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

by Ted Halstead

  Archie paused. “Look, Manny, you’re a good pilot, always have been. The pension plus the new job will give you more money than you’re making now. This is a great chance for you, and you should grab it with both hands. You’ll be saving both our necks.”

  Wainwright almost asked who “they” was, and then realized he knew the answer. General Robinson, or someone working for him.

  Part of him wanted to blow the whistle on whatever Pettigrew had done. If “they” were willing to buy him off with a job to keep him quiet, it had to be something big.

  Wainwright had many faults. One of his few virtues was that he cared about his family.

  Say he was successful in finding the truth about what had happened at the drone control center. No outcome Wainwright could foresee after revealing that would work out well for his wife and children.

  If he were convicted of violating security regulations, Wainwright might not just lose his job. He might forfeit his pension too.

  This was an easy decision, Wainwright realized.

  “I’ll take the job, Archie. I’ll look forward to the e-mail with details. And I’ll submit my retirement papers today,” Wainwright said.

  “Outstanding!” Archie replied, with audible relief. “I’ll send you the e-mail as soon as I hang up. Good luck to you, Manny,” he said, as the line went dead.

  Wainwright shook his head. One the one hand, this wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be shoved out the door like this after more than twenty years of service.

  On the other, in his gut, Wainwright knew that the outcome for him and his family could have been far worse.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Gospital Fsb Na Shchukinskoy, Moscow, Russia

  Anatoly Grishkov’s eyes slowly opened, revealing a doctor looking at a chart and a nurse checking an IV line.

  Which led to his arm. So, I’m in a hospital.

  Now the doctor glanced his way.

  “Ah, the stimulant worked! Excellent! My name is Doctor Kotov. First, let me give you some details about your condition, which I am happy to say is much improved.”

  Kotov looked down at his chart and then continued.

  “American doctors successfully removed all of the shrapnel found in your body and repaired all internal damage. I must say I admire the quality of the work. I doubt there will even be much of a visible scar,” Kotov said, smiling.

  “Where am I, and how much longer will I be here?” Grishkov asked.

  “You are at a military hospital in Moscow,” Kotov replied and then shook his head.

  “You’ve had major surgery, and we’ll want to monitor you for at least several more days. That could be longer, especially if you develop complications such as an infection. However, so far, your progress has been remarkable, and we expect you to make a full recovery.”

  “How long have I been unconscious?” Grishkov asked.

  “You were unconscious for several days, during surgery and transport to Moscow. However, it would be more accurate to say you’ve been sleeping during the past three days here. We gave you a light sedative to give your body a chance to heal itself, and so you wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of recovery. I have been steadily reducing the painkillers administered, hoping that your body would still let you sleep. How are you feeling?” Kotov asked.

  Grishkov frowned and took stock. There was an ache in his side, but not too bad.

  Grishkov pointed at his right side and asked, “Is this where I was injured?”

  Kotov nodded. “Yes. Still painful?”

  Grishkov shrugged. “I can feel it, but it’s bearable. What kind of painkillers are you giving me, and what dose?”

  Kotov grinned in evident relief. “Truly remarkable! I had you taken off pain medication last night, and had you closely monitored in case pain woke you up. I had to argue with my supervisor to take this approach.”

  Then Kotov drew closer, and his voice dropped. “I’m tired of losing good men to addiction after we make such efforts to save them from their injuries. I’m glad that in your case, it worked.”

  Kotov hesitated, and then said quietly, “My supervisor made me promise to offer you pain medication once you were awake if your discomfort is too much to handle. So, your choice?”

  Grishkov looked at the doctor thoughtfully. “I’ll take two aspirin. I’m also going to use whatever influence I have with my boss to get you promoted, and your approach put in place more widely. I agree that we’ve lost too many good men to drugs, and we have to do something to stop it.”

  Kotov smiled. “Thank you. Speaking of your boss, he and two of your friends are waiting outside to see you, if you feel up to it.”

