by Ron Lealos
Abernathy was beginning to come apart. I didn’t sense he was an evil man from birth. It came to him later in life. He wouldn’t look at us and continued to stare at his knees.
“When I was in Germany,” Abernathy said, “I was on a team who cooperated with a company called Wintershall on questions concerning the security of the oil pipeline. This is my second deployment to Afghanistan. Someone arranged to have me sent back after my time with Wintershall and moved to Kabul, where I met Dostum. It must have all been planned. But I knew nothing about heroin and the Taliban ties before I got to Kabul.”
It could have happened that way. None of the signs Abernathy was lying anymore. Maybe by omission. Dostum was influential with both the Company and the US military. He could have specifically requested Abernathy because of his familiarity with the German language and pipeline experience. No one would have suspected. They would be too concerned with keeping Dostum fighting the good fight to ask any questions. If not, Abernathy had been part of the plot from the beginning. And probably someone even higher was involved. Or the Company. More mirrors.
“Who was your contact at Wintershall?” Washington asked.
“A man named Schultz,” Abernathy said. “Dostum and him told me what to do. I met Schultz when I was in Germany and later, here. At Qalat. He came out for a progress inspection.”
“How did you communicate?”
“Always by satellite phone. They used the Eutelsat. Encrypted.”
“Back to me. And the others. How did you get into DOD email?”
“I didn’t. The techies in Kassel figured out how to send the first message to each of you looking like it came from someone in DOD. After that, they gave me Yahoo addresses. I just had to keep track of the passwords. They were clever enough to make it seem as if the soldiers were doing something secret and important. And valuable, rather than sanitizing another cave.”
“And you did all the logistics?”
“No. It was Dostum and Schultz. I just had to arrange for the couriers and keep an eye on them. I had authority in the motor pool. It was easy to get a truck and have the men dispatched.”
“No one wondered why the grunts you were sending out didn’t come back?”
“You’ve been in a command center. They’re too frantic. No one said anything.”
Washington had heard enough. He walked over to me.
“He’s a douche bag,” Washington said. “He’s guilty of enough crimes to hang him twenty times. The kinda guy you like to hire.”
“Like you,” I said.
Washington hadn’t gotten pissed at me for all the snide comments or anything else. Now, he was. He tensed, and I could see it was time for an apology before we had to race to see whose Ka-Bar came out first.
“Sorry,” I said. “No excuse for that. It was the kind of silly remark that seems to get me in trouble way too often. I gotta learn to think before I open my mouth. You’re a good man and absolutely no similarity to that piece of shit. Like jokin’ about cancer. I apologize.”
Washington relaxed and patted me on the back, but the intensity of his eyes didn’t go down a degree.
“Ain’t we all just the best of buddies around here,” Washington said. “I can feel the love. Should we kill him now? Or have a little fun with the Ka-Bar first?”
“The Ka-Bar is a terrific idea,” I said, walking toward Abernathy and taking out my knife. “Let’s start with his nuts. We should be boogyin’ down the road, so we’ll begin with the jewels and not save them for dessert.”
Before, Abernathy was close to six-feet tall. Now, he shrunk to much less in the fetal position.
“Don’t,” he said.
“Afraid to die?” I asked. “What could you have possibly been thinking would be the outcome? You’d fly home to Kathleen and the kids and retire on a tropical island? From the time I kicked you to the ground, you should have known there was just one ending to this disgusting story. It’s only a matter of how you go. But it’s going to be painful either way.”
“Please don’t,” Abernathy begged.
“Oh,” I said. “I forgot to mention Kathleen. Since she is such a fine- looking woman, we’ll make sure she’s only lickin’ the prettiest snatch in the federal penitentiary. And the kids. They’re not ever going to Harvard. You’ll be the lucky one. Dead.”
The tough ones spit in my face. The cowards groveled. Abernathy didn’t have any virgins to look forward to. I was convinced his religion was greed. And stupidity. Perfect. We could still use him.
“Stand up,” I said.
“What?” Abernathy asked.
“Stand up.”
Slowly, he did, his eyes bouncing around, trying to anticipate what was coming next.
“Unbutton your fly,” I said.
