by David Rich
He couldn’t find me in his GPS or the walkie-talkie, so he looked down toward Jessica. She was scouring the hillside near my hiding spot. I fired at her feet. She dropped, rolled, and fired four shots in my general direction. “I still have her in my sight, Colonel. Both of you throw down your weapons.”
McColl spoke into the walkie-talkie: “Stay calm, Lieutenant. I don’t know what happened in there. Have you found the money?”
“First the weapons, Colonel.” I did not need to shout to be heard. He spun, but I was still in the shadow of the cave entrance. I fired between his legs and he dropped his gun. “Now Jessica,” I said.
McColl yelled down and she followed orders.
“Walk up here.” I stopped her about halfway up, far enough from her rifle. I stepped forward. The sun felt so close I thought I could blow out its fire. “Your men are dead, Colonel. You won’t be getting any help.” I paused to let that sink in. “Tell me who you’re working for. Who runs the operation?”
“We’re in this together. You signed on and for the right reasons. This is a great opportunity for you. Stay on course. Complete the mission.”
He made a terrible mistake saying “great opportunity.” Not only did it sound like he was touting a mattress sale, it reminded me of the wrong turn the world took when this guy lived and Dan died. When Dan sold a job and wanted it to stay sold, the words he would be careful never to mention were great and opportunity. Instead, he would highlight the great opportunities by nakedly trying to disguise them. And after the prospect accepted the job, the deal, the mission, Dan would make sure he believed Dan secretly wanted to weasel him out of it. This colonel ate his own baloney, and it was making me sick.
“I’m very excited to be part of this venture, Colonel. But I noticed in the cave that some of my new partners were not eager to have me join. Before I go forward, I want to make sure I’m wanted. I never want to go where I’m not wanted. Who is the General? Who’s in charge? Is it Remington?”
“Stand down, Lieutenant! That’s an order!”
I looked to Jessica, but she showed nothing. Sweat dripped into my eyes. My strength was fading. Impatience surged through me like lust. My sense of humor had evaporated.
“Colonel, I lied. I’m really asking because I want to know where to send your remains.”
“You’re not thinking clearly,” he said, and he took off his sunglasses to give me the eerie stare. “You have nowhere to go except with us. You don’t care about the money and we offer you all the things you could never buy anyway. The things you really want.”
“Could you give me an example?” He looked at Jessica for support. She shook her head slightly to warn him off. McColl stared at me, hoping I would forget the question. “You mean,” I said, “the chance to kill. You think I’m a homicidal maniac like Blondie.”
“You need orders, structure…” I shot at his feet to shut him up. He went on. “Without me, your career as a Marine is over. Without me, you’re all alone.”
“You have it backward, Colonel. Without me, you’re done. Tell me who you work for. Last chance. Who is the General?”
“You can’t kill me.” He was matter-of-fact, confident, and wrong. “There are five stashes of money like the one your father stole. And I’m the only one who knows where they all are. You can’t kill me.”
I looked at Jessica. “Is that true? The first part about being the only one who knows where the rest of the money is, not the part about me not being able to kill him.”
“He’s the only one who knows,” she said. “Please. Don’t kill him. You don’t have to.” She didn’t know me too well.
“Just do as you’re told, Lieutenant. Go back to taking orders.” I must have looked really shaky because he started to bend down for his gun. I shot him in the groin. He yelped and fell backward, half propped against a boulder. He kept moaning. I distracted him from that pain in his groin by shooting him in the gut. The blue eyes stared at me with real expression for the first time. He was astonished. I went close, bent down, picked up the tracker. Then I put a bullet through his left eye.
Jessica was scrambling down the hill. Too tired to chase, I fired near her and shouted for her to stop. She held her arms up while I trekked down the hill, slipping twice and trying to hide my difficulty in getting up. When I came near, she said, “Don’t shoot me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m with the Treasury Department.”
I didn’t have the strength to chase her and I didn’t want to shoot her. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll share my food with you if you stop lying to me.”