  Grishkov’s eyes widened. “Director Smyslov is here? Please, show them all in!”

  Kotov and the nurse left. The nurse was wearing a frown that, at first, he didn’t understand. In fact, he’d wondered why she’d stayed during his conversation with Kotov.

  Then he realized the nurse had been told to report back to Kotov’s supervisor on whether he had offered Grishkov painkillers. Someone happy to make such a report would not like the promise he’d made Kotov to help advance his anti-painkiller agenda.

  Grishkov sighed. Doing the right thing was never simple or easy.

  Smyslov burst into the room and headed straight for Grishkov. Grishkov’s head and shoulders were propped up in the hospital bed and were both quickly engulfed in Smyslov’s embrace.

  So, Grishkov thought, this is what the Americans call a “bear hug.” Will I survive it?

  It was only a half-joking thought, as Smyslov’s arms seemed determined to squeeze the breath out of him.

  Finally, Smyslov released him and boomed, “I’m so glad to see you’re all right! Once you’re out of here, we’ll have a proper celebration!”

  Now Mikhail Vasilyev and Neda Rhahbar approached Grishkov, at what he was grateful to see was a slower speed.

  Vasilyev patted him on the shoulder, while Neda bent down and kissed his cheek.

  Grinning, Vasilyev said, “Glad to see the Americans were able to put you back together. Sure you’ve still got all your parts?” he said, gesturing to Grishkov’s waist.

  Neda punched Vasilyev in the arm, and said something in Russian that made both Vasilyev and Smyslov gasp, and then roar in laughter.

  Grishkov shook his head and asked, “Where in the world did a nice girl like you learn to talk like that?”

  Vasilyev nodded. “Yes, and it’s not the first time she said it,” thinking about the first time Neda had kissed him.

  Neda blushed, and said, “I didn’t know it was that bad. It’s what my Systema instructor said the first time I beat him.”

  Still smiling, Smyslov said, “Well, then he’s a sore loser. Vasilyev will have to teach you more appropriate language.”

  Grishkov thought to himself, so. It seems the Director knows something is going on between those two.

  Then he saw the ring on Neda’s hand, and his eyes widened.

  Neda, observant as always, sighed. She looked at Vasilyev and said, “Tell him.”

  Vasilyev smiled and said, “Neda has agreed to marry me.”

  “Congratulations!” was all Grishkov could manage through his astonishment.

  Smyslov laughed and said, “But of course, first there is paperwork, reams of it. Even I as Director can only do so much to hurry it along.”

  Grishkov nodded and then asked, “What happened with the nuclear weapons?”

  Smyslov held up his hands and smiled. “First, security,” he said, nodding towards Vasilyev.

  Vasilyev left, and a few minutes later was back. “As you requested, the floor has been cleared. The doors at both stairwells are locked, and guards are in place outside them. The elevator will not stop on this floor as long as we are here.”

  Smyslov looked at Grishkov soberly. “I will start with the good news. The Taliban targeted eight weapons. You destroyed four. The Pakistanis recovered one, and another partially detonated inside Pakistan, with c
asualties low enough that the government was able to pass it off as a chemical factory mishap.”

  Smyslov paused and pointed at Vasilyev and Neda. “These two defused another weapon inside Afghanistan, just after you were injured.”

  “Well done!” Grishkov said, with all the sincerity he could muster.

  Vasilyev and Neda both smiled and nodded, but their eyes were still downcast.

  Grishkov knew bad news was coming.

  “And the last one?” Grishkov asked quietly.

  “Another partial detonation, but this time more of the fissile material was consumed in the explosion. It happened in the town of Bagram, just outside the American military airfield,” Smyslov said.

  “Casualties?” Grishkov asked, even more quietly.

  “The Americans appear to have escaped unscathed. Afghan casualties in Bagram number at least in the hundreds, and probably thousands. The Americans were quick to assist, and are still on site. Both they and the Afghan government are still saying that it’s too early to give precise casualty numbers,” Smyslov said.

