The End of America’s War in Afghanistan (The Russian Agents Book 3)

by Ted Halstead

  Ehsan shook his head. “No, sir. What we’ve been able to piece together so far suggests they did it for another reason. Most likely, to keep the missiles out of the hands of the Taliban. Especially because of the number of dead Taliban around the destroyed missiles, with injuries that make it clear they were caught up in their explosion. And there is the testimony of the lone surviving soldier.”

  Hamza was startled. “I thought he was near death. He has regained consciousness, then?”

  Ehsan nodded. “Yes, sir. The doctors have upgraded his condition, and now believe he will survive. They also say he would not have if it weren’t for the medical care he received before the relief force arrived.”

  “So, what did the soldier have to say, General?” Hamza asked.

  “He said that the man who bandaged him was Russian. He says he knows this because he used the Russian term for ‘doctor.’ He says that’s the only word of Russian he knows because his doctor when he was a child, was given that as his nickname. The doctor did his medical training in Moscow,” Ehsan replied.

  Hamza grunted. “Wasn’t he in shock from blood loss at that point?”

  Ehsan shrugged. “Yes, sir. One other detail. He says that there was a woman with the Russian.”

  Hamza stared at Ehsan. “Really?” was all he could manage through his astonishment.

  Ehsan nodded. “Yes, sir. A beautiful woman with fresh stitches across one cheek, who spoke Urdu with a Baloch accent. He said she could have been either Pakistani or Iranian.”

  Hamza leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtful. “If it was a hallucination, it was a remarkably detailed one.”

  “Yes, sir, we thought so as well. Finally, our doctors say that the bandages applied to our soldier saved his life, but were not done by a trained doctor or nurse. They say the treatment was the sort they would expect to see from someone specifically trained in combat medicine, like a soldier. However, none of our other soldiers survived,” Ehsan said.

  “Very well, General, let’s say you’re right, and these were Russians trying to stop the Taliban attack on our weapons. Why would they bother? And why not warn us instead?” Hamza asked.

  Ehsan shrugged. “Sir, I can only guess. But I can’t imagine the Russians would be happy at the prospect of a nuclear-armed Taliban that might share those weapons with other terrorists like the Chechens. As for warning us, would we have listened?”

  Hamza frowned and was silent for a moment while he thought about Ehsan’s points. He was probably right that the Russians would see a Taliban with nuclear weapons as a threat. And if the Russian ambassador had come to him with a warning, wouldn’t he have looked hard for an ulterior motive from a long-time Indian ally?

  And probably waited too long to pass the warning to the military? Hamza was suddenly glad that the Russians hadn’t tried to warn him, and made him directly responsible for this disaster.

  Aloud, Hamza said, “Well, let’s leave the Russian question aside for the moment. What are we doing to get back the stolen nuclear weapons?”

  “We have set up a search perimeter based on the speed of the vehicle transporting the missiles, and when we believe they were captured. I have put in command my best and most experienced officer in such matters. That officer will be assisted by one of the head technicians at our nuclear weapons production facility. We will continue until every one of the weapons is recovered,” Ehsan said confidently.

  Hamza frowned. “And what is to stop the Taliban from using the weapons immediately?”

  Ehsan shook his head. “All of our experts assure me that is impossible. A code is required to fire the missiles. That code did not travel with the missiles, either in writing or in the head of anyone accompanying the weapons.”

  Hamza looked far from convinced. “The Taliban are not fools. Why would they go to so much trouble and lose so many men if they couldn’t use the missiles?”

  Ehsan nodded. “You are even more right than you know, sir. It’s not just that our escort was outnumbered by two to one. We have been able to identify most of the Taliban dead because they are in our leadership files. These were the best men they had, and many were from the Afghan Taliban. Losing them will be a heavy blow.”

  Hamza’s shoulders slumped. “So, there must be a way to use the missiles.”