In the shadows of the roofless building, his eyes were a dark green. They opened wide enough to drive the Humvee through.
“You can’t,” he said.
“I can,” I said. “And I will. Unbutton your fly. Take it out.” I jabbed the tip of the Ka-Bar into his thigh just deep enough to feel flesh.
Looking down, sobs shook his body and Abernathy did as he was ordered.
“Put it in your left hand,” I said.
He did.
From behind me, Washington started to chuckle.
“It’s damn straight true,” Washington said. “You white boys are hung like minnows. He’s gotta fish just ta get it out.”
No eye contact. Abernathy stared at the ground below his dick.
“Now put your right hand over your heart,” I said.
Tears began to drop in the dirt. Abernathy was turning to green-eyed Jell-O.
“Now repeat after me,” I said. “Look me in the eye when you’re doin’ it.”
Abernathy raised his head.
“I hereby swear,” I said.
“I hereby swear,” Abernathy said.
“That by the power invested in this worthless tool.”
“That by the power invested in this worthless tool.”
“And the fine odor of Kathleen’s quim.”
“And the fine odor of Kathleen’s quim.”
“I will forever follow the orders given to me by any representative of the CIA.”
“I will forever follow the orders given to me by any representative of the CIA.”
“I pledge allegiance and faithfulness to the United States of America and all its subsidiaries.”
“I pledge allegiance and faithfulness to the United States of America and all its subsidiaries.”
“And if I violate my oath, my dick will be sliced from me and stuffed in my traitorous bung hole.”
“And if I violate my oath, my dick will be sliced from me and stuffed in my traitorous bung hole.”
“By the powers vested in me as Emperor of the Warlocks, I hereby anoint you a Knight of the Darkness. You don’t have to repeat that.”
I slapped him on the back.
“Congratulations, you slimy bastard,” I said. “You’re part of the greatest organization the world has ever known. The Central Intelligence Agency.”
Washington stepped over, a grin on his face.
“Welcome aboard, numb nuts,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but anything that’s touched that thing,” he nodded down, “must have gangrene by now.”
Abernathy fainted and slid to the dirt floor. I reached down and slapped him until he awakened.
“Not a good way to start your first day as a double agent,” I said. “That’s one of the rules. No sleeping on the job.” I lifted him to his feet.
“What we’re gonna do,” I said, “is drop you off in Gardez. You’re gonna act like you completed successful negotiations with the krauts and carry on with your everyday life. You know, the life of a snake and a traitor. Not even a breath about today. If Dostum or Schultz calls, you’ll answer the phone. Situation normal, all fucked up. We’ll do lunch later and tell you what we want.”
I pulled his nose to my nose by his fatigue top and
stared into his eyes, giving him a serious, intense “I’ll kill you if you betray me” look.
“We’ll know your every move and word. If we even get a glimmer that you’re tripling on us, you’ll be left dickless in a cave, and Kathleen will be pullin’ trains for the guards and the dykes.”
Next to me, Washington was giving Abernathy the same passionate stare.
“Ah shit,” he said, “can’t we just cut a little off him? You know, he got injured when he slipped gettin’ out of the Humvee and gouged himself in the thigh on something sharp. He’ll only need a few stitches.” Washington looked at me. “He owes me.”
Releasing the hold on Abernathy’s coat, I stepped back.
“Have at him,” I said.
It was hard even for me to see the strike. Washington’s Ka-Bar went into Abernathy’s thigh just below the groin so fast it was nearly invisible. Abernathy started to slump, and I held him up. Blood showed through the tan of his pants.
The wound wouldn’t be fatal or even that deep. Washington was too well trained. But it would hurt. And if there was any chance Abernathy had fooled himself into believing we weren’t prepared to be pitiless, he’d remember every time he looked at the scar. No forgetting his balls were ours. We were the good guys.
“You might want to have that looked at when you get back to the base,” I said, pushing him toward the non-door. “Washington used it last night on somebody else, and you might get infected. Ask for an HIV test, too, even if it won’t show up for at least six weeks.”
On the short trip to the base, Washington sat in the back, rifle trained on Abernathy’s head. We gave the turncoat his H & K when we dropped him in the barracks.
