by The Apostle
“I’m sorry about that,” said Daoud. “I couldn’t avoid it.”
“That’s okay,” replied Harvath. “Are we close?”
“Yes, we’re very close now.”
“Fontaine?” said Harvath looking into the backseat. “You up?”
“No,” replied the Canadian.
“Too bad. I think I just saw a Molson sign.”
“Well, when you see one for Labatt’s, we’ll stop. Until then, leave me alone.”
Harvath smiled, turned back around, and checked his weapon, knowing full well Fontaine was doing the same. He was an exceptional operator and, like Harvath, was now 100 percent switched on.
Turning to Daoud, Harvath said, “Are you ready to make the call?”
The interpreter nodded and pulled out his phone. Scrolling through the address book as he balanced it on the steering wheel, he found the number and connected the call. Within two rings, his old cricket pal was on the other end and they were chatting as if Daoud had called him in the middle of the day rather than the middle of the night. At one point, the chubby interpreter began laughing.
Eventually he rang off and slid the phone back into his pocket.
“Is everything okay?” asked Harvath.
“Fine,” said Daoud with a smile. “He is waiting for us at his home.”
Harvath wondered if Daoud had extended an apology for waking up his friend’s wife. Then he remembered where he was. TIA.
CHAPTER 52
Daoud’s boyhood friend was a short, whip-thin man named Reshteen. He had widely set brown eyes, a flat, thick nose, and a bushy beard dyed henna red.
He ushered his guests into his home and quickly shut the door behind them. They removed their shoes and entered the living room, where two of Reshteen’s young sons were laying out small dishes of cold food and a pot of warm tea. The room was lit by a small oil lamp, which threw off just about as much heat as the old, rusted stove in the corner. They had come up considerably in altitude and Harvath could feel the cold seeping right into his bones despite the clothing he was wearing.
Daoud and Reshteen spoke for several minutes while Harvath studied their faces. He could follow the direction of their conversation simply by their expressions. He had always been good at reading people, but his time at the Secret Service had taken him to a completely different level.
He could tell they were talking about Massoud and the Taliban now. Both men had become very serious. Daoud was doing most of the talking, while Reshteen seemed to respond only with one-or two-word answers.
Turning to Harvath, Daoud stated, “The men passed through here in two groups, several hours apart, but they all went to the same place.”
“The grazing pasture,” replied Harvath.
The interpreter nodded.
Flash 22 had done a high-altitude pass on their way back to Bagram and had relayed everything back over the radio to Fontaine as they made their way to Dagar. If Reshteen had said that the Taliban weren’t here, or that he hadn’t seen anything, then they would have had a problem. So far so good.
“Did he see Dr. Gallo? An American woman with red hair?”
“In one of the first trucks that came through there were two women in burkas.”
Two women? Did the Taliban have more than one female hostage? Had they brought along a woman to watch over Dr. Gallo? Harvath doubted it. Watching Julia was the job of Massoud’s retarded brother, Zwak. Most likely, the Russian had put Julia in a burka to disguise her appearance and had dressed up Zwak or one of Massoud’s other men in a burka as well. That way they’d be a lot less obvious. People would remember a bunch of Taliban riding around with one woman, but two was less suspicious, especially when they were trying to make their getaway as discreetly as possible. That was what Harvath would do, and he was willing to bet the Russian thought along the same lines.
Just for clarification, Harvath asked, “Do the Taliban normally bring women with them?”
“No, they don’t,” replied Daoud. “They also never come at this time of year.”
That was enough for Harvath. What he needed now was someone to guide them to a position where they could observe Massoud’s camp without being discovered. He put the question to Daoud and waited for the man to speak with Reshteen and translate his response.
“He says it is impossible,” the interpreter finally responded. “The road passes through a narrow canyon and the pasture is surrounded by sheer cliffs.”
“There has got to be some way.”
“Only if you come over the mountain from the other side, but even then there are very few places to hide. Massoud chose the location very carefully.”
“The pasture abuts part of the Tora Bora cave complex,” offered Harvath. “Do any of the caves interconnect? Could we somehow approach that way?”
The interpreter spoke with his friend. After a brief exchange, Daoud reported, “Some of the villagers know the caves, but none of them will go into them for fear of booby traps. They say only the al-Qaeda know which tunnels are truly safe.”
On a whim, Harvath asked about the Lake of Broken Glass and if Reshteen had ever heard of it or seen anyone in the area with SCUBA equipment.
“Na,” the man answered.
Harvath wasn’t surprised. It would have been the ultimate irony if Massoud and the Russian had gone to all this trouble only to discover they’d been sitting atop bin Laden’s pot of gold the entire time.
Fontaine nudged Harvath. “What’s the Lake of Broken Glass?”
“It’s a wives’ tale,” replied Harvath. “Something that might have to do with where bin Laden hid his money.”
“Where’d you hear about it?”
“Like I said, it’s a wives’ tale,” replied Harvath, who, despite all of Fontaine’s help, still had no desire to read him in on how he and Gallagher had snatched Mustafa Khan from the Afghan government.
