by L. J. Martin
"We are not here sightseeing."
It’s quiet for a long moment. "How well do you pay?"
"A thousand US a day, another three hundred if we use your car and driver."
"Would two thousand be out of the question…car included?"
"Ruba," I lie, "I have other names."
No hesitation this time. "Where do we meet?"
She wouldn’t be Arab if she didn’t try.
I tell her we’ve just left the round-a-bout where A62 connects with A74 and are heading east on the latter, and she instructs us to take the street south at the next round-a-bout, and go two blocks and pull up at the vacant half-block on the west side of the road. She says she should be there in a black Toyota SUV not long after we get there.
Now, if she’s on the level half the Mazar police force, or worse, the Taliban, won't arrive instead. However, I’m sure the good old American greenback has her convinced to come back to Jesus. At least while she’s working with other Christians.
Skip changes lanes and damn near runs another truck off the road.
"Jesus," I snap, "you okay, cowboy?"
He sighs deeply. "I’m friggin’ tired. I need some zees."
"With a little luck and the help of this lady we're meeting we’ll find a place to sack out. Whatever we’re doing, it won’t come down until the middle of the night. You should have time to catch up on your beauty sleep. You want me to drive?"
"I’ll make it until we meet the lady, then you can have it."
He drives fine and takes the road south off the next round-a-bout, pulling up as instructed at the vacant half-block.
"Get your ass in the back and get some sack time," I tell him, and he leaves the driver’s seat.
Hank again sticks his head in the canvas covered opening between cab and bed, and asks, "Okay, fill us in?"
But before I can, I see a black Toyota approaching. As it nears I see there are two guys in the front. They stop a hundred feet from the truck and climb out, as does another from the back seat—and all carry AK-47s.
17
"Hank," I yell, "drop out the back with an RPG in case we need to take out the SUV." Then I turn to the boys in front. "Let’s get separated." And we unload, each of us with an M5.
But the boys with the AKs merely spread out from the Toyota and hold their positions, then a lady in full blown black burka steps from the back seat and starts forward. So I move to meet her.
She stops halfway and bows her head as I near. "You called?" she says.
"I did. You’re Ruba I presume." And she nods. "I’m Dick Strong," I lie, using one of my common aliases. "You brought more than merely your driver." I give her a tight smile.
"These are not the streets of Austin, Mr. Strong. One does not run off to meet a stranger."
"I understand perfectly. Are these gentlemen for hire as well?"
"That could be arranged, for say, five hundred dollars per day per man."
"We’ll discuss that in more detail. We need a place to hide the truck, to rest up, for five of us to be fed, and where you and I can talk more."
"That’s a large truck," she says, looking over my shoulder.
"It is."
"I have a friend who has a warehouse…furniture and rugs and that sort of thing. But he would have to rearrange it in order to accommodate your transportation."
"A friend who’s a Coptic, like yourself. I’ve heard of this Christian."
"I am Sunni," she says quickly, and defensively.
"You’re Egyptian Coptic who wisely passes for Sunni, and it’s of little matter to me none-the-less."
She’s silent for a moment, then nods slightly. "I will call my friend."
"What is the rent for such a place?" I ask.
"Two hundred dollars per day plus one hundred dollars for feeding five men."
She moves away a few feet and uses her cell phone, then rings off and moves back. "If that is acceptable it's only a kilometer or so further south, just off this road. But he would prefer you came in after dark."
I glance at the sun and see it’s nearing the western horizon. "What do you suggest we do until then to stay under the radar?"
"What is under the radar," she asks quizzically.
"Out of sight."
"There is a place between here and there that roasts lamb outside and serves it with rice and a wonderful cucumber salad. Let’s go near there, you give me a hundred dollars and I will bring a basket full of food to the truck."
"That’s a lot of money to feed five," I say, not really giving a damn but I may be dealing with Ruba for a long time.
I sense she’s smiling under the burka. "Not if one risks being arrested, or worse, for aiding foreign mercenaries."
And she gets a smile and low laugh from me. "Like you’re not Coptic, we’re not mercenaries. A hundred is fine."
She nods. "Follow us. There is a grove of date palms behind the restaurant and you can park the truck there. There will be shade where we can eat, and you can meet my brother-in-law and his men."
"Lead on," I say, and we both head back to our vehicles.
We wait for them to load up and flip a u-turn, then follow until they stop and one of the men climbs out and waves us to follow as he leads, at a walk, into a two-track between a stand of date palms.
We pull up in some welcome shade and unload. Our guide walks up and extends a hand. "Amal," he says, introducing himself.
We each shake, then I ask TooBad to move fifty yards back toward the road and set up a watch, and to stay on his radio. While BeBe tries to make conversation with Amal, I retreat to the back of the truck and go to Sand Hog and dig out three Leatherman tools.
I return to where BeBe and Amal have flopped down, cross-legged, in the shade, and hand Amal a leather holstered Leatherman, and thank him for the help. BeBe explains, and it appears by the smile I’ve made a friend.
He’s tall for an Afghani, with arms and legs lined with muscles like steel cable. These people make me wonder if they haven’t spent most their lives chasing sheep and goats up and down the nearby mountains. Even as hard as I work to stay in shape, I’d hate to try and outrun them through the hills.
