by Ted Halstead
“Why didn’t you lock that door?” Khaled asked.
“There’s nobody in there,” Fereshtah replied. “You can check if you don’t believe me. My secretary staffs the library just before and just after classes finish. While classes are going on, it’s empty.”
Khaled nodded. “Good.” Gesturing to the secretary, he said, “Get in there.”
The secretary didn’t like that idea at all. Again, though, Fereshtah leaned towards her and was able to calm her fears.
Once the secretary entered the library and closed the door, Khaled nodded towards Fereshtah and said, “Lock it.” Then he put out his hand for the key, which Fereshtah silently handed over.
After that was done, Khaled pointed towards the principal’s office. “Let’s head back.”
As they walked into her office, Fereshtah shook her head. “You know, you’re not going to be able to keep them all locked up for very long. Even if you give them nothing to eat or drink, sooner or later, you’ll need to let them use the restroom.”
Khaled nodded noncommittally. Lack of bathroom breaks was the least unpleasant thing awaiting these girls and their teachers, but there was no need to go into that now.
“Before long, your phone is going to ring. Whoever from the police or military is calling will ask for me. Give them this number,” Khaled said, handing Fereshtah a slip of paper on which he had earlier written his cell phone number. “Tell them I will answer calls only at this number.”
Calling a landline phone like the one in the principal’s office and trying to keep the hostage-taker on the line was an old police trick. At a minimum, it let the police know exactly where one of the hostage-takers was, and in a different setting could have let a sniper set up a shot at leisure. Fortunately, here, the high walls surrounding the school and its courtyard made that impossible.
Khaled still wasn’t going to give government forces any advantage if he could avoid it.
His cell phone buzzed, and a glance at its screen told Khaled that all was well outside. Each of his men had cell phones and a regular check-in schedule. All they needed to do was key a single digit, and everyone on the team received a group text with their status.
Khaled despised almost everything Western. For cell phones, though, he made an exception.
His prediction proved accurate. Minutes later, the phone rang in the principal’s office, and Khaled watched as Fereshtah recited his cell phone number.
As soon as his phone rang, Khaled answered it. Without waiting for the voice on the other end to speak, Khaled said, “I have information to give you. Are you ready to receive it?”
There was a pause, followed by a slow, “Yes….”
“Good. Listen carefully because I will not repeat myself. The girls and the staff are uninjured and will remain that way as long as our demands are met. By now, you should have received our demands. Confirm this, please,” Khaled said.
Another slow, “Yes…” followed.
“Good. You have twenty-four hours from this moment to meet our demands. After that, we will begin executing one student every hour until our demands are met,” Khaled said.
A soft gasp from Fereshtah made Khaled send an annoyed glance in her direction. How did the woman think hostage-taking worked?
“Any action taken against us, including cutting power to the school, interfering with the exterior cameras, jamming our cell phones or assembling attack forces anywhere within our view, will be met by the immediate execution of a student. The moment any policeman or soldier attempts to set foot in the school or its courtyard, we will detonate enough explosives to destroy the school and everyone in it,” Khaled said.
Another gasp from Fereshtah. Well, fair enough, Khaled thought. He’d told her nothing about the explosives.
Khaled continued, “We will be notified directly by our superiors if our demands have been met. If they are, we will surrender peacefully. In the meantime, we are not interested in food or anything else you may try to offer.”
The Red Crescent, the equivalent of what the West called the Red Cross, had resumed its charity lottery in Afghanistan once the Taliban were overthrown. Khaled grunted with amusement as he thought to himself that the chances of their demands being met made a Red Crescent lottery ticket look like what the Americans would call a “sure thing.”
The Taliban fighters at Parwan Prison would only be freed if their brothers came to power. If his mission was successful, that just might happen.
Khaled concluded, “So, any other call to this number will result in the execution of a student. Meet our demands.”
Then Khaled pressed the button ending the call and turned to Fereshtah.
She looked very different now than when he had first seen her.
Good.
Khaled walked over to the landline phone and casually yanked out the cord connecting it to the wall, then stuffed it in his jacket pocket.
“You keep all cell phones for both the staff and students here in the office during the day, correct?” Khaled asked.
Fereshtah nodded dully. She had endless arguments with the teachers about this policy. Now she regretted enforcing it.
And realized that Khaled and his men had been preparing this attack for some time.
Khaled saw a backpack sitting in a corner and pointed to it. “Put your cell phone in there first, as well as all the others. Then, give it to me.”
While she carried out his orders, something kept nagging at Khaled. He was forgetting something. Then it came to him.
“Your secretary’s purse. Give it to me,” Khaled said.
Khaled could see from Fereshtah’s expression that she had not forgotten the sole remaining cell phone in the school was there. It quickly joined the others in the backpack, which now could barely be zipped closed.
“Now, there is a storage area on the second floor. It is up the stairs at the end of the hallway, correct?” Khaled asked.
Fereshtah looked confused. “Yes, but we don’t use it. The stairs aren’t safe, and there’s been no money for repairs. Besides, it’s a small, useless space anyway. Most of it is unfinished.”
