by Ron Lealos
Showered and fed, we were back in Dunne’s lair, having administered a half-dozen aspirins to Finnen, burning his clothes, and borrowing clean ones from another agent who was in the field. Washington and I wore fresh fatigues and were clean shaven, knowing we would have to pass as soldiers . . . if that was possible.
Someone had sprayed lavender room deodorizer in the space, but there was still a lingering urp smell. The tent flap was open—an unsuccessful attempt to vent the fumes. Dunne was riffling through files, organizing his life.
Finnen made a direct line toward the fridge.
“If you so much as lick the door,” Dunne said, “I’ll put you on the A list.” The A list contained the real bad guys who were to be shot on sight if capture wasn’t absolutely assured. People like Bin Laden and Zawahiri. “I want you sitting in Morgan’s chair.”
Finnen gave a puppy-dog look and slunk toward my usual spot.
“At least I’ll die in the best of health,” Finnen said.
Washington and I pulled folding chairs beside Finnen, surrounding him in case of a collapse caused by an earthquake or the more likely Bud vertigo.
Dunne folded his arms on his chest. He always wore either a white collared shirt and black slacks or fatigues. Today he was in his “go to the office not the bush” outfit.
“Abernathy,” Dunne said. He paused to give just the perfect amount of weight to the name. Finnen burped.
“Excuse me,” Finnen said. “Must’a been the oatmeal.”
Dunne wasn’t humored. He glared but continued.
“Seems the Captain has been building for his retirement,” Dunne said. “I traced nearly a million dollars to an account in the Grand Caymans under the name Williamson. It’s Abernathy, though. His wife’s maiden name is Kathleen Williamson.”
Finnen grinned.
“A fine Irish lass she must be with that name. Do ya know if she has big tits? She could be a widow soon.”
Dunne ignored him and uncrossed his arms, reaching for a file.
“Funny how dumb West Point grads can be,” Dunne said. “Did he really think he could hide the blood money by using his wife’s name? Stupid. Makes me wonder if it’s just more diversion.”
Washington was smoothing out the wrinkles in his camo fatigues. He looked at Dunne.
“Naw,” Washington said. “Most a them Pointy grads have bodies by the Army and brains by Mattel.”
“Okay,” Dunne said. “I’m leanin’ that way too. There’s a straight trail from Kabul to Gardez. Abernathy’s time with the Afghanistan General Staff was spent in close contact with Khan and Dostum. Actually, I ran into him a few times when I was there. He was the direct onsite link to Northern Command and the pipeline construction. Before he came to Afghanistan, he was stationed at Anderson Barracks in Dexheim, Germany. Speaks kraut. No ties with the Company. I don’t think this is a rogue CIA operation or Abernathy’s being run by us. But I’m not positive enough yet to assume it isn’t something out of Langley.”
He looked back and forth between Washington and me but couldn’t hold our eyes.
“You two are going to have to have a frank talk with him. Today. You’re going to Gardez. I checked. He’s on the base. I’ve arranged for the three of you to have some quiet time just outside of town. Your cover will be you’re meeting with a German military contingent in order to look at preparations for a temporary billet in the sector. Abernathy was requested because of his language skills. You’re both Captains for the day, so dress and act accordingly. Pick him up at 1330. The passes are in the Humvee outside. We probably want to keep him in place and turn him. And sorta healthy, though a little persuasion can be used. Not on his face. Get humpin’.”
Circles within circles. Or in the case of the Company, mirrors reflecting mirrors. Dunne wasn’t telling the whole truth, but I didn’t know what he and his masters had devised and if it was all coming apart. I wasn’t about to leak what Klaus had said about the blue-eyed man, but I sure as hell was going to try to step around the landmines.
Washington and I stood to leave. Dunne stared at Finnen, who appeared to be sleeping, his chin to his chest and drool leaking out the corner of his mouth.
“Finnen,” Dunne barked.
