabul, Afghanistan
King's Tomb
1859 Hrs
Shafi peered between Derek and Randy from the backseat of his Corolla. It was dark, and the wind was blowing just enough to whip up some of the dirt and dust in the large open courtyard by the king's tomb.
“I don't see him, sir.”
Derek remained calm as they sat in their car parked along the tree-lined fence that led up the hill toward the tomb. “He will be here, I am sure. He knows there is money involved. Besides, we are a minute early, and when was the last time an Afghan was on time to a meeting?”
Derek had been to hundreds of source meetings in the country, and none of them had ever gone just as planned. There was always a hiccup of some sort; it was just a matter of what and how big.
Randy interjected, “Who is that over there? There's a dude wandering over near the cliff.”
The tomb was up on a hill with steep cliffs that overlooked several parts of Kabul near the famous Olympic Stadium. Unfortunately, the stadium had never hosted an Olympic event but was known as a location where the Taliban, during their reign, would stone women to death for entertainment at the halftime of soccer games.
“Pull closer, sir,” said Shafi from the backseat.
Derek accelerated slowly toward the cliff and the unidentified man.
“That's him, sir.”
“OK. See? Right on time. Sorta.”
Derek sped up more, creating more of a dust cloud, and pulled alongside the man, who jumped in as the car rolled by.
Randy reached back first to shake Latif's hand. “Hello, I am Randy.”
Shafi translated and introduced the two. Working with a translator was something any intelligence officer or operator had to grow accustomed to in Afghanistan. Very few Americans spoke Dari or Pashto and thus always needed some sort of translation support. The key was to be precise in your words and ensure your translator understood not only exactly what words you were saying, but also the tone and attitude behind them. Shafi was good at all of the above.
“Colonel Latif, it is so good to see you. How have you been?” asked Derek.
“I am good. How was your time in America? It has been a long time since I have seen you.”
“I know, I know. I am sorry. My boss has kept me busy and has not let me travel as much. But it was good to see my family and get some rest, and even better to be back here with you. Thanks for taking some time to meet with me.”
“No problem,” struggled Latif in English as he smiled.
“Ahh. Very good. You are learning well, Colonel.”
The colonel smiled and waited for Derek to speak again. Meanwhile, Derek continued driving down the hill and past the Afghan Air Museum, which was essentially a graveyard for old, downed aircraft of all sorts.
“Well, Colonel, the reason Mr. Randy and I needed to see you is I need some information on a new detainee that you may be aware of. His name is Habib Rahman. He was just arrested by NDS the other day and transferred to your facility.”
The colonel nodded his head and smiled before Derek even finished his sentence.
“Do you know this man? Rahman?”
“Yes,” replied the colonel. “He just got to us, but he is not in my cell block.”
“Which block is he in, sir?”
“Hey, watch out!” said Randy. Derek looked up to see a pedestrian in the middle of the road. He swerved around him and kept driving as if nothing had happened. Folks in Kabul often walked across the road without looking and paid so little attention to oncoming traffic that one might think they actually wanted to get hit. Maybe they did. To complicate things further, a three-lane road often became four or five lanes, so when a driver wasn't dodging pedestrians or a donkey cart, he was trying not to run into another car that was halfway between his lane and the next.
“Drug and Poppy Block,” responded the colonel. “He was in Cell Block Zoon, but they moved him this afternoon to Drug and Poppy.”
Although the name would lead one to believe the Drug and Poppy Block was for drug lords and narcotics traffickers only, it was not always the case. Those types did stay there, but the prison often put others there when they wanted to separate them from other portions of the population. It was their form of isolation.
“Why did they move him?”
“I don't know.”
“Who is in charge of that block now? It has been some time since I was here last.”
“His name is Colonel Rohollah.”
“Is he friendly? Or is he a problem?”
“He is friendly, but corrupt.”
Latif missed the point of the question, but answered it nonetheless. The men laughed.
“Well, will he allow me to come in his cell block and get a tour if you talk to him?”
Latif hesitantly shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know. That block sometimes is more strict with their rules and will only let people in with the general's consent and approval.”
“What if we pay him?”
“Maybe.”
“Let's call him. Here is some money for your trouble.”
Derek handed Latif fifty thousand Afghanis, equivalent to one thousand US dollars: quite a gift, especially considering nothing had been accomplished yet. The colonel smiled when he saw the local currency; US dollars could get an informant or cooperator killed—and often, his family, too. Working with Americans paid well, but the consequences could be steep and sudden.
“Once we get out there and accomplish this, I will give you even more,” Derek said. “I don't even need to see Rahman, but my office wants me to verify that he is there, so this should be easy. Don't tell Rohollah that, though, especially if he is dirty. Tell him the Americans are considering adding onto the cell block but need to do a survey first. Inform him we can't tell anyone, though, since the British built the block.”
“OK. Should I call him now?”
“Yes. Do you ever talk outside of work?”
“Sometimes.”
“OK. Tell him you want to come see him.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“OK.”
Latif dialed Rohollah and chatted briefly with him. After a short explanation as to why it couldn't wait until morning, which Latif fabricated, Rohollah agreed to meet Latif.
“He says OK, but come now.”
“Good. Where does he live?”
“He lives near BelaKhesar.”
Derek knew the area. In fact, they were only about five minutes at the most from BelaKhesar, an area known for its old fort, which looked down upon the village from a hill.
Wednesday, January 27
Kabul, Afghanistan
Pol-e-Charkhi Village
1924 Hrs
Khaled and Fahim put their final touches on the suicide vehicle–borne improvised explosive devices. The Taliban routinely used Toyota Corollas, Toyota Surfs, and TownAces as VBIEDs, but Rafiq had passed enough funds this time to acquire two Toyota Land Cruisers with tinted windows, just like those driven by the Americans and important Afghan figures.
“It is finished,” stated Fahim.
“Do you think Rafiq will be pleased with us?”
Fahim smiled. “I know he will be. Allah will smile upon us, as well.”
Khaled smiled back as they walked toward the compound's guesthouse to relax. “When does the visitor come?”
“He will come here tomorrow.”
Wednesday, January 27
Kabul, Afghanistan
BelaKhesar Village
1933 Hrs
Derek and the men passed the old fort and headed into the village. The villages in BelaKhesar surrounded a large swamp, which was rather uncharacteristic for Kabul. The homes were built, generally speaking, for lower-class individuals. There were no homes with large amounts of real estate in the village, just several mud-and-brick structures.
“Just tell me where and when to turn, bud,” Derek said to Shafi. “I don't know which house it is.”
The Maverick Experiment Page 11