Khaled nodded. “Let’s have a look anyway.”
Fereshtah shrugged and walked with Khaled to the stairs.
The stairs were wood, old, and visibly unsafe. Khaled gestured for Fereshtah to precede him. They made it to the top, but the loud creaks along the way had made it clear it was only because each of them weighed less than the average adult.
Khaled had been expecting a door he could lock, but there was none. The top of the stairs opened to what Khaled could now see was really an attic, with just a small portion near the stairs covered by floorboards. The only light came from a small window set high in the wall, that Khaled was pleased to see was too small to admit a person.
The only items on the floor visible in the dim light were a few short stacks of dusty textbooks, evidently placed there and forgotten years ago. Most of the attic was bare wooden beams, with something that Khaled guessed was insulation between them.
No American special forces would be coming this way.
“Very well. Let’s go back. I see why no money has been spent to fix the stairs,” Khaled said.
Fereshtah shrugged. “I’ve visited the girl’s schools in other cities. They were all built like this.”
A few minutes later, they were back in the principal’s office.
“I will need you to make more announcements later to keep the girls and staff calm, so you will remain in this office, which I will not lock. I will return here from time to time,” Khaled said.
He expected this siege to last for hours, ideally most of a day. It would be stupid to exhaust himself by staying on his feet during the first hours, and the principal’s office was as good a place as any other to rest in the meantime. Khaled smiled to himself. It would take the Americans at least that long to get here.
“If I find you out of this office for any reason, I will shoot you. Tell me if you need to use the rest
room,” Khaled said.
“Now, please,” Fereshtah said sullenly.
Khaled nodded. Sensible. Take every opportunity offered.
As he walked down the hall with Fereshtah, Khaled thought to himself that he was looking forward to dispensing with her. He wanted to put off hysteria from the girls and their teachers inside the classrooms, which might make them try to break out. More announcements from Fereshtah would, Khaled was sure, at least buy him some time.
But no matter how this turned out, Khaled was sure he and his men would die.
And he was going to keep that woman close and make sure she died with him.
Chapter Thirty-One
The White House, Washington DC
Air Force Chief of Staff General Robinson walked into the Oval Office, and President Hernandez could see from his expression that the news wasn’t good.
Well, the good news didn’t require him to do anything. So, maybe not a surprise that wasn’t what made people come to see him.
“Sir, I know you’ve already been briefed on the situation at the girl’s schools in Afghanistan,” Robinson began.
Hernandez nodded. “So, now we have a formal request from the Afghan government for assistance?”
Robinson frowned. “Yes, sir, and specifically asking for both special forces and drone support. Normally, we’d let the commander of forces in Afghanistan make the call on this request. However, the assets requested are fully occupied carrying out your order to search for the stolen Pakistani nuclear weapons. That’s why I’m bringing this to you for decision, sir.”
Hernandez nodded. “You’ve done the right thing, General. Your recommendation?”
“I don’t think we can say no without explaining why, and doing that would lead to a panicked exodus from Kabul that could threaten the government almost as effectively as a nuclear strike. Also, those girl’s schools symbolize everything that makes the Afghan government we’re supporting different than the Taliban.”
Robinson paused. “So, I’d suggest leaving the special forces team going along with the Russians in place. That’s the one nearing Kabul. We should divert the other teams and their drone support to free the girls being held hostage. I do, though, suggest we also keep a drone flying watch over the approaches to Bagram Airfield.”
Hernandez shook his head. “I’m sure it’s occurred to you, General, that a certain Taliban mullah was expecting precisely the reaction you just outlined? And that if I do as you suggest, it will be much more likely that one or more of the stolen nuclear weapons will make it to their target?”
Robinson nodded. “Yes, sir. But I still think we can stop both stolen nuclear weapons, even with reduced assets. On the other hand, we have the certainty of the death of dozens of Afghan girls whose only crime was seeking an education. The Afghan government will never meet the kidnappers’ demand that they release the Taliban prisoners being held at Parwan, nor do I think that would be an acceptable outcome.”
Hernandez sighed. “Agreed. Very well, carry out the plan you just outlined. I want updates as soon as anything happens at one of those schools. I also want those troops and drones redeployed as soon as the girls have been freed.”
Then Hernandez paused. “But I suppose you would have done that anyway, right?”
Robinson smiled. “Sir, one of the first things we teach new officers is never to assume that your troops know what you want. This time the answer to your question is yes. But it’s never a bad idea to tell me, or anyone else who works for you, exactly what you want.”
Hernandez nodded, and Robinson left.
Leaving Hernandez to wonder just how much he was going to regret this decision.
Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan
Commander Dave Martins had just been informed of his pending promotion, which meant this would be his last mission commanding Seal Team Six. As he looked over the mission brief in the ready room, his emotions were decidedly mixed. On the one hand, he dreaded the very immediate prospect of being shackled to a desk stateside.
On the other, if his team could pull off this mission, it would be quite a way to end his time commanding in the field.
