Chaos in Kabul

by Gérard de Villiers

  On a woman in a black burqa!

  Malko stood rooted to the spot, thunderstruck. All he could think was that Alicia had moved out and some Afghan woman had taken her room! He was about to back away when a voice emerged from the burqa.

  “Malko!”

  The sound was music to his ears. Hesitantly, he asked, “Alicia? Is that you?”

  “Of course it’s me,” said the somewhat muffled voice. “Come on in!”

  He slipped into the room.

  The young woman grabbed the hem of the burqa and pulled it off, revealing an ordinary dress underneath. Her hair disheveled, Alicia said, “You’re lucky to catch me. I just got back from Jalalabad. When I go, I wear a burqa; it’s safer. The road isn’t secure.”

  She flopped down on the bed.

  “What brings you here at this hour of night? You look kind of wasted.”

  “It’s a long story,” said Malko. “The NDS is after me, I can’t go back to the Serena, and I can’t take a plane. I tried to leave Kabul by road, but that didn’t work out.”

  He told the young woman his misadventures, concluding, “I had to kill an Afghan, and I’m still carrying the gun that shot him. You’re running a risk by taking me in.”

  “Well, I’m not about to turn you away,” Alicia said with a smile. “No one’s going to come looking for you here this evening. The desk clerk is convinced that all Western women are prostitutes, so he won’t be surprised at my having a male guest, if he even noticed. Tonight, at least, you’re in no danger.

  “After that, I don’t know. There are snitches in the hotel, and they might wonder about your presence here.”

  “We’ll see tomorrow,” said Malko.

  Alicia had undressed and was now down to bra and panties. She was sexy as hell, but Malko was too tired to be interested; his libido was running on empty.

  “You look exhausted,” she said. “Get into bed.”

  He did so, with pleasure. In moments he was under the sheets, soon joined by Alicia, who had shed her last garments. Sweetly, she climbed into his arms and murmured, “I’m glad you came here to hide out.”

  The warmth of the young woman’s skin did Malko good. He put his arms around her, feeling her breasts pressed against his chest.

  Touched by her kindness, he kissed her neck and said, “I’m sorry.”

  Alicia merely said, “The bed’s pretty narrow. I hope you sleep well.”

  Malko was so exhausted, he could have slept on a bed of nails.

  As he slowly awakened, Malko found himself lying on his back, with pale light filtering through the curtains. He reached out to his sides without touching anything. The bed didn’t seem that narrow. And he had it all to himself.

  Suddenly he became aware of a weight pressing on his stomach. Reaching in that direction, he encountered warm flesh: Alicia’s hips. Now fully awake, he realized why he hadn’t found the young woman beside him: she was astride him, kneeling on the sheets.

  His fingers moved up and encountered two small, firm breasts. At that, Alicia began to rock very gently, pressing down on his stillsoft cock. She leaned close and murmured:

  “You seem less tired this morning.”

  Her rocking movement was now frankly erotic, and Malko felt his desire stirring. The scene was unreal. He closed his eyes and let nature take its course. Without exchanging a word, they gradually excited each other. Malko could feel himself swelling. He took Alicia’s nipples and gently twisted them, drawing little sighs from their owner. He stroked her hips as she raised herself to give his cock some freedom to move.

  Glancing at the now rigid prick rising along her belly, she took it in her left hand and raised it to vertical.

  “See? All you needed was a good night’s sleep.”

  In fact, all Malko needed now was to be inside this beautiful, more than consenting woman. His libido was completely aroused. As he did each time he escaped danger, he felt a furious desire to make love.

  Eros and Thanatos. An old, very comfortable couple.

  “Come on!” he said.

  Alicia obligingly lifted herself, like a rider posting in a trot, and seized his prick. The moment it brushed her burning folds, Malko gave a savage grunt, seized Alicia’s hips, and pulled her down, entering her in a single thrust.

  He felt as if he was coming back to life.

  The young woman gave a little cry. “Hey, easy does it!”

