The ground Khalid had chosen was well sited; an open piece of terrain in the valley floor running into a bottleneck, with both sides dominated by the steep, barren slopes of the valley. Vehicles driving along the small track that followed the canyon floor would be forced to bunch together, maximizing the effectiveness of his men’s advanced weaponry.
Khalid smiled as he pictured the carnage the ambush would bring. With the weapons supplied by Khan’s arms dealer, his men would make short work of anyone trying to interfere with the activities further up the valley on the mountain.
The warriors that Khalid commanded were not like the ragtag Taliban who fought the Americans in the South. They were Khan’s own personal army. Trained by Chechen mercenaries and equipped with state-of-the-art weaponry, they were funded by the Warlord’s opium fields. Although they called themselves Taliban, they had long ago abandoned traditional robes for combat fatigues, boots, and chest harnesses. They all wore the distinctive black headscarves of Khan’s Army.
From his camouflaged command pit high up on the rugged cliff-face, Khalid felt the excitement of imminent combat. His forward sentry had reported a US patrol moving directly towards them. He watched the entrance to the valley through the high-powered scope of his Accuracy International sniper rifle. Khan preferred to avoid direct combat, relying on mines and improvised bombs to inflict casualties, and this would be the first time his men had fought head to head with the US Army.
The distant rumble of diesel engines echoed up the valley as the American formation crept into view. Khalid instinctively leaned forward. A standard light armored Stryker patrol. He counted five vehicles: three gun cars, two personnel carriers. The lead vehicle moved slightly off the track to avoid any mines on the road, stopping regularly to scan the terrain to its flanks and front. Khalid was familiar with Strykers; information on the eight-wheeled lightly armored vehicles was easy to find on the Internet.
Khalid permitted himself a small grin as he watched the American soldiers employ the same basic tactics that the Russians had used. Avoiding tracks, they halted to the rear of small features, using the terrain for protection. “Different enemy, different tanks, but always they think the same way,” he jibed, turning to the man crouching next to him. “See the first three vehicles? The ones with the turrets?”
“Yes, Khalid.”
“Those three must be destroyed first. They are far more deadly than the others.”
The younger fighter nodded in agreement as Khalid keyed his small field telephone and passed on his instructions to his trusted Lieutenants hidden in their camouflaged bunkers.
“Omar, you target the second vehicle. Zakir, you target the third. On my command, my brothers.”
The Afghan Commander waited for the two teams to acknowledge his message before looking back through the scope of his weapon. All of the vehicles were now inside the kill zone, with the lead Stryker creeping through the rough terrain. He looked over at the man next to him and smiled. It was the exact path he had predicted they’d take.
Khalid grasped a small firing device in his gloved hand. Flicking off the safety bail, the initiation system armed just as the first vehicle edged into position; almost directly on top of where the first set of anti-tank mines had been placed.
“Allah give victory to the holy warriors, Allahu-Akbar,” Khalid whispered, then depressed the firing switch. Three anti-tank mines detonated instantly under the left rear wheels of the Stryker, 30kg of explosives slamming upwards through the hull in a thunderous explosion that reverberated throughout the valley. The crew was killed instantly. The vehicle flipped on its side, fuel and plastics burning fiercely. The intense heat and force of the explosion set off the ammunition and the Stryker was ripped apart with a flash.
As the blast claimed the lead vehicle, Khalid’s men fired their Spike anti-tank weapons at the next two Strykers. With a roar the Israeli built missiles leapt from the hidden bunkers, their sensors locking onto the targets below. They streaked towards the armored vehicles, the shape-charged warheads exploding a short distance before impact, spitting molten jets of metal through the thin armor on top of each turret. It took only seconds for the vehicles to ignite, simultaneously suffocating and engulfing the crew in flames.
With the three lead vehicles destroyed, the two personnel carriers to the rear of the formation had run out of options. The crew Commanders dropped their ramps. Infantry swarmed out into a defensive screen in a vain attempt to cover their withdrawal.
Khalid ordered his men to engage and armed the other mines he’d sown. As his thumb pressed the trigger, the five anti-tank mines detonated in a single massive explosion directly below one of the remaining personnel carriers. The blast obscured the vehicle in dust, adding to the smoke already streaming from the other burning wrecks.
The last personnel carrier attempted a rapid reverse, using the smoke to hide from Khalid’s weapons. It looked as if it might escape until another missile streaked from the hillside. Its fate was the same as the others, a twisted, burning funeral pyre.
With all five of the American vehicles destroyed, Khalid focused on the surviving infantrymen. His mortar team dropped rounds on them, the hot steel of sophisticated airburst shells shredding bodies as they desperately sought cover. Khalid used his sniper rifle to methodically pick off the wounded men. One by one, the high-velocity armor-piercing rounds punched through the soldiers’ body armor.
In minutes the ambush was over; five armored vehicles left burning on the battlefield with thirty men dead or dying. The stench of burning metal, fuel and flesh fouled the air.
