Gravedigger

by Mark Terry

  Noa, looking more comfortable than either of the men, said, “Grow a set, boys. Ready?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got any idea where the hell we’re going?” Derek asked. “Or a map?”

  “We found a couple maps in the gear. One’s in Russian,” Johnston said.

  “Well,” Derek said. “Things are looking up.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Noa said. She slapped her horse with a rein and made a tttch-ing sound. They followed her out of the encampment at a sedate pace.

  Ten minutes later, they heard a series of small explosions. The RPGs going up, presumably.

  The road, if you could call it that, meandered further into the mountains. Noa informed them that they would have to go up before they could start going down. As the raven flew it was about eighty miles to Shing Dun. Along the trails and roads they would be taking, she estimated it closer to two hundred.

  Two hours later the snow and sleet had turned to a driving rain. An hour later was sunrise, although it didn’t do much to warm things up or dry things out. The rode in wet gloom. They crested the first mountain and started down a narrow road that bordered a several hundred feet vertical drop. Derek had suggested they walk it, but Noa had told him they’d probably be safer on the horses. “Trust the horses. Unless they get spooked and you fall off with your foot stuck in the stirrups. In that case, shoot the horse or die.”

  Derek and Johnston exchanged a look. Derek said, “You train for this?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  The morning progressed that way. Derek was exhausted, wet, and miserable. He was used to it. It was just part of the job.

  He wasn’t so sure about the general’s mission and even less certain about Noa’s. Although he didn’t completely trust Noa, he did trust General Johnston. He also figured that Johnston would tell him what he needed to know when he needed to know it.

  He was pretty sure that it involved a little bit more than tracking down abandoned Russian weapons.

  Around noon they came to what appeared to be the wreckage of a village. It must have been bombed by the Russians during the war. It appeared abandoned, although after their last experience, none of them were going to make any assumptions. Tying the horses to the remnants of a fence, they went to recon together, AK47s at the ready.

  Thirty minutes later they moved the horses next to one of the few mostly intact buildings. The building only had three walls and part of the roof had collapsed, but part of it was still intact, providing a somewhat dry spot for them to camp.

  Derek went in search of the town well. It was a hand pump, but it worked. He ran a quick test on it for contaminants, found it reasonably acceptable, and filled several buckets for the horses. Finally he made it back to their campsite. Johnston had built a fire and was cooking beans and what Derek thought might be goat.

  Noa sat cross-legged in the corner studying the map.

  “How are we doing?” he asked her.

  “Hard to tell without any landmarks or the sun or stars to judge by, but I think we’ve gone about ten miles. That would put us about here.” She touched a spot on the map with her finger. “We’ve got a couple options when we leave here. There are a few villages if we take the shortest route, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Muj?”

  “Probably. If we go the long way, we can skirt the villages, but it’s going to add a day or so to the ride.”

  “And when we get to this village, what’s your plan?”

  She continued to study the map, not answering.

  Derek crouched by the fire, soaking up the heat. He looked up at Johnston. “Now would be a pretty good time to tell me what the hell we’re going to do, Jim. And maybe even why.”

  Stirring the beans, Johnston said, “The Russians left Afghanistan. Congress spent millions of dollars funding the CIA’s covert backing of the muj, then did what Congress does – forgot all about Afghanistan.”

  From behind them, Noa snorted.

  “The war’s over,” Derek said, “we won, let’s go focus on something else.”

  “Exactly. So the muj now have a bunch of weapons, no infrastructure, no government and a lot of wounded people. Also, the country’s littered with landmines left over by Russia. They’re becoming a bunch of really well-armed tribal groups that are fighting over who’s in charge. And, because the U.S.’s involvement was covert, nobody actually knows that we were the good guys.”

  “So…”

  “So some folks in the Pakistan military contacted us and asked if we could make contact with one or two of the warlords they think would be most desirable to be in charge on their border here. So I’m looking for a warlord by the name of Mohammad Anwari and another one by the name of Sayed Hussein Rabbani.”

