He stared out the window, disgusted by the number of unaccompanied women wearing revealing clothing. He had to continue the fight to rid his country of these invaders as quickly as possible, then turn his attention to the central government. They were doomed. They didn’t have the heart. Once the Taliban attacked in force, they would scatter to the wind. The country would be back under Taliban control in short order, and Muslims of good faith would yet again have a place to flock to and eventually, one day, help establish the Worldwide Caliphate. He breathed deeply, his chest swelling, and he smiled with the knowledge that in the end, Allah would triumph over the Western evil.
And his decision was made.
He would acquire a new phone, inform his partners that he was switching as a precaution, then find a new hotel to hole up in. And if it proved the wrong decision, then so be it. He would take down as many of those who came for him as he could before dying a martyr in the jihad against the infidels.
Then he would enjoy his reward in Jannah for eternity.
A prospect that brought a broader smile.
27 |
Cheyabi, Afghanistan
Kane searched the body, relieving it of the satellite phone. He continued when someone yelled behind him in Pashto.
“Hey, what’s going on here?”
A woman screamed and Kane spun to see a group of people walking toward him, including women and children. He ignored them and instead climbed into the SUV, closing the door. More shouts erupted as he started the engine and Mo fastened his seatbelt.
“I wasn’t expecting you to shoot him.”
Kane put the vehicle in gear and glanced at the man he considered a friend. “Really? I never thought I wouldn’t.” He disabled the traction control and hammered on the gas as he spun the wheel, sending up a dust cloud as more people emerged from their homes.
“AK-47 to our right.”
Kane straightened out as he accelerated toward the road that would take them back to the airport. Gunfire rang out behind them, the distinctive ping of bullets ricocheting off the reinforced vehicle causing Mo to duck and Jafar, bound in the back seat, to scream against his gag. Kane, however, remained calm as he kept one eye on the road ahead and the other on the rearview mirror where he could see the gunman, already having lost control of his weapon, his inexperience coupled with the full-automatic setting sending the barrel kicking up and to the right, firing uselessly into the air.
Kane pressed harder on the accelerator, putting more distance between them and the danger, and in less than a minute, they were outside of the main village. He eased off the gas, the roads in such piss-poor shape they weren’t meant for high-speed travel.
“We should be safe now.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Why don’t you untie our friend before he ends up shitting himself.”
Mo removed his seatbelt then turned around. He removed the gag and cut the zip ties binding Jafar’s hands and feet.
“You just murdered that man!” cried Jafar, pressing into the corner, putting as much distance between him and Kane as he could in the confined space. “Why would you do that? What did he ever do to you?”
“Take the wheel.”
Mo’s hand darted out, gripping the wheel as Kane turned and delivered a punch to Jafar’s nose. Nothing too hard, just something to get the man’s attention. “He did what you did. He took the money. He helped kill six American soldiers, just like you did. He deserved to die, just like you do. There’s only one difference between you and him. He kept the money for himself, but you gave it to your village. That’s the only reason you’re alive right now, so keep your mouth shut, answer any questions I have when I ask them, and when I’m finished with you, I’ll decide what I’m doing with you.”
Jafar’s eyes were saucers as he shrunk even deeper into his corner. Kane turned back to face the road, taking the wheel from Mo, and steadied his rage. He had just killed a man, a man he had always intended to kill, for the bastard had one motivation—greed. Jafar was alive because he needed him for information, but also his motivation appeared to at least be driven by helping his community. It in no way excused what he did, and the man would likely be dead before the day was out, for Kane wasn’t convinced he was useful anymore. He had taken him initially as a human shield and because he was the only one who had seen the contact that was at least a middleman in this entire conspiracy.
But now they had a photo of the man in question.
He frowned. Or did they? He glanced at Mo. “Show him the photo.”
Mo pulled out the tablet and brought up the photo they had taken off the dead man’s phone. He showed it to Jafar, whose eyes grew wide as his head rapidly bobbed. “Yes, that’s him! That’s the man who paid me!”
Unfortunately for Jafar, his excitement was misplaced, as he had just put another nail in his coffin, any use he had now gone. Kane pulled out the comms from the center console and jacked in. “Control, this is Diggler. Come in, over.”
Leroux answered immediately. “This is Control. Go ahead, Diggler.”
“We’re sending you that photo now. It’s been confirmed by two of those involved that this is their contact who arranged the attacks and paid them their money.” He gestured to Mo to transmit the photo. Mo tapped on the tablet several times and gave a nod. “It should be coming in now. That face and the voice you got in that recording from the phone call should be the same person. Run them against every database you’ve got. I have a feeling that with how well these operations have been coordinated, this is somebody with experience. He might be in our files.”
“Roger that, Diggler. We’re already running the voice and the phone number that was called. We’ve got the photo now. We’ll get on it. What are you going to do with your witness?”
Kane glanced in the rearview mirror, Jafar sitting there, ignorant to what they were talking about. “I think he’s outlived his usefulness.”
