The Third Cell

by Anthony D'Egidio

  The next morning after prayers, Wasim was on the cell phone trying to raise his cohorts. The RCD Highway had cell towers installed several years earlier by the Pakistani Government when it had begun its campaign to rid the Taliban from its borders. Terrorists targeted the towers, but the government always replaced the downed towers within a month. The Pakistani Army, which heavily patrolled the RCD Highway, was credited with keeping the towers relatively free from attacks.

  Wasim was finally off the phone. “They have another vehicle and it should be here shortly.”

  An hour later the driver and his companion showed up in a vintage 1989 Russian GAZ-66 four by four all-terrain vehicle. A prize left over from the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, the vehicle was in rough shape. It had been repainted in black with a paintbrush, apparent from the lines left in the finish.

  Wasim was furious. “What happened to the other truck?”

  The nervous driver responded, “The axle is broken and it’ll be weeks before they can find a used one.”

  Wasim was still shouting profanities while the two men climbed into the front seat after putting their luggage and the driver’s companion in the back. It was going to be a long dusty one-hundred-seventy-five-kilometer drive to Nushki, especially with Wasim as irritated as he was. Nasih only hoped the vintage GAZ-66 was up to the task.

  They passed numerous small farms where the owners eked out a meager living selling dates, goat’s milk, cheese and meat. The green fields of the farms skirted the Balochistan Desert on their northern boundary. The fields were in the shadows of Mount Juz Koh, Mount Katorikoh and numerous other mountain peaks that lay to the South. The fertility of the farmed fields was in stark contrast to the mountains’ barren peaks, whose winter snows fed the Quetta plateau below making it habitable.

  Three hours later they arrived in Nushki, a city of almost fifty thousand.

  There seemed to be one camel for every three vehicles, making for a strange mix of sounds and smells. One had to be very careful when walking. Baluchi tribesmen, who have populated the area for hundreds of years, used camels as the chief form of transportation. A fearsome group, they resented the Taliban, al-Qaeda fighters, the Pakistani and United States Army and most strangers. The area had been a hotbed of activity for al-Qaeda in the past and several times the Pakistani Army made raids, rounding up suspected Afghan nationals who were using the city as a base for supplying arms.

  Here would be Nasih’s major contact, Allama Muhammad Ali Usmani, who was now in command of al-Qaeda. He was credited with recruiting young men to carry out suicide attacks against the coalition forces, especially the United States. Suicide attacks in the past year numbered almost one hundred seventy-five. It was only a few years ago that none took place. After the initial defeat of the Taliban and al-Qaeda by the U.S. military, it was Allama Muhammad Ali Usmani who regrouped the forces, bringing in new blood from the major cities of Karachi, Lahore, Faisalabad M.C and Rawalpindi, Pakistan.

  Wasim shouted to the driver, “Stop at the hotel Al-Ahqaf!” The hotel name was also the heading for Chapter 46 ‘Al-Ahqaf’ (The Wind Curved Sandhills, The Dunes) in the Qur’an and it was most appropriate considering the surrounding terrain. The hotel was an unpretentious building with whitewashed stucco walls and a small sign with the name of the hotel in blue over the entrance.

  Wasim climbed out of the truck. “We’re here. Let’s get the bags. You’ll find all the amenities of the Homa Hotel and then some. The additional roaches and scorpions come with no extra charge.” Laughing at his own joke, Wasim lead the way in.

  Nasih shook his head. I’m thankful I have my own room. I’m a little put off by Wasim’s sense of humor. I believe Wasim is not a faithful follower of the Qur’an and probably strayed from Islamic law many times a day. Wasim is all about money, but I can’t dwell on this fact for he is the catalyst to bring me to al-Qaeda.

  Again Nasih had to wait. The hotel was modest and clean with a small restaurant good for breakfast or lunch. He and Wasim would go out at night in search of a restaurant for dinner. By week three they had eaten in every establishment in town. During the day they would explore some of the mountain passes and on two occasions, the Balochistan desert. To pass the time at night they would either join the rest of the hotel guests watching the one central television, or play Kharr Wanj, a Rummy-style card game. Finally Wasim found a chessboard and pieces and they spent hours playing the game in which they were equally gifted.