  “But,” Smyslov added, “it’s not too early to say who’s responsible. The Taliban. Sentiment in both Afghanistan and Pakistan has turned against them with remarkable speed. The Americans have made video equipment from their nearby base available to the Afghans. They are broadcasting images of the devastation on national TV, which has been picked up by the Pakistanis. Few other countries have the stomach to air the images.”

  Grishkov nodded thoughtfully. “It would be a good time to hit the Taliban hard.”

  “Yes, not a simple policeman anymore,” Smyslov said with a smile. “From our base in Tajikistan, we have been monitoring an increase in American military activity in Afghanistan. I think our friends there have had the same thought.”

  “My wife and children? They are well?” Grishkov asked.

  “Of course! They are here to see you, and will as soon as we finish here. Ordinarily, I would have had them come to see you first. However, we are also here to discuss matters of state security, and no matter how I feel personally, those must take precedence,” Smyslov said.

  It was the first time Grishkov could recall Smyslov looking so uncomfortable.

  “So, first, I will share with you in more detail than I would for ordinary agents the consequences of your last mission. Why? Because I think it’s important for you to understand that those results go far beyond saving lives, important though that goal may be,” Smyslov said.

  Smyslov gestured towards a thick file that Grishkov noticed for the first time had been placed on a table behind Neda.

  “Details of what I am about to tell you are in that file. I’m going to give you the highlights, so you have the chance to ask questions. Vasilyev will return the file to headquarters later, but in the meantime, you may all review it,” Smyslov said.

  Vasilyev, Neda, and Grishkov all nodded.

  “So, first, the President is extremely pleased with your performance. Your actions saved thousands of lives. At our request, the Americans have shared your role in defusing the weapon that nearly reached Kabul with the Afghan President, who says he will visit Moscow soon to convey his thanks in person,” Smyslov said.

  Vasilyev smiled. “So, we may not have a guaranteed role in Afghanistan’s mining future, but at least we’re on the field.”

  Smyslov nodded. “Just so. Also, at our request, the Americans have agreed to keep our role in this matter quiet otherwise.”

  Grishkov frowned. “If the Afghan President knows, surely it won’t be long before he tells others, or am I missing something?”

  Smyslov shrugged. “You may be right. The Americans asked him to keep our role to himself, but only self-interest will do so. I think it likely he will realize the degree of panic that would be caused by the realization a nuclear weapon was minutes away from exploding in Kabul. And perhaps blame his government for letting it get so close. There would be the plus of further outrage against the Taliban. But there is already plenty of that from news coverage from Bagram.”

  Neda said quietly, “I hope the Taliban reaps the reward they deserve.”

  “As I mentioned, the Americans appear to be working as we speak on making your wish come true. Speaking of wishes, you are now all in a position to fulfill them. The President has ordered that your previous award for completion of such an important mission be doubled to two million American dollars each. As before, the money will be paid from his private funds,” Smyslov said.

  Grishkov noticed again that Smyslov was doing his best to hide discomfort about…something.

  “Now, I will explain the real reason he was so pleased with the outcome of your mission. Ironically, none of you were directly responsible. Our drone detected the radiation signature of the weapon once it reached Bagram and passed that information to the Americans. That drone was also able to monitor and record an American drone using a missile to strike the truck carrying the weapon, which then detonated,” Smyslov said quietly.

  Grishkov shrugged. “The town is almost directly adjacent to the base. If the Americans had allowed the weapon to proceed any further, the detonation would have cost them military lives and equipment. There would have been no time to organize a ground assault. We would have made the same decision.”

  Smyslov nodded. “For someone like you with military experience, that is the reaction I would expect. However, we believe the Afghans in particular and public opinion worldwide would hold the Americans at least partly responsible for the carnage in Bagram if their missile firing were to become known.”