Chapter 10
Khod Valley
North of the ambush, at the mountain that dominated the valley, Pavlo Yanukovych watched the enslaved locals. From the tunnel entrance at the barren cliff face, the workers extracted wheelbarrow loads of rubble, depositing the rocks onto rapidly growing heaps. The heavy thump of jackhammers emanated from the shaft’s opening, pneumatic tools smashing their way through the slabs of rock that denied Khan and his men their goal.
While the workers wore the traditional robes and headdress of the Afghans, the former Russian combat engineer wore an assault vest over a shirt and faded khaki pants. His combat boots were battered and a modern G36 assault rifle hung from his shoulder. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust.
The sounds of the distant ambush brought a concerned look to Yanuk’s face and he turned to find Khan staring at him. Yanuk didn’t fear many men; as a combat veteran and the henchman of an arms dealer, he was used to dealing with dangerous criminals, but Khan unnerved him.
“So, Russian, it seems the Americans have arrived. We may not have as much time as we anticipated. We must speed up the excavation!” Khan’s English was almost perfect. It was the only common language between the two men.
Yanuk replied haphazardly, “Ah, it will risky, but we can make short to five days.” He turned away from Khan, embarrassed at his poor English.
“If the Americans reach us before we complete our task, you, my friend, will be the first to suffer. Let me assure you of that,” Khan said.
Yanuk stared off into the distance, biting his tongue. An expert in both chemical weapons and military construction, the Russian’s experience was critical to the mission, something the Afghan leader didn’t seem to comprehend.
The tension was broken by the high-pitched ring of Khan’s satellite phone. The Warlord pulled the bulky device from his robes. He paused to ensure the call was secure before lifting it to his ear.
“Khan, it’s Khalid,” the voice came through on the phone.
“What has happened, my son?” The two men conversed in Pashto.
“We ambushed the Americans moving up the valley; five armored vehicles destroyed and thirty men killed,” Khalid reported.
“Very good! Did you take any casualties?”
“We had no losses, but we used more ammunition than we planned.”
“Good work. Did any of the infidels escape?”
“No. We took care of them all. The jammer should have stopped them contacting their headquarters.”
“Good, good. The Russian says it will take no more than five days for us to finish the excavation. Do you have enough ammunition to stop another probe?” Khan asked.
“Yes, we should have enough to stop them again, but they will be more cautious next time. We expect the bombers to eventually come.”
“It is good to be cautious, my son. Move to the new position and make sure that you take the necessary precautions. Plans are in place to keep the American aircraft busy elsewhere.”
“Of course, Khan, we will move immediately. We will have the missiles ready, just in case. I will report in once we are ready.”
The phone beeped again, indicating the call was terminated. Khan looked at the timing, thirty-five seconds. He believed it would take at least a minute of conversation for the Americans to crack the commercial encryption system. He put the phone away and turned to Yanuk.
“My men have been successful. You will have your five days, Russian.” Khan turned his back on him and walked down the slope to his camp, dialing on his phone.
“Yes?" an unfamiliar voice answered.
“It’s Khan. Tell Dostiger that everything is proceeding on schedule.”
There was a pause as the message was relayed to the arms dealer. For security reasons, Dostiger rarely spoke on the phone, preferring to leave the handset with one of his bodyguards.
“Are you there?” the voice asked.
“Yes,” said Khan.
“Dostiger wants to talk to you.”
There was a pause as the phone changed hands.
“How are you, Khan?”
“I am well. It is good to hear your voice, my son.”
“Yes. I have been busy with our Iranian friends. How is our project progressing?
“We have had minor setbacks but nothing that cannot be resolved.”
“Minor setbacks?” Dostiger queried.
“My men dealt with an American patrol.”
“Americans? Already?”
“This is not an issue, Dostiger; the arrangements I made with the Taliban remain in place. The Americans will not come in force, and if they do, it will be too late.”
“So the digging is on schedule?”
“Yes, we will finish here as planned. Do not doubt me, my son. It is Allah’s will that has brought us here and it is Allah’s will that we succeed.”
“Yes, Allah’s will. Of course!”
“You may not be a believer, Dostiger, but you are still guided by Allah’s hand. With your help I will drive the Americans from our lands, as I did the Russians before them.”
Dostiger laughed. “Khan, with my weapons you cannot fail. And once we give our brothers in Iran what they want, then Afghanistan will be yours.”
Chapter 11
Ministry of Intelligence and Security
Headquarters Ministry of Intelligence and Security, Tehran, Iran
Mohammad Rostam was not a man who made jokes or laughed at others’ attempts at humor. His office in the Iranian Ministry Of Intelligence and Security (MOIS) reflected this demeanor. The furniture was utilitarian with nothing personal. The desk was usually spartan, but today Rostam was sorting through a pile of reports, his brow furrowed into a deep crease as he furiously thumbed through the pages.
He continued to turn pages as he picked up the phone. “This is the Director of Special Projects. Have Agent Ebadi come to my office immediately.” Without waiting for a reply he hung up, his eyes never leaving the open document.
Rostam was still reading when a soft knock heralded the presence of Alfsaneh Ebadi.
“Enter!”
She swung the heavy door open, elegantly striding into his office.
“Good afternoon, Sir.”