  “Yes, sir. Our experts say there is, but it would mean removing the missiles’ warheads, and then rigging a different means of detonation. That would require a substantial amount of technical knowledge and practical training in how these weapons work,” Ehsan said.

  Hamza paled. “General, have any of our nuclear technicians failed to report to work?”

  Ehsan smiled grimly. “An excellent question, sir. When I asked it, at first, I was relieved that the answer was no. Then I asked if any of the technicians were on previously authorized leave, and was told that two were on vacation. We located one with his wife and children visiting his parents. The other is nowhere to be found.”

  Hamza nodded. “And is there any way this man could have obtained information about the timing and route of this convoy?”

  “He was on the team that prepared these missiles for transport, so it appears the answer is yes,” Ehsan replied.

  “How long do we have before they can make use of the warheads?” Hamza asked.

  Ehsan shook his head. “I’m not sure, sir, but if they have prepared well, I’m told it could be only hours before they remove the warheads, and then they will become much harder to find. That’s why we’re making a maximum effort to find them now.”

  Hamza nodded. “Who else knows about this?”

  “The two I mentioned who are leading the search. Also, the troops who responded to the attack and secured the scene. I have confined those troops to base until we recover the weapons. I’ve also closed the affected road until we have time to remove all evidence of the attack. I’m sure there will be rumors, but there always are, and we can deny them,” Ehsan replied.

  “What is our cover story?” Hamza asked.

  Ehsan shrugged. “I believe it’s always best to stick as close to the truth as possible. Our troops have been told they are searching for stolen missiles with conventional warheads, and to be careful not to shoot at them. Since many of our missiles can be fitted with either conventional or nuclear warheads, even after we find them, nobody will be able to prove any different,” Ehsan said with a smile.

  “General, you seem very confident of success,” Hamza said with a scowl.

  Ehsan’s smile didn’t waver. “Yes, sir. I told you I put my best people in charge of the search. They’ve never failed me before, and with the stakes this high, I know they’re not going to start now.”

  Hattar Industrial Estate, Pakistan

  Colonel Azita Kamar was the highest-ranking investigator reporting directly to the Judge Advocate General (JAG) Branch at the Ministry of Defence. Pakistan was the only Muslim country with a significant number of high-ranking female officers as well as female soldiers in combat. Azita had served in combat against the Taliban and received the Sitara-I-Jurat (Star of Courage) for rescuing two wounded soldiers under heavy Taliban fire after being wounded herself.

  No matter how much grim determination she applied to her physical therapy, Azita’s injuries left her with a stiff left arm that required her to transfer out of a combat specialty. She had accepted the transfer to the JAG Investigations Branch, and applied the same zeal there that had served her well in battle.

  Azita’s severe haircut and perpetually stern expression had not stopped several of her fellow officers from attempting to strike up a relationship with her. After all, no matter how hard she tried to disguise it, Azita was remarkably attractive.

  And nothing, it seemed, could prevent her mother from ambushing her with “suitable men” at family dinners. Or showing her photos of other “suitable men” who would love to meet her.

  Azita had gone on a few dates, but the truth was none of the men she’d met held the slightest interest for her.
No man was going to give her orders once she had finished with duty for the day. No matter how pleasant her suitors might be at first, once married, she knew that was inevitable.

  When General Ehsan Monir had called Azita a few hours ago, she’d thought it would probably be about another theft of military equipment of the sort the officers she supervised had investigated successfully many times before.

  Azita quickly realized that for the first time in many years, she would need to oversee the investigation of this theft in person. Also that failure would not only end her career but could result in the deaths of thousands of innocent men, women, and children.

  And that if she could only manage almost to catch the thieves, so she was nearby when one of the warheads detonated, one of those thousands could include her.

  For all these reasons, Azita was highly motivated. Enough so that when she had been called at home, she had gone straight to the industrial estate in her personal car, an unremarkable dark green Japanese sedan.

