by J C Ryan
At 3:10 p.m., Rex and his assistant stealthily made their way to the address. On the way, he asked his passenger about his background. He had a Welsh accent, so Rex wasn’t surprised to hear the guy was ex-SAS.
To Rex’s disappointment, the house they were looking for was located on a large open property, with no other buildings close by to conceal their movements. A partially-crumbling wall surrounded the property. It looked vacant. It would be a good place for a clandestine meeting. An hour and a half of observation convinced him that no one was there. Not yet. He shook his head. The fact that this was supposed to be the regional headquarters made the lack of human activity puzzling. It could be that the people who usually worked there were sent home to be out of the way when the big shots arrived. But, in that case he would have expected that some guards would be in place already to keep the place secured. However, Rex had learned long ago the meaning of the acronym TIA, ‘this is Afghanistan’, which meant in Afghanistan, as far as westerners were concerned, almost nothing was ever done in conventional ways.
From their vantage point it was impossible to tell if there was indeed anyone inside the property sleeping. It was also impossible to get any closer without making their presence known. Rex didn’t like it that he couldn’t get more information, but he and the ex-SAS guy decided to make the best of a bad situation and gather as much information as they could. They made sketches, estimated distances, and took almost a hundred photos, many of them zoomed-in close-ups of the house from various positions in an attempt to figure out where the rooms were based on the windows.
By the time the two of them were ready to leave, Rex had a rough outline of a plan of action in his head.
“Let’s get back to the compound. I want to draw up my plan, and then I’ll brief you all at the same time.”
“Ace.”
Rex’s taciturn companion left him to his thoughts, which Rex appreciated. Something was odd about the information he’d received, and so was the situation at the house, but he couldn’t pin it down.
11
Market District, Kabul, Afghanistan, 5:00 p.m.
AFTER DROPPING OFF Frank’s man at the compound, Rex had changed into his man-jammies and headed to his usual haunts in the market district to see what gossip he could pick up. He was listening for chatter about the truck explosion, and he heard plenty, but he couldn’t relate it to the meeting he was supposed to raid.
The man who’d given him the tip about the truck was still absent. Rex gave only a momentary thought to whether he could have been one of the unidentified casualties he was hearing about. If the guy had been killed, it was because he was more deeply involved in the opium trade than he’d let on.
He didn’t hear anything at all about the meeting set to take place that night. It puzzled him. If the meeting was in response to his raids, he’d have thought someone would have mentioned it. His veiled hints got no response, and that was odd, too.
Secrecy in Kabul was an oxymoron. Someone who wasn’t supposed to know about any given secret, but did, could always be found. Over the past twelve months he’d developed more than a dozen sources of information who seemed to know everything that was happening in the city. But no one he talked to that afternoon gave any hint they knew about a top-level meeting to take place.
He’d pushed the envelope of prudence with his inquiries. One or two of his sources looked askance at his questions, and he’d had to back off. If he was to remain here after all his efforts, he couldn’t afford to burn these contacts. Still, it was frustrating to have to plan with no more information than he had.
Frustrating as it was, it would have to be enough. He had a time and a location. Either it would happen, or it wouldn’t. By 6:00 p.m., he’d given up on collecting more information and returned to the compound to brief Frank and his team before dinner. Immediately afterward, they’d deploy according to his plan.
The Phoenix compound
HE GOT BACK about an hour before dinner time and found Trevor working with Digger in the courtyard as usual. Before he went to change clothes, he stopped to greet his buddy.
Digger growled softly as he approached. Rex still didn’t know whether Digger knew him by sight of his face, by smell, or something else. He was dressed as an Afghan man, so it made sense that Digger would view him as an enemy, but then again, if he identified people by smell rather than looks then it meant his growling was part of his twisted sense of dog humor, just making sure Rex remained scared of him.
“Hey, Trevor, question for you.”
“What’s that, mate?”
“I could hear Digger growling, and then he stopped. How far away can he see or smell me?”
“He could smell you from five miles off, mate,” Trevor joked.
“No, seriously.”
