by Ted Halstead
Abdul spread his hands and shook his head. “There is no way to know for sure. We’re still not certain how powerful the finished weapon will be, and how…delicate. Maybe we can avoid destroying the town and the prison. But that may be a price we have to pay.”
Khaksar looked grim but finally nodded. “I know many of the men locked up at Parwan. All of them deserve a better fate. But if they have to die so that the Americans can finally be forced out, I know every one of them would gladly make that sacrifice.”
Abdul looked at the other three men and could see that all of them agreed with Khaksar.
“Very well,” Abdul said. “If Ibrahim can make a weapon from a Nasr warhead, that should be used to destroy everything in the Kabul Green Zone. That is where many Afghan traitors work for their so-called government, and the Americans and all their allies have their embassies.”
Khaksar and all the others looked at Abdul in alarm. Khaksar then said, “There is no way you can be sure the weapon’s impact will be limited to the Green Zone. What is the point of forcing the Americans from Afghanistan, if we no longer have a capital from which to govern?”
Abdul shrugged. “As you heard earlier, Nasr is a tactical nuclear weapon designed for use on the battlefield within Pakistan. Remember that the Green Zone in Kabul was recently expanded to over five square kilometers. Getting the weapon we make from the Nasr warhead as close as we can to the center of the Green Zone will be a challenge. If we can do that, though, Ibrahim believes damage and casualties outside the Green Zone will be limited.”
Khaksar turned to Ibrahim with a scowl. “How limited?”
Ibrahim looked back at Khaksar impassively. “I don’t know for sure. In particular, variable prevailing winds on the day make casualties from fallout impossible to guess. However, this weapon was designed for use against Indian forces that had just crossed the border into Pakistan. Unlike some parts of Pakistan, like the region bordering Iran, there are towns and cities all along the border with India. This weapon, in short, will certainly not level Kabul the way the Americans’ first atomic bomb destroyed Hiroshima.”
Khaksar turned his glare back to Abdul. “Thousands of Afghans live and work in the Green Zone. Do you think we will be forgiven for sacrificing them to be rid of the Americans?”
Abdul met Khaksar’s glare with a look of contempt. “Have you forgotten that any Afghan in the Green Zone is either a traitor themselves, or living with one? When have we ever shown mercy to traitors to the Afghan people?”
Abdul and Ibrahim could both see from the reaction of the three men sitting next to Khaksar that Abdul had scored a hit, much to Khaksar’s fury.
Visibly reining in his temper, Khaksar asked, “What will you do if the weapon is impossible to place near the middle of the Green Zone?”
Abdul shook his head. “I have no other ideas. The Green Zone and Bagram are where nearly all the Americans still in Afghanistan live and work. We must succeed in delivering the weapons to these two targets. If God truly wishes us to be rid of the Americans, we will find a way.”
Khaksar reluctantly nodded. “And what will we do with the other weapons?”
Abdul smiled. “First things first. We don’t yet know how many warheads we’ll be able to remove from the missiles, how many we’ll be able to transport and then hide, and how many Ibrahim will then be able to make into functioning weapons.”
Ibrahim grunted. “I am…highly motivated to do my best. But a single mistake could immediately end weapon production, and though I’ve tried, there is not enough time for me to teach someone else how to make one and be sure of success. Besides, if I fail, none of my students are likely to succeed.”
Abdul then added, “But if we do somehow produce more than two weapons, we should keep them in reserve. Russia, China, India, and Pakistan are all interested in the rare metals that were recently discovered in Afghanistan, and any of them could try to replace the Americans once they’re gone. If we have at least one remaining weapon, it could help discourage such a move.”
Khaksar looked doubtful but finally nodded. “Agreed. Do you need anything else from us?”
Abdul looked at Ibrahim, who shook his head. “No, I think we’ve done all we can to prepare. Soon we will see whether it will be enough to let us reach our common goal—forcing the American invaders to leave Afghanistan forever.”
Abdul paused. “One last thing. I plan to accompany the weapon going to Bagram Airfield. Ibrahim will go with the one targeting the Green Zone in Kabul.”