  So far, it was evident that motivation wasn’t there for the man in front of her. Maybe it was because Senior Technician Nasir Cheema had spent too much time with his weapons, and become too comfortable with them. Whatever the reason, Azita had to change his attitude, and quickly.

  Azita looked over Nasir with barely disguised contempt, to which Nasir appeared utterly oblivious. She considered Nasir a prime example of what happened when there was no military draft, as there had never been in Pakistan. Men like Nasir had never learned discipline of any kind.

  Yes, she would have given a lot to put Nasir and the other Pakistani men like him through boot camp. Maybe then he’d have avoided the excess kilos he carried around in his belly and his perpetual slouch. It probably wouldn’t have helped with either his need for thick glasses or the premature baldness in his 30s.

  In fact, Azita’s exasperation was rapidly giving way to anger.

  “Look, you’ve got to help me narrow down our search. There are over four hundred companies in this industrial estate, almost all with multiple buildings, scattered across over four square kilometers. Even with all the men I have looking, it will take too long to find the TEL if we have to look everywhere,” Azita said, visibly trying to rein in her temper.

  Nasir shrugged. “That TEL is pretty big. The launch tubes were covered with canvas for transport, so it’s true nobody would have any reason to think it was carrying missiles. But somebody must have noticed something that size. I’m sure it will turn up. They can’t fire the missiles without the codes anyway.”

  Azita could have put Nasir on the ground as quickly as she could tie her shoes, and for a second, actually imagined how pleasant that would be. For her, anyway.

  But it wouldn’t help Azita accomplish her mission.

  Then a realization hit her.

  “Were you briefed before you came here?” Azita asked.

  Nasir shook his head, puzzled. “No, they just told me someone had stolen a TEL carrying Nasr missiles and threw me in a car to take me to you. I figured I’m just supposed to make sure the missiles weren’t damaged after you find them.”

  Azita nodded. “So, nobody told you about Ibrahim Munawar?”

  Nasir frowned. “What about him? He’s on vacation.”

  Azita smiled grimly. “No, he’s not. He’s working with the Taliban on these missiles.”

  Now Nasir drew himself up indignantly. “That’s ridiculous! He’s one of our best new technicians! Very hard working, always asking questions…”

  Nasir’s voice trailed off, and he looked like someone had just punched him in the stomach. Then he looked off in the distance and mumbled, “Oh no, that’s why he wanted to know…”

  Nasir’s gaze then settled on Azita, and she was gratified to see that it was wide-eyed and close to panic.

  That was the appropriate attitude for their current situation.

  “This is very bad! Ibrahim is going to remove the warheads! Then he can rig another means of detonation! He won’t need the codes!”

  OK, Azita needed him near panic, not in shock.

  “I understand,” Azita said, in her best attempt at a soothing voice. “I have dozens of men here looking. All I need from you is a better idea of where to focus the search.”

  Nasir nodded and was now finally concentrating on doing just that. “They have Geiger counters?” he asked.

  Azita nodded.

  Nasir shook his head. “They won’t help much. When the warheads are removed from the missile casing, you might get a reading, but from outside a metal building maybe not even then…”

  His voice trailed off, but Azita could see he had a new thought.

  “OK, you need to search for buildings that have a ground floor ceiling clearance of ten meters or more.”

  Azita frowned. “OK, but why? I’ve seen the specifications for these TELs, and they’re not nearly that tall.”

  “Because the missiles are clamped and locked into their launch tubes when they are horizontal for transport. They are unlocked automatically when the launch tubes are elevated for firing,” Nasir explained.

  Azita nodded and pulled out her radio, quickly giving new orders to her men.

  Once that was done, she asked, “When you need to remove the missiles for maintenance, do you have to elevate the launch tubes?”

  Nasir shook his head. “No. The maintenance facility has an access code specific to each TEL that will unlock the tubes’ interior clamps.”