Changing the subject, Harvath ran through their options once more aloud. “Now, since there’s only one road into Massoud’s camp, that doesn’t sound like it is going to work for us. The tunnels are too dangerous and we couldn’t find a guide even if we wanted one. There’s only sparse cover on the rock faces around the pasture, and to get to those, we’ve got to come over the mountains from the other side. At this point, it sounds like that is our only option.”
“Maybe not,” replied Daoud, who had been simultaneously translating as Harvath spoke. He waited for Reshteen to finish saying something to him and then stated, “There may be a way you can use the road.”
“What do you mean?”
Reshteen spoke for several more moments and then Daoud said, “As I told you, my friend does not like the Taliban or al-Qaeda. Neither do the people of his village. But they are not stupid. If he helps you, he knows what could happen to him and the rest of the people in Dagar.”
“Please tell your friend that I don’t like al-Qaeda or the Taliban either, and I am willing to make this worth his while, but we have to keep this quiet. I don’t want to run this through his shura. We’re too close now.”
Daoud smiled. “He does not want to run it through his shura either.”
“So what does he want?”
“He wants the summer grazing pasture.”
“Does he want me to help buy it for him?” replied Harvath. “Because it is not mine to give.”
Daoud’s smile remained as he said, “I have told him of your relationship with Massoud’s shura and in particular with the elder, Baseer. This grazing pasture once belonged to Reshteen’s grandfather, but he lost it to the Taliban when he couldn’t pay his debts. Reshteen’s family still graze their flocks there in the summer, but Massoud charges very heavy fees for it.
“After what you did to Massoud’s men already this evening, I have told Reshteen that I have every confidence you can do so again. If you defeat Massoud, you will be able to convince Baseer to return the pasture to its rightful owner.”
“First of all,” said Harvath, pointing at his own eyes to emp
hasize the point, “I only want to go up there to look.”
“For the woman,” replied Daoud.
“Exactly. Once we confirm that she is indeed there, we’ll consider our options and decide what our next move should be.”
“Na, na, na,” replied Reshteen as Daoud translated.
“What’s wrong?”
“He says he has an idea, but you would have to leave very soon.”
Something like this was extremely dangerous to rush into. “Let’s hear his idea, first.”
Daoud spoke to Reshteen and then listened as the man laid out his plan. Then he relayed the information to Harvath. “There are many Taliban up at Massoud’s camp. At least forty men. They came in a hurry, with very little supplies. They have no fuel for cooking or heating the buildings there. They have no food and no water.”
A smile spread across Harvath’s face. “And let me guess,” he said. “They asked Reshteen to gather these things and bring them to them.”
Daoud’s head bobbed from side to side and he turned his palms upward. “They asked Reshteen’s cousins, but it is the same thing. Reshteen will be one of the men traveling up to the camp to deliver the supplies.”
“Will he take us with him?” asked Harvath.
“If you promise him you will take care of Massoud and that he will get the pasture, he will take you.”
Harvath, who was sitting across from the Afghans, leaned forward and said, “Once I have the girl, I guarantee you I will take care of Massoud. And once that is done, I will do everything in my power to get that grazing pasture returned to his family or I will buy him another, even better pasture.”
As Daoud translated, Reshteen tugged at his red beard. Slowly, a smile began to form at the edges of his lips.
When the man finally nodded, indicating they had a deal, Harvath said, “Now let’s talk about how exactly Reshteen is going to get us up there.”
CHAPTER 53
ANNANDALE, VIRGINIA
Elise Campbell took a deep breath and knocked on Todd Hutchinson’s faded front door. When he didn’t answer, she began knocking louder.
Finally, a shadow passed behind the peephole and there was the scrape of the chain being undone, followed by the sound of the dead bolt unlocking.
Hutchinson must have been down in his basement, working out. “Campbell?” he said, standing there in a pair of gym shorts and a tight T-shirt. “What are you doing here?”
Elise had never before noticed how well built her colleague was. “We need to talk,” she said, as she brushed past him and entered his home uninvited.
“Come on in. I guess,” said Hutch as he closed and locked the door behind her.
Campbell had purposefully worked herself into a lather on the drive down from D.C. The more emotional she appeared, the harder it would be for him to read her. “Why’d you lie to me?”
“Wait a second, calm down. What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and Nikki Hale.”
Hutchinson was about to say something, but then stopped himself. Abandoning his response, he asked, “What about me and Nikki Hale?”
“Do you think I’m stupid, Hutch? Did you think nobody was going to know?”
“Know what?” demanded the man. “You’re talking in circles.”
“The night Nikki Hale died, you had sex with her.”
No sooner had the accusation sprung from her lips than the microexpression Campbell had witnessed in Lafayette Park was back on Hutchinson’s face.
“You’re out of your mind,” he stated.
“Really?” bluffed Campbell, removing the Suffolk County medical examiner’s form from her pocket. “Not only were you dumb enough to screw her, you were dumb enough to leave your DNA behind.”
Hutchinson snatched the form away from her. “That’s insane. Let me see that.”