“Well, seriously, his sense of smell is a million times better than his sight. I told you he growls at you because you voted for the wrong party, and he won’t let you forget it. Or because he doesn’t like your sense of fashion. Just think about it. Every target I’ve given him since we got here was dressed pretty much like you are. But he’d have smelled you before he recognized your face. And if you’d spoken, he’d have recognized that before your face, too.”
Rex smiled. The more he learned about the dog, the more he appreciated his talents. That didn’t mean they’d ever be best friends. The dog’s sense of humor, and his racism, and his political affiliations would prevent that.
“Briefing in half an hour. Bring Digger along, I get the impression he might understand the briefings better than you do.”
Trevor flipped him a middle finger.
Rex gave a casual wave and went to change into something more appropriate for his next task. Wearing desert camo fatigue pants and a tight khaki t-shirt, he sauntered to the office building. The briefing would take an hour. They’d have dinner after that and then at 9:00 p.m. the eight of them, nine if one counted Digger as a soldier, which he probably was, would head out in various nondescript vehicles for the house.
Rex’s briefing was as detailed as he could make it with the information available. Everyone understood that they had to remain flexible and that things could change as soon as they arrived onsite. He quickly sketched the floor plan of the house, as much as he was able to figure out from looking at it from the outside through a monocular. He pointed out and showed pictures of the crumbling wall and the surrounding area on the whiteboard, pointing at each man as he placed an X where he’d want each to conceal themselves before they approached.
“Trevor, you and Digger will have to pinpoint the guards and tell us where they are, so we can take them out before going in. We’ll need everyone to get inside from all directions at the same time for the element of surprise.”
Rex fielded some questions and clarified that they’d be leaving no witnesses behind. However, he did want the people they found captured, controlled, and kept alive until he’d questioned them.
His inclination was to blow up the house with the drugs and people inside after he interrogated them, but he also had to think about doing it in such a way that it didn’t lead any investigators back to Phoenix. That of course depended on how thorough the investigation would be, and whether it would send a more pointed message if the people were found with their throats cut instead. That would be more in line with how things were done in Afghanistan – TIA. Another factor was how many of them would be there. The intel had been vague. Actually, there was none about that, one more thing he found weird. But since it came from the CIA, he chalked it up to their usual incompetency.
BY DINNERTIME, EVERYONE was clear on the mission. They ate lightly to avoid sluggishness. They needed the blood in their brains, not in their stomachs processing food. Rex’s old pickup and two equally disreputable vehicles that Frank used when he wanted his outfit to keep a low profile set out as twilight was falling. The vehicles left a few minutes apart and turned in different directions, using different routes to get to the destination. The last thing they wan
ted was to look like a motorcade of former Special Forces operators on their way to go and break up a drug lord-slash-Taliban meeting and kill all the attendees.
Trevor and Digger rode with Rex. Digger sat between them, staring straight ahead. Trevor opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it again, apparently changing his mind. Rex glanced at him, leaning forward a little to see past the dog.
“What is it?”
Trevor shrugged. “Nothing, really. It’s just that you seem more comfortable with Digger lately.”
The dog opened his mouth in that goofy smile of his. He did it every time he heard his name, if they weren’t working. He definitely knew the difference between a command, and when the humans were talking about him. And his facial expressions seemed to indicate that whenever the humans were talking about him, it was a good thing.
Rex shrugged. “I appreciate his talent, and that he’s stopped trying to kill me. Also, that he’s learned to be not so rude and only growls softly at me. That’s all.”
Trevor grinned. “Admit it, you wish he was yours.”
Rex couldn’t hide his horror at the idea. “Hell, no!” Then he remembered Digger could understand him and hurried to pacify him. I mean, he’s a good dog and all. But I don’t need a pet.”
Digger closed his mouth and looked at Rex as if he’d been insulted. Trevor was definitely insulted. “He’s not a pet! He’s my brother-in-arms – my best mate.”
“Okay, sorry,” Rex said. “Can we save this for another time? We need to focus.”
Trevor smiled again. “Fair enough. Just passing the time.”