We shared the energy bars I had brought out of the cave with me. Colonel Logistics had neglected to pack any food for this outing. Maybe he planned to eat the money.
“I’m not a Treasury agent. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression,” Jessica said, and she sounded like someone asking for a loan that would be paid back in companionship. We sat protected by the cave mouth, though the sun had slid low enough to spread the shade over the mountainside. I offered to move back into the cooler depths, but Jessica was nervous about that; she wanted to make sure Shaw could find us. My only goal was to keep her close until Shaw arrived. Her lies would have to wait for my strength to return before being dissected. “I just saw what was going on and I thought I had to do the right thing.”
“So you approached the Treasury, told them about the conspiracy.”
“Well, Steve…”
“Shaw?”
“Yes. Steve approached me actually. It took me a while to get my head around the idea of informing…”
“Must have been tough. Undercover for how long?”
“Three years.”
“I’ve been undercover, but no way I could have lasted three years. It gets tense.”
“It does.”
“And lonely. Communicating is the worst. That’s when you get caught. You must have had to see Shaw in person, given the updates that way. Sneaking out. Bad as it is, it’s better than anything electronic. The horses…Is that how you did it? Does Shaw ride?”
“I really shouldn’t be talking about this,” she said. She took a long chug of water. “How did you discover the cave?”
“And most of all, you really need the boost you get from the meeting. At least I did. Because you get lonely, so damn lonely. You really start looking forward to those meetings. Looking forward to seeing Shaw. In this case.”
She did not answer, just fixed her eyes on the entrance and clutched her satellite phone. Sitting fed my fatigue. If Jessica would have argued or complained, I could have stayed awake. “You and Shaw,” I said. “That must have been the engine that kept you going. Not undercover really. Just sneaking around.” She walked outside without saying word.
I moved a little deeper into the cave where I could feel relief from the heat. But I was burning up from something else: if Shaw didn’t kill me, I was entering the final turn on this mission. Exhaustion mixed with obsession and I gave in, let myself drift back to the hills outside Jalalabad.
34.
I drove the pickup, one of the rifles beside me, GPS tucked under the dash. Nawaz and Abed led the way in their jeep, off the highway, down a curving slope, through a valley thick with trees, up a winding, crumbling canyon road, and off that road into a hidden dead end boxed by craggy hills of rock with trees and shrubs fighting through to hold it all together. They turned their jeep to face the way out and I did the same with my truck, parking about ten yards from them. The Americans had not arrived yet.
Major Jenkins had given me crisp, newly wrapped hundred-dollar bills. I spent about ten seconds working on my explanation for Nawaz and Abed of how I got hold of new money like that, then went out and bought a truck, sold it across town, bought a second pickup, sold that, and bought a third. That amounted to less than twenty thousand dollars of nice dirty money. I soaked the rest in water and gasoline, wrung it out, and stuffed it in a bag. It was still dam
p and smelly when we arrived at the spot.
The Americans were late. Nawaz wanted the money. He asked for it back in Jalalabad and I told him I would hand it over at the rendezvous, though I had to count it in front of him on the spot. Now I said I would give it over when the Americans arrived.
“We will leave if you don’t trust us,” he said while Abed nodded and shrugged behind him.
“You might leave if I do.” We all laughed. I sounded so false I was sure I had given myself away, but they were tense, too. Abed kept an automatic in his belt. Nawaz always had knives. The canyon was quiet except for chirping birds, the kind of quiet that usually makes people calm. None of us was calm.
The Humvee raced in and drove a fast circle around us, filling the air with dirt, before pulling to the front of the canyon to block our exit. The Americans popped out before the dust settled and came forward fast with hands extended and smiles flashing. “Howdy, boys, sorry to keep you waiting. Ready to do business?” Junior said it too fast. He was nervous, too. The lieutenant opened the back of the Humvee.
I went to my truck. Junior asked Abed, “Where’s he going?” Abed did not answer him. I came out with the bag of money and handed it to Abed.