“Keep the faith,” Washington said as he waved goodbye.
We were in Jalalabad before midnight and spent only minutes giving Dunne a bullet-point debriefing. It was late, and Washington and I needed sleep or more chemicals. Rumor had it that too many hours awake on Dexedrine led to paranoia and hallucinations. Nothing new. We chose sleep and the red pills Dunne offered, promising to rest and be back at 0700.
Khkulay would have to wait again.
You boys have your passports up to date?” Dunne asked as we entered his tent office in the morning. He didn’t turn away from his computer.
Finnen looked as spiffy as I’d ever seen him, and he was seated as far away as he could get from the fridge.
“Didn’t need it when I boarded the plane at Fort Lewis,” Washington said, taking a chair. “It seemed my uniform was enough.”
“Are you talking about the one of mine that reads ‘Morgan’?” I asked before I reached my assigned space. “Or one of the others?”
Dunne flipped Washington and me an envelope each.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’re new men now. Those’ll work. You’ll only be in Germany for a short time anyway. And it won’t be R & R.” He went back to his laptop. “Finnen already has his.”
The Irishman was no longer drooling, and he smelled of Right Guard deodorant, as if he’d smeared his body in the gel. His eyes had reverted to an approximation of white around the pupils. He was wearing jeans and a Guinness is God’s Blood green sweatshirt. He shook his head and looked at Dunne.
“How could ya be so insensitive?” Finnen said. “Crompton. It sounds like I’m in the fookin’ House of Lords.”
Dunne tapped away on the keyboard.
“Ask me if I give a shite,” Dunne said. “I don’t. You’ll be back before you start bending over for the Queen.” He took his hands away from the computer and crossed his arms on his chest, the signal he was about to be solemn. “Those passports are for ‘just in case.’ Shouldn’t need ’em. You three are going to Frankfurt via Qalat. Then on to Kassel to visit Schultz. The meeting’s set. You’ll be met by one a their choppers and flown to the Wintershall complex. You’re a high-level contingent with ‘ears only’ information for Schultz concerning the future of the pipeline and the projected pullout of US troops, if there were such a thing. I’ll fill you in later. Now, I want to hear more about Abernathy.”
Washington looked fresh today, too. Clean fatigues and a shave. He seemed to like the scent of the Good Life by Davidoff. Or he stole it from my foot locker, as Finnen liked to do. It wafted off Washington’s bald skull. He was grinning, apparently overjoyed at another sunny day not having to chase Taliban through the rocks.
“Abernathy’s duly sworn in,” Washington said. “How come I didn’t get no ceremony? Is it a racial thing?”
Clean as well, I felt more rested than I had in the last few weeks. No cologne or sweatshirt, I had come to the gathering in a bath robe, having been yanked out of my cot by Washington just a few minutes ago. I crossed my legs to make sure too much wasn’t on display. I slept naked.
“It’s not always about you, Washington,” I said. “And I told you that you’ve played all the cards in the race deck. We’re the same color here. Red, white, and blue.”
Washington stood and saluted. Finnen took the cue and did the same, but his hand was limp and his body was more hunched, not the military strack of Washington’s.
“Sit down,” Dunne said. “Can we get on with it?”
Two sharp “yes, sirs,” and Finnen and Washington sat.
Over the next hour, Washington and I recounted our conversation with Abernathy. Dunne took some notes and Finnen listened, every few minutes looking around the tent and asking, “Anything to drink in this cesspit? And what’s that smell?”
Only once did I bother to tell him it was his lunch from yesterday.
“I don’t remember eatin’ yesterday,” he said, shaking his head back and forth in concern for his memory loss.
After we wound down and Dunne’s questions were answered, he sat back and put his hands behind his head. This pose indicated he was about to speculate.
“I think your analysis is correct, Morgan,” he said. “We can use Abernathy ’til we can’t. Then we’ll call the disposal unit. He got put in the major leagues when he wasn’t good enough for the minors. Sure, he shoulda informed somebody other than his wife. I know Kathleen’s a ball-breakin’ money grabber and would have pushed him to get more cash. That’s the profile I’ve read.”