Digger’s expression changed back to what Rex thought of as a smile.
“Well, we’re here,” Rex said. They were actually a mile or more from the house. Rex didn’t want to just drive up and alert the bad guys if they or their guards were there already, nor did he want strange vehicles in the vicinity if the bad guys arrived after them. He’d planned to have all three of their vehicles parked quite a distance from their target. When the others got to their assigned spots, they’d have between half a mile and a mile to get to the house. Rex, Trevor, and Digger would be the first to get there, though.
Now that the time had come, Rex was grateful for the isolation. It was still light enough for Digger to spook anyone who saw them and raise an alarm. Fortunately, they met no one on the way.
From a distance, far enough away to avoid detection if guards had been placed, they reconnoitered the area. There was still no one at the house. The drug lords must have felt secure in the belief that no one would know, or no one would dare to get close to that house if they knew what was good for them. Drug lords had a fearsome reputation all over the world and Afghanistan’s were no exception. Either that or they were complete idiots. The verdict on the latter was not in, yet. Rex’s opinion was that anyone who would get involved in the trade had to be some kind of an idiot. On the other hand, these men were among the richest in the country, definitely in the region. Some men would never have enough and would take the risk for more wealth. He shrugged. TIA.
Trevor sent Digger ahead to scout further out, while he and Rex waited for the others to arrive at their designated spots. No guards were detected and nothing unusual showed up on Trevor’s iPad, which was wirelessly connected to Digger’s harness fitted with a small but powerful night-vision video camera.
Rex spoke into his throat mic to Frank. “Well, it looks like the coast is clear. Let’s move into the house and setup a welcoming committee for them.”
Frank agreed.
So, instead of having to kill guards and break down doors and windows to get in, they all slipped in quietly, one by one, through the front and back doors.
They were all inside by 10:30 p.m.
Rex had quickly inspected the house and placed men in each of the rooms that had furniture in it. They were to wait for the prearranged signal and then all rise at the same time, pointing their weapons at whoever was in the room. Rex posted himself behind some furniture next to the wall at the closest spot to the back entrance. He figured if there was to be a drug delivery as he’d been told, the truck would pull around behind the house, and the drugs would be taken in that back entrance to avoid witnesses, and if there were several men doing the delivery, he trusted himself the most to take them out silently and alone.
Now that he had a chance to see the house on the inside, albeit in the illumination of a small flashlight, he saw the furniture in each room was what one would expect in an office environment; desks, tables, filing cabinets and such. But there were no computers, no printers, no paper, definitely not a typical American office, but then again, TIA.
There would be time later, after their guests arrived, to get a look at the contents of the filing cabinets.
The members of the team each had a coms unit in his ear, Digger included. Trevor watched the iPad from his position in the first room at the front entrance. Now they had only to wait for the invitees to arrive before the surprise party could start.
Digger patrolled outside, night vision camera on his back, earphone is his ear, ready to alert Trevor of any arrivals.
The next half hour set everyone’s nerves on edge as they waited for something – anything – to happen.
12
Koh-e Shir Darwaza, Kabul, Afghanistan
BY 11:00 P.M. the team was getting impatient. They’d expected the guests to be there already, or at least the first arrivals. Rex sensed their jumpiness and told them to take a few deep breaths. He explained that normal people would usually turn up a little early for meetings, it was good manners, but reminded them about TIA. He also explained that these were important and rich people; they had their own rules and pecking order. Among them, the more power one wielded, the later one could, in fact, should turn up for a meeting. It demonstrated authority. So, it could be that they were all in the vicinity but playing chicken — to see who would be the first one to show subordination to the others and enter the house.
The team seemed to settle down after Rex’s little pep talk and his own thoughts became occupied by his missions over the years. It had been exactly as the CRC instructors told him during training. Endless traveling, followed by lengthy periods of mind-numbing boredom, interrupted by bursts of absolute violence and terror. And then there was also the waiting. Infinite, soul-destroying, nerve-wrecking waiting. Waiting for the right time, waiting for a contