Terrorist: Three Book Boxed Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘It may not be them,’ said Bob. ‘Some of the other aid organisations come up here as well. Let’s keep our eyes open when we get to Dasht. It’s more isolated, smaller, they may be more talkative.’

  Dasht was indeed smaller and friendlier and, as soon as the immediate dispensing of medical aid had been dealt with, they found themselves sitting cross-legged with the headman of the small community, drinking tea. It was only Bob who could communicate, mainly in Pashto, the language of the south of the country. Harry and Phil, as usual, were confined to smiling and nodding on his lead.

  Fahim had stayed with the helicopter. It was always the same, the young and old of the village were always curious and, if he weren't there, they would be inside poking around, searching for anything interesting. The simplest item, if it looked technical, would be of immense value, even if they had no clue as to its use. Besides, he was Pakistani, and his air force had supported the Taliban in the past and, to a lot of Afghanis, the only good Pakistani was a dead Pakistani.

  ‘Bob, ask him if they have seen any strangers,’ said Phil as he and Harry sat quietly for what seemed an eternity. He would never admit it, but the cramp in his left foot, the inevitable result of the ageing process. His solution to deny the process: seduce as many fair damsels as he could – the Israeli girl who had been occupying his time in Tel Aviv when Steve phoned, an example.

  ‘Let me deal with the courtesies first. It would be inappropriate for me to ask too soon, too directly. Besides, we don’t fully know where their allegiances lie up here. I’m only a medical man. I don’t delve into their politics.’

  ‘Take your time. Handle it as you see fit.’ Harry was inclined to let Bob deal with the situation, and besides, he was a younger man, and the enforced sitting position did not bother him. People were suspicious of strangers in the remote communities, and it was clear that the good doctor had a comfortable relationship with the headman, Mamur Hassan, a resilient fighter in his youth. Whether they were Russians or Taliban or Americans, he treated them with the same disdain.

  Harry and Phil were neither of the above, and the headman had granted them more than his usual courtesy. The American woman that had come the previous year had given her life for his people, so he allowed that maybe not all were bad, but he could never have contemplated inviting a female into his house.

  ‘The village of death is an evil place,’ the village elder said. ‘We do not go there or even speak of it. If any of our animals wander too close, they are abandoned even if they have value.’

  ‘It is safe to go there,’ said Bob, ‘but the sight of the people will be disturbing.’

  ‘That does not concern us. We are used to death. We have seen the results of the Russian bombings and the Taliban’s cruelty. Bodies covered with sores and decayed and withered we can deal with. Maybe in time, when the crops fail, and we have forgotten, then our people will probably journey there. It will not be in my lifetime, though.’

  ‘Have you seen anyone up there recently?’ Bob asked.

  ‘Not for some time, although one of those who came before you, is in the area.’

  ‘Are you sure of this?’

  ‘This is what I have been told. I have not seen him, nor do I wish to. If he is responsible for their deaths, then he is cursed and would feel the blade of my knife.’

  ‘He would be an educated man. We believe he is responsible.’

  ‘How can he be educated?’ said Hassan angrily. ‘He is willing to kill people that have caused him no harm.’

  ‘In the West, this happens all too often.’

  ‘Then how can they call us barbaric, uncivilised, and uneducated?’ It is true, we do kill, and sometimes our methods are far from gentle, but we kill for a reason, for the protection of our family, our people, our community. We do not target harmless strangers.’

  ‘The Taliban do, you realise that?’

  ‘To mention the Taliban is unwise when they are so close to this village,’ said Hassan. ‘But I am aware of their senseless barbarity. They say it is in the name of Allah, but it is not the same Allah that I worship, peace be upon him.’

  ‘Here in Afghanistan, as in the rest of the world, is filled with people who commit acts that make no sense,’ replied Bob.

  Harry sensing that the conversation between the village headman and Bob was becoming more intense moved closer. ‘How are you going?’ he asked while maintaining a friendly smile towards the elder.

  ‘He’s up here, I’m pretty sure of that. Let me see what else he knows.’

  ‘Take your time, although it’s getting dark. We still need to get back to Fayzabad.’