In a few minutes the black Toyota is coming our way, and stops and unloads. As promised, we have skewered lamb, rice, a cucumber and yogurt salad, and melon that must have been covered with ice. I eat too quickly then get on the radio and call TooBad in, and walk his way to take his post.
Ruba insists that we wait until it is very dark, over an hour after sundown, then we load up again and she leads us to the warehouse in question. It’s just north of the landing pattern of the airport, which I guess is just about a mile east.
She enters a small office attached to the warehouse and a man in an ankle length dishda exits ahead of her and walks to twenty foot high double doors, pulls them aside, and waves us in.
We park and unload and meet the man, Kahn Mohammad, who is the proprietor of this establishment. The place is one half rugs, stacked ten feet high and covering what must be a half acre, with lanes between rugs of different proportions. The other half of the warehouse is furniture, stacked as high as weight will allow. Obviously room has been made for the truck.
Kahn invites us to tea, and I turn to the boys. "Who wants the next watch?"
BeBe offers, "I’ll take it."
I move over close to him, out of earshot of the others. "No, I want you with us to make sure Ruba is giving me a correct interpretation." And I turn back to the boys. "TooBad, take the first two hours and I’ll relieve you."
He sets up with both his M5 and an RPG at a pass through door next to the big sliders.
I can see the concern on Kahn’s face as he eyeballs us and our weapons. He looks like a man who’s gotten a drink of sour goat’s milk, but he leads us to his office where a burka clad woman is brewing and pouring tea.
Kahn speaks to Ruba in Pushtu and she turns to me. "How long do you plan on staying?"
"Until our business is done. I will pay h
im in advance for five nights…but odds are we’ll be gone well before. That is, if you two can supply me with information."
"Pay now. I want my day’s payment, plus the car. Kahn will take his thousand dollars as well."
I turn to BeBe. "Get it, please. You know where it is."
And he disappears back into the warehouse.
"What is it you need to know?" Ruba asks.
"Two of our comrades are being held hostage. Probably somewhere owned by Mullah Kahled Zazai. They came here in a black stretch limo. We intend to retrieve them and get them out of the country."
She looks a little wide-eyed, but then turns to Kahn and speaks slowly and deliberately. His face falls, but before he can speak, BeBe returns.
I count the money out and hand each of them a pile, then add, "If you help us and we are successful, each of you will receive a ten thousand dollar bonus."
Again Ruba speaks, only this time noticeably faster. He doesn’t smile, but he does nod and replies to her and she turns to me. "Both of us know the place…the place of the black limousine and the place your people must be. If they are alive. Many who enter there do not leave so. We will lead you there. I want the five hundred dollars for each of my men…you’ll need the help, and we want half our bonus in advance."
I laugh, in fact guffaw. "Ruba, you must have been a mule trader in Texas. No way. I’m sure every man on the street knows who owns the limo and where it’s garaged."
She gives me a tight smile. "Yes, I’m sure a few do know, but do they know how to get inside unseen?"
18
"And you know a way inside, Ruba?" I ask, as this could make our life far easier.
"You know my profession. I was younger and visited the palace many times, and as you might expect I was not allowed to be seen coming in the front door. Yes, I know how to get inside, and I know where the dungeon is."
"Dungeon?"
"You do not think your people will be held in a Harem?" It’s her turn to laugh. "The palace is more than one thousand years old, once a stop for traders from the Silk Road. The outer courtyard and the frescos and mosaics are a tourist attraction and the Mullah charges so fools can wander the gardens and courtyards while his thieves and pickpockets work the crowds and rifle through the vehicles outside."
"When do we go?"
"After midnight."
"Can you draw me a plan of the place?"
"Some of it. All you’ll need. It is very large. But after you pay our advance."
I send BeBe back to the stash of dough while we sip our tea. He returns and I count out five grand for each of them, handing each two packets of twenty hundred dollar bills, and splitting a third.
"And for my men," Ruba snaps.
I add another fifteen hundred. "They better be good. I don’t want to see their tails disappearing…we shoot deserters in my army. You’ll not pay them until this op is over?"
"They are as seasoned as Texas barbecue," she says, and laughs. "But I agree not to pay them until their work is done."
For the first time, Kahn is smiling as he counts his money.
She asks him for pen and paper then spreads the paper on a table he uses for a desk. She glances up as she begins to draw. "The Palace of Abdul Qudir, not far from the Blue Mosque…and only a block from the main police station."
"Oh, great," I say, then add, "keep drawing. I don’t give a damn if our people are in the main police station."
She explains the layout as she draws. "We’ll gain entrance via a tunnel under a narrow paved side courtyard which leads to an alleyway and then to a back driveway lined by walls that serves the palace and house beyond."
When she finishes, she points to the side of Khan’s building. "There is a privy out beside the warehouse, should you or your men need it."
I nod, then add, "Do we drive to this tunnel?"
"No, we drive near, on the far side of the bazaar and walk thru it…a block or so."
"In the middle of the night? Won’t we be suspect?"