The Irishman jumped to his feet and reached for the pistol that wasn’t at his waist. He looked quickly around the tent and then back at Dunne.
“Jaysus gawd,” he said. “You like ta stop the sweetness flowin’ in my veins. Worse than a banshee’s shriek.”
“You’re staying with me,” Dunne said. “And keeping sober. If you haven’t noticed, I put a lock on the fridge.”
Finnen turned to the refrigerator, panic on his face.
“Prison is no place for the guiltless,” he said. “Those Buds did nothing to deserve such punishment.”
“You did,” Dunne said. “Now sit down, and give me some peace.”
Washington and I left before the wailing could begin.
Khkulay would have to wait until later. It was a sadness only Finnen understood. But she was my responsibility, not Finnen’s, even if I suspected he might disagree.
A few klicks outside Gardez, Washington stopped the Humvee beside an abandoned complex of unroofed buildings. An Afghan developer must have gone bust. There was no sign of habitation. Not far behind the mud-brick construction, the foothills of the Himalayas began and the nearest snow was an easy walk to the east. Overhead, the sun was sending its rays through clear sky, warming the endless brown-rock terrain, broken only by a few clumps of grass trying to exist on water left over from last year’s blizzards. No tire tracks in the pebbles. The ground was too hard and windblown.
Abernathy had been quiet during the drive from the Gardez base, sitting in the back seat. There was no trouble finding him in the command tent and no one had asked us for papers, even at the road block. It was getting late and would soon turn cold.
All of us carried H & K semi-automatics as we walked to the nearest ruin. Washington went inside the door-less entry first, followed by Abernathy, then me. I turned back to make sure we were out of sight of any watchers and slammed Abernathy in the back of the knees with the butt of my H & K, grabbing his as he fell. I stood over him, with my rifle touching the back of his head.
“Welcome to the confessional, traitor,” I said.
Washington went out the far side to inspect the other empty buildings. If we had neighbors, they would soon be relocating.
“Crawl over there and sit against the wall,” I said to Abernathy, pointing with the muzzle of the rifle.
He did and was facing me within seconds, his camo boots pointed toward the non-existent ceiling. There was no shock or anger on his face. In my experience, the guilty are often waiting for payback to come, and they see me as the errand boy. It was my first clue that Abernathy was mixed up in something well above his performance rating.
Average height and weight and buzz-cut hair, Abernathy was indistinguishable from the thousands of other grunts in Afghanistan, except for the space between his eyes. The top of his nose flattened into a gap as wide as a baseball bat and looked as if someone had hit him with it. He didn’t tremble or yell in protest of his unfair treatment. He did wipe his nose with his sleeve, but he had been coughing on the ride out, and I assumed he was fighting one of the lingering flus afflicting so many grunts in Afghanistan, not beginning the session crying.
Kicking a rock in front of him, Washington returned through the far entrance.
“Clear,” he said.
Abernathy watched him, a puzzled look on his face like he recognized Washington.
I leaned the two rifles against the wall, and Washington went behind me to take up a sentry position. The Ka-Bar came easily out of its sheath, and I held it at my side. The normal etiquette wasn’t appropriate today. I wouldn’t begin by shooting Abernathy in the knee.
“Start with Khan and Dostum,” I said, watching Abernathy for tells. “Which one are you helping trade dope for money to buy weapons for the Taliban?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abernathy said. “And what you’re doing is worth a life sentence at Leavenworth.”
I just shook my head. More for me than him. He was going to make it hard, and I was tired of blowing off knee caps and ears. But I took out the Hush Puppy anyway.
“The story of my life,” I said. “I get some bad guy alone and ask a few simple questions. They always start with the ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ routine. Then, after I shoot off some flesh, lo’ and behold, they were lying.” I pointed the pistol at Abernathy’s knees. “Which one do you want me to start with?”
Reflexively, Abernathy drew his knees to his chest.
“Mistake,” I said. “If I miss by even a centimeter, you and Kathleen won’t be able to share anymore fudge. You’ll be spendin’ that million stashed in the Caymans on a dick transplant.”