Ibrahim said, “My weapon will use a more complex design that needs a trained technician to check and trigger it. My leader will be going with a weapon using a simpler design, that may be slightly less powerful than it could be, but will be easier for a non-expert to set off.”
Turning to Abdul, Ibrahim added, “No offense,” and arched one eyebrow.
There was a second of silence, and then Khaksar roared with laughter, quickly joined by all the others at the table.
Abdul put his arm around Ibrahim’s shoulders, and they stood together as the men’s laughter turned to cheers and applause.
Yes, soon they would both die. But for now, this was the happiest moment in their lives.
FSB Headquarters
Moscow, Russia
Anatoly Grishkov and Mikhail Vasilyev both sipped their strong black tea thoughtfully. They were each looking over the single sheet of paper that their host, FSB Director Smyslov, had placed in front of them as soon as he ushered them to the sturdy red leather sofa that dominated his office. Reading the update didn’t take long. Grishkov and Vasilyev already knew nearly everything the Russian government had learned about the Taliban’s plot to force the Americans out of Afghanistan. Vasilyev had personally collected most of that intelligence, at no small risk.
As Grishkov aged, he looked more and more like his father, who had also been a policeman. Like him, he was shorter and more muscular than the average Russian, with thick black hair and black eyes. His wife Arisha used to say that his face gained more ‘character’ every year. After his narrow escape during his last mission, she had stopped saying that and started going to the small Orthodox church a short walk from their Moscow apartment. His son Sasha was thirteen, and his other son Misha was eleven. Though both had black hair, otherwise they thankfully looked more like Arisha.
Grishkov had worked together with FSB Colonel Alexei Vasilyev, Mikhail’s father, on his last two missions. Before that, he had been the lead homicide detective for the entire Vladivostok region, but after the success of their first mission together, Director Smyslov had put him on “indefinite special assignment” as a Captain in the Moscow Police Department. After Alexei Vasilyev’s death in their second mission, Smyslov had assigned his son Mikhail as Grishkov’s new partner.
This was no coincidence. Smyslov knew that Grishkov was close to insisting on a return to police work after his second mission, simply because he thought his luck was unlikely to last for a third encounter with rogue nuclear weapons. He also knew Grishkov was not concerned for himself, but that he felt a strong responsibility to Arisha and his two sons.
Grishkov had only agreed to volunteer for this latest mission because of the deep respect he had even now for Alexei Vasilyev and his nearly superstitious belief that his son Mikhail would help Grishkov survive it. Like his father, Mikhail was in excellent physical condition, and like him, Mikhail was a firm believer in the value of hand-to-hand combat skills. Mikhail was only a bit taller than Grishkov but was even thinner than his father. His full head of dark brown hair, as well as his perpetual air of detached amusement, had helped Grishkov recognize Mikhail immediately as Alexei’s son.
That recognition had come only after Alexei’s death. Alexei had been worried that knowledge of Mikhail’s existence would be used against him by the many enemies he routinely encountered in his assignments abroad, a worry which only intensified once Mikhail defied him and also began working for the FSB.
Smyslov immediately reminde
d nearly everyone he encountered of the stereotype of the Russian bear, with his stout frame and full dark beard. Normally he was jovial when he briefed his agents, particularly ones he liked as much as Grishkov and Vasilyev.
But not today.
Frowning, Smyslov said, “I’m sorry not to give you a proper meal before sending you off on such a mission. Unfortunately, Grishkov, your pilot was very specific about the need for you to avoid both food and alcohol before your flight. It seems turbulence is expected during your trip to the 201st Military Base. While the MiG-31 is an excellent choice for getting an agent somewhere quickly, it is not so good for passenger comfort.”
Grishkov nodded. “And being a good host, you felt that you and Mikhail could not feast in front of a starving man.”
Now Smyslov did smile. “Yes, just so. Now, as you will see in your orders, 201st Military Base is in Tajikistan, a short distance from the Afghan border. Though primarily an Army base it has an airstrip for its five SU-25 ground attack aircraft, so you will not have to parachute from your MiG-31.” With that, he handed Grishkov a slim folder containing his orders.