Martins was inclined to recommend that Captain Mike Lombardy take over command of Seal Team Six. This mission would serve as his final exam for the position.
Lombardy had proved up to the task, no matter what, on every previous mission. He also understood technology in a way Martins was honest enough to admit he never would.
Looking over the mission brief had convinced Martins of one thing. They were going to need every trick they could think of to pull this off.
Lombardy put down the briefing folder and looked up. Martins could see from his expression that he had some ideas already.
Martins decided to start with what he saw as their biggest problem.
“So, now all the security upgrades we put into those schools are going to bite us in the butt. How do we get to the girls without the Taliban setting off their bomb as soon as they see us?” Martins asked.
Lombardy frowned. “My first thought was to use a device we have that will dampen cell phone and radio wave signals for a several block radius. That way, any remote trigger that depends on either one will fail, and we know the technology works.”
Martins nodded. “But…”
Lombardy’s frown deepened. “Everything these guys have done so far is smart. Especially taking over the schools while leaving the gates and guard booths intact. And leaving the guards alive, so dead bodies in the street didn’t prompt an immediate assault.”
“Yes,” Martins agreed. “Plus, they gave us first-hand confirmation that the Taliban really do have powerful bombs at each school.”
“Right. So, anyone that smart is going to have a trigger device with a lit indicator, telling them the connection between the bomb and the device is active. They’re sure to have a manual trigger attached to the bomb as well, and once they see that light is off, they’ll use it,” Lombardy said.
“Makes sense. OK, do you have a second thought?” Martins asked with a smile.
“And maybe a third, sir,” Lombardy said with an answering grin. “We’ve got two problems to solve. First, we have to find out exactly where all of the Taliban fighters are located. Second, we have to keep them from setting off that bomb.”
Martins nodded. “I’m with you,” he said.
“OK, the recon problem I think we can solve with a new micro drone I’ve worked with enough to be sure it will do the job. We’ve never used these drones on a mission before, but I’ve been training one operator on each of the other teams, and I think we’re all ready to go with it,” Lombardy said confidently.
Martins grunted. His early years in the military when even basic tools such as radios had failed in the field had taught him skepticism about technology.
“So, how do these things work? And how will we be sure they’re not spotted?” Martins asked.
Lombardy shrugged. “As we know, nothing is certain. But you tell me. If this flew past you, would you think it’s a drone?”
Lombardy then handed Martins a small piece of plastic and metal only a little bigger than a bee.
Martins stared at it in amazement. “If I saw this on the floor somewhere I’d think it was a dead bug if I noticed it at all. How does something this small have the power to fly?” he asked.
“Well, on its own, it can’t get very far. Most of the way it gets its power from a laser, which operates at a wavelength invisible to humans. Ideally, we’d direct the laser from a nearby building, but since that won’t work here, we’re going to use another drone built for that purpose,” Lombardy replied.
“OK, so why won’t the Taliban spot that drone, then?” Martins asked.
Lombardy tapped a few times on the tablet in front of him and then turned it towards Martin.
“The first image you’ll see is the power drone. Note that it also carries a camera, but because it will be about one hundred meters from the target, we’re not expecting t
he feed from it to help much. We need to see areas where we expect the Taliban to be, like inside the school and just inside the wall, and the power drone won’t be able to see those,” Lombardy said.
Martins nodded. “So, I suppose that odd paint job is supposed to make it harder to see?” he asked. “Odd” was the right word for it, Martins thought. The pattern was irregular, multi-colored, and strangely iridescent.
“Yes, sir. Now, here’s a video of the drone flying at a distance of one hundred meters in a clear blue sky, and supplying power to one of the micro-drones,” Lombardy said.
Martins looked at the tablet intently and frowned. “Are you sure this isn’t something staged by the manufacturer? After all, nothing would be easier than shooting a few minutes of empty sky on a nice day.”
“That’s true, sir,” Lombardy said, nodding. “But I shot that video. Now, I’m going to show you the whole clip, starting with me standing in front of the power drone as it rises, and then walking backwards to the one hundred meter distance.”
Martins had to admit he was impressed. He could still make it out up to about fifty meters away, but much of that time only because he knew exactly what he was looking for, and about where it was. At one hundred meters, it was effectively invisible.
“OK, sold. Now, what happens when these micro drones have to go inside the school, and there’s no more laser power?” Martins asked.
“They have a tiny battery that will keep them going for a matter of seconds while still sending images, and then they’ll make a soft landing on any available surface. Enough power is conserved to let us request and receive at least one still image when we need it. Since failure in any one unit is always possible, I plan to use multiple micro drones on the target. We’re lucky we have so much time to prepare on this one,” Lombardy said.
Martins shook his head. “Luck has nothing to do with it. Whoever’s leading the Taliban teams gave us twenty-four hours for a reason. To keep us busy with something besides looking for those stolen nuclear weapons.”
“Yes, sir,” Lombardy said, nodding. “The next video shows the drone that should let us get back to that mission.”