  Some nights after dinner Nasih would retire to his room to be alone. His thoughts would wander over the years he spent in the United States, his ex-wife and especially his children whom he would never see again. His old reoccurring dream of his parents death had come back to haunt him almost every night and he would find himself bolting upright and sweating profusely, awakened from his sleep by the scene of carnage and death. He couldn’t escape from those images after all these years.

  Wasim in late May finally made an announcement. “We’ve a meeting scheduled. It will take place on June second in Azam Khan, an area we’ve explored a couple of times.”

  Nasih found he wasn’t able to sleep over the next couple of days in anticipation of finally meeting Allama Muhammad Ali Usmani. He couldn’t understand his nervousness, something he had never experienced before.

  The Meeting

  The journey to Azam Khan, twenty-two kilometers north of Nushki, took only fourteen minutes even in the dilapidated GAZ-66. Wasim located the stone farmhouse situated on a hill with a long winding driveway leading to it. Turning in the driveway, two armed guards wearing automatic weapons stopped and searched them and the vehicle before motioning them on. Reaching the summit prior to entering the grounds, they were stopped and searched a second time. Pulling the vehicle into the compound, they exited with two guards escorting them. Entering the house, it was Wasim who greeted the man at the door. “Sabah el kheer, Allama. (Good morning, Allama.)”

  Allama returned the greeting. “Marhaban. (Welcome.)”

  The two men hugged each other like long lost brothers.

  Wasim turned to Nasih and said, “I want you to meet a major benefactor to the cause, Issa Abdullah Gara from Syria.”

  Nasih held out his hand. “Motasharefon Bema’refatek. (Pleased to meet you.)” Greetings over, the men sat down to have coffee as they discussed business.

  Allama wasted no time getting to the point. “We’re in desperate need of weapons and ammunition, along with medical and clothing supplies. What can you offer?”

  Nasih knew this would be the time for bonding the relationship. “We have fifteen hundred rifles, of which half are the new Khaibar armor-penetrating rifles, ready to be shipped to you.”

  Allama walked over to Nasih, picked him up and hugged him. “We as soldiers of Islam will be eternally grateful for this gift, which will allow us to ambush the infidels from a great distance and inflict heavy casualties.”

  “Allama,” Nasih went on to explain, lying, “we only have a limited amount of ammunition at this time for the Khaibar. But within six months you should see substantial amounts coming to you. I’ll make contact with my operative in Karachi who has the ability to deliver them to you. Where should I send them?”

  Allama thought for a moment and then conferred with one of his subordinates. “There’s a mountainous area forty-five kilometers northeast of Nushki called Sarlat Ghar that is known to Wasim. In late August we’ll be massing a large group of our Islamic warriors to prepare for an attack prior to the winter. It’s very treacherous, with only one dirt road leading into the area. From the road to our location is about four kilometers and we must use camels to transport any weapons.”

  “Will camels be available or do I need to bring them with us?”

  “It is not necessary for you to bring camels. To transport the weapons we use the Baluchi tribesmen, who have been going into this area for years to take out salt, and they’re not harassed by the Pakistani Army.”

  “What about the coalition forces?”

/>   “They will not be a problem. We’ve chosen this area because of the numerous caves. Our encampment is there because the infidels are hampered by the terrain and will not attack. We’ve sufficiently camouflaged our activity by using a cave and tunnel system. Their infrared thermography is useless in detecting our movements. We also have portable radar equipment to detect any drones that may be in the area.”

  “Should we come at night?”

  “This is a dangerous trip and it’s best to enter the area during the day.”

  They spent the next hour talking about strategy for the fall offensive and which military targets they would attack. With the meeting was over, Wasim rose. “Shokran jazeelan. Qul huwa Allahu ahadun. (Thank you. Say: He is Allāh, the One and Only.)”

