The Messenger - Special Agent Dylan Kane Series 11 (2021)

by Kennedy, J. Robert

  He had to leave it in place. He had to know what was going on. It was the only way they could send in help should Kane need it. He glanced at Tong. “Any acknowledgment?”

  She shook her head. “No, though if he’s in a room full of people, I wouldn’t expect any.”

  Leroux stared back at the screen, several more villagers joining the other two men, all staring up at the drone.

  This can’t be good.

  15 |

  Wakhan Corridor, Afghanistan

  The brief discussion held so far had been polite, the village elders and their imam clearly excited with the prospect of a new road. Yet it was evident to Kane something more was going on here. The imam continued his unconscious touching of the envelope, suspiciously shaped like a stack of bills, and too many people were avoiding eye contact, as if they had something to feel guilty or ashamed about.

  It was everything he could do not to stare at the bloodstain on the carpet he sat on, the question of whose blood it was gnawing at him. Was it his friend Dax’s, Captain O’Donnell’s, the dead imam’s, or someone else’s entirely? Yet blood on a carpet wasn’t proof of complicity or active involvement.

  But what was in that envelope could be.

  He listened as Mo translated for the elders, their biggest concern the confirmation of a timeline and that it would cost them nothing. Kane’s watch sent a gentle electrical pulse into his wrist, but this time it was in a coded pattern that he rarely received, indicating his mission might be compromised. He waited for Mo to finish the translation, then stood. “I’ll find out the dates for you. I just need to use the satellite phone in our vehicle to make a call.”

  Mo moved to stand but Kane waved him off. If the mission were compromised, he needed to get to his weapon before he could help either of them. Raising suspicions at this point wouldn’t help anyone. He held out his hand, indicating for Mo to remain behind, but showed him two fingers. Mo’s eyes picked up on the prearranged signal they had used for years, his eyes flaring slightly. He explained to the elders what was happening as Kane ignored the conversation he wasn’t supposed to understand.

  He wasn’t overly concerned with the elders. If the mission were compromised, it wasn’t from inside that room. Something had to have happened outside. He pushed aside the carpet doubling as a door and stepped out into the bright sunlight to discover a dozen villagers staring up at the sky, too many of them standing beside his SUV. He crossed the village center unnoticed, all eyes on the drone feeding Langley.

  Jafar noticed him first. He stabbed a finger toward the drone circling overhead. “Why is that here? Are you American spies?” he shouted in Pashto.

  Kane feigned ignorance, though the pointed finger demanded to be acknowledged. He continued toward the SUV, the fob in his hand, and glanced up at the sky and waved two fingers in the air, something those back in Langley should pick up on.

  “Don’t worry about him, gentlemen, he’s just here to make sure nothing happens to me.” One in the crowd spoke English and translated, the tension easing. “I just need to make a phone call to find out when we can put your road in.” Kane unlocked the doors, the lights flashing, and he climbed inside, closing the door behind him. He leaned over and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a satellite phone and holding it up for the curious onlookers. He dialed, and moments later the call was answered.

  “Shaw’s of London, how may I direct your call?”

  “Extension four-seven-two-six, please.”

  “And who may I say is calling?”

  “Dylan Kane.” The use of his real name indicated the line wasn’t secure at his end. Somebody on the other side of the reinforced glass might hear him or might read lips. The only thing he could be sure of was that they wouldn’t hear the other side of the conversation. The call was put through and answered immediately.

  “Hello?”

  He recognized Leroux’s voice. “Hey, buddy, it’s me. Just calling in to see if you had those estimates on when the road would make it to this area.”

  “I take it you got my signal?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “We noticed some villagers trying to look inside your vehicle then getting a little anxious over the UAV. We recommend you leave immediately.”

  “We should be able to do that,” replied Kane. “Hopefully in about sixty days.”

  “Sixty seconds, understood.” Leroux cursed. “Check your six.”

  Kane glanced in the rearview mirror and spotted a man emerging from a nearby house, an AK-47 gripped in his hand. He aimed it at the sky and opened fire. Kane glanced at those surrounding him, everyone’s attention no longer directed at him. He opened the center console and pulled out his Glock and three extra mags. He stuffed the weapon in his belt behind his back and the mags in his left pocket. He turned toward the home where the meeting was being held, certain his mental count was already at two minutes.

  Come on, Mo, where the hell are you?

  Mo sat cross-legged on the carpet, smiling uncomfortably as the half-dozen men in the room stared at him, the friendly smiles on display for the American gone. Even if these men didn’t support the Taliban, few Afghans supported foreigners on their soil.

  To them, he was a traitor.

  He counted down in his head, perhaps a little too slowly, though he couldn’t risk checking his watch. He was approaching ten seconds left when gunfire erupted outside. He scrambled to his feet, everyone in the room appearing equally as shocked as him, which suggested this wasn’t an ambush like earlier in the week.