  “And do what?”

  “Introduce myself and ask if they would like to be friends with the U.S. military.”

  Derek sighed. “And you’re doing this with the knowledge of the State Department and the White House?”

  “And the CIA,” Johnston added. “That’s not completely clear. Your agency certainly knows and presumably approves at some level. The White House and State? Maybe.”

  “So,” Noa said, “if you make contact, you can then go back to your people in Washington and tell them you’re now friends with the future leaders of Afghanistan and you can throw money at them.”

  Johnston shrugged and began dishing out the beans and goat meat. “Above my pay grade.”

  Taking the food, Noa went back to her corner. “If I may say so, that’s bullshit. You’ve been authorized to make them promises.”

  Again Johnston shrugged.

  “And you?” Derek said to Noa.

  She considered him for a moment, chewing on a bit of goat. Finally she said, “My understanding is that the two warlords Jim is looking for are pragmatists, even though they are Muslims. Muslims are not friends of Israel. However, it is possible that these two warlords would be acceptable leaders to Israel.”

  “I hate this sort of thing,” Derek said. “Give me a clear objective and I’ll figure out how to make it happen.”

  “Then you should have stayed the fuck out of the CIA,” Johnston snapped.

  Noa smiled and continued. “But there is something else going on in this region. Some Muslim extremists groups are collecting Russian weapons and buying up weapons. Some of them are being shipped to Sudan. Some of them are being shipped to Gaza. I’m to find the leader of this group.”

  Derek found the beans to be almost uneatable, but the goat tasted pretty well. He ate both, because he was hungry and he needed the calories. He studied Noa for a moment. “And when you find this leader?”

  “Kill him.”

  11

  DEREK PONDERED THIS A MOMENT. He wasn’t surprised that Noa was here as an assassin. “Does this leader have a name?”

  “Yes. He’s a Saudi named Osama bin Laden.”

  “A Saudi?”

  Johnston said, “During the Russian-Afghan war a lot of Muslims viewed it as an attack on Islam. So a lot of Muslims from various countries came to Afghanistan to become freedom fighters.”

  Derek finished off his beans and goat and sipped at his mug of tea. “Which we were covertly funding and providing with weapons.”

  “Yes,” Noa said.

  “Good guys?”

  She shook her head.

  “Of course not. Okay. So is there any chance that Osama bin Laden and Mohammad Anwari and Sayed Hussein Rabbani are all camping out together?”

  With a shrug, Johnston said, “Maybe.”

  “I doubt it,” Noa said. “Sheikh bin Laden is not considered moderate. He seems to be affiliated, at least somewhat, with a group called Harkat-ul-Mujahideen.”

  Derek put his hands up in a T-formation. “Time out. You expect me to keep these names straight?”

  “HUM,” Noa said. “That easier?”

  “Much. And bin Laden?”

  “Call him OBL.”

>   “HUM and OBL. What about your two warlords, Jim? Any nicknames for them?”

  The general shrugged again. “Not really. We’ve sort of dubbed them the potential northern alliance, but there’s no alliance. That’s sort of what I’m trying to encourage here.”

  Derek stood up. His back and butt protested. He dreaded the idea of climbing back on that horse and the hideous saddle from hell. “So, HUM?”

  “Muslim extremists from Pakistan, mostly in Kashmir.”

  Derek paced. He really needed a couple hours of sleep. It was still raining as hard as ever. “What do they want?”

  “They would like the entire world to become Muslim and live under extremely strict Sharia law.”

  “I don’t know what the hell that is.”

  An annoyed expression crossed Noa’s face. “The CIA sent you undercover in a Muslim country without any education on Islam?”

  Derek grinned. “But I do know the chemical structure of VX nerve gas.”

  “Charming.”

  “And I’ve read the Bible numerous times, even the Old Testament.”

  “That won’t help you much in Afghanistan.”

  Turning to Johnston, Derek said, “What’s Sharia law?”

  “The legal and moral teachings of the Koran.”