  Mamur Hassan, elderly for his society, although he may not have been older than his late sixties was a perceptive man. His creased face, his rough, calloused hands, and his grey hair belied his wisdom. He observed the conversation between Harry and Bob intensely, and although he understood not one word, he realised that their conversation was not related to humanitarian matters. He determined to push his visitor’s true reason for being there out into the open.

  ‘This person, do you think he wishes to kill more people here?’

  ‘No, we think he’s just hiding out,’ said Bob. ‘Have you heard about the millions killed around the world?’

  ‘Yes, we have heard. Is it the same disease?’

  ‘Yes, and we believe he used the village as a trial. He must have someone protecting him. He’s probably somewhere close. He must be stopped.’

  ‘But you are a doctor,’ said Hassan. ‘How can you stop him?’

  ‘I came here as a doctor previously. I come here today as a doctor, but in a few weeks I could be coming here to bury you all.’

  ‘But you said he would not use the disease here again?’ Hassan reacted with alarm.

  ‘No, he may not, but if he has some of it with him and there is an accident, it would spread throughout Afghanistan in months. It kills regardless of tribe, religion or ethnic background.’

  ‘I will tell you all that I know,’ the elder said.

  Bob looked casually across at Harry and Phil. ‘Keep drinking the tea and eating pistachio nuts,’ he said in English. ‘He is going to help us.’

  ‘Thank him for us,’ said Harry.

  ‘Does this explain your colleagues?’ Hassan asked.

  ‘They are helping me dispense the medicine,’ Bob replied.

  ‘I have decided to help you. We can no longer be dishonest amongst ourselves, can we?’

  ‘No, you are right. What do you see them as?’

  ‘They are soldiers, and I would judge very proficient. The older one has the look of someone who would be handy with a knife. The other one, a dangerous man with a gun.’

  ‘I’ve not seen them fight,’ said Bob.

  He turned his head towards his colleagues. ‘Your disguises were a waste of time. He figured you two out from the start.’

  ‘Ask him how he did that?’ Phil said.

  ‘They’re asking how you deduced them as fighters,’ Bob said to Hassan.

  ‘The older one, his right forearm muscles are slender and flexible. The younger one, his upper arm shows the strength needed for prolonged support of a rifle. A knife-thrower requires flexibility, a shooter, strength and steady nerves. As they walk, they observe. Their eyes are always darting, observing, remembering. If I asked you what you had seen in the village as you came up here, you could tell me very little. They could tell me where every door was, the colour of it, the alleys, the washing hanging out and a fair description of the people they saw on the way.’

  ‘It’s your right forearm muscles,’ Bob explained to Phil. ‘They are slender and flexible. It shows that you a man handy with a knife.’

  ‘And for me?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Stronger upper arm muscles, the sign of a man who uses a gun,’ replied Bob. ‘And you both walk in a certain way, taking in all the details.’

  ‘Thank him for me,’ said Phil. ‘I’ll need to remember next time I go undercover.’

>   The village elder continued with his previous conversation. ‘There is a village not far from here. It is believed there is a Taliban commander by the name of Rehmani hiding out there. He is surrounded by some foot soldiers, but not too many. The person you seek is probably there.’

  ‘Where is this village?’ asked Bob.

  ‘It is called Arkhaw, and it is difficult to enter, even in your helicopter. I will show you on the map that your colleagues have.’ Hassan pointed towards Harry and Phil. ‘We do not go there, and I would prefer that you keep the name of your source to yourselves. They will have no problem in killing us all.’

  ‘It will be kept in the greatest confidence,’ Bob assured him.

  It took ten minutes to reach the helicopter and another ninety minutes to fly back to Fayzabad. The sun had set by the time they landed. It was thirty minutes later that a debriefing of the day’s activities commenced.

  ***

  ‘We checked out a few villages further down the valley, closer into Baharak,’ said Steve. ‘We came up with nothing, although Yanny’s language skills were impressive.’

  ‘And your dispensing skills with the medicine were exemplary,’ she replied. ‘You missed your vocation.’