“The money,” he said.
Ten long heavy cardboard boxes were stacked in the rear of the Humvee. Everyone gathered around while I took out the top box. Nawaz handed me a knife to slit it open. Two brand-new-looking M107 .50 caliber rifles. I lifted one out of the foam casing and unwrapped it so I could admire it in front of everyone. “That’s it,” I said to Abed and Nawaz. Remington and Nance understood.
“Okay, let’s pay up and we can be done.”
I said in Pashto: “I want to check other boxes before you pay.” Nobody liked that. They barked at me, but I could still hear the birds; I wanted to hear the cavalry. Abed yelled at me. I yelled back: “Are you with them?” That steamed him. Nawaz had to try to calm him down while Junior started yelling, “Calm down, calm down. What the fuck is going on?” I agreed to check only one more box. I dumped four boxes on the ground and got Nawaz’s knife back to open the fifth. All was okay.
“You got a suspicious friend, Abed buddy.”
Abed counted out the money for the Americans while I loaded the boxes into the pickup as slowly as I dared.
Lieutenant Nance said, “What’s the story with this money? It’s so dirty.”
Junior said, “If you don’t like dirty money, you shouldn’t have joined the Marines.” And he thought that was the funniest thing he ever heard. At last he came up for air and said, “Pleasure doing business with you, Abed. You know where to find me.” Junior and Nance shook hands with each of us, got into the Humvee, and roared away.
Now I was going to drive away with twenty rifles stolen from the Marines. Abed and Nawaz were joyful, patting me on the back and discussing when we might meet again. I understood their joy at the completion of a perfect caper: guns to fight the invaders, supplied by the invaders, and paid for with the invader’s money. They were murderous cutthroats but likeable rascals compared to those Marines.
To Nawaz and Abed, I said: “When will we meet again? Will you honor me with a visit? How can I thank you?” To myself, I was saying: Where will the roadblock be set up? How far would I get? Was it worse to be arrested or shot?
They drove off quickly and the shots, two of them, came only a few seconds later. Luckily, Junior was stupid enough to expect me to follow the others. I scrambled up the flaky hillside, not caring about cover or leaving a trail. The top was all I had in mind.
The Humvee came in slowly this time. It stopped next to my pickup long enough for them to consider taking back the rifles. Though I would have loved to get rid of them, they were the only evidence I had of the crime. The money would be easy to hide or ditch. Stupid and greedy, they opened the doors to get out. I fired a few shots close enough to scare them back inside and they tore off without bothering to shoot out my tires.
From the top of the mountain, I had time to test the rifle’s sight with a few long-distance shots before the Humvee came around a bend. I hit two of their tires with my first three shots. When they stopped, I shot out the other tires and went after the gas tank and the radiator.
Leaving the pickup and the rifles, I scrambled down one hillside then another so I picked up the road ahead of them. They were hiding below the road like two dumb muggers waiting for a passing old lady. I came up behind them and jabbed a handgun into Captain Remington’s ear, hard, so it hurt.
I spoke English. “Drop your guns and hand me your cell phone.” They didn’t understand at first what they were in for. I made an ass of myself explaining. “Treason, guys. Life in the penitentiary.”
“What’re you, some kind of MP? You got nothing on us.”
“We have video, we have recordings, we have the evidence.” Junior was not half as scared as I wanted him to be, though the lieutenant was trembling.
I called Major Jenkins and explained that he had twenty minutes to deliver the CID. “If I sense any threat to me, these guys die immediately, then I’ll go after the rest. You come last.” Jenkins started to babble about how they should have been there before, how he had set it all up. I hung up on him.
CID arrived in ten minutes. I was dressed as an Afghan and was aiming a rifle at Americans. Junior said, “We’ve been tracking him for weeks. He’s a traitor. Arrest him.”
They told me to put the weapon down and I did, and before they could arrest me I jumped on Junior and started beating him, figuring that would be my only chance. I got hit pretty hard by the CID, but it was worth it. “He was selling guns to Taliban,” I yelled as they carted me away. I heard Junior say, “He killed a Marine captain.”