“I’ve got a witness that saw you playing grab-ass with her near the guesthouse.”
“Who?”
“Never mind who. Did you and Nikki have an ongoing relationship, or was this just a one-nighter?”
“This is bullshit,” said Hutchinson as he crumpled the ME’s form and tossed it across the room. “I want you to leave.”
“If this is all bullshit, you’ve got nothing to lose by answering my questions, do you?”
“What’s the point? You’ve already made up your mind.”
“The point is, five people died that night and you know something you’re not telling me. If I have to drag your relationship with Nikki Hale into the light of day to get some answers, believe me, I’m going to do it.”
Hutchinson grabbed the back of his neck with his right hand and lowered his eyes to the floor.
“You’ve got thirty seconds, Hutch,” said Campbell.
“It was a mistake,” he said, walking over to his couch and sitting down. “She came on to me. I guess that should have told me right there how wasted she was.”
“So you were with her,” said Elise.
Hutchinson nodded.
“You left Mrs. Alden alone?”
“No.”
Campbell remained standing and looked down at him. “You’re not making any sense.”
“The president’s detail was with her.”
“How is that possible? You said Alden didn’t show up at the guesthouse until after Hale had left that night.”
“I lied.”
Her read of him had been right. “What else did you lie to me about?”
Hutchinson raised his eyes. “I don’t want to lose my job, Elise.”
“Right about now, I’d say that’s the least of your problems.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Tell me what happened that night.”
Hutchinson took a deep breath. “Nikki Hale had been upstairs at the guesthouse with the first lady—”
“Drinking.”
“Yes. After a while, things got heated and they began arguing. Right about then, the president showed up.”
“What happened?”
“He went upstairs, and the argument got worse. Nikki stormed out of the room. She was mad as hell. The first lady yelled at the president to make up his mind. Either Nikki was history or she was.”
“So they were having an affair?”
Hutchinson nodded. “As Nikki came down the stairs, she had a few choice words for both of them. Alden had left his agents outside. I was the only one in the guesthouse. He saw me and told me to take Hale to her car and make sure she got the hell off the estate.”
“Did the president know she was drunk?”
“He and Mrs. Alden both did, but they didn’t care. They wanted her gone.”
“And you had an opportunity to take advantage of her,” said Campbell, the disdain evident in her voice.
“No, I wanted to find her a ride home,” Hutchinson replied. “I was walking her back to the main house, and the kiss just happened. She was pissed off at Alden and she wanted to get back at him. I shouldn’t have let it happen. It was unprofessional.”
“About as unprofessional as putting a woman that intoxicated into her car and sending her off into the night,” said Campbell.
“I told you. I was trying to find her a ride.”
She didn’t believe him. He would have done anything the Aldens asked him to and now she knew why he’d been allowed to stay on the first lady’s detail.
“I’m serious,” Hutchinson continued. “We were on our way to the main house when Alden came up behind us. Nikki had left her purse behind. Alden was still fuming and he flung it at her. They began arguing again. I tried to tell him that we needed to get her a ride home and he told me to return to my post or he’d have me fired.”
“And you chose to follow orders instead of stopping Alden from sending that girl off drunk to kill herself and the Coleman family.”
Once again, Hutchinson lowered his eyes to the floor.
There were a million things she wanted to say to the pathetic excuse for a man sitting i
n front of her, but she couldn’t bear the sight of him anymore. Besides, he wasn’t the one she needed to settle this with. The man she needed to confront was President Robert Alden.
CHAPTER 54
NANGARHAR PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN
Even though Reshteen had lined the space with blankets, Harvath and Fontaine lay in the bed of his truck freezing to death. They were also dangerously close to running out of time. For their plan to work, they had to get in and get out of the camp before sunrise.
They had been hidden beneath a mountain of carefully stacked gear, which had then been lashed down with ropes. As the truck fishtailed up the icy roadway, it hit pothole after pothole and Harvath began to worry less about being discovered and executed by one of Massoud’s soldiers and more about being crushed beneath the ton of Taliban cargo swaying above them.
Theirs was one of three trucks making the supply run up to Massoud’s outpost. The Taliban commander had ordered up enough supplies for two weeks. If they didn’t take advantage of this opportunity, it was unlikely they’d get another chance.
Remembering the evil eye he’d received from the old, black-turbaned man in Surobi, he knew that no matter how authentic their clothing, there was no way he and Fontaine could pass close inspection as villagers from Dagar. Coming in sight unseen was their only bet. Harvath prayed that Massoud’s sentries would be like most soldiers standing post overnight—cold, bored, and hungry.
The security setup along the road was similar to that leading into Massoud’s village and involved two checkpoints.
When Harvath felt the truck coming to a halt at the first stop, his heart began to quicken and his hands tightened around his MP5. Next to him, he knew Fontaine was readying himself as well. Neither dared speak and they both knew what they would have to do if they were discovered.
Their bodies tense, each of the men listened for any indication that suggested the sentries suspected something was wrong. Despite the bitter cold, Harvath could feel the sweat forming on his skin as the adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream.