Chris Haviland, a tall, athletic man, in his mid-thirties, was also dressed in a suit and spoke with a cultured accent. The quieter of the two, he still cut an impressive figure in his bearing and manner.
‘Steve, we are interested to hear an update about the engineer who was killed.’ It was the first time that Chris Haviland had spoken apart from the initial introductions.
‘I am not sure I can tell you a lot. One of my colleagues is down in the city closest to the scene of the crime. He is an Afghan-American and able to mingle in the society. If they suspect he is probing for information, his life would be in grave danger.’
‘We appreciate your colleague’s efforts, but is there anything you can tell us in the interim?’
‘The body is with the Belgium military. Leopold Laterme had been shot multiple times in the body and face at close range. The body is to be repatriated back to Belgium.’
‘I believe there was a police report.’ Chris Haviland was persistent.
‘There was a report from the police chief in Sarobi, the nearest town. I will meet up with my colleague on Sunday, along with Colonel André Peeters of the Belgian Army; I will then be able to give you a clearer overview. The police chief’s report was factual, concise, and to the point. He stated that it appears to be the Taliban.’
‘Thank you for sharing with us what information you have at the present moment. We await your final report next week.’
‘Laterme should not have been in the area. He was with an Afghan engineer and a local driver. He should at least have had an armed security team with him,’ Steve said.
‘Could you please update as to the general mood within the expatriate community in relation to this event,’ Nick de Oliveira asked.
‘Everyone’s nervous. Some expats are leaving, others are finding that the governments and companies that employed them are not renewing their contracts. Security is expensive. At least, good security is.’
Steve had to admit that the Moevenpick hotel was excellent, and the food and drinks supplied were extensive. Fred Bull certainly appreciated it as well, and judging by the way he packed away the meals, he seemed determined to be trying to take his excess sixty pounds up to at least eighty, before his return flight back home. He was obviously on ‘an all expenses, all you can eat and drink trip’ and he was not going to waste the opportunity.
Fred Bull had not spoken much the first day. His only function had been to chair the meeting, make the introductions, and to ensure that snack breaks, lunch and dinner times were adhered to. On the second day, he took a more active part. ‘Steve, are you able to update us regarding the situation with the Taliban?’
‘I would have assumed that there are others in the country that have a better understanding of the Taliban,’ Steve said.
‘Your position is unique. You have been into places that the military has not been able to access.’
‘That is correct. Some may well have been areas of Taliban influence, but personally I have not been aware if that is the situation.’
‘Then I am right to ask. You do have some additional insight on the mood in the country, the increasing influence of the Taliban,’ Fred said.
‘Any area that I have been into has only occurred if the company’s local manager has cleared it. Some days it will be safe; others, it is not. They always have better information than the daily security bulletins put out by the American military. The Taliban are resurgent, they are bolder, and there are fewer areas that I can go, especially in the South West around Kandahar. As the Western military vacate areas in the country, the Taliban move in.’
‘Where does this information come from?’ Fred asked.
‘It is purely from talking to our people in the regions. What I have proffered is from the man in the street, not from any in-depth analysis that I have conducted. You have asked me about the Taliban, and I have given you my understanding of the situation. The Taliban are far from a spent force and will come back given the time and the opportunity.’ Steve was getting a little annoyed, this constant questioning, the disappearing into side meetings by the others at various times, and him sitting there waiting for them to return. At least, there was Sally who remained, but he had noticed that she and Chris Haviland had become distinctly friendly; the two would constantly glance at each other and smile in the meetings.
Steve was not a sit in the office, endless meetings person, at the best of times, and when he felt they were pointless, he had a tendency to become agitated. Here, was not the place to lose his cool; these people were far too important to appreciate any petulant behaviour.
The final day, the subject turned to Afghan politics in Kabul. ‘We need to discuss the central government. Steve, what is your understanding?’ It was Chris Haviland. He received a friendly smile from Sally as he stood to speak. Steve found it unsettling, as he was stuck in Kabul with no one after Megan had left. He was envious, Sally was very desirable.
‘I don’t know a great deal. I know they are divisive, corrupt, difficult to deal with, and a disparate group of individuals. Without external controls, they will quickly degenerate along tribal and religious lines. The Taliban for all their faults appear to be able to act as one cohesive group. The politicians in Kabul certainly do not.’
There was something about Nick de Oliveira that didn’t ring true. He had the demeanour of a person who would have been expected to hold a more impressive title than that of business advisor. Time would show that Steve was right in his evaluation.
‘With the reduction in U.S. and NATO military forces around the country, have you seen any visible increase in insurgency activities?’ Nick De Oliveira asked.
‘I’ve already mentioned that they are moving back into the areas we vacate. Regarding activities, it seems very clear that Laterme’s death is a clear sign, and we are all aware of the uplift in terrorist’s activities within Kabul. If the U.S. and NATO pull out their militaries, the situation in the country will return to pre-9/11.
‘You do realise that the rhetoric put forward that the Afghan military will assume responsibility for the security of the country, is only that. They will not have a chance against the Taliban,’ Steve responded.
