“Roger. Carson, let's pick up the pace, brother. Hold on …”
One of the cell block guards crept around the front corner of the building on Derek's side only to be welcomed by a 5.56 round that drove straight through his head.
“Tango down.”
“We're set,” said Carson.
Derek turned and sprinted toward the second breach point as the second detonation of the night occurred … only it wasn't theirs.
One of the Land Cruisers detonated inside the compound just beyond the main entrance. The percussion had knocked Derek clear of his feet.
“Fuck!” Miller screamed. Te detonation nearly blinded him as he stared at the vehicle through his night-vision goggles. He scrambled to grab his throat piece. “Guys, we have a VBIED detonation inside the compound just inside the front gate.”
The blast doors of the prison, as well as the guards in the immediate vicinity, had been ripped into pieces and spread throughout the compound. Meanwhile, the second Land Cruiser had dropped Mohibullah at his office, where a driver waited.
“You said you would wait!” yelled Mohibullah as he jumped from the vehicle and ran toward his driver. Te Land Cruiser sped away toward the Drug and Poppy Block.
Meanwhile, detainees throughout the compound began to shout and scream in excitement, hoping a jailbreak was imminent. Te scene was getting bad quickly. Derek regained his composure and screamed at Carson, “Fucking blow it!”
Their breach ripped through the wall, and the team entered the rear of the small compound.
Miller chimed back in, “Guys, be advised we have a vehicle heading this way at high velocity and people feeing the main prison compound.”
The guards had been on the take, as in Qandahar, and all the prisoners in Cell Blocks Four and Zoon had been released from their cells. The prison chaos that all major intelligence agencies had feared for years was happening–all around Derek and his team.
As Derek sprinted around the front of the cell block toward the entrance, he said, “Three, take out the driver!”
“On it,” responded Miller as he locked in on the driver and fired. The windshield shattered, and the car, now out of control, sped toward the cell block, flipping as it hit a large rut in the dirt-and-rock path. It slid to within ten meters of the building.
Randy and Carson fired two quick shots, downing the first guards inside the cell block, as Derek tossed a grenade through the window in the adjacent guard building.
Screams continued to echo from the cells as the excitement on the compound intensified. Te detonations had knocked out the already suspect electricity in the cell block, and the guards rushed blindly toward the stairs. Derek and his men ascended halfway up and tossed a flash-bang over the upper-level railing, where the guards waited with their weapons drawn.
The flash blinded and disoriented the guards, and the team quickly eliminated the remaining opposition and made their way to Rahman's cell.
“We are about to pick up the target. How are we doing out there?” said Derek.
Miller responded calmly, “Te approaching vehicle is down. We have a lot of dead bodies out here.” Miller paused and fired on an official sprinting down the main alley toward the cell block where Derek and his team were. “Add another.”
“Wait,” chimed in Grimes as he scanned the area. “We have a truck approaching quickly with some armed men in the back.”
“How far out?”
“They are about to enter the–”
Another detonation ripped through the already chaotic night.
Miller was thrown hard against the tower wall as Grimes was thrust up and over the edge.
As the approaching Hilux pickup entered the compound, its occupants fired on Mohibullah's exiting vehicle, killing both the general and his driver and sending the vehicle into the stone wall directly ahead.
Miller slowly regained consciousness only to see that Grimes was no longer in the tower. “Grimes! Grimes!” he yelled. He looked down the front side of the tower to see where the flipped vehicle had detonated. The blast had completely destroyed the front side of the cell block where his teammates were, as well as the northeast corner of the motor pool and storage area. Small fames and large pockets of smoke were all Miller could make out.
The passenger of the vehicle, not the driver, must have been in charge of the device, Miller reasoned groggily. He had lived through the crash to detonate and at least partially complete the mission.
Meanwhile, about one hundred meters from the prison, yet another Hilux had pulled up, and a man in the truck bed was filming the entire chaotic attack sequence. All the camera could capture was several loud bangs and the now huge plumes of smoke that floated up from within the prison walls. The cackle of gunfire raged inside as prisoners fed and fought the remaining guard staff. It was poetry to the Taliban and would be on DVD for sale within days at the local bazaars.
Miller turned to look over the outside edge of the tower, hoping to locate Grimes, but the darkness and dust made it impossible to see. He feared the worst. He grabbed for his throat piece. “One, this is Three. Do you copy?”
Nothing. He stared at the building, which was in utter disrepair as he called again, “One, this is Three. Do you copy?”
The building was half destroyed, but Derek had lived through the blast. He grabbed his head and squinted, acknowledging the severe pain from the explosion.
