“I’ll be careful when I see both of them, but I need you to do something.”
“Sure,” Jason said digging into the breakfast.
“I want you to see the cleric at the museum of the robe. See if he’ll give you the exact movements of Lund, the imam and the robe that night?” Bernadette asked.
“Okay, I can do that this morning. What are you going to do?”
“I’ll need that burka disguise. I want to make a quick trip to see Lackey. I want to know how close she was to Caprinski. Someone gave up some surveillance patterns to him. I’m trying to find out who.”
“You don’t think it’s far-fetched? I mean, shouldn’t we be looking for the robe instead?”
“I got a feeling that whoever hid the exit of Lund is the same one who knows where the robe is. If I find Lund, I find the robe,” Bernadette said.
“Well, it’s a better plan than I have.” Jason produced a bag from beside his chair. “Here’s your lovely form-fitting burka, one size fits all. I’ll have the same taxi driver take you anywhere you want to go.”
“You mean the ancient warrior with the motorized rickshaw?”
“Yep, that’s my man, Mohammad. He can get you anywhere in Kandahar and most Taliban and tribesmen fear him like he’s the devil incarnate. Be sure to tip him well,” Jason said.
“How do I get hold of him?”
“His rickshaw is outside. He’s been there since midnight making sure no one tries to get into this place, and believe me, a few tried last night. They won’t try it again.”
“But I can’t leave right away,” Bernadette protested.
Jason put up his hand. “Don’t worry, Mohammed is here to take you wherever you want to go. He’ll also be outside this guesthouse to ensure no one tries to cash in on your fatwa.”
“An ancient mujahedeen is my protection, that’s comforting.”
“Not to worry, he brought along a friend to help out. You’ll be fine.”
Bernadette finished what she could eat of her breakfast. The task at hand was more important. “I’m got to make a few phone calls, then I’ll get Mohammad to take me on my quest to find some answers. Can you call me as soon as you’ve talked to the cleric?”
“Will do,” Jason said.
Bernadette grabbed a coffee to go and went back to her room. With Jason helping her, and the old mujahedeen as her driver, she felt like she could be mobile. Her first task was to contact Chandra Gupta at the Canadian Consulate. She would have to use some finesse, as they had not parted company on good terms.
She found the consulate phone number on the room’s computer and dialed the number. A polite French Canadian sounding woman told Bernadette that Chandra was out.
“It’s really important that I speak to her,” Bernadette said.
“I am so sorry, she is visiting someone at the police station,” the receptionist said.
“Are you French Canadian?” Bernadette asked in her best French Canadian accent.
“Yes, I am,” the receptionist replied.
Bernadette then asked the receptionist her name, —Monique—then in her best French, described in detail who she was and why she had to speak to Gupta.
“Mon dieu,” Monique said with a loud rush of breath. “You should have told me right away who you were. Of course, Madame Callahan, I will put your call through to her right away.”
Bernadette smiled. The French Canadians were the greatest romantics of Canada and they wore their hearts on their sleeves.
Chandra Gupta answered her phone a minute later. “Gupta, here.”
“Chandra, it’s me, Bernadette Callahan, I need your help.”
“I don’t know if I can talk to you right now, I’m about to meet with your fiancé,” Chandra said.
“Great, I need you to ask him some questions for me—please.”
Chandra paused for a full minute, then Bernadette heard. “I’m walking to his cell right now. There’s a policeman here, please be careful what you say, I can only give you a minute.”
Chris was sitting in a chair in front of a table for their meeting.
“Ms. Callahan is on this phone, please talk to her quietly…if the guard finds out, our meeting is over.”
“Hey, Bernie. Nice surprise,” Chris said.
“Oh, my god, Chris!” Bernadette blurted.
“Hey, nice to talk to you too. Look, there’s a jail guard monitoring this call,” Chris said.
“Oh, yeah, I’ll be quick. Look, who asked you to go to the museum of the robe? Lund or Caprinski?”