  Initially, she set the tempo, sliding up and down on his cock, her eyes closed, nipples erect. But Malko accelerated the rhythm, raising and lowering her more each time, until she gave a shout and collapsed onto him.

  He could feel her heart pounding on his chest. They enjoyed a long, delicious moment together; then Alicia slipped off and ran into the little bathroom.

  Leaving Malko appeased.

  Just the same, his anxiety quickly returned. He had won a few hours of freedom, no more. Staying on at the Gandamack would be insanely risky, but he couldn’t think of what else to do.

  When Alicia emerged from the bathroom, he was no further along in his thinking.

  She gave him a bright smile and said, “Take a shower; then we’ll go down and have some breakfast.”

  It was in the shower that Malko dreamed up the outline of a solution. It was an option he would have preferred to avoid, but he was at the end of his rope. He waited until they were in the dining room to ask Alicia the question that was now on the tip of his tongue.

  “Are you going to be contacting the Ariana Hotel?”

  “Yeah, they’re interested in what I saw in Jalalabad. Why?”

  “How do you go there?”

  “My driver takes me. I let the Ariana security services know I’m coming, and they give my license number to the various checkpoints around the Green Zone. That way I get through with no sweat.”

  “Could you take me with you, but without anyone knowing ahead of time?”

  “Sure,” Alicia said promptly.

  Malko had just found a reliable way of reaching the CIA.

  “I don’t want to show up at the Ariana by myself. What time do you plan to go there?”

  “I have to call and have the guard station give my number to the checkpoints; it’ll take about an hour.”

  “Good,” said Malko approvingly. “But whatever you do, don’t mention me.”

  They went back upstairs to Alicia’s room, and she got on the phone.

  “It’s all set,” she announced a few minutes later. “We’ll go at ten. I’ll be seeing Warren Michaelis.”

  “He’s going to be surprised,” said Malko. “I’m sure he doesn’t expect to see me.”

  Alicia’s car stopped at the roadblock just before the French embassy, the first of three checkpoints. In the distance, the Ariana Hotel with the watchtower on its roof was visible. A soldier checked her papers, made sure the old Toyota had a Green Zone permit, and let them through.

  Alicia and Malko sat silently in the backseat.

  Same procedure at the second checkpoint.

  At the third, a soldier ran a mirror under the chassis, checking for explosives. They then dealt with the Gurkhas guarding the Ariana Hotel proper. Malko had to show his passport, but given the color of his skin, they didn’t ask any questions.

  Still, he didn’t breathe easy until the barrier protecting the hotel courtyard was finally lowered. Alicia’s driver parked the Toyota in front of the building, and she and Malko went over to the Marine guard station. Telephone calls, verifications.

  Five minutes later, a young case officer emerged from the elevator.

  “Mr. Michaelis is expecting you, Miss Burton,” he said. “Are you with her, sir?”

  “Very much so,” said Malko.

  “Do you also have an appointment?”

  “Mr. Michaelis isn’t expecting me. I wasn’t able to call ahead. But he’ll be happy to see me.”

  The case officer hesitated but finally said, “I seem to remember seeing you here before. Okay, come along. I hope I don’t get chewe
d out for this.”

  “I doubt it,” said Malko.

  On the third floor they were ushered into a small waiting room with sagging chairs. Malko’s stomach was tight. How would the station chief receive him?

  A few minutes later, Michaelis opened the door in his shirtsleeves. On the threshold, he stopped dead and said, “Holy cow, Malko! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “I’ll explain in a moment,” said Malko. “I think you have a few matters to settle with Miss Burton first. I can wait.”

  “Go down to the cafeteria and I’ll meet you there,” Michaelis suggested. “One of my deputies will take you.”

  Malko knew the station chief had a lot of questions for him.

  Malko was working on his second cup of insipid coffee when Warren Michaelis joined him. Sitting down, the station chief gave him a long, searching look.

  “The last time we spoke was five days ago,” he finally said. “I haven’t heard from you since. Why haven’t you called?”