The first sign he knew it wasn’t going to go easy. His eyelids opened wide, and his jaw dropped.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with her,” he said.
I crouched low to the ground and looked back at Washington, turning again to Abernathy, as if I was going to impart a deep secret.
“Listen,” I said softly. “Don’t tell anyone else. We already have Kathleen locked up with a bunch of black dykes and junkies at the Fairfield County Jail. We’re not supposed to be operating on American soil, but you know how it is. At least we kept her close to Bridgeport so the kids can come visit if anyone ever finds out where she’s being held. She’s not scheduled to see the judge for a couple weeks. Or we might let Homeland Security have her for an indefinite stay. The courts are backed up months. Paperwork and all.” I took out a cell phone and held it toward Abernathy. “Here, wanna call Trevor and Holly? I hear they miss their dad. And mom.”
Abernathy’s eyes flared. He’d already reached the anger level of grieving for his wasted life.
“You can’t do that,” he said.
I stood up and yawned, putting the cell phone in my pocket. Not much sleep after the chemically charged night before.
“You’ve already guessed who we work for,” I said. “The Army wouldn’t handle you this way. They’d probably follow all those silly laws and such. Put you on trial. Embarrass everyone who’s ever known you, including them. Then stand you up in front of the firing squad. Play it by the book.”
I stretched and yawned again, straightening after I finished, glaring at Abernathy.
“We don’t have rules. The law is to get the job done. If it means leavin’ your big-titted wife to marry one a those strap-on queens and your kids to be farmed out to an orphanage for troubled psychopathic children because no one they know will ever be found fit enough to be responsible parents after we smear them, hell, that’s just the way it’s gotta be. Makes me queasy ta think about it. But, hey, it’s your choice.”
Washington could hear everything but my little secret chat with Abernathy. He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder.
“You need any help in there?” he asked. “I could start shooting off his toes. I haven’t done any a that since last night, and it’d be cool to have more target practice.”
The Hush Puppy was getting heavy. I put it to my side.
“Naw,” I said. “You keep watchin’ for the rescue party that’s not coming. I think Abernathy’s about to spill it all. He knows I’d like nothing better than to start on his knees and work my way up. I think he’s more concerned about himself than the little ones or his wife becoming a bean flicker.”
I raised the pistol and shot, aimed just to the left of Abernathy’s head. Chunks of dried mud flew into his cheeks, and red marks swelled below his eye.
“Gettin’ close to chow time, Abernathy. We wanna get back before it’s all inhaled by the knuckle draggers. We can leave you here for the snakes to crawl into the holes I put in your belly, or you can start talking. I’m gonna count to ten and then start puncturing your stomach. Even if you’re dead, it won’t save your wife. We know she’s in on it.” We didn’t, but it was no time for the truth.
As usual, once they started, they gushed. Abernathy leaned forward and put his head in his hands.
“It’s Dostum,” Abernathy said. “He set it all up. My job was to make sure everything ran smoothly. Dostum got me transferred to Gardez to be closer. The money was picked up and turned over for the dope. I was the monitor.”
General Abdul Rashid Dostum. There was a character not even the Company could make up. I had read his file; it was lengthy and vile. During the war with the Russians, he fought with them, not against. At least not until he saw the Soviets were going to be evicted. Then, as a leader of the Northern Alliance, he recaptured Mazar-i-Sharif from the Taliban, the town he once controlled. Atrocities were heavily reported. For a short period, he joined forces with the Islamist leader Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, a close cousin to the Taliban. Later, he turned against Hekmatyar and battled him throughout the north. Dostum was nicknamed Pasha because he lived and ruled like a sultan while he ruled over his kingdom in northern Afghanistan, which comprised six provinces and five million people. The Taliban forced him into exile in 1998, but the appointment of one of Dostum’s cronies, General Fahim, led to his being invited back. Recently his house had been raided in an attempt to free a kidnapped former ally of Dostum’s. Akbar Bai was a government official who had supposedly betrayed or slighted Dostum. Bai and three others were released before the shooting began after an agreement by Dostum to help in the inquiry of the kidnapping he had conducted himself. Afghan follies. The Company believed, if Dostum was removed, the entire north would break out in civil war. Collusion by the Company in this drugs-for-guns conspiracy wouldn’t be the first time a bloodthirsty megalomaniac was kept in power, even if Langley knew.