“It was Caprinski.”
“And when Caprinski sent you out with Lund, did he have any exact time you had to leave?”
“Yeah, come to think of it, he was really pissed we were late. He kept telling us to hurry up. What’s up?”
“That’s all I need for now. I love you madly, you know that.”
“Totally, baby,” Chris said. “I’m giving the phone back to Chandra.”
“Chandra, I owe you big time,” Bernadette said. “Sorry for pissing you off a week ago.”
“No problem. That’s the least of your problems now,” Chandra said.
“Can you get him a decent lawyer?” Bernadette asked. She closed her eyes at the request. She knew the answer.
“We’ll be getting him the very best Kandahar has to offer.” Chandra said, but her voice faltered slightly.
“Thank you,” Bernadette replied. She heard the tone in Chandra’s voice; she knew the tone spoke volumes. It spoke of despair.
Bernadette put her phone down. Part of her wanted to have a good cry from the conversation with Chris. “Get a grip on yourself girl.” She shook her head and checked her voice mail on her phone she’d stored in the microwave.
There was a tirade from Chris’s mother. The Canadian Consulate had informed her Chris was in prison and to be tried for the theft of a precious artifact. Bernadette could imagine someone from the government in the foreign office explaining all the things they were going to do for him.
The tirade was along the lines of you promised to bring my Christos back, why are you not the one in jail, then she finished off her phone call with how she wished Chris, had never met Bernadette.
Bernadette erased the message. There was no use calling Mrs. Christakos back. When you got a Greek mad, they stayed mad for a long time. His mother was not open to listening to anything Bernadette could say. She placed the phone back in the microwave and then took it out. She realized if someone was tracking it, they might as well think she was in the guesthouse.
She needed to make one more call. It would be her make or break one for the day. She hesitated as her finger poised over the cellphone. Breathing deeply, she pressed the dial pad and waited for the ring tone.
“American Consulate.”
“Yes, I need to speak with Agent Lackey,” Bernadette said in her most commanding tone.
“Who’s calling?” the receptionist asked in a thick Southern accent.
“Detective Bernadette Callahan.” She used her title, hoping it get her through to Lackey.
“One moment.”
Bernadette tapped her fingers on the side of the little desk, wondering what Lackey would think of her calling. Would she have time for her or would she brush her off?”
“This better be quick,” Lackey said coming on the line. Her voice was sharp and tense. But then, Bernadette realized she had called her a bitch. She could tell she was on Lackey’s speaker in her office.
“I need to see you, it’s important.”
“No time. Look, Callahan, you need to accept the facts, your man was caught, he’ll be tried—make your plans to take what’s left of him home and move on.”
Bernadette tightened her hand into a fist. She seethed over Lackey’s words. “Thanks for the advice, but I have something to show you.”
“Unless you have evidence that clears your man or the robe, I have no time for you.” Lackey said. She sounded distracted. The sound of paper being shuffled on her de
sk told Bernadette how important this call was to her.
“No, but I have a video of Caprinski and you doing the lambada dance in Dubai.”
“Where did you get that?” Lackey asked quickly.
Bernadette noticed the change in her voice; she wished she could see her expression right now.
“I have some great sources. Did you know that the French agents who took this gave you four likes? They even commented when you tried to consume Caprinski’s back teeth with your tongue on the dance floor, now what’s that word— how seductive you were.”
“How do I know you’re not bluffing, Callahan. Sure, I’ve been to Dubai, and yeah, I did a little dancing with Caprinski and I might have had too much to drink, but that’s it. Rumors are all you have.”
“No, I have pictures and videos, and wait—there’s more. I have pictures of you doing some cool ass grabbing of Caprinski as you fall into your hotel room. Now, that one is nice,” Bernadette said.
“You can’t blackmail me with this. I can do whatever I want in my free time,” Lackey said.