  “I can’t tell you that yet. I have to consult with Langley first.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “In Kabul, and outside it, for a while.”

  The men were both ill at ease. Michaelis spoke again. “After the attack on President Karzai, I had a disturbing conversation about you, and I have to admit that it bothered me.”

  “With who?”

  “Jason Forrest. He hinted that you were somehow involved in the attempt to kill Karzai.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “No, but he raised some troubling points.” Michaelis sounded hesitant.

  “What is known about that attack so far?”

  “Not very much,” Michaelis said. “It was carried out by a trained sniper using a Russian weapon that nobody’s been able to trace. I’m sure he was helped by someone on the inside, but the Afghans haven’t said anything about that.”

  “And nobody’s been arrested?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Did my name come up?”

  “No.”

  A long silence followed, eventually broken by Malko. “Besides the attack, what’s been going on these days? I’ve been out of the loop.”

  Michaelis gave him a strange look. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “How are various people reacting to events?”

  “Well, Karzai is angrier at us than ever. He’s hinting that the Taliban tried to kill him with our support. He even refused to meet with Secretary Hagel, claiming he had the flu. Our relations are at the lowest point ever.”

  Malko’s disinformation pipeline had worked apparently. But Karzai was no longer fooled.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  “Concerning Karzai, yes. Aside from that, the NDS tell me they have evidence that the Taliban have called off a major military operation. My opposite number at the Directorate learned that armed groups from Logar and Wardak were secretly entering the city. They now seem to have pulled back out. That would lend Karzai’s claim some credibility. If he’d been killed, the Taliban were apparently ready to launch uprisings in Kabul to take advantage of his death. Of course, this is just a theory.”

  “Of course,” said Malko. “By the way, have you mentioned this to Langley?”

  “Not yet. I’ll put it in my weekly brief tomorrow.”

  Malko was now on pins and needles, with an additional reason to talk with Clayton Luger—urgently.

  “Warren, I have to contact Langley on an absolutely secure line. Is that possible?”

  “Of course. Come with me.”

  When they got to the third floor, Malko realized that with the eight-and-a-half-hour time difference, it was 3:00 a.m. in Washington.

  “I’m going to have to wait until the end of the day to call,” Malko said. “Until it’s nine o’clock at Langley.”

  “Do you want to be driven back to the Serena?”

  “Thanks, but I’d rather stay here.”

  “No problem,” said the station chief. “We have a room on the fourth floor set aside for visiting operatives. I’ll have you taken up.” While they were waiting for a deputy to escort him upstairs, Malko said, “For the time being, nobody must know that I’m here.”

  Michaelis took this in. “Not even Langley?”

  “I mean the Afghans. I don’t think anybody noticed my arrival. Alicia Burton is the only person in the loop.”

  Malko was shown to a sparsely furnished room whose single window faced a concrete wall topped with razor wire.

  He stretched out on the bed and tried to relax. He was still being hunted by the NDS, he knew. They couldn’t get to him here, but he couldn’t stay at the Ariana forever.

  It was time to start winding this insane mission down.

  His eyes half-closed, Musa Kotak listened to the ritual blandishments from his visitor. The high NDS official was charming and polite, and his short beard showed that he was religious, unlike most of the NDS agents from the procommunist Khalq political faction.

  It was a visit Kotak had been expecting.

  The evening before, his nephew Nadir had been picked up by NDS agents staking out the mosque and taken to Directorate headquarters. Kotak had cautiously refrained from reacting, preferring to wait and see. Koshan, the driver of the VW bus, had then told him what had happened during the aborted Ghazni trip. Kotak himself was protected by President Karzai, so he wasn’t worried; nothing could happen to him.

  The politeness ritual over, the NDS officer explained why they’d had to take Kotak’s nephew in and assured him that the young man was being well treated. He then recounted the incident in Yusuf Khel and the role played by a foreigner in killing a villager there. Finally the NDS officer quietly asked, “Maulana sahib, do you know this foreigner, whom you put in your nephew’s care?”