‘Unfortunately, statements are made by politicians worldwide, including in America and Afghanistan, which is for public consumption. Your concern is correct, the Afghan military will not stand a chance.’ It was an amazingly honest statement from De Oliveira.
The meeting concluded at midday on Saturday, just long enough for Steve to catch the flight back into Kabul. Fred had a flight the next morning, and he had already plotted out his agenda until then, an evening meal at the Burj Al Arab in Jumeirah. The seven-star hotel’s best restaurant, the Al Mahara was the chosen location. Set in the centre of a massive aquarium, it was supposedly, truly exquisite, and incredibly expensive.
Nick de Oliveira, the up and coming consummate politician, would weave his charm on some local Sheikhs and politicians, while his colleague intended to cement his relationship with the lovely Sally; he had booked a room for two at the Atlantis hotel, out on Palm Island. Steve envied Chris Haviland his good fortune and good taste.
***
Steve managed to make the plane on time to get back into Kabul; its departure was delayed as usual. Fastidious about punctuality, he entered the parking lot at the Intercontinental Hotel in his Toyota Land Cruiser, five minutes ahead of the agreed meeting time on Sunday. Colonel Peeters was a few minutes late, he had been held up by a demonstration of government clerical workers who hadn’t been paid for three months, with Abdul Sherzai arriving thirty minutes after.
All three were now on first-name terms, and Steve was glad to see that Abdul had returned successfully.
The Intercontinental, it was no longer part of the worldwide chain, but then no one was likely to come from Head Office to enforce a name change. It had been a good hotel in its day, but time, neglect and decay had given it a rundown dying colonial look. It sat on a hill, just out past the roundabo
ut in Karte Parwan, not far from Kabul University. A swimming pool in the grounds, there was water in it now, males only. The views over the city to the west were commanding, with spectacular views of the Hindu Kush.
Steve and André dressed casually in shirt and long trousers, shorts were still frowned on, Abdul in local Afghan attire. Back home in Atlanta, he would have been wearing shirt and shorts. Both Steve and André carried concealed weapons. The city was relatively calm that morning apart from the demonstration that had impeded André’s movement, but that was a daily occurrence, not worthy of comment. Trouble could flare any time, and the police on the street, occasionally stopping vehicles for traffic violations, may not have been official. It could have been a set up for a kidnapping; a Westerner commanded a substantial ransom.
‘I met Sayed Amin, the police chief. He does not believe it is the Taliban. Also, the Taliban has purposely been keeping away from Kabul in the last few months.’
‘Does that mean his report is incorrect?’ Steve asked.
‘Possibly, but he is not willing to issue an updated version. If he does, it brings into question his handling of the investigation, and he is not agreeable to cross-examination from his superiors.’
‘Understood, we will not ask him to change the report. It is up to us to ascertain whether it was the Taliban, or not,’ Steve conceded.
‘I met with my friend, he was very hospitable. I also spoke at length with three of his friends. One was a merchant, another ran a fleet of trucks, and the other was wealthy. The merchant, I believe symphathised with the Taliban. The other two did not seem to have strong views on the subject. They, however, all agreed on one thing, they did not believe it was the Taliban.’
‘Is there anything else that was said which is of interest?’ André asked.
‘There is one other statement that was made to me by Shahid, the merchant. He stated very clearly, ‘Someone is trying to put the blame on the Taliban.’
‘What else did he say?’ Steve asked.
‘He did not elaborate, and it would have been foolish to have pressured him.’
‘That is clear.’ André conceded.
‘I believe Shahid, in what he said to me.’ Abdul concluded.
***
‘I have been in Dubai,’ Steve said. ‘It was supposed to be a regular meeting, but the questioning took an unexpected direction. They were continually pressuring for updates regarding the death of Laterme, escalation of Taliban activities, nervousness in the expatriate community and instability within the central Kabul government.’
‘I have also seen unusual interest in the death of Leopold Laterme. I have had my current duties with the NATO Security Forces reassigned, with the primary focus on the death of the Engineer. It appears there is something that we are not being told,’ André said.
‘Regardless, a few days in Dubai are always welcome.’ The three of them, knew something was going on, but they had no idea as to what it was.
A meal at the Bamiyan Brasserie completed their meeting.
‘I need to go,’ Steve said as they drank their tea at the conclusion of the meal, ‘I need to send a report to Fred Bull. My usual three-pager will not suffice this time, there’s too much information.’ It took him the best part of twelve hours to complete. It was excessive, and the formatting required had been designed by bureaucrats for bureaucrats. The clichéd jargon of the CIA was sometimes unfathomable with their predilection for acronyms. Encrypted and emailed, it was a weighty tome, thirty-five pages of A4, if it had been printed out.
He was pleased with his effort until he received a phone call from Bull. ‘You’ve missed the point. Sure, there are a lot of words, but it’s missing the essential item. Who killed Laterme? What about the conflicting statements? Amin, the police chief, reports it’s the Taliban, and then, contradicts it over lunch. Sherzai is also saying his other contacts in Sarobi agree with Amin’s lunch time story. Then there’s another statement intimating a plot to implicate the Taliban. Why someone would want to blame the Taliban makes no sense.’