  Back in Nushki. Nasih was finally able to break away from Wasim. He called his contact in Karachi whom he had never spoken to.

  When Ahsan answered the phone Nasih said to him, “As-Salamu `Alaikum. (Peace be upon you.)”

  Ahsan answered, “Wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuhu. (The Mercy and Blessings of Allāh.)”

  Ahsan only knew a contact would call with this greeting and would give instructions on moving the armament. He had been waiting several months for the message, always afraid that authorities would detect the cache of arms and he would be arrested. He had paid out huge sums of money to bring in the illegal arms and monthly dealt out hundreds of euro banknotes to corrupt officials or those sympathetic to the Islamic cause.

  Nasih said to Ahsan. “You’ll have to ship the arms to Nushki and from there we will bring them into Afghanistan. You’ll arrange to move the arms on a freight train from Karachi to Quetta and then on to Nushki. The arms are to be hidden under cans of food stock that are designated for the Girls College in Nushki.”

  Nasih was insistent. “We must have the shipment in Nushki by the first of August. The trains only pass through Nushki once every two weeks and you must time your movements accordingly. If you arrive at the destination too early, the arms could be detected and confiscated by the Pakistani Army. Once you arrive in Nushki we’ll move the shipment to its final destination.”

  Ahsan was not allowed to know who his contact was. He would only find out when he and the goods arrived in Nushki. Immediately he began the logistics of having the shipment moved from the warehouse to the train.

  If I fail to meet the schedule, my life could be shortened considerable, Ahsan surmised.

  Nasih, after completing the phone call, headed to an Internet café to email a message to his uncle. It read from the Qur’an Chapter 39, az-Zumar (The Troops, Throngs), verse 72.

  (It will be said: “Enter the gates of Hell. Herein shall you abide.” How evil is the abode of the vainglorious!)

  Ahman, after receiving this message, reflected on the upcoming events. They have set the schedule and location of the meeting. Soon it will be time for retribution.

  Nasih grew nervous as the month of June passed. In his mind he thought of several scenarios in which the Pakistani Army would uncover the cache of arms. On July 8, the shipment left in crates labeled “The Girls College, Nushki, Pakistan.” Ahsan didn’t anticipate any trouble moving the supplies as long as the Pakistani Army was not involved. Local officials and railroad clerks could be bought off with euro banknotes and none of the wooden crates were ever subjected to inspections. On July 29, despite all the typical delays and infrequent train runs into Nushki, the shipment finally arrived.

  Waiting in Pakistani Army uniforms were Wasim and Nasih, with two Hino five-ton trucks that bore Pakistani Army insignias.

  “Wasim, how were you able to get the uniforms and insignias?” inquired Nasih.

  “Don’t ask. It cost me a month’s pay.”

  It was perfect, especially when four men from each truck in Pakistani Army uniforms exited and loaded the ‘canned goods’ on the vehicles. They went about their work diligently and within thirty-five minutes they had all the crates loaded and the trucks headed north out of town. Two and half kilometers out of Nushki, the road forked and they turned right, heading for the mountain pass.

  The next five kilometers were fairly flat and, even though it was a dirt road, they cruised at thirty kilometers per hour. They drove over dry riverbeds dodging boulders as they entered the mountainous regions through shallow streams and rivers. The trucks had to proceed slowly or they risked everyone being tossed around like rag dolls, especially the men in the back trying to keep the cargo from shifting. It took seven hours to cover the thirty-five kilometer distance.

  At the end of the road was an encampment of Baluchi tribesmen. Here the tribesmen had pitched their tents and corralled forty camels. The only way the armament was going to make it into Sarlat Ghar was on the backs of these desert beasts of burden that would trek through one of the most inhospitable regions on earth.

  The Baluchi tribesmen were a harden group of furiously independent men who were conditioned to the terrain and weather. They had no loyalty to either the Taliban or the Pakistani government and would attack either side if they felt their homeland was being encroached upon.