  “Of course. He was sent to me by our beloved leader, Mullah Omar.”

  The officer stiffened. Now they were getting somewhere. Like everyone, he knew that Karzai had extended immunity to the former Taliban minister as a way of keeping a channel to Mullah Omar open. He would have to handle the affair with kid gloves.

  “Maulana sahib, why was your nephew accompanying this man?”

  “He asked for my help to travel to Quetta, to meet with members of our shura. As you know, the Americans shower us with kindnesses, so after consulting a friend in the shura, I decided I would do well to assist him.”

  Kotak spread his chubby hands. “Needless to say, I had no way of knowing that the trip would end in such tragic fashion. I would be amazed if my nephew Nadir were in any way responsible. He is a quiet and gentle man.”

  The NDS agent immediately spoke up. “Maulana sahib! Your nephew is absolutely not involved. In fact, he will be released this evening. I only wanted to know if you knew where this foreigner might be now.”

  “I have no idea,” said Kotak, his eyes still half-closed. “I never saw him again. My nephew might know more.”

  “He told us that he dropped him off yesterday evening at the Iranian embassy.”

  The cleric couldn’t hide his surprise.

  “I didn’t know that he had any connection with our Iranian brothers,” he said. “But then again, he didn’t tell me about all of his activities. I’m afraid I don’t see how I can help you. I must now go pray, but I am always at your disposal.

  “I hope my nephew will be released quickly. I asked him to accompany this foreigner into an area that isn’t very safe. Because of the Taliban, of course.”

  A touch of black humor.

  The NDS officer didn’t insist. He stood up and handed Kotak his card. “Maulana sahib, if you hear anything about this man, could you please contact me?”

  “I’ll be glad to,” said the cleric, escorting his visitor out.

  As soon as he was alone, Kotak drafted a message for Quetta, describing all that had happened. The careful scheme they had put together with the Americans was collapsing. Worse, Karzai might well make the connection between the Taliban and an attack that al
most cost him his life.

  Which could complicate things.

  He ended his message by stressing that the only link between the attack and the movement was Malko Linge, who therefore represented a threat to their cause. As long as the Afghan president was alive, they would have to deal with him. It would be best, he concluded, to erase all traces of the aborted operation.

  Kotak now had to find Linge. He was reluctant to call him, knowing that the NDS was almost certainly tapping the phones. He would use his networks instead.

  Nelson Berry left Pul-i-Alam around noon, after a final meal with his host. Having weighed the pros and cons, he was heading back to Kabul. After all, he couldn’t stay in Logar indefinitely.

  The attempt on Karzai’s life was no longer the main topic of conversation. In Afghanistan, so much happened every day that people soon moved on from the failed attack, which had killed just a single person, one of the president’s drivers.

  As he and Darius drove toward Kabul, Berry wasn’t feeling too worried. He had eliminated the only man who could testify that he was involved in the attack, and he knew the Degtyarov 41 couldn’t be traced. All that remained was his connection with Malko.

  Berry had already prepared a story to tell the NDS, of course. He would say that Linge had asked him to carry out some CIA operations in areas that were too dangerous even for the Agency, eliminating members of the Haqqani network, but that he’d turned him down.

  The story’s main advantage? It couldn’t be checked.

  Berry felt confident that he could resist an eventual NDS interrogation. They weren’t as brutal when questioning khareji.

  Which left him with only two concerns.

  The most immediate one was the five hundred thousand dollars he was carrying. He couldn’t risk the NDS finding it. He would have to explain where it came from, and they would probably steal it.

  There were plenty of hiding places in his poppy palace, but none good enough to resist a determined search. However, Berry owned an abandoned farm outside of Kabul that he used as a firing range and storehouse. It was guarded by an old one-armed mujahideen fighter grateful to be given food and shelter. Berry decided to hide the moneybags among his stores of weapons. Nobody would think to look for them there. That way, if the NDS picked him up when he reached Kabul, he would be clean.