The blast had thrown him clear across the hall, and he lay on a pile of rubble. He was covered in dirt and dust, which was now running down his face as damp snow flurries fell down upon him. The roof had collapsed above him and the men, and the remaining sections were not going to last long.
Dust filled the hall as he tried to see his teammates and respond to Miller. “Three, this is One. Go ahead.”
“You guys all right in there? What the fuck, man?”
“I don't know,” responded Derek. “I can't see shit.”
“I can't find Grimes!” screamed Miller.
Derek grimaced as he stood up. “Keep looking, but maintain overwatch. I'm gonna look for the guys.”
The blast had completely eliminated the front left side of the building. Its walls were crashed in, and the detainees in the first cell were undoubtedly dead. Derek wondered about those in cell number two, especially Habib Rahman, but he would focus on his teammates first.
“Randy!” he shouted. “Carson, where you guys at?” He heard a groan a few feet away and made his way over to where Carson was covered in dust and debris and was lying on the floor. “Carson you good, man?”
He reached for Carson's hand to pull him up.
“Holy fuck, dude. What was that?”
“Another truck, I think. I don't know, but we need to get the fuck out of here. We gotta go now. Help me find the others.”
Carson squinted to adjust to the dark hallway and scurried over to what had been the entrance for Habib's block. Inside, Shafi sat next to a severely rattled Habib Rahman with his gun trained on him. “Nice work, man. Hey, boss,” yelled Carson, “your boy has Habib. Target secured, what do you want to do with him?”
“Bring him. I've got Randy over here.”
Randy struggled to his feet but was OK other than minor injuries and some head trauma.
“Miller, we are moving. I need you to find Grimes and locate a vehicle for us. Something close and without a bomb in it.”
As the men began to move, the truck full of armed men rushed toward the entrance of the cell block. Their plan had not been perfect; it never was. The detonation had occurred too close to Habib's cell and could have easily killed their man. Fortunately, it hadn't. They had not, however, expected Americans to be inside with Rahman.
“Hey, boss, be advised you have company. A vehicle just arrived at your doorstep, and I count at least six tangos entering now.”
“Roger. OK, we have company. Shafi, take him to the back and secure him.” Derek pointed to the rear of the hallway out of the immediate line of fire as he and his men
rushed into position. “You guys plant here and welcome them for me. I'm going down the back way.”
Derek jumped and slid down what had once been the second floor in the northwest corner of the building where the first cell was. The collapsed floor had created a slide of rubble, and he was able to get behind the armed men as they rushed in.
Three of the men peered through the dusty cell doors on the first floor as the others rushed upstairs only to be greeted by Carson and Randy. In a second or less, they lay lifeless on the prison floor.
“Three tangos down up here. What's your status, One?”
No answer.
Derek crept through the darkness, minus his night-vision goggles, which had been destroyed in the blast, as he approached the first of the search party on his floor.
The cell block smelled worse than ever. The musty smell that had once filled the air in a majority of the cell blocks had since intensified. It seemed the blast had somehow activated the smell and brought it, and the amount of dust, to a whole new level.
“What's your status, One?” repeated Randy.
Derek slung his weapon and thrust his knife through the back of the man's throat as he gently helped him to the floor.
The men, now worried that Derek was down or in trouble, hurried toward the steps and made their way downstairs. As they reached the bottom, they raised their rifes as a man crept through the dust in front of them and down the far right hallway. Before Carson could fire, Randy grabbed his arm. “That's Derek.”
The two fell in behind Derek as they heard the first of two bursts of silenced rounds rip through the dark cell corridor.
“Two, this is One. All tangos down.”
“Roger, we are right behind you. Nice work, man.”
“OK. Miller, how we doing on finding Grimes?”
A somber Miller responded, “Grimes is dead, sir. I think the blast threw him of the tower.”
Silence. The men stared at each other in confusion. They had known the mission would be the most difficult any of them had ever attempted, but with the single-minded conf-dence of men who had never been beaten, they had refused to believe that any of them would be killed.
A frustrated Derek placed his hands on his head. “Fuck! OK, we have to move. Carson, get Shafi and Rahman. Miller, we need a vehicle.”
“You have one in front of the building. The truck the men just drove up with.”
C H A P T E R 18
Thursday, January 28
Kabul, Afghanistan
CIA Station
2110 Hrs
Grant rushed into Bell's office out of breath. “Sir, Pol-e-Charkhi was just attacked. It was big.”
The chief set down his notes and stood in a hurry. “What's the status of the prisoners? How many escaped?”
“Well, at this point, we don't know, sir. We are getting limited reporting, but from what we can tell, at least two blocks were freed and one was hit.”