“You sure can. And once your bosses at headquarters see all these videos that I’m going to post on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter of the Kandahar CIA station chief having an affair with a security contractor who is part of the ongoing investigation of the missing robe—I’ll bet they see things your way.”
“You bitch.”
“Now, we’re speaking the same language. When can we meet?”
“What the hell do you want?”
“Simple, you answer some questions about your affair with Caprinski and these videos and pictures never see the light of day,” Bernadette said.
“Be here in a half hour.” Lackey said, hanging up abruptly
“You got it,” Bernadette said into the dial tone. She blew out a breath. “Now, you best not screw this up or you’ll be in a deep dark room with Lackey holding a rubber hose,” she reminded herself.
She took her burka and put it on. Standing in mirror, she saw two things—how ridiculous this garment was and how it made complete cover for anyone wanting to hide their identity.
Grabbing her new phone, she made her way out of the guesthouse. Aaron and his uncle watched her leave with interest. As she was the only female in the guesthouse, they knew who she was.
The red motorized rickshaw sat in the street. Mohammad was there, puffing on a cigarette. Beside him stood a man who looked much older than Mohammad, if that was possible. He had few teeth, one eye, and one leg. A peg leg protruded from where the leg had once been. His face was a mass of wrinkles that cascaded into his beard. When he saw Bernadette he bowed, pounded on Mohammad to get his attention, and hobbled towards Bernadette using the butt of his AK-47 as a crutch.
Mohammed came forward, greeting her with a “Salem alaykom, Madame Callahan.”
Bernadette was stunned. “How did you know it was me?”
Mohammed smiled. “Afghani women in burkas do not travel on their own. They must be with a man, either a husband or a relative. Jason told me you would be in disguise.”
Bernadette had to grin under her burka. She wished that some of the police officers she knew had the same instincts.
“Where do you wish to go?” Mohammed asked.
“The American Consulate,” Bernadette said.
“No problem, this time I have my friend Jebran for added protection.”
Jebran bowed low, placing one hand over his heart. Close up he looked even older than Bernadette had previously thought.
Mohammed directed her into the cab of the rickshaw. Jebran sat beside her, resting his AK-47 across his lap. The muzzle pointed out the cab, which made Bernadette very happy.
Mohammed pulled the cord on the rickshaw. A cloud of blue smoke engulfed it. He put it into gear, which produced a screeching sound confirming the drive belt was engaged. It lurched down the street with one backfire for good measure.
Bernadette felt like she was in a fantasy story that she hoped she would wake up from one day or hopefully really soon.
The streets were quiet. She could only assume it was because Chris had been captured. All of Kandahar was waiting to find out where the robe was. The speculation would be running rampant as to why the infidel had taken it, how soon he would be found guilty, and, how long until he was executed.
The rickshaw made its way past the shops, the teahouses, and the few people in the streets. Jebran gazed from side to side, sweeping his gaze for any threats. Bernadette couldn’t imagine how a man of his age and disabilities could defend them.
A column of Afghan army military vehicles passed them. They blew past the little rickshaw as if it were standing still. Bernadette tensed up. She hoped that Lackey had been right about the Afghan police no longer wanting her. Would Lackey go back on her word? How would she be received?
She realized she should have sent a text to Anton before she left. She could have told him that if he didn’t hear from her in twenty-four hours, that the entire video of Lackey should be posted to Facebook. Was that too paranoid?
The rickshaw careened around a corner and they were there. In front of them was a maze of concrete barricades that vehicles had to navigate to get to the American Consulate.
No vehicle could drive in a straight line. It would have to make a serpentine path, losing speed as it navigated the obstacles. All the while, three machine guns on three heavily armored vehicles tracked their every movement.
Mohammed drove the rickshaw slowly, taking each turn with care and waving his hand towards the machine gunners and the marines at the front gate. The way he waved and smiled you’d have thought he was coming home for Thanksgiving dinner.
Some fifty meters from the front gate they were stopped. A large marine looked inside the rickshaw. “You speak English?”
“Yes, I do.” Bernadette replied.