Grishkov’s eyebrows flew upwards. “Good. As you know from my file, I qualified as a paratrooper before I served in Chechnya, but did not particularly relish the experience.”
Smyslov grunted. “Understood. I have always thought jumping out of an otherwise functional aircraft more akin to insanity than bravery. Yet, your next step will be nearly as dangerous. You will travel into Afghanistan with one of our local agents to meet with our sole remaining contact in the Taliban leadership.”
Grishkov stared at Smyslov, astonished. “Remaining? You mean…”
Smyslov nodded. “Yes, exactly. Though we have maintained contact with a few other Afghan leaders since we left in 1989, this man is the only one in a position of real power and influence within the Taliban.”
Vasilyev looked thoughtful. “I wondered how you had been able to confirm my report that the Taliban was planning to steal eight nuclear weapons. So, why is it necessary for Grishkov to meet this man in person, and with such urgency?”
Smyslov scowled. “Because in exchange for the exact time and place of the attack that will target the Pakistani nuclear weapons, he wants ten million American dollars in cash. He calls it his ‘retirement plan’ and says if we don’t hurry, it will be too late for both him and us.”
Vasilyev smiled and pointed at Grishkov. “He’s small, but I don’t think he’ll leave enough room in a MiG-31 cockpit for a bag with ten million American dollars. Unless we can hang the bag from a weapons pylon?”
Smyslov sighed and shook his head. “Yes, your father’s sense of humor. A small cargo plane carrying the cash and two armed guards is already en route to 201st Military Base. Though much slower, with its head start it should get there before Grishkov’s arrival.”
Vasilyev nodded. “And I will be in another MiG-31?”
Smyslov shook his head. “No. You will meet later. First, you need to travel to Islamabad with Neda Rhahbar. You will be flying there from Domodedovo Airport via Doha, and should get to Islamabad tomorrow morning.”
Vasilyev was startled by the news. “So, this is why you had me brief an FSB trainee on what I learned about the Taliban’s plans on my last assignment in Pakistan. What will her role be in this mission?”
Smyslov frowned and said, “Critical if the theft of Pakistani nuclear weapons cannot be prevented. She speaks Urdu, can pass for Pakistani, and is a nuclear physicist familiar with nuclear weapons design. At my direction, she now knows everything our military intelligence colleagues at the GRU do about Pakistan’s nuclear weapons.”
Grishkov, who had been reading his orders, now looked up. “Does that include disarming them? Speaking as a husband who would like to return to his wife and children, I think that should be our priority.”
Smyslov leaned back in his chair and rocked his right hand back and forth. “Yes and no. Pakistan’s nuclear weapons require codes to both arm and disarm them. Our information says that the Taliban have no access to these codes, and so will have to remove the warheads and use them to construct new weapons. We hope that upon examination, Neda will be able to disarm whatever new weapons the Taliban can build.”
Vasilyev grinned at Grishkov. “Of course, I’m hoping you’ll be able to join us by then.”
Grishkov smiled back, grimly. “Sure, me too.”
Vasilyev’s smile faded, and he turned to Smyslov. “Do we have any idea what locations the Taliban might target with these weapons?”
Smyslov pointed at Grishkov. “As Anatoly has already seen in his orders, he is authorized to pay our Afghan contact an additional two million dollar bonus for that information, if he can obtain it by the time they meet. Of course, we can already make an educated guess.”
Vasilyev nodded. “The Green Zone in Kabul, and Bagram Airfield.”
Grishkov shrugged. “No other targets make military sense. Destroy those, and you kill most of the Americans still in Afghanistan. So, let’s suppose I am successful in obtaining the information on the planned theft of Pakistani nuclear weapons. Why not then warn the Pakistani and American governments, sit back and wait to receive their well-earned gratitude?”
Smyslov smiled. “I see by the way you asked the question you understand it is not so simple. First, I think we should warn the Pakistani government if we obtain detailed information on the planned attack in time, even though our alliance with India may make them question the source. You are going via MiG-31 because while we may not find out quickly enough, it will not be for lack of trying. Whether we warn the Americans depends at least in part on whether our information is specific enough to be useful.”