“What do you mean hit? VBIED?”
“It looks that way, sir.”
“How about Habib Rahman? Any word on him? Did he make it?”
“We don't know, sir. There is something interesting, though, that Afghan officials are reporting. However, let me tell you first that neither they nor we are sure of the validity of the claim.”
“Just fucking tell me, Grant.”
“Well, sir, the QRF that responded claims that as they repelled freed prisoners, they saw Americans in the compound fleeing the scene. Our guy who works at the Ministry of Justice is telling me, based on the report from the prison, the QRF was likely too far to really know what they saw. We do know they fired an RPG at the truck and missed.”
“Have you checked around? What Americans, or even Westerners, for that matter, would be at the prison?”
“My only thought is perhaps the Brits, sir. It was their compound that was primarily destroyed. The Drug and Poppy Cell Block, where Habib Rahman was being held. It appears, from the first dump of information, that perhaps the Taliban were trying to take out Habib instead of free him. Maybe so he wouldn't talk.”
“That doesn't make any sense. Why go through all that trouble to take him out? There are a million other ways they could have done that,” responded Bell. The chief now sat frustrated and perplexed. “So what are the specifics we have now?”
“Well, it appears that there were two vehicle-borne IEDs and some other unidentified explosions. There are mass casualties scattered around the facility, primarily at the entrance and the cell block, which they hit. Oh, and the commanding general was killed as well. Several bullet wounds to the chest as he sat in his vehicle.”
“Holy shit. Sounds like quite a fucking goat rope. OK, any claims?”
“Yes. The Taliban have already come out and claimed the attack a success. No mention of their boy, though.”
“Any chance the fleeing vehicle was theirs and they got Rahman?”
“Couldn't say, sir.”
“OK, well, we need to close this American thing out. I will get in touch with my contacts and assure them we had no operations in the area but will support however we can. As soon as you get more information on Rahman and his status, I need to know.”
“Sure thing. The Afghans are searching through the rubble now, sir. I'll keep you posted as I get updates.”
Thursday, January 28
Kabul, Afghanistan
Safe House
2217 Hrs
It was time to utilize the team's basement. Derek had specifically requested a compound that had one for an instance such as this.
The mission was to eliminate Habib, not grab him, but under the circumstances and given the large-scale attack the Talibs had planned that resulted in the death of one of his men, bringing Rahman home sounded better. Derek had decided to use Rahman to get the key information they would need to go after Malawi Rafiq, the culprit behind all this.
The team was still in disbelief over the death of Grimes but had no time to mourn. Rahman's information had an expiration date that was fast approaching.
Derek had Randy zip tie Rahman's hands and feet together and throw him into the makeshift basement interrogation room, a windowless, concrete space that was approximately six by six feet.
Derek knew and had used several interrogation techniques over the years. Though training in current times focused more on teaching students what they could not do versus what they could do, Derek had grown creative over the years.
The CIA had taken the brunt of the abuse from the press and the American public over harsh interrogations that had been conducted since the beginning of the War on Terror. Still, though they were unpopular, certain techniques worked, and while civilians might not understand the reasoning for them, Derek knew they sometimes needed to be done.
However, Derek wanted to try something new. Standard techniques were not going to work on Habib Rahman, anyway. Despite the media's apparent belief that being kind and patient with detainees would eventually lead to the required information, Derek knew otherwise. Bad guys these days had been trained in counter-interrogation techniques and knew that their information was useless after a short window of time. They knew that if they held out long enough, they had succeeded.
Derek examined his options. Waterboarding was certainly an option, and it had proven effective, but Derek decided to try something else first. A flash-bang would deafen and blind the subject, completely disorienting him for a short period. In a room of this size, the effects would be horrid and not something Rahman could endure for long, if at all.
Derek pulled Shafi aside before they entered. “This is just like before, buddy. You mirror my emotions and say only what I say. No further explanations or extra questions. If he doesn't get it, he can tell me.”
Interrogations were an art, not a science, and working through a translator could be difficult. The interrogator had to develop a thoughtful plan and be able to adapt to the detainee's mood and willingness to talk over the course of the interrogation. Despite common belief,
it was never a good course of action to go overboard with the screaming approach; it rarely led to anything of value. But in small doses, fear and sometimes pain were extremely effective. Derek knew that interrogations were a game, a deep, psychological game that only one side could win. Tonight, however, was different. This man was full of valuable intelligence that the team hoped was still relevant, and they wanted the information now. The approach had to be fast and furious if they were to get the information in time.
As Derek and Shafi entered the room, Habib stared intently at them.
The Maverick Experiment Page 14