by J A Heaton
But that bomb hadn’t come yet, and Reza’s confidence grew as his small motorcade passed into the mountains. Two massive stone mounds rose on either side, and he knew he was getting closer to his destination. The black and armored car ahead of them set a fast pace, and the one behind them carried extra firepower.
“It won’t be long now,” Reza said to the man sitting in the back seat with him. This bodyguard had been with him through everything, including the ambush in Mazar-i-Sharif. “After tonight, our friend’s sacrifice will be worth everything,” Reza reassured the bodyguard, who had lost his friend in the ambush.
All in all, losing one bodyguard and the driver during the ambush in exchange for a nuclear weapon is not a bad trade-off, Reza thought to himself. That, and fifty-one million US dollars.
Reza had already paid the one million dollar deposit when he confirmed the authenticity of the nuke. Tonight, the remaining fifty million would be sent to a foreign bank in exchange for the item itself. And then it would be a simple matter of carrying the tiny and incredibly dense package to Iran in his diplomatic pouch.
And then, Iraq would have to contend with Iran. The West would have to contend with Iran. Israel would have to contend with Iran.
Reza smiled to himself, and the car slowed as he approached his destination. Soon, he and his bodyguards would meet with Qaqramon’s men to go to his village.
“A few more minutes,” the driver said to Reza.
Unknown to Reza, though he suspected it, an aircraft of the US Air Force flew thousands of feet above. It carried no bombs, however. Rather, its mission was to make sure that Reza did indeed go back to Kabul.
“Fuel reserves are running low,” the AWAC pilot said to his commander at Bagram Airbase to the south. “I’ll be heading home soon.”
“Stay until the last second,” the airbase responded.
“That gives me about 30 more seconds,” the pilot responded.
“You’ve been granted permission to land in Mazar-i-Sharif,” Bagram Airbase said. “Observe the vehicle as long as possible and then land at Mazar-i-Sharif.”
The pilot and copilot recalculated how much fuel they had. Although Mazar-i-Sharif was closer to their current location, following the black car south took them farther away.
“Copy that,” the pilot said to Bagram Airbase. “That only gives us a few extra minutes, though.”
My plane isn’t best for tracking ground targets, the pilot thought to himself. We need more of those drones I’ve heard about.
About one minute later, the three black vehicles winding along the road towards Kabul slowed down and came to a stop. In about 10 seconds, the Iranian diplomat, his bodyguard in the back seat, and his bodyguard in the front seat, got out and walked to the east side of the road, heading into the mountains. The three black vehicles then continued south towards Kabul.
The AWAC flying about thirty thousand feet above them took note of the aberration and called it in.
“The target came to a complete stop for a few seconds, and approximately three persons got out and headed into the mountains to the east,” the pilot reported.
“Good work. We will pass that along.”
“We are out of airtime,” the pilot said. “Disengaging and heading to Mazar-i-Sharif Airbase.”
Unaware and on the ground, the three Iranians struggled through the rough terrain before Reza paused for a short rest among some outcropping boulders.
“Where are they?” Reza asked.
Moments later, he had his answer. Two Taliban men wearing black turbans came out from behind boulders and pointed their rifles at the Iranians. The Iranian bodyguards responded in kind.
“We are friends,” Reza said calmly to the two gunmen. “Take me to Qaqramon’s village. He is expecting me.”
The two Taliban men paused for a few moments and then one of them said, “Follow us.”
Long before the AWAC plane landed at the Mazar-i-Sharif Airbase, the information had been relayed from the Bagram Airbase to General Jones.
“Our Iranian friend is on his way to Qaqramon’s village,” Jones told Daniel after he had him woken to report to his command tent.
“So, the exchange is happening tonight at Qaqramon’s village,” Daniel observed. “At least Rex and his men won’t be bored.”
“But, as expected,” Jones said, “our patrols haven’t found Nigora.”
“I can’t figure out why Nigora didn’t tell me she tried to kill Reza in the ambush,” Daniel told General Jones. “She didn’t know Rex and I were going to be there.”
“Maybe she didn’t know what order she was confirming,” Jones suggested.
“Maybe,” Daniel agreed. He reminded himself that he had to keep his eye on the nuke.
“This is Ice.” Rex’s voice came over the radio to the command tent. “Baby, do you read me? This is Ice. This is Ice. “
“Ice, this is Baby. I read you,” General Jones replied tiredly.
Daniel smirked, knowing that Rex must have come up with the call signs: Ice and Baby.
At least he’s keeping his spirits up, Daniel thought to himself.
“Do you have anything to report?” Jones asked.
“Surveillance is easy as pie,” Rex said, “and we’ve observed a few vehicles come and go throughout the day. Still lots of armed baddies about.”
“Have you seen Nigora?” Jones asked.
“It’s possible she’s come and gone,” Rex said. “Not everything has been visible. There’s also a bunch of kids playing in the village. I sure as hell don’t like that, but I know that’s how Qaqramon operates. He doesn’t mind putting civilians in danger.”
“Are any women there?” Jones asked.
“A few, but not Nigora,” Rex said. “But I can’t be definite about that. Perhaps she’s always been inside. Or, perhaps I can’t tell the women apart because they all dress the same.