  “I’ll go see what’s happening,” he said, rushing toward the door before anyone had a chance to protest. He emerged into the sunlight, squinting. There were at least a dozen people on the street, one man firing an AK-47 in the air, appearing to be aiming carefully as opposed to firing in celebration of something. Kane was nowhere to be seen, and the reflection off the windshield prevented him from confirming he was inside their SUV. He strode swiftly toward the passenger side of the vehicle, not bothering to look up at what was likely the UAV tasked to monitor them, and passed several of the locals before someone finally noticed.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  He kept moving forward, calmly, careful not to pick up his pace. He smiled at the man challenging him. “Just making sure my friend’s all right. Gunfire makes him nervous.”

  More were now paying attention to him. “Maybe you should ask him why the Americans are spying on us.”

  Mo continued forward, though was forced to slow his pace as someone approached him. He side-stepped them but was blocked by another. He came to a halt and looked up at the sky, spotting the UAV. “Is that what you’re concerned about?”

  Jafar threw his hands up in the air. “Of course we’re concerned about it! You claim to be here on behalf of the government, yet you spy on us?”

  Mo’s heart was pounding now, but so far, no one had been truly threatening, and only one gun was in sight, and it was still belching lead uselessly skyward, the scores of bullets that would be falling back to the ground at an incredible velocity hopefully missing the innocents that might be tending crops nearby. He forced a smile. “We’re here alone, just the two of us, unarmed. Of course we have a drone watching over us in case something goes wrong. Just a few days ago, American soldiers were killed here in this very place. Do you really think they’d send us here without protection?”

  Several of the men relaxed slightly at the explanation, but not Jafar. “So, you knew about the attack, about what happened here?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why would they have sent you here alone?” Jafar jabbed a finger at him. “He’s lying!”

  Two men rushed forward and grabbed Mo, each by an arm. He didn’t struggle. Instead, he focused on remaining calm, waiting for Kane to do something, to do anything.

  “Get the American!” shouted someone from behind him.

  He glanced over his shoulder to see it was the imam pointing at the SUV. It was approached on eit
her side, people yanking on the door handles to no avail.

  “Get the guns!” ordered someone, and several men abandoned the SUV and disappeared inside one of the homes, reemerging with several AK-47s.

  Dylan, what are you waiting for?

  Kane sat in the SUV, surveying the situation. Right now, it could be a simple misunderstanding. Firing at the drone was the only overtly hostile act that had taken place, and he could dismiss it as the typical distrust that most Afghans had toward foreigners. If he spotted a drone flying over his house for no reason, he’d blow it out of the air too if the law permitted. Everyone valued their privacy.

  But the moment they grabbed Mo, everything changed. His head swung from left to right, making note of every potential target, fallback position, and escape route, the latter two already done several times, including when they first arrived.

  “Control, Diggler. I’m engaging, over.”

  “Copy that, Diggler. Backup has been requested. ETA ten minutes, over.”

  Kane grunted. “This will be long over before they get here.” He threw open the door as several men emerged from one of the houses, all sporting AK-47s, all awkwardly held indicating they had little to no experience with the weapons. It made him wonder if these were supplied to the villagers in the attack on the troops earlier in the week, suggesting external involvement.

  But it didn’t matter. Those holding the guns had reclassified themselves. They were now enemy combatants, and though there were few rules of engagement in his profession, he could freely engage and do whatever was necessary to not only save his own life, but that of his unarmed interpreter.

  His left boot hit the ground and he drew the Glock from behind his back, leaving the heavily reinforced door ajar for cover. His right boot pressed into the dirt, as his weapon swung to the left. He fired two rounds into the chest of the man firing at the drone, the only one he was certain knew how to use the weapon, then crouched, leaning out from behind the cover of the door, firing three rapid rounds, one each into the shoulders of the armed men. There was no need to kill them.

  Yet.

  All three dropped, writhing in agony, their weapons no longer in play. He stepped up onto the SUV’s side bar, pushing himself from the ground and aiming his gun over the roof at those holding Mo. In perfect Pashto, he said, “Let him go or die.”

  Jafar’s eyes bulged, perhaps from the threat, perhaps from the revelation that Kane spoke his language.

  “Three…two…one…”

  The two men holding Mo let go, scurrying backward, their hands held high.

  “Get in,” said Kane, reaching down and unlocking all four doors. Mo rushed forward, yanking open the passenger side door then climbed inside, slamming it shut and locking it. Kane’s weapon was now aimed at Jafar. He flicked the barrel toward the rear door. “Get in.”

  Jafar’s eyes shot wider. “What?”

  “I said, get in, or I shoot your imam.” He redirected his aim toward the old man.

  Jafar thrust his hands in the air, shaking his head. “No! No! I’ll go! I’ll go!” He stepped forward and climbed in the back.

  Kane slowly swung his weapon at those gathered. “He won’t be hurt as long as everyone just stays calm. Go back inside your homes now and reflect on what you’ve done.” He lowered into his seat, closed the door, then started the engine as he handed the Glock over to Mo. “If he moves, shoot him.”

  Mo directed the weapon at Jafar in the back seat. Kane gunned the engine, the vehicle already facing the road out of town, the 180 he had made on arrival intentional. Always position yourself for a quick getaway, if possible. He turned off the traction control, allowing the tires to spin, throwing up rock and dust, obscuring their escape should anyone grow some balls.