Smyslov paused and sighed. “The President has told me he will make these decisions personally. He has to consider whether the Pakistanis can overcome their doubts of a warning provided by an ally of their mortal enemy, India, in time to prevent the attack. Also, he wants no chance of the Americans thinking we had anything to do with the theft of these Pakistani nuclear weapons. Or even worse, their use by the Taliban against American troops and diplomats in Afghanistan. Otherwise, he believes we could face American retaliation if the Taliban attack is successful.”
Grishkov scowled but finally nodded. “If such misplaced retaliation is even a remote possibility, I understand we must avoid it.”
Smyslov grunted. “But, there are other factors that must also be considered.”
Vasilyev nodded. “As I noted in my report if the Taliban can build more nuclear weapons than they need to eliminate the American presence in Afghanistan, they might make one or more available to their allies. So, a weapon could be detonated in Israel, provoking a general Middle Eastern war that could draw us in as well as the Americans. The Chechens could use one against a Russian city. The possibilities are endless and all unpleasant.”
Smyslov nodded agreement. “All true. However, the President surprised me by pointing out that this crisis also represents an opportunity. It is well known that Afghanistan has mineral resources worth over one trillion American dollars if the security situation allowed their extraction.”
Grishkov shook his head. “But didn’t I read that there is already a long line of countries with huge mining companies waiting to dig them up?”
Smyslov smiled. “Yes, not just a ‘simple soldier’ as you like to say. You are right. But the Chinese appear to have lost their place at the head of that line by locking up over a million Muslim Uighurs in so-called re-education camps. If we can take credit for preventing a nuclear attack on their country, the President believes in spite of our unfortunate history in the 1980s the Afghans might be willing to include Russian mining companies among those extracting their rare metals.”
Vasilyev nodded. “And leaving all other considerations aside, we do have one direct interest. Russia has a sizable Embassy in Kabul’s Green Zone.”
Smyslov grimaced with distaste. “Yes. And the President has already told me that under no circumstanc
es will he evacuate it. If the Taliban attack is prevented, evacuation will be unnecessary. If it is not, evacuating in time would be seen as proof of complicity.”
Vasilyev frowned. “While on assignment, I have worked with many of the men and women at our missions overseas. Sacrificing an entire Embassy would be a heavy price to pay. However, I understand that to avoid retaliation for a nuclear attack, it may be unavoidable.”
Vasilyev then paused and pointed at Grishkov. “Speaking of sacrifice, what’s to keep our Afghan friend from shooting Anatoly and driving off with his twelve million dollars? Surely he could bring far more men and firepower to the rendezvous than we can.”
Smyslov nodded. “Quite true. He has been reminded that the Americans are not the only ones with armed drones and that one will be overhead during their meeting.”
Vasilyev shook his head. “I don’t think that will be enough. I know we have armed drones, but they are nothing like as capable as the American models, and in spite of them, the Taliban are still very much in the fight in Afghanistan.”
Smyslov smiled. “Agreed. Anatoly, you have finished reading your orders?”
Grishkov nodded. “Yes. I am to inform the Afghan selling us details of the attempted theft of Pakistani nuclear weapons that I am holding a dead man’s switch connected to a device in the container with his money. I presume the device contains dye packs.”
Smyslov and Vasilyev looked at each other, and then simultaneously roared with laughter. Grishkov could do nothing but look at them in astonishment.
Finally, gasping for air, Smyslov said, “My dear Anatoly, sometimes I forget that you spent far more time as a policeman than as an FSB agent. The device contains about ten kilos of PVV-5A plastic explosive, enough to not only destroy the money but to ensure the death of anyone close enough to shoot you.”
“Ah,” Grishkov said weakly. “Well, I’d already planned not to drop it.”
Smyslov smiled and looked at his watch. “Anatoly, a helicopter is waiting to take you to Kubinka Air Base. By the time you arrive, your MiG-31 should be ready. Mikhail, a car will take you and Neda Rhahbar to Domodedovo Airport. The driver is one of my assistants so that you may speak freely about your mission to Neda. She has been told little about the specifics of this mission yet. Only that she is traveling with you to Islamabad. How much she needs to know will be up to you.”