  Azita frowned. “Then why not require a code to elevate and unlock the tubes?”

  Nasir shrugged. “That was proposed but rejected. Remember that a code is required to launch the missiles. The clamps are present primarily to keep the missiles from shifting inside the tubes while the TEL is moving up and down hills during transport. Not to keep the missiles from being stolen.”

  Azita shook her head. “It still seems like an elementary precaution.”

  Nasir smiled. “Well, imagine you’re in command of the TEL when war with India starts, and you get the order to fire. You know the Indians have satellites dedicated to tracking our TELs, and Indian bombers are on their way to take you out before you can launch. A code is already necessary for you to fire. Would you welcome another code just to elevate your launch tubes?”

  Azita grunted. “I see your point.”

  “Besides, they’re going to need a hoist with some serious weight capacity and plenty of room to work in first to remove the missile from its launch tube, and then remove its warhead. Until you told me about Ibrahim, I didn’t understand why anyone would even try. Rigging a new detonation mechanism for a tactical nuclear weapon isn’t something I’d have thought any terrorist could do,” Nasir said.

  “But you think this Ibrahim can,” Azita said.

  “Oh, yes,” Nasir said bitterly. “I was one of the technicians who helped train him. He worked very hard, and asked lots of questions, including many I didn’t understand at the time. Well, now, I do. If he has enough time, Ibrahim will be able to rig the warheads for detonation. But he’ll have one big problem.”

  Azita cocked her head. “What’s that?”

  “Accidental detonation. He won’t be in a government lab with the latest equipment. Instead, he’ll be using short cuts and ‘whatever works.’ Oh, he knows enough to rig the warheads to explode. Getting the warheads safely to their targets before they do? That will be a lot harder,” Nasir said, with a look of grim satisfaction.

  Azita winced but said nothing. Nasir might be happy that Ibrahim was likely to fall victim to his work.

  But she was much more worried about who else might happen to be in a random blast zone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Kremlin, Moscow

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. President,” Smyslov said.

  The President nodded, and gestured for Smyslov to have a seat on the ornate antique sofa across from his equally expensive chair. This was his official office, designed to impress visitors. The fact that they wer
e here told Smyslov this would be a short meeting.

  “I always have time for the FSB Director. As you know, I have great respect for the position.”

  This was a reference to the fact the President had occupied the job himself not so long ago. And kept a gimlet eye on its current occupant.

  As it happened, though, Smyslov had no political ambitions. The President knew this. It was one of the main reasons, along with unquestioned competence, that Smyslov had his job.

  “You have seen the report from our agents in Pakistan,” Smyslov said flatly.

  The President simply nodded.

  “So, we were able to destroy the four most powerful nuclear weapons before they could be stolen by the Taliban. The same Tajik courier plane one of our agents used to enter Pakistan has safely removed all three of our agents to Dushanbe, and they are now en route to our base near the Afghan border. The question, Mr. President, is what we should do next,” Smyslov concluded.

  The President frowned. “Do next? Surely we have done enough already. I had grave misgivings about intervening at all, and only the prospect of a Taliban armed with nuclear weapons finally made me do.”

  Almost too late to matter, Smyslov thought to himself silently. Aloud, he said, “Four tactical nuclear weapons still remain in Taliban hands. It is of course up to the Pakistani authorities to recover them. But if they fail, and the Taliban are able to move the weapons out of Pakistan, I think we should be ready to take action.”

  If anything, the President’s frown deepened. “By ‘out of Pakistan’ you mean Afghanistan, since nowhere else makes sense for the Taliban. Surely, that is a problem for the Americans.”

  Smyslov looked at the President levelly. “You know we have a capability the Americans lack.”

  The President leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Yes. You and I are among the very few who knows it exists. And if we help the Americans, we may reveal it to them.”

  Smyslov nodded. “We cannot prevent their suspicions. But if we keep our own agents in play, we can claim they are the source of the information.”