There was a chill in the early morning Afghan air. The breeze tickled parts of my body I thought were covered, and I adjusted my robe.
“What good will it be for us to fly to Germany?” I asked. “I’m sure there’re other assets stationed there who could have a chat with Herr Schultz.”
Dunne sat up and didn’t respond to the spell of his laptop. His face was more stern than usual. No teeth showed, and his brows were squeezed together in concentration as he scanned the tent flap instead of his three attentive agents.
“I’ve got enough information now to almost believe there’s no Company involvement,” Dunne said. “Your visit with Schultz will nail it down. In the meantime, I want the intel restricted to the four of us.”
Again, the whole story wasn’t coming out. Dunne was blurring the full picture. I couldn’t believe he was a cowboy in an operation this big. Too many logistical issues to be solo with threads that would surely reach clear to the NSC. However it unraveled, American soldiers were dying or being sacrificed to further some agenda I didn’t comprehend. If the scheme was being run by a cartel composed of big oil, Afghan government officials, and Taliban chiefs, with rogue US military assistance, there was little chance the Company didn’t know. Too much history with oil and drugs, and too many spies in Kabul. Besides, Klaus had already identified someone who sounded like Dunne.
But nothing in my brief gave me permission to question anything. Decisions were out of my sphere of influence, but there was no way I would cooperate in the killing of blameless US soldiers. I needed to find out more, if only to help protect the grunts and tame the growing Dunne suspicions.
The temperature in the tent hadn’t risen even with the morning sun now overhead. I looked through the flaps and was again amazed at the clarity of the blue sky
and cinched up the neck of my robe like a suburban housewife.
“Even if we find out something valuable in Germany,” I said, watching Dunne, “there’s Dostum. Didn’t you know him from your time in Kabul?”
As far as I knew, Dunne had only lied to me by omission or if it was more advantageous to achieving the goal. He had never seemed nervous, nor had he developed a tic, even if eye contact was rare. Now, his face twitched slightly, and I was afraid of what that meant.
“If I could,” Dunne said, “I’d let you use one of your refined intel-collecting techniques on Dostum when you get back. I’ll work on that while you’re enjoying the German countryside.”
He leaned forward like what was coming was too secret for the canvas walls to hear. “This is what you’re gonna do.”
We bent toward him and listened, part of the coven.
At least the transport had enough seats for each of us to sleep. No stewardesses to ply Finnen with drinks. The Boeing C-17A Globemaster III didn’t have a first-class compartment, but we weren’t forced to lean against the metal walls in the back, strapped to rails like human cargo. With a range of 5,412 miles empty like we were, the Globemaster easily made it to Frankfurt in seven hours without refueling.
I wished I could have glimpsed something of Germany, but the non-existent windows didn’t allow for a view. It was my first visit, and I wouldn’t be here long. The flight wasn’t smooth like a commercial trip. It seemed neither of the pilots was concerned about comfort or avoiding air pockets. They must have flown through every windstorm they could find, based on the bucking we encountered.
Even with the buffeting, my head was back at Jalalabad. I’d been able to speak briefly to Khkulay. She was becoming a star in the women’s compound. She looked good in fatigues. The soldiers were giving her lessons on makeup and hair styles, not how to fire an RPG. No one seemed in any hurry to send her packing to a refugee camp or anywhere else for now. Dunne had worked his magic. I was glad for the distraction; it kept me away from the maudlin.
The Globemaster landed in Frankfurt and taxied to the cargo terminal in a heavy drizzle. We all shivered in a cold that absorbed through the skin and froze the bones. Nothing like the piercing chill of Afghanistan. It was honest and didn’t sneak up on you, forcing you to hide under a sissy umbrella. All three of us huddled under one supplied by the Globemaster pilot. We crossed the tarmac, dodging Zamboni-looking trucks, forklifts with piles of steel pipe, and other planes. No gateway to walk through in warmth and cover. No passport control or security. If this was the level of customs, every plane could be jammed with smack. We made our way to where a twin-engine Bell 430 helicopter was parked, with “Wintershall” painted in red on the side. Two unsmiling men in long, black overcoats waved us aboard, and we were immediately on our way to Kassel.