  “And HUM wants everyone in the world to live by this?”

  “Yes. And not as it’s practiced in the twentieth century, but how it was practiced in the first and second centuries.”

  “For instance?”

  “Think Iran under Khomeini,” Johnston said. “Think stonings and hangings and women not being allowed to go out in public without covering their hair and faces, or without the permission of their husbands, brothers, or fathers. Think females not being allowed to be educated – no school at all. Think Salman Rushdie going into hiding because the Ayatollah declared a fatwa on him because he wrote a novel nobody read called ‘The Satanic Verses.’”

  “I read it,” Noa said.

  “I understand,” Derek said. “So how do we find all these people, turn your northern alliance into a northern alliance, and assassinate this guy who wants Muslim nutballs to run the world?”

  “I think we found HUM,” Noa said. “And you killed a bunch of them.”

  Derek nodded. “Just doing my part.”

  “We find people who can point us toward Mohammad Anwari and Sayed Hussein Rabbani,” Johnston said. “They’re in the area, more or less. There aren’t that many people. We just find some that don’t try to kill us on first sight and ask them.”

  “And hope they’re not like Khan and his people,” Noa said.

  Derek rolled his eyes. “That’s all. Sure. Okay. I’m going to catch a few hours sleep. I’d take the first watch, but if I don’t sleep for a couple hours I’m going to fall down.” And with that, he lay down on a blanket by the wall and slipped into darkness.

  Several hours later, Derek was startled awake by a roaring sound. Sitting up, he saw both Johnston and Noa were already up, scanning the sky. It was day, but still raining and cloudy. It was difficult to determine where the sound was coming from.

  Suddenly Noa pointed. In her left hand she held a pair of Russian-made binoculars she must have gotten off the dead Afghans.

  The sound grew louder. Out of the gray clouds burst a helicopter, flying low. It swooped past them with a roar and continued on toward the nearest valley between mountains.

  Derek said, “Is that what I think it was?”

  With a nod, Johnston said, “An Mi-24 attack helicopter.”

  They looked at each other. Derek said, “So maybe that rumor about a Russian with a chopper isn’t bullshit after all.”

  Worry creased Johnston’s weathered face. “Maybe not.”

  Crouching by the fire with the map spread out on her knee, Noa was muttering to herself. Derek, groaning as his back protested, squatted next to her. “Where are we?”

  “Maybe here,” she said, pointing.

  “And the chopper was coming from this direction.” He tapped the map. “Kabul?”

  She nodded. “The capitol. And a fairly major city.”

  “You’d think someone would notice a Russian attack helicopter in a city that big,” Johnston said.

  The Israeli shrugged. “If he needs to fuel up, that’s one of the likelier places.”

  “Fine,” Derek said. “But where was he headed?”

  They studied the map. Derek blew out a puff of air, frosty despite the rain. He tapped the map. “Shing Dun.”

  “Possibly,” Johnston said. “But these mountains are killers for helicopters. He could have just been taking the lowest altitude route through here. Once through, he could go anywhere.”

  “Either way,” Noa said, “we need to go through the pass to get to where we’re going. Ready?”

  THEY ESTIMATED THEY had about three hours of daylight – such as it was – to travel before they were going to have to camp again for the night. They debated staying where they were until starting again, but Noa pushed to get to a lower elevation, partly in hopes that the temperature would be more reasonable.

  They broke camp quickly and climbed back on their horses. Derek had named his Comanche. “Why Comanche?” Noa asked. “Isn’t that an Indian tribe or something?”

  “It was the horse that survived Custer’s last stand,” he explained. “I’m hoping for some good karma. I wanted to name him Hemorrhoid, because he’s such a pain in the ass.”

  Comanche snorted and shook his shaggy head. Derek stroked his neck. “You and me, brother.”

  Johnston grinned. “I’ve been calling mine Cheney.” Derek laughed.

  Noa looked confused. “Why?”

  “Dick Cheney is the Secretary of Defense,” Derek said.