  They lead a very simple life and the overwhelming majority was Islamic. Monetary gain was the only purpose for providing transportation of the cargo was whose contents were unknown to them. They didn’t take sides between the western nations and the Taliban, which gave them protection from being attacked by either the Pakistani Army or Coalition forces.

  Nasih tossed and turned in his sleeping bag. The mat that was to offer some protection against the lumpy ground was useless. He slept like a cat, awaking every ten to fifteen minutes, trying to realign his body into a comfortable position. He finally fell asleep only to be wakened at five o’clock by the sounds of the Baluchi tribesmen boiling water to seep ground coffee in.

  At first light the tribesmen broke down the encampment and readied their camels for the trek into the Sarlath Mountains, past Mount Sarlat Ghar. The camels could each carry two of the wooden crates and still out walk any of the men. The four-and-a-half-kilometer trip took six hours to complete due to narrow passageways and steep cliffs that dropped almost seven hundred meters. The narrow passage opened to a small flat rectangular plateau measuring three hundred by two hundred meters and surrounded by high cliffs. They had finally reached their final destination.

  Guards were positioned in the openings of caves and along the narrow passage. Nasih viewed the encampment. I can understand how safe these men feel with the narrow entrance completely surrounded. It is too small to land helicopters safely for they could be ripped apart by gunfire. The only way is to bomb the area, but with the maze of caves and tunnels, I can see how they feel safe from being attacked.

  Indian Ocean Strike Group

  Admiral Blair immediately deployed the U.S. Navy’s Eisenhower Carrier Strike Group after being informed of the secret mission by General Knight. He had no idea who the agent involved in the action was and from past experience he didn’t ask. He assumed it was a CIA operative or Special Forces personnel.

  The Eisenhower Carrier Strike Group consisted of the command ship, the aircraft carrier USS Dwight D. Eisenhower (CVN 69), the Carrier Air Wing (CVW) 7 and the Destroyer Squadron (DESRON) 28, with the guided-missile cruiser USS Anzio (CG 68), and guided-missile destroyers USS Ramage (DDG 61), USS Mason (DDG 87), USS Bulkeley (DDG-84) and USS Ross (DDG-71).

  Aboard the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower, Vice Admiral John William Parker reviewed the latest reconnaissance photos with his intelligence officer, Lieutenant Paul D. Nathanson. The daily photos from the KH-12 Keyhole-class reconnaissance satellite and a U-2S spy plane over flights were being reviewed. They had no idea who was transmitting the signal, only that the Pentagon had ordered the signal tracked and daily reports provided back to Admiral Blair.

  For five months Lieutenant Nathanson studied the Pakistani landscape. He previously tracked the Russian GAZ-66 military truck and the four men who took the vehicle from Dalbandin to Nushki, Pakistan. It was boring work with nothing interesting
happening, especially when he was not sure what to look for except unusual activity. The only time the photos had anything that seemed important was on June 2 when the subject with the locating signal went to Azam Khan. It was apparent from those photos that they had entered an armed encampment with several men carrying weapons patrolling the area. They reported the action to the Pentagon, but were told to continue monitoring.

  The pace changed on July 29 when photos produced the unloading of crates into two waiting Hino trucks. Lieutenant Nathanson immediately requested a U-2S spy plane from the India Air Force base in Gwalior, India. The base was used by the U.S. Air Forces 3rd Operations Group for joint exercises. The U-2S located the signal from the two vehicles traveling towards Afghanistan and tracked them until nightfall before returning to base.

  The following morning the U-2S spy plane was photographing the transfer of the crates from the two trucks to the camels. Intelligence Officer Nathanson reviewed the reconnaissance photos with Vice Admiral Parker aboard the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower.

  Lieutenant Nathanson detailed the activity. “We believe it’s a major arms transfer. There must be forty camels with large crates strapped over their backs. The photos taken over the past few hours show the caravan headed into an area near Mount Sarlat Ghar in southern Afghanistan. We’ve known of a joint al-Qaeda and Taliban base in the Sarlath Mountains, but there hasn’t been enough activity to pursue military action and the terrain is extremely hazardous.”