“But still,” Rex continued, “things don’t seem quite right. Some of the structures in the village haven’t had any traffic out of them. Almost all the rest have kids coming in and out of them. But several don’t. The men seem edgy.”
There was a pause before Rex continued.
“Hello,” Rex said. “What is this? A new arrival. Finally. Something. I got a truck arriving with Taliban, and our Iranian friend with two of his bodyguards.”
“What about Qaqramon?” Jones asked.
“Unknown,” Rex replied. “Maybe he’s been inside the whole time. Maybe he’s come and gone without us seeing. The vehicles and other people can obscure our view.
“Our Iranian friend is talking with the guys,” Rex continued. “He’s mad. It looks like he has a sat radio, but he’s pretty heated. No idea what they’re saying, though.
“Hold on,” Rex said.
Daniel and the general waited.
“The Iranian went into one of the buildings nobody else has gone in and out of,” Rex reported. “One bodyguard is waiting outside by the door, and the other bodyguard is inside with him.”
“That building must be the exchange location,” General Jones said to Daniel.
“Sit tight,” Jones ordered Rex over the radio.
Daniel knew Rex hated waiting.
20
Earlier that day, unknown to Daniel, a car wound its way from the southeast towards Mazar-i-Sharif. It approached the same Taliban checkpoint Daniel had passed through two days earlier. Four Taliban men sat uninterested on the hillside, but the two on the road were very interested. Inside the car was an older passenger, sitting in the backseat by himself. He wore dark glasses, and it appeared that his hair had whitened within the last few years. They wondered why this man wore darkened glasses. Even if somebody could afford glasses, most didn’t want to wear them. In the trunk, among some extra clothes, tire irons, a spare tire that appeared impossibly worn, and a plastic bag with more clothes, they also found a small sack that couldn’t have held more than fifteen kilograms of rice.
When the two Taliban questioned the d
river, the man in the back gave a curt reply as he gazed over his darkened glasses.
The two men recognized Qaqramon’s voice. Deciding they needed to mind their own business, they waved the vehicle on towards the north where it would turn west towards Mazar-i-Sharif.
After the car left the mountains, Qaqramon was certain there would no longer be any delays until he reached the checkpoint to enter the city. He had to arrive before dark and curfew. This would be the most important day, not only in his life, but for his people and his land. Friday prayers had been the perfect prelude for what he had planned later that night. His disguise was good enough. The American checkpoint guards wouldn’t search this regular taxi carrying an old man and a trunk filled with clutter.
Later, as the taxi approached the checkpoint, the sun was sinking in the sky beyond the city to the west. They slowed and snaked around several concrete barriers designed to present a car from accelerating through.
The American carrying a rifle and wearing camouflage waved to the driver and then peered into the backseat through his wraparound sunglasses. The driver was familiar to him, but he had never seen the man in the backseat. To the American guard, he appeared elderly and harmless.
No matter, the guard thought to himself. There are a lot of old men in this country I haven’t seen, and they are all starting to look the same. Besides, I’m looking for the young guys, the Taliban.
The soldier motioned for the driver to pop his trunk, which he did, and he looked disinterestedly at the detritus, including the sack of rice. The soldier figured that the old man or the driver, and probably his family in the city, needed the rice a lot more than he did.
The guard was about to wave them through, but something seemed off to him. He checked the windows. They weren’t tinted. Neither of the men was smoking, let alone smoking Camel cigarettes.
But I’ve seen the guy before, the guard reminded himself, and he was a lot younger.
The soldier waved the taxi through.
Qaqramon thanked Allah, glad he had faithfully performed his Friday prayers.
Minutes later, the taxi stopped at the taxi bazaar, and Qaqramon paid the driver plus a little extra. He would soon be fifty million dollars richer, and well funded to continue his war against the invaders.
Qaqramon proceeded on foot, carrying his plastic bag of clothes in one hand, and rolling the partially empty rice sack on an improvised metal cart intended for use at the bazaar. Nobody would have guessed what a man who appeared so elderly was carrying.
Qaqramon tried not to look too young and excited as he made his way towards an empty apartment where he would wait until it was time to go to the location of the exchange. An era in which the West was no longer dominant was imminent.
“Ice, this is Baby,” General Jones said over the radio to Rex. Daniel sat nearby, amazed by the general’s calm.
“This is Ice,” Rex replied. “What you got?”
Dark had fallen several hours earlier; it was about nine o’clock. Qaqramon’s village was relatively calm, but there were still some children playing outside near some of the buildings. Rex wondered how late the children would stay up playing.
“We have orders from on high that you’re going to need to go into that village and get the nuke,” General Jones said.
“There are a lot of children here,” Rex said over the radio. “We also have not confirmed Qaqramon’s presence. Additionally, our air support is going to do us no good here. We’re too close.”
“Those have been deemed acceptable risks,” Jones said. “You will need to extract the nuke and eliminate Qaqramon and Reza. Is that understood?”
“Understood,” Rex said.
The waiting is finally over, Rex thought to himself.
“Commence attack at your discretion,” General Jones ordered.