  ‘Enough of the small talk,’ said Steve. ‘What did you guys find out?’

  ‘We have a village and a name,’ Harry said. ‘Bob helped out a lot. It would have been impossible without his relationship with the local headman.’

  ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘Bob, it would be best if you update Steve,’ said Harry.

  ‘There is a Taliban commander, name of Rehmani, situated in a village about forty to fifty kilometres from Larki, which is where we met the headman.’

  ‘Is Samir there?’ Yanny asked.

  ‘Not sure on that. However, it appears that whoever visited the doomed village – the village of death, as they call it now – both before and possibly after Jill Hampshire and I visited, has been seen.’

  ‘So it’s Samir?’ Yanny was both professional and nervous ‒ her repeating of Habash’s first name observed by all. None chose to comment.

  ‘Not certain,’ Bob answered, ‘although if the visitor to the village of death and Habash are one and the same, then the answer appears to be yes.’

  ‘We’ll only know if we visit Arkhaw, that’s the name of the village,’ Phil said.

  ‘It’s not so easy,’ said Harry. ‘The access will be difficult, and the helicopter may struggle with some narrow passes. Apparently, the gusting winds can present problems.’

  ‘And we don’t want the peace of the village to be disturbed by the sound of a helicopter engine,’ said Steve, ‘especially if we’re on unofficial business.’

  ‘So we need a plan,’ Yanny said.

  ‘It has to be a damn good plan,’ said Steve. ‘If Habash is there, we need to get him out along with any stocks of the virus. If we pull him out not knowing the situation, then someone else could release it. It’s a Catch 22 situation. We’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Anyone got any ideas?’

  ‘I know him,’ said Yanny. ‘I could chance that he will recognise me, give me the information.’

  ‘You know you can’t do that. What’s his state of mind now? He could be completely Taliban, extremist, off his rocker. How would you know?’

  ‘I don’t, but unless someone has a better idea,’ she said, ‘then we’ll have to go with it. He may be okay. He only wanted to get a better deal for the Palestinians. What’s happened was unexpected. He didn’t mean to be responsible for the death of millions. He may want to assist, to repent.’

  ‘And he may be totally off his head,’ Steve replied in a raised voice. ‘And with a renegade Taliban commander in his ear, he may have switched over totally to their side. Sam Haberman and the Samir Habash from Jordan are both gone. We better all realise that.’ He paused, regained his composure. ‘Remember, his ultimatums became progressively more religious in tone as time went by.’

  ‘Let’s assume Habash is crazy,’ said Harry. ‘What are we left with? Is he a Taliban convert? Most of them are uneducated, following the dictates of a religious leader.’

  ‘Most are,’ replied Steve, ‘but some are intelligent, especially those who have grown up in the West. It’s best not to assume his intelligence has somehow protected him.’

  ‘So when do we go?’ asked Phil, anxious to be in action. ‘We’re obviously going in undercover. Any idea how many people up there? The weapons they may have?’

  ‘That’s the problem,’ said Steve. ‘We don’t know a lot. We’ll need to get a couple of people up there to check it out, plus the weather is miserable. There’ll not be a lot of shelter either. Are there any volunteers?’

  ‘Sounds like a job for Phil and me,’ said Harry. ‘Are you up to it, Phil?’

  ‘Count me in. Anything is better than sitting here and waiting for him to make the next move.’

  ‘May I make a suggestion?’ said Bob. ‘I realise that I’m just a doctor, but there is a possible solution.’

  ‘Please go ahead,’ Steve said.

  ‘There’s a small town further downstream from Baharak, name of Bashanabad. We’ve been there in the past, but it’s easy enough to reach by road. We generally just send up trained locals. It’s only about ten or eleven kilometres from where you want to go.’

  ‘Is there a road or track?’ Phil asked.

  ‘I doubt it,’ replied Bob. ‘If we drop you both off somewhere out of sight, then you could trek in. It’s going to be cold and not very pleasant.’

  ‘Are you up to it Harry?’ Phil asked.

  ‘Sure, why not? I just hope I packed an extra pair of thermals.’