“The burka comes off,” was the terse reply.
“You don’t need to ask me twice,” Bernadette muttered under her breath as she pulled the confining garment over her head and placed it beside Jebran.
She was wearing jeans, a sweatshirt and light down jacket under the burka. Feeling relieved to be a semi-civilian again, she gave her name to the marine and followed him into the consulate.
The pat down was more stringent this time. Everyone at the gate seemed more on edge. She hadn’t remembered three armored vehicles last time. This heightened security meant a threat was imminent.
The marine was large, imposing, smelling of gun oil and Old Spice aftershave. He marched her briskly to Lackey’s office and then stood at attention outside.
Lackey motioned Bernadette inside and shut the door. She turned on a small stereo system to drown out their conversation.
“So, here you are, Callahan. Just what the hell do you want for my transgressions? I’m not religious—so no mea culpas,” Lackey said. She pulled out a bottle of scotch from her desk drawer and poured herself a glass. She didn’t offer Bernadette any.
“I need to know if Caprinski compromised you in any way,” Bernadette said.
Lackey opened a drawer and pulled out a 9 mm handgun. She placed it on the desk beside her scotch. “Easy there, Callahan. It’d be easy for me to say you jumped me and I shot you.”
Bernadette stared at Lackey. She could see she was rattled. This entire conversation could turn bad in a second.
“What I need to know, is if Caprinski could have gained any knowledge from you about satellite and drone surveillance times on the roads in Afghanistan,” Bernadette said.
“Why?
“I learned from Chris that Caprinski wanted the team to leave at an exact time, as if they had a rendezvous with someone—but it was the surveillance times. At the time they were captured, no drones or satellites were overhead. It was the perfect way for Lund to escape with the robe. They then took Chris’s unit hostage. Kept them in a small village, and then murdered his unit. When we arrived, they were about to bring Chris back to Kandahar to face the courts—for his crimes—the perfect
set-up.”
Lackey took a long pull of her scotch. She took the gun, sighed and put it back in the desk. “Aw shit, I can’t believe I didn’t see through Caprinski.”
“Enlighten me,” Bernadette said.
“When we were in Dubai, he kept asking me about the surveillance times. He said he was worried his men would be out without cover. I told him not to worry about it. There’s only one time of day on one road that we have a hole, other than that his people would be fine,” Lackey said putting her hand to her forehead.
“Did you give him that exact location?”
Lackey nodded her head. “Look, I might have. I’m a highly functioning alcoholic; Caprinski filled me with some of the best god damned scotch I’ve ever tasted. I was with him for an entire weekend. It was kind of a haze.” Lackey pushed her scotch away. “When the shit went down, and his men were taken…”
“You wondered if you were the one that had given him the intel?” Bernadette asked, leaning forward a little. She could see the desperation in Lackey’s eyes. She could tell she was hurting.
“Christ. If this gets out—and that video, I’m done—I’ll be a security guard in a mall in Wisconsin.”
“I’m not releasing the video. And no one needs to know our conversation. Are you still tight with Caprinski?” Bernadette asked.
“No, we broke it off… Okay I lie; he dumped me a few weeks ago. He said his ex-wife wanted to get back with him, he said he owed it to his kids to give it a shot.”
“And you know that was a lie too. He was never married,” Bernadette said.
“Aw shit, yeah…I did. I realized I was better off without him and the booze fueled weekends,” Lackey said, staring down at her desk. She raised her head. “Are you going to see him next?”
“Yeah, I think he’s hiding something. I got a feeling he’s in on the stolen robe. You want to come along?”
“I can’t. I have a conference call with my bosses from Washington in a half hour,” Lackey said. “I wish I could be there when you ask that son of a bitch some questions.” She reached into the other drawer in her desk. “You might need this.”
Lackey took at a Sig Sauer 9mm handgun, checked the load, and slid it across the desk to Bernadette.
Caught In The Crossfire: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery Page 22