  Neda said hesitantly, “Excuse me, Director, but did the Russian…I mean, our drone record the size of the blast? I ask because a nuclear detonation caused by an outside force should not have consumed all of the weapon’s fissile material.”

  “You are correct,” Smyslov said with an approving nod. “First, to catch yourself and call it ‘our drone.’ After what you have done for Russia, I consider you as much a citizen as these two,” he said, pointing at Vasilyev and Grishkov.

  Neda blushed and murmured thanks.

  “Second, the drone did indeed record details of the blast and was nearly lost in the process. Fortunately, after detecting the weapon and transmitting its location to the Americans, the drone’s operator realized it would be a good time to be elsewhere, and so was already on a course back to base in Tajikistan. Our scientists have analyzed the drone’s data, and believe that only about half of the weapon’s fissile material was consumed in the explosion,” Smyslov concluded.

  Vasilyev nodded. “Surely, then, people would recognize that it would have been worse to allow the weapon to proceed to its target. We saw many Afghans at Bagram Airfield, so it’s not as though the only casualties would have been American.”

  Smyslov shook his head. “I don’t think that’s how most people would see it, and neither does the President. And that is why he is so pleased with this outcome. You have given the President a secret to use against the Americans, one they would go to great lengths to keep out of public view.”

  “Do you know what our President will ask the Americans to do?” Vasilyev asked.

  “That’s not how these things work,” Smyslov said with a smile. “He will keep this secret in his pocket, and wait for the right time to use it for maximum effect. As you know, the Americans are by far the greatest threat to our security and our plans abroad, and so the importance of this new asset cannot be overstated.”

  Now Smyslov’s smile disappeared, and he gestured again towards the file.

  “Most of what you see in that file expands on what we have already discussed. And I sincerely wish that I could leave you with no more than that to study. I have loudly and repeatedly proposed exactly that. I regret that I have been overruled,” Smyslov said.

  Now we come to it, Grishkov thought. This is what’s been bothering him.

  “Your accomplishments have been most impressive, and the President seems to have fixated on you as the solution to all our most
difficult problems. However, I have pointed out to the President that you are not the only three FSB agents. Also, that you are all human and do not wear capes. All of you, especially you, Grishkov must have time to recover from your last mission,” Smyslov said.

  Smyslov’s voice had been rising with each word, and all of them were thinking the same thing.

  They had never seen the Director truly angry before.

  “I also showed him the analysis given to us by the Americans of the device that these two defused,” Smyslov said, gesturing towards Neda and Vasilyev. “They said it was impossible to say precisely how much longer it would have taken the device to detonate if they had not defused it, but they could give a range.”

  Smyslov glowered, and they were all profoundly grateful that his anger was not directed at them.

  “Between two and eight seconds! I asked the President, just how much more luck do you think these agents have left?”

  Smyslov shook his head and sighed, deflated. “I even offered the President my resignation, which he rejected. Not at a time of national crisis, he said. Maybe after this is over.”

  Seeing their confused looks, Smyslov laughed sadly. “Yes, what crisis, you will want to know. First, I was able to win a reprieve by pointing out we can’t send a man from his hospital bed early to take on a mission. Other FSB agents are working on the problem now, and if we’re lucky will succeed before the doctors clear Grishkov to return to duty.”

  Grishkov shook his head. “And how far will we go this time?”

  “That is the only good news I have to give you. Less than a thousand kilometers,” Smyslov said.

  All of them exclaimed with surprise. Vasilyev was the first to guess, “Kyiv? We are going to Ukraine?”

  “Correct,” Smyslov said.

  Grishkov sighed. “So, with the Koreans, we had to worry about one nuclear weapon. The Iranians, three. The Taliban, eight. How many this time?”

  Smyslov frowned and said, “First, I have to tell you that the prospect of a nuclear detonation, bad as it would be, is not our primary concern. It is that the Americans may feel obliged to react militarily. From my discussions with the President, I think it is likely that would end only one way.”