Rex and his men had already devised a plan hours earlier, anticipating the order would come, though they hoped the kids would leave the area.
Only one guard near the edge of the village closest to the ridge’s slope on which they waited stood guard. One Iranian bodyguard watched from outside the entrance of where Reza waited. The armed men who had arrived earlier in the day had dispersed, probably to the far side of the village and out of view.
The plan demanded speed and precision. They had to get in and out before the mass of Taliban from the far side of the village realized the danger came from the mountain ridge they erroneously thought was mined.
After cursing Qaqramon for putting children in harm’s way, Rex reminded the men of what was at stake.
“Remember the World Trade Center,” Rex said. “Now imagine that with a nuke.”
He didn’t have to say any more than that.
Of the seven Special Forces soldiers, two of them were going to stay in position outside of the village. Walters, the sharpshooter, was one of them. He would take out the Iranian bodyguard. The second spec ops man, who went by Gunner and had the machine gun, would stay outside the village. His job was to provide cover fire as the others withdrew after successfully completing the mission. Or, if things weren’t going well, he would take out any concentrated groups of Taliban.
Although Rex was confident he and his men had superior night vision, he hated the fact that once the attack began, the location of Walters and Gunner outside the village would be obvious. There was no way to conceal the muzzle flashes.
This needs to be fast in and fast out, Rex thought to himself.
Walters targeted the Iranian bodyguard by the doorway. Rex targeted the nearest Taliban guard.
“Three, two, one, fire,” Rex said calmly over the radio.
In unison, the sharpshooters squeezed their triggers.
The attack had begun.
Rex’s bullet hurled from his rifle and went through the head of the Taliban guard. Before the Iranian bodyguard could react, Walters’ bullet penetrated his head.
Rex and the four others rushed towards the village under cover of night. The playing children had not even noticed that anything was wrong. One grabbed his stick and stood up, afraid, as Rex rushed past him. The Special Forces man named Harper offered a piece of gum, but the child stared at the cyborg-like night vision attached to Harper’s helmet without accepting.
The Army Special Forces men worked from the edge of the village towards the structure that held Reza. Although the gunshots had not alerted the children, accustomed as they were to gunfire, they did draw out several other Taliban.
One Taliban who had come out nearest them barely managed a gasp before a knife sliced him. He was left on the ground, unable to scream as life passed from him. The next enemy met a similar fate.
Another Taliban who had emerged from another structure saw what was happening, but couldn’t believe invaders had made it this far into the village undetected. If his yell didn’t raise the alarm, then Walter’s shot that laid him to the ground certainly did.
Rex and his men approached the building with Reza inside, and his other bodyguard yelled from within. Then he stepped out, saw the other bodyguard dead on the ground, and shouted again.
He didn’t shout for long. The man behind Rex placed a cluster of bullets through his chest, dropping him beside his comrade.
But the noise and commotion were enough to stir the hornet’s nest.
“You’re going to have a lot more company,” Walters warned Rex through his earpiece.
“Damn,” Gunner said over the radio. “We thought that structure only had animals. Six coming your way.”
“Take those six out, Gunner,” Rex ordered.
Firing would reveal Gunner’s location, but he didn’t care. Those six were not going to reach his buddies. His machine gun ripped ammunition through the night, and the six Taliban dropped to the ground. Most were dead, but some called out in pain.
Women began screaming, along with a baby crying. The children ran towards some of the structures from which men with guns exited.
Gunner cursed, picked up his weapon, and shifted posit
ion about ten meters and waited for more targets.
Walters took several more shots, picking off the Taliban approaching Reza’s building. The Taliban were unaware of Rex and his men’s infiltration. Instead, they fired towards Walters and Gunner on the mountainside.
Gunner spotted several more Taliban arriving from the other side of the village.
“There’s a lot more than we expected that we never saw,” Walters said over the radio, having seen the same thing as Gunner.
Walters and Gunner continued their dual task: firing and shifting while eliminating those approaching Rex and those attacking them on the mountainside. Both wondered how long it would be before they would be countered by superior numbers. Rex and the others had to get out of there before then.
When Rex and two of his men entered Reza’s structure, they encountered one man, whom they shot. They rushed to the back where they found Reza, holding a gun.
Reza was about to say something, but Rex didn’t give him a chance. He dropped Reza with multiple rounds.
Did he think somebody else was coming to negotiate? Rex thought to himself as he spotted a safe in the corner.
“Reza is down,” Rex said over the radio.
“The nuke?” General Jones asked eagerly.
Nothing for several more moments as Rex placed charges on the safe.
“We’re going to blow a safe,” Rex replied.
Rex and the others backed into the anterior room and detonated the charges to breach the safe.
Upon reentering, Rex ran his hand through the safe’s interior, but it was empty.
“Negative on the nuke,” Rex reported over the radio.
“Qaqramon?” Daniel asked.
“Negative,” Rex responded. “And there’s no other exits here.”
The surrounding gunfire intensified.
“Sir, hurry the hell up!” Walters yelled in Rex’s earpiece.
Rex and the others searched the room but found nothing. It was sparse and without hiding places.