‘I can only report what I have.’
‘I realise it is difficult, but you are on the ground. Use Peeters and Sherzai. Drill down, look for the most obscure clue, the indiscreet conversation, the rumours on the street.’
‘Okay. I will meet with Abdul and André soon.’
Three days after Steve’s report had been sent to Fred Bull, an official communique was sent to all the embassies and foreign media in Afghanistan.
***
Security Message.
Subject: Death of Belgium National at Mahipar Hydroelectric power station, Kabul to Jalalabad road, Afghanistan.
It is concluded that the deaths of Leopold Laterme and two Afghan locals were as a result of a targeted assassination by the Taliban. Unfortunately, the three individuals were in a location known to be frequented by the insurgents without adequate security.
The country remains increasingly unstable, and all Expatriate personnel are requested to re-evaluate their continued residency in Afghanistan.
It is mandatory that all non-working personnel, spouses and children should leave the country at the earliest opportunity, and that all foreign businesses, embassies and NGOs should conduct an immediate reduction of non-essential personnel.
No activities outside of the central business district of Kabul are to be conducted without suitable security.
--------
Steve, André, and Abdul met at the Lebanese restaurant in Wazir Akbar Khan, an upmarket neighbourhood, close to the centre of town.
It was 2 p.m. on a Saturday when the three sat down to talk. ‘I’m being asked to provide more detail. Fred Bull wants to know who killed Laterme and why. I just feel we have gone as far as we can with this,’ Steve said.
‘I don’t see how I can help,’ André said.
‘My position is better than André’s, although as an UN employee advising the Afghanistan government, I would not want to be acting in conflict with my job responsibility. The only way I can help is by keeping my ears and eyes tuned for anything relevant. If I feel it is of importance, then I will report to you.’
‘Thanks, that is understood.’ It was the best that Steve could hope for. He asked what they had been up to in the last few days.
‘I’ve been up at the American military air base in Bagram to attend a security briefing. I don’t often go there, it’s only forty kilometres, but there have been too many instances of the insurgents planting improvised explosive devices (IEDs) under the roadside and then waiting for a likely looking vehicle with a Westerner, uniformed preferably, and then detonating it remotely.
‘I prefer not to go there at all, the risk is too high. No matter how much security or surveillance there is by the U.S. military on the road, the insurgents always seem to get through. The meetings tend to be somewhat dry, although it is surprising how much detailed information about the insurgents is available. They must have Afghan people undercover with the Taliban. If they catch any of these people, their demise would not be pleasant.’
‘Any mention of Laterme?’ Steve enquired.
‘The official view of the U.S. military is that the insurgents were responsible.’
‘Thanks, André.’
‘Just one more item, I heard two loud Americans speaking, I was walking past an open door on the way to lunch. One mentioned a curious phrase, “the Great Game is on”. No idea what it means. I just mention it in case any of us hear it again. It may be coded talk for something else.’
‘I’ve been weighed down with mundane matters,’ Abdul said, ‘concerning the economy of Afghanistan. How can the UN help? We do the best we can, the UN World Food programme is active around the country, but we have no option but to utilise the local Warlords for the distribution. Hence, half the food never makes it to the intended recipient, and most of the remaining half ends up in the bazaars via the black market. Corruption and deceit exist everywhere, and the UN is powerless to stop it.’
Sherza
i did not really have time for diversions such as the fate of the Belgian engineer. A few days free in the last week to visit Sarobi, and glad of the opportunity. Next week, it would be road construction, medical facilities, crime in the country, or the myriad of other areas that required assistance. Always, it was the same. What can the UN do to help?
***
‘My cover as a communications engineer is being compromised by my spending too much on unrelated business for the CIA.’ Steve mentioned to Fred on his regular phone conversation.
‘Leave it to me,’ Fred said.
Within two days, Steve received a promotion to Senior Program Manager – Government and Business Relations. An office job, it allowed him to move around the country as necessary, to meet with senior members of the government. Also, he could interface with the occupying military forces. It was a smart move by Bull. Somehow, Steve’s employer was tied in with the U.S. government. He had always assumed it was, but this was the first time he had seen direct evidence. In Afghanistan, nothing was as it seemed.
Steve and André were in a position to move forward with the investigation, or they would have been if they indeed knew what they could move forward on. They had exhausted all avenues of enquiry at the present moment.
Abdul was still struggling to satisfy two masters. He would gladly have come in with them, but at this time his UN activities and the close interfacing with the Afghan government were critical.
Chapter 3
‘Fred, another expat has been killed, English this time, in Kandahar. I’m taking the next flight down,’ Steve said. In the weeks, since Laterme’s death, the expat community, in general, had been taking the security advice more seriously. Some of the clubs and restaurants frequented in Kabul were feeling the pinch due to reduced patronage. Kandahar never had the clubs and restaurants, and expats never moved freely around the city. There was always one foolhardy, full of bravado, who felt they were immune. It sounded as though the Englishman in Kandahar was one of those individuals.
Prelude To War: World War 3 (Steve Case Thriller Book 1) Page 3