  ‘We’ll make sure you have a couple of satellite phones and enough rations,’ said Steve. ‘Water – I assume there’s plenty up there? Let’s plan to leave in thirty-six hours. Bob, you can just make out it’s a routine visit to administer some care. Yanny, you don’t need to go.’

  ‘I’m going to help Bob,’ she said. ‘I’d go crazy just sitting here.’

  ‘Go if it helps.’

  ‘It does and you know it.’

  Steve knew what she was alluding to. Years she had waited for him, and now Samir Habash was lost to her as well.

  Chapter 23

  The trek to the village that Mamur Hassan had mentioned was to prove more challenging than expected. Phil was better placed for the challenge, although he was the older of the two. During his time with the Australian Army Special Operation Command, he had successfully completed the Special Air Service (SAS) Special Forces Aptitude Test in the UK. He was one of the ten per cent who had passed what was regarded as the toughest endurance test in the world. Climbing up a few hills in an Afghan winter was not going to faze him. Harry had not had the benefit of endurance training, his skills had been learnt in the heat of Africa ‒ he was to suffer more.

  ‘I’ll pass the outskirts of Bashanabad,’ said Fahim. ‘It lies slightly off to the east, about five hundred metres, and put you down on some flat ground two kilometres further down the valley. That way, there’ll be no suspicion as to why we diverted. We can just say we missed the turn.’

  ‘Fine, we’ll be okay. We’re up for a stroll in the hills,’ Phil joked.

  It was neither to be a stroll nor hills. It was to be a heavy trek loaded with weapons, up slopes more suited to a mountain goat.

  ‘Come on, Harry.’ Phil enthusiastically cheered him up the first incline from the river bank. It was only seven hundred metres up and a gentle thirty degrees. He was in his element. Harry, meanwhile, was struggling. By the top of the first incline, he was breathing heavily.

  ‘You make it look easy,’ Harry said breathlessly.

  ‘You’ll be alright. It just takes a little while to adjust. By the time we cover the distance, you’ll be okay.’

  From there, the route veered to the south and the terrain became less hostile. Three kilometres and a gentle rise of no more than five hundred metres placed them
at the highest point on their trek.

  ‘It’s all downhill from here,’ Phil shouted above the howling wind. It was then that the first snow fell. Within thirty minutes, the temperature had plummeted, and the snow had turned to a blizzard, and they were in trouble. At the most difficult part of the route and with no obvious direction to move, they had to make camp and sit it out.

  ‘We’ll need to maintain our position, there’s no alternative,’ Phil directed his voice towards Harry.

  ‘Can’t we move down off this ridge?’ shouted Harry.

  ‘To where? It’s a whiteout. We could be walking off a cliff, into a ravine. It’s not how I was trained. We need to find somewhere out of the direct blast of the blizzard.’

  The lee of a large overhanging rock provided some respite from the weather, the wind too strong to attempt pitching a tent.

  The blizzard lasted for four hours before it eased and the sun attempted a dismal re-entry. The temperature was well below zero and both men, even Phil, were feeling cold and miserable.

  ‘We can’t sit here freezing,’ said Harry. ‘We need to press forward.’

  ‘I agree, but how? The snow must be about a metre deep, and it’s bound to be drifting. We could be walking on top one minute, three metres under the next.’

  ‘When do you think it will be safe?’ Harry was not handling the situation as well as Phil.

  ‘That’s the problem, I’ve no idea. We’re here to do a mission, not mope around complaining. We’ll just have to tie ourselves together with a two, maybe three-metre rope and press on.’ Phil looked out into the snow-covered landscape. ‘This was meant to be a one-day easy hike. It may take us three, possibly four. And remember, if we see any sign of a settlement we’re going to have to climb up high to avoid it. We can’t afford to be seen, and neither of us speaks the language. The people may be friendly and no doubt they’ll be warmer than we are at this moment, but we can’t risk it.’

  ‘I know,’ replied Harry. ‘We could backtrack, but that would defeat the purpose of why we’re here.’

  ‘Our discomfort is minor compared to the discomfort Habash could cause if he still has anymore virus.’