Now came the pleading. Abernathy looked at me with beagle eyes.
“I had no choice,” Abernathy said. “They threatened me like you just did. Except they said they would kill her. And the children. There was nothing else I could do to protect them.”
The usual excuse. Tired and untrue. I smiled.
“And you never thought about reporting it to the brass?” I asked. “Do you seriously think anyone would let your family be killed? They would have been moved and under surveillance the same day you reported the threat.”
“Dostum told me he would find out,” Abernathy said. “He had ears inside the Army and the CIA, and he’d be informed immediately. He said my family was already being watched.”
The second usual excuse. Even more tiresome and false. I shook my head and made a tsk tsk tsk sound.
“And the money in the Caymans?” I asked. “I suppose that was a gesture of good faith.”
“No,” Abernathy said. “They put it in my wife Kathleen’s name, knowing it would be easily discovered if anybody looked. It was a guarantee. They said if I didn’t follow orders, they’d leak the news I was working with the Taliban. Money means little to them. They showed pictures they’d faked of me shaking hands with a Taliban Sheik named Wahidi. I never touched the money.”
“So you just went along with this scheme. Didn’t tell anybody and helped fund the IEDs that mangle US soldiers. If I believed you, I’d be as pathetic as you are.”
I walked over to Washington.
“What do you think of this traitor?” I asked him.
Washington pivoted and stepped into the open-air room.
“I’ve got some questions for the Captain,” Washington said. “I’ll delay my answer until we have a few moments to chat. You guard the door. Or what’s supposed to be one.”
We exchanged positions, and Washington stood over Abernathy, not bothering to display his Hush Puppy. He was always the good guy. He started with a smile.
“Why me?” he asked. “You know what I’m askin’? Why’d you pick me to be your boy?”
“Who are you?” Abernathy said. “I thought you were a spook.”
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I laughed.
“Just a wannabe,” I said.
“My ass,” Washington said over his shoulder. He swung his head slowly back to Abernathy, “I’m Lieutenant Tyrone Laverne Washington. Delta. Out of the Korengal to Gardez.”
“Tyrone Laverne?” I asked. “Perfect. Did your momma name you after somebody on The Redd Foxx Show?”
“We’ll discuss my heritage at a later time,” Washington said to me. “Maybe just a second before I toss a frag into your bunk.”
Abernathy was surprised again. This time he must have known it was more personal.
“You’re that Washington?” Abernathy asked. “I thought I recognized you.”
“That be me,” Washington said.
“I was told to make it random. I closed my eyes and let the curser scroll though the Gardez deployment list. When I stopped, whatever name it was blinking on was chosen.”
“And here I thought I was special.”
“No, Lieutenant, you weren’t.”
“How many men did you pick?”
“At least six, mostly from my own sphere of command. I did bias the selection process some.”
“And you know why you had to keep picking more?”
Abernathy slumped. He knew. Not even an attempt at denial.
“Yes,” he said without looking up.
“What did they tell you?” Washington asked.
“That the men were ambushed. That the heroin delivery was done in a hostile country. That one of the southern warlords was getting greedy. That the men tried to steal the merchandise. A roadside bomb. A different reason or two every time I had to find someone else.”
“And it didn’t occur to you it was always on the second trip?”
“Yes. It did. But I was in too deep.”
“Okay, now that we’ve established you took money for feeding the Taliban weapons and shipping drugs, and you also colluded in the murder of US soldiers, I want to know about the German connection. What’s all this got to do with oil and your stationing in Germany?”