Again I can see the smile in her eyes. "A group of ladies going in the back entrance. No, you won’t be suspect."
"Ladies?"
"I will have burkas for all of you."
I have to laugh. "I hope they’re not as hot as what we’ve been wearing."
"And I hope you return, as they are all from my closet. Please do not get them riddled with bullet holes."
"Believe me, Ruba, we’ll do our best."
"My people will not go inside. They will stand guard and cover your retreat."
"And Khan? It seems he’s being well paid."
"Khan offers this hiding place and transportation. He will spot three small trucks, each two blocks from the palace in different directions. The trucks will be able to conceal all five of you, or if you’re split up, will offer protection for whoever makes it to their waiting places. He has three sons who know the city, each will have a truck, and can get you safely back to the warehouse and your truck and those desert things you drive."
"Ruba, you should have been a general."
She laughs. "Now women are allowed into our police force, but they are few and still treated like goats. I prefer this guide business. Dangerous, but it makes me happy thinking you may kill some Sunnis…particularly those connected to Mullah Zazai."
"So, what now?"
"Now Khan will drive you…all of you…and show you the palace, the alley way, the access, and where his sons will await. Then when you go is up to you, but I would suggest you go soon."
I check my watch. It’s just after 8 PM. "I think midnight is a fine time."
"The guards in the palace change at 10 PM and again at 2 AM, so midnight is a good time."
She says something to Khan then turns to me. "Khan's Land Rover will carry six of you."
"No, ma'am," I reply, "two vehicles, we'll split up. One of us can drive your Toyota."
"Fine, but my brother-in-law, Amal, will drive my car." Amal has been standing in the background, but now moves forward hearing his name.
"That's good. Let's recon." My boys gather around as Ruba gives them instructions. It's obvious to me that Khan does not much like being given instructions by a woman, but he pays attention.
In moments we've loaded the back of both vehicles with RPGs and the two Russian grenade launchers, as well as spare clips and grenades for our battle rattle. We don't wear our helmets and night vision, but do load them in the back and wear hijabs, headscarfs. Each of us has our M5, held down out of sight, and both Khan and Amal keep their AK's close at hand. I get the impression this isn't their first rodeo, of course as soon as an Afghani is old enough to lift one, he has at least an old M1 or Enfield in his hands. This may be the only country on earth where, per capita, there are more guns than in the US.
As the sun is going down fairly late, the last Muslim prayer time, the Isha, to be preformed after dark, has passed. There will not be a call to prayer until just before dawn, the Fair.
The streets have not gone completely quiet. A few tea shops have customers, the occasional Mosque has folks milling around, but the shops and street vendors are gone except for an occasional cart with a brazier cooking meat and wrapping it in nan, bread. The smells are enticing.
Khan, with a certain chutzpa, drives us right by the front of the main police station, with lines of fairly modern patrol cars backed against a stone curb. They look fast, but won't be as fast and certainly not as well armed as our DPVs, should we get to our DPVs.
Our target is next, only a quarter mile from the police headquarters, with its tall walls and single minaret in plain few. It's a sturdily build edifice with stone walls and a shape somewhat reminiscent of a medieval Spanish castle, with Moorish overtones. There are massive gates with an opening that would easily accommodate two Humvees side by side, and there is a pedestrian pass through door over by the east side alley, where I presume our access is hidden, the structure takes up what would be a Las Vegas half-block. The main doors face west, another access gate, only
a vehicle wide, resides wall-center on the south side, and the alley is to the east. If Ruba's drawing is accurate the courtyard is in the southwest quadrant and the building to the east, between courtyard and alley, is single story. The rooms she reported to as a lady-of-the-night are in the two story portion all along the north wall.
The dungeon is just that, a basement without windows on the single story east side, the alley side, and the courtyard entrance to it is only seventy five feet or so from the door. The good news is the dungeon entrance is not far from our alley access.
The bad news is opposite the door leading from the room where the tunnel access is hidden is the door leading out to the courtyard, and one of the four guards is normally stationed there. In addition to the guard at the main west gate there's one at the south side gate, and another inside the courtyard at the main entrance to the two story section where, supposedly, the Mullah hangs his hat when not at his country Kwala. The minaret rises from the northwest corner, high above the two-story side. But no one should be on that high ground until dawn prayers.
Just for the hell of it we circle the famous Blue Mosque, only a half block beyond the palace. And I wish I were a tourist and could visit as it's an impressive sight. The sun may burn itself out before this country will come together in peace. Maybe medical science will come up with a drug that makes one forget centuries old feuds. Until then the sun goes on shining over a savage and uncompromising land where the value of life is equivalent to a goober hocked in the gutter.
By the time we're back at the warehouse, I have a plan.
19
A half mile before we got to our target we passed a fuel distribution company with a half dozen surface mounted ten thousand gallon tanks, and one five thousand gallon propane tank. It’s a fireworks show waiting to happen, and one that will bring every firefighting vehicle and police car in the city should it go up in flames…and I intend to see it does. It’s rather remote, a half block from any other structure and all offices in the small building serving it were dark. So other than risking firefighters and other responders, no innocents should be involved.