“Agreed. The Chief just relayed new orders from the President. All those we can confirm involved are now on the Termination List.”
“Understood. I’ll contact you when we reach the airport. Diggler, out.”
Kane returned his focus to his driving, saying nothing as he contemplated the situation. He wouldn’t kill Jafar yet, but unless he could think of a reason to keep him alive, the man wouldn’t be boarding the plane. He was of slightly mixed feelings about it. He had no qualms about killing in the heat of battle or through more covert means, like a sniper rifle, a bomb, poison, or any other number of methods he had employed over the years. But double-tapping someone a few feet from his face who was otherwise likely a good person who merely lived by a different set of values, did give him pause, though only for a moment.
This was a man who had been offered money to murder innocent people and had taken it. It didn’t matter that he gave it to the village to improve the lives of those he held dear. It was still murder. Those in Afghanistan might live under a different moral compass than back home, but that didn’t matter.
Some moral compasses were wrong.
He sighed, and Mo picked up on it.
“What’s wrong?”
“I have to kill him.”
“Is that necessary?”
“Orders. Anyone involved is to be eliminated. I guess Washington wants a message sent.”
Mo’s head bobbed. “I can see that. When do you plan on doing it?”
He sighed again. “I was going to wait, but I guess sooner is better. Put him out of his misery.”
“What if he has more intel?”
Kane shook his head. “That photo and the phone number I’m betting are going to crack this wide open. This guy is a patsy in this.”
“Does he deserve to die for just being a patsy?”
“He was still a willing participant. It’s not like he was framed and is actually an innocent man.”
“You mean innocent like Oswald?”
Kane gave Mo a look. “Have you been watching JFK again?”
Mo shrugged. “I adm
it nothing.”
Kane laughed and Jafar’s curious puppy dog look had him coming to a decision. He removed his foot from the accelerator and gently pressed the brakes, bringing them to a halt on the side of the road. He climbed out then opened the rear door. “Let’s go,” he said in Pashto.
Jafar stared at him wide-eyed. “Why? What’s happening?”
Kane removed his weapon and flicked it at Jafar. “Get out, now.”
Jafar’s eyes welled with tears as he scrambled from the SUV. “Please don’t kill me. I can help you. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make up for what I did.”
Kane ignored the pleas. He had heard them scores of times in his career from people responsible for far less than what this man had done. Kane stepped back in case the man attempted something stupid, and noted that Mo was looking away, not wanting to see what was about to happen. It was one of the uglier parts of his job, but at least 30 good American soldiers were dead along with their translators because men like this had said yes.
An engine roared and Kane spun. A box van he recognized as the new one purchased for the mosque in the village they had just left careened around the bend. He cursed at the sight of an AK-47 hanging out the passenger side window, the muzzle flashes reaching him before the reports of the shots.
“Get down!” he shouted, for Mo’s sake, not Jafar’s.
He hit the dirt, rolling under the SUV as he extended his weapon toward the oncoming threat. Jafar cried out in terror but Kane ignored him, instead taking a bead on the engine block of the approaching vehicle. He emptied a mag into the belly of the beast and quickly reloaded, emptying two more.
“Ammo!” he yelled. “Center console!”
“Just a second!” replied Mo, his voice trembling.
Two mags dropped in the dirt beside the open driver’s side door. Kane reached out and grabbed them, reloading as the vehicle hissed to a halt, not 20 yards from their position. He rolled out from under his cover and took a knee, removing the man with the gun from the equation. The other three in the cab of the truck jumped out and ran back toward their village, and he let them be. They might very well have been involved in the ambush, but they could just as easily be members of the family of the man he had executed, seeking revenge.
He turned and frowned. Jafar was down, blood staining his robes, at least three rounds taken to the chest by the high-powered weapon. Kane took a knee and checked for a pulse, finding none, and was relieved he hadn’t been the one to deliver the fatal rounds. He closed the man’s eyes, still wide with the horror of his final moments, but successfully suppressed any urge to say a prayer on the man’s behalf.
No one had been there to pray for his victims.
Kane climbed back inside and closed the door. Mo pushed himself up into his seat, peering out the windows of the other side.
“Jafar?”
“Dead.”
“Did you…”
Kane shook his head. “No, friendly fire I suppose is one way to look at it. Either way, the job’s done. He’s paid for his crimes.” He put the vehicle back in gear and pulled away from the side of the road, putting some distance between them and the village, just in case another posse was assembled. They had a long drive ahead of them, and if there was more than one satellite phone in that village, they could never outrun a space-based communications system.
He just hoped they boarded that airplane before anyone could coordinate a real response.
28 |
Pul-e Khishti Bazaar Kabul, Afghanistan
Akhtar smiled as the newly-activated phone rang in his hand, the vendor confirming it was in working order by placing a call. Money exchanged hands and Akhtar strode casually away, heading back to his hotel and new base of operations. It had been several hours, and he was still alive, which meant nobody had caught him on camera, or if they had, they had lost him in the crowded market as he had expected.