  “And he’s a pain in the ass,” Johnston added. “Are you naming your horse?”

  She patted her horse’s neck. “Caleb.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Derek said, “As in Caleb and Joshua?”

  Climbing on Caleb, she looked at him closely. “You do know your Bible. Of course.” She kicked Caleb in the flanks and their little caravan headed down the mountain pass. She went on ahead, Caleb and her spare horse followed by Johnston and Derek and their horses.

  Johnston said, “Caleb?”

  With a nod, Derek said, “Caleb and Joshua were the only members of the original Israelites that fled Egypt to enter the Promised Land.”

  The horses clomped along, uncomfortable but reliable. The trail here wasn’t as dangerous as the first part had been, and after an hour of travel, broadened out into a wide valley. There was actually grass here, so they let the horses feed for a while. Noa studied the map and then scanned the area with the stolen binoculars. She pointed. “That way, I think.”

  “Not Shing dun?” Derek asked.

  “No. Zin. If the map is at all accurate, we’ll have to go up and through that pass. And on the other side should be a village called Zin.”

  “Mohammad Anwari is supposed to be headquartered there,” Johnston said.

  They rode for another two hours. They were just beginning to enter another mountain range and the path had narrowed. It would be a harrowing trip in the daylight, let alone in the dark. They found a shelf of rock to camp under, staked the horses so they could feed, and tried to make the best of a lousy situation.

  Settling in for the night, Derek thought about the story of Caleb and Joshua. When the Israelites had neared Canaan, the so-called Promised Land, Moses sent twelve spies, one from each tribe, into the city to find out what was there. Ten came back and said that giants lived there and would crush their army. Joshua and Caleb came back and told Moses what he wanted to hear, that God would help them out and Canaan would be theirs.

  Moses, with apparent lack of faith in the two spies who claimed to know what God wanted, chose to listen to the ten skeptics. So God, pissed off that Moses and company ignored his advice, had them wander around in the desert for forty years.

  Derek thought about God for a f
ew minutes and the fact that the three of them seemed to be wandering around without actually knowing where they were going. He thought about spies who told tall tales and spies who told the truth and were ignored. Then he drifted off. He had the third watch, Noa the first, Johnston the second.

  Several hours later Noa shook him awake. “Already?” he said, feeling exhausted.

  She put a hand over his mouth and whispered, “We’ve got company.”

  12

  THERE WASN’T REALLY ANY PLACE to hide. They each grabbed an AK47. Johnston threw a couple pieces of wood in the fire. Derek looked at him for a moment, then grabbed a cooking kettle and shook it. “We got extra water?”

  “What’re you doing?” Noa asked in an urgent whisper.

  Johnston pointed. Derek topped off the kettle from a canteen and hung it over the fire. “I’m making tea,” he said.

  She stared at him. Her eyebrows raised as she got it.

  In a minute a voice shouted out of the darkness. Noa said, “They’re basically saying hello.” She shouted back.

  A moment later three men in traditional Afghan dress appeared. Two them were bearded. One was younger, maybe fifteen, and didn’t look like he shaved at all. They each led a horse on a rope. Each carried an AK47.

  Noa and one of the men spoke for a while. She turned to Derek. “They accept our invitation of tea.”

  Johnston indicated he’d help them tie up their horses. Derek prepared the tea and when they returned, he offered it to them. The six of them sat around the fire sipping the tea. The men were very wet and appreciated both the tea and the fire. Derek held up some dried meat and offered it to them, indicating Noa should tell them they didn’t have much food, but they were willing to share it.

  The group accepted the food, but also offered their own. Soon they were all drinking tea and eating dried fruit, nuts, and naan, or flatbread topped with poppy seeds. They also had dates and olives.

  Noa spoke with them. They were friendly. The youngest was the oldest one’s son and he seemed to be the least comfortable around Noa. She explained to Derek and Johnston that they were from Zin and were more or less a scouting party. The head of their tribe, as she put it, was indeed Mohammad Anwari.