  He cleared the last of the houses of the village, no balls in evidence. He switched the phone to the SUV’s Bluetooth. “Control, Diggler. Any signs of pursuit?”

  “Negative, Diggler. Looks like you’re clear.”

  “Copy that, Control. Send in a team to do a sweep of the village. Have them on the look-out for a brown envelope stuffed with a lot of cash last seen on the imam’s person.”

  “Copy that, Diggler. Rapid response team should be there inside of five minutes.”

  “Copy that, Control. We’re going to sit this one out while I have a chat with our guest. Let us know when the village is secure, over.”

  “Roger that, Diggler. Control, out.”

  Kane eased the SUV over to the side of the road, reengaging the traction control should he need it. He took the gun back from a nervous Mo, and casually directed it toward Jafar, who sat with his hands up at shoulder height, trembling, his eyes saucers.

  “Who are you people?”

  Kane shook his head. “I’ll be the one asking the questions.”

  “You lied! You speak our language!”

  “And you lied when you invited us into your village as friends.”

  Jafar appeared mortified at the accusation, his culture demanding anyone invited into their home be treated not only with respect, but as someone they were now responsible for.

  “Now, tell me what was in that envelope you handed to your imam?”

  Jafar’s jaw dropped, and if his eyes could grow any wider, they would have. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Kane flipped the gun around then rapped Jafar in the balls with the butt, deciding he shouldn’t be the only one with aching boys. Jafar cried out, his hands grabbing for his testicles, and even Mo winced in sympathy. Kane flipped the weapon back. “Now, no more lies, or next time I shoot you in the nuts. What was in the envelope?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Kane leaned forward and pressed the muzzle of the gun against the hands protecting Jafar’s privates. “Last chance. What was in the envelope?”

  Jafar closed his eyes, his lower lip trembling. “Money.”

  Kane smiled slightly. “And where did you get the money?” Jafar said nothing and Kane pressed the gun harder against the man’s hands. “Don’t stop now. The only way you’re surviving this is if you tell me the entire truth.”

  Jafar sighed. “I don’t know his name.”

  “If you don’t know his name, then why is he giving you money?”

  “It was payment.”

  “Payment for what?”

  Tears flowed from Jafar’s eyes as they opened.

  “Payment for what?” repeated Kane.

  Jafar shook his head. “No, if I tell you, you’ll kill me.”

  “If you don’t tell me, I’ll kill you anyway.”

  Jafar’s head drooped. “It was payment for the attack.”

  Kane exchanged a glance with Mo. “Explain.”

  Jafar spilled, his words rapid, sounding almost relieved to unburden himself with the truth. “Several weeks ago, a man approached me in the bazaar in Baharak. He made me an offer. He wanted the village to participate in an ambush, and in exchange for each American killed, he would pay us.”

  “How much did you get?”

  “I got one thousand American dollars for each that died.”

  Kane suppressed his rage. That wasn’t a bribe, it was a bounty on the head of every American soldier, and the amount was huge in a country like this. Life-altering. Almost irresistible. “And you agreed to this?”

  Jafar shook his head rapidly. “No, not at all! It wasn’t my place to commit my village to something like that. I returned home and informed the elders. It was their decision to participate, not mine.”

  “And your imam that was killed, he agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  Good. The bastard deserved to die.

  “If you decided to take the bribe, how did you let the man know?”

  “He gave me a phone.”

  Kane’s heart picked up a few beats. “Do you still have it?”

  Jafar shook his head. “No, I returned it when I received payment.”

  “Do you remember the number he had you call?”


  Again, Jafar shook his head. “He just showed me how to use something he called speed…something.”

  “Speed dial?”

  “Yes! I never saw a number.” Jafar shrugged. “I don’t own a phone. I don’t know much about them. He showed me how to take pictures with it and how to call him. That’s all.”

  “So, you took the photos of the dead soldiers.”

  Jafar glanced away, the shame evident. “Yes.”

  “So, tell me how it worked. You made your decision—”

  “I didn’t. The elders did.”

  Kane held up a hand. “Fine, the elders made their decision. Then what?”

  “I returned to the city and called him, told him when the next meeting with the Americans was, and he said some men would arrive that morning with weapons. They would show us how to use them, and we would set up the ambush outside of town. We had to supply twelve men for the attack.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Nothing until the day of the meeting. At sunrise, six men arrived. They provided us with weapons and ammunition, and one of them showed us how they worked and explained what would happen. Those involved in the attack hid in the hills. Your men arrived, the meeting was held, but something went wrong and they tried to leave early before we could get in position. The outsiders opened fire and our people did as well. Then when two of your people hid inside the imam’s house, the outsiders opened fire on it. Your people were killed, but so were several of ours, including the imam.”

  Kane struggled to maintain control. He wanted to beat the living shit out of this piece of garbage, then tear off his head and piss in his skull. But he needed information. “Then what happened?”

  “As soon as the last American was dead, the new arrivals left without saying anything.”

  “Did they take the weapons?”

  “Some of them, but not all of them. They were in a hurry. I think they knew more Americans were coming.”

  “And how did they leave?”

  “I don’t know. They just went into the hills. I assume they had a vehicle somewhere, but I never saw it.”