With his new phone in hand, he dialed his contact. It rang several times before someone finally answered, obviously hesitant at the new number. “Hello?”
“This is Akhtar. I just wanted you to know I have a new number.”
There was a pause. “Why?”
He had prepared himself for the question. “I just thought it was wise to switch phones. I’m going to do it after each operation from now on. It’s better for security.”
“After two months, you decide it’s necessary now? What’s happened?”
Akhtar tensed. “Nothing, I swear. I just thought it was a good idea.”
“It’s been my experience that those telling the truth don’t have to swear upon anything. Now, I’ll give you one final chance to tell the truth, or I’m hanging up and you’ll never hear from us again.”
Akhtar closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Everything was slipping away. “One of the local contacts pulled my phone number from the cellphone I gave him. He just called me and told me that the Americans had paid him a visit.”
“What else?”
“Nothing, I…” He caught himself. “I promise you.” It was a lie, of course, having omitted the fact the Americans had his photo.
For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the line. “Where are you now?”
“I’m in a new location. I’m secure.”
“If the Americans have your photo, you’re anything but secure. Give me your exact location. We’re going to send a team in to collect you and your family until we can be sure how bad the security breach is.”
Akhtar hesitated. There could be no doubt about the security breach and that he was now compromised. The order to have him stay put and wait to be collected along with his family was reminiscent of the old days in Al-Qaeda. When something went wrong, they would send in a cleanup crew and eliminate the problem.
Had he just become a problem?
“Is there a problem?” asked the man at his lack of response.
Akhtar gulped. “Not at all.” He gave him the address of the hotel he was at.
“Stay where you are. Somebody will come get you within a few hours.”
“And my family?”
“They’ll be collected as well, then you’ll be reunited. Understood?”
“Yes.”
The call disconnected and he sat shaking on his bed. He had always thought that death didn’t scare him, but now that he knew without a doubt he’d be dead before the day was out, the prospect terrified him, despite the knowledge he would die a martyr to the cause and receive his promised reward in Jannah. He drew a deep breath, holding it for a moment as he steadied his nerves. As he slowly calmed, he weighed his options. He could stay here and gamble that they didn’t intend to kill him, he could leave and go into hiding, or he could leave and attempt to save his family and go into hiding together.
He rose and paced the length of the small room, scratching at his thick beard. He wasn’t staying here and waiting for death. That was a coward’s way out. His obligation was to save his family. He had plenty of money set aside from these operations that could be used to get them out of the country. But if he were to save his family, he’d have to act quickly.
He grabbed his bag, still packed, and headed out the door, wishing he had permitted his wife a cellphone of her own. Unfortunately, no one in the household had a phone, and his mistrust of his own family could prove the death of them.
29 |
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
“His name is Abu Mohammed Akhtar, a former Al-Qaeda lieutenant, close to Bin Laden,” explained Leroux to Morrison, who folded his arms and scratched his chin as he stared at the file photos on the main displays.
“So, Al-Qaeda is behind this?”
Leroux shook his head. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Apparently, there was a falling out between him and the leadership around the time of Nine-Eleven. From what we can gather, he disagreed with the attacks.”
Morrison’s eyebrows shot up and he turned to Leroux. “He disagreed? That was their greatest
victory ever.”
“He felt it would bring too harsh a response.”
Child grunted. “He was right about that.”
“He was forced out just around the same time we gained some traction after catching a few of his comrades. We were able to make a string of arrests, kill off quite a few of their leadership, and because of the timing, the Al-Qaeda brass assumed he had betrayed them out of revenge. They want him as much as we want him.”
Morrison chewed his cheek. “Reconciliation?”
Leroux shrugged. “It’s always possible.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” muttered Tong.
Leroux agreed. “Exactly.”
Morrison glanced at Tong. “Bravo Team is already inbound. We’ll have boots on the ground in Kabul in the morning to act on any intel you gather.”
“Don’t we already have teams there?” asked Child. “We’ve been fighting there for twenty years.”
Morrison turned slightly to face the youngest member of the team who still hadn’t figured out that brain-to-mouth filter. “Yes, we have Special Forces there, however, you might be surprised to learn that with the pullout, they’re all tasked with other duties. Bravo Team will only have one job.” He returned his attention to Leroux. “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think you’d get us a target so quickly otherwise I would have had them sent sooner.”
Leroux shrugged. “You only have yourself to blame, sir. You should know my team is the best.”
Child shoved two hands in the air as he spun in his chair. “Hell yeah!”
Morrison shook his head at the display, though a slight smirk appeared as he headed for the door. “Keep up the good work, people.”
Leroux cleared his throat. “Umm, sir?”
Morrison turned and stopped. “What?”
“I was just informed by Fort Meade that our priority request for Echelon has been denied. Apparently, something big is going on there. They need an authorization, director level or above, to prioritize our request.”
The Messenger - Special Agent Dylan Kane Series 11 (2021) Page 12