Major Jenkins got me released immediately, though I was restricted to Kabul. I shaved and put on my uniform, but I could not blend in. I spent endless hours being interrogated.
“Why did you target these two officers? Who told you to request those particular weapons? What happened between you and Captain Ballard?”
“Nothing.”
“He’s dead. You were the last person to speak with him. The last American. Captain Remington did not know Captain Ballard. They have no connection. We checked.”
“Junior fingered him. He recognized him.”
“Captain Remington did not know Captain Ballard. You are the only person who knew that Captain Ballard was posing as an Afghan. You are the only person who could have killed him for that reason.”
“I had no reason to kill him.”
At last they brought in the expert, the major with the psychology degree. “When you prayed as a Muslim, what did you think about? What did you wish for?”
“A new bicycle.”
“I don’t believe you.” He stared at me. “What are you hiding? Maybe you prayed for a sniper rifle. You’re a good marksman. High scores. But you’re not a sniper. Do you resent the Marines for not making you a sniper?”
“No.”
“What do you resent the Marines for?”
“I don’t resent the Marines.”
“Then why did you embarrass them?”
Suddenly, the interrogations ended. Major Jenkins came around to visit and bring news. We took a stroll past the presidential palace. Two Army specialists followed us.
“You’re going to join a Marine outpost in Nuristan Province,” said Jenkins.
“Why is that bad news?”
“They’ve been released. No charges. The story will be that they were on an intelligence mission, too secret for any details to get in the way. They’re being transferred. Captain Remington is going home. I don’t know about Nance, but it won’t be anywhere as dangerous as where you’re going.”
“Junior’s father intervened?” We had to stop because a motorcade pulled up in front of the palace. No one got out. We turned and walked back. The followers moved across the boulevard. It would have been easy to lose them, but I could not think of a reason to do it.
“No one tells me. Th
e talk isn’t going your way.”
“Do they believe I killed Captain Ballard?”
“Not at the moment. But the idea will live on. I’m being sent home.”
“Congratulations.”
“Not in order. Here I run intelligence operations. I deal with men like you and Captain Ballard. There I order fourteen-year-old boys to tie their shoelaces and watch them fondle their zits. You did the right thing and you did it well, but…be careful, Lieutenant.”
We shook hands. He crossed the boulevard, right toward the followers. They moved aside to let him pass.
35.
The outpost was a line in the sand. As I stood in the trench along the perimeter, I would contemplate whether the line came first: Draw a line, then pick a fight over it; or the fight came first then the line was drawn to give some structure to the fight. We could not have been more accommodating to the enemy if we drew a target. Captain Overton was in charge. He was tired, scared, and endlessly responsible. Only thirty years old, he looked forty-five. Every death killed him a little bit more, but he followed orders, bombarding the enemy with our howitzers, sending out patrols to the clusters of buildings that constituted villages, and seeking out engagement with the enemy. In the few weeks I was at the outpost, I never saw him rest, never saw him give anyone short shrift, never saw him curse out a lying villager. Some of the men understood their commander was a hero; the rest would figure it out someday.
The worst beef the men had with Captain Overton was about me. The story of me stealing arms and wrecking the careers of two brave Marines had beaten me to that hillside. I was shunned. That was fine. I was eager for the clarity of combat after weeks of intrigue. Camaraderie was not essential. One tough guy handed me a jammed rifle while we were in the trench. I jammed the butt into his groin, which ended that kind of behavior.
Captain Overton asked me if I wanted to address the men. I declined. He said, “It might help.” Then I knew he was a true believer in futile gestures, which is what made him the perfect man for the job. It began to dawn on a few of the men that believing I was there as punishment meant it was a place of punishment and since they were there, too…It did not make them change their minds about me, but doubt crept in. A sergeant sat down next to me with his dinner and said, “So, what did you do to deserve this, Lieutenant?”