Rostam stayed silent as his eyes lingered over her. Everything about Saneh was sensual. Long ebony hair framed her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. Her hourglass figure was evident despite the no-nonsense tailored business suit.
Rostam appreciated her beauty, however unlike his colleagues he didn’t lust after her. For him, her beauty was simply an asset, another tool in his substantial pool of resources.
“Agent Ebadi.” Rostam finally acknowledged her presence. “Your area of operations is Eastern Europe, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What do you know about Dostiger’s current activities?”
“Dostiger the arms dealer?” she responded.
“Yes.”
“Sir, I haven’t seen any recent reporting but it would be a safe to assume he is still expanding his business.”
“I don’t want assumptions, Agent Ebadi. Tell me what you actually know,” Rostam demanded.
“Sir, he has extensive access into both the former Soviet arms market and the wider European markets. Generally he only deals with sensitive high-end military technology, providing weapons to the highest bidder.”
“Who’s he been dealing with?”
“We’ve linked him to various Islamic terrorist organizations and also to some governments, including North Korea, Pakistan and China. As you’re aware, we have also employed his services.”
“What about the Guards?” Rostam interjected. “Has Dostiger been linked to them?”
Saneh paused, thinking. The Iranian Revolutionary Guards were a rival of MOIS and it was well known that Rostam hated them. They had become a formidable military force with far too much influence over the government. In the eyes of many Iranians the Guardians of the Revolution had become Iran’s greatest threat.
“Sir, I believe the Guards have used Dostiger’s services on at least one occasion. In 2004 they delivered a shipment of advanced surface to air missiles to Hezbollah. The weapons were state of the art, Dostiger’s speciality.”
“2004? Didn’t Hezbollah shoot down an Israeli passenger jet in 2004?”
“Yes Sir, but my sources suggested it wasn’t Hezbollah. They believed a third party facilitated the attack prior to Hezbollah receiving the shipment.”
“And you think that third party was Dostiger?”
“Yes, Sir, that’s correct. The attack was a pre-sale demonstration.”
“Ruthless bastard!” Rostam smiled. “Have the Guards used him since?”
“No, Sir, most of their weapons procurement has been small arms and explosives sourced through low-level traders and delivered direct to their client organizations. As you know, sensitive weapons procurement is primarily a MOIS responsibility,” Saneh said.
“And our most recent dealings with him?” Rostam queried.
“It would have to be last year when my team brokered a deal with him for the purchase of Israeli Spike missiles and US sniper rifles for reverse engineering.”
Rostam’s eyes narrowed, his voice low and questioning, “You said before we didn’t have any recent reporting of his activities. If we have been dealing with Dostiger as recently as last year, how is it we haven’t kept a close eye on him?”
“We do have a source in Kiev who has low-level access into Dostiger’s organization, but reporting is minimal. Dostiger has very strict operational security, and there have been no opportunities to penetrate any of his more sensitive ventures.”
“So you are telling me that we know nothing about his recent activities?” Rostam said.
“Frankly, Sir, Dostiger has not been a priority on the MOIS Eastern European collection plan. He poses little threat to us and we consider him more of an asset than a liability.”
“Well, Agent Ebadi, Dostiger has just become a priority target. The Guards have contracted him to source a WMD for them.” Rostam slid a file across the desk and gestured to the seat in front of him. “Sit down.”
Saneh lowered herself into the chair, crossed her legs and opened the file in her lap.
She scanned the pages with interest. The report provided the bare details of Dostiger’s contract with the Guards to procure a weapon of mass destruction. The exact
location and nature of the WMD was missing but the overall information was assessed as reliable. Saneh realized the information could only have come from within the highest ranks of the Guards’ leadership.
“Well, Ebadi, you’re the Dostiger expert. Is he capable of delivering a WMD?” Rostam queried.
Saneh matched his gaze and handed back the report. “Sir, when we first started dealing with Dostiger he was unable to source any significant WMD capability for us. However that was over three years ago and now there are new factors at play.” She gathered her thoughts before continuing. “The former Soviet states have come under increased economic pressure. He’s also continued to develop new client and procurement contacts.”
“So it’s possible then.” Rostam cut straight to the point. “What type of weapon do you think he could deliver now?”
“With this limited information, it’s hard to say. Whatever it is, it would probably originate from Russia, and it’s more likely to be chemical or biological than nuclear. The Russians claim to have a tight hold on their WMDs - but with the right contacts and the right price, you could probably get one out. It all depends how much money the Guards are offering Dostiger.”
“Funding isn’t an issue here. If Dostiger has access to a WMD you can be sure the Guards will meet his price.”
Saneh looked concerned. “If the Guards get their hands on a WMD, it will give them the capability to influence not only our Government, but other nations as well. This would seriously affect our national interests.”
“You are absolutely correct, Agent Ebadi.” Rostam’s voice had taken on a harder tone. “We both know the Guards want nothing less than complete control over the military, and eventually the government. Such a weapon would give them the influence to stage a coup or even start a war!”
He leant forward, fixing her with an intense stare. “We cannot sit idly by whilst Dostiger procures the tools that could allow the Guards to plunge the entire region into war. The Americans need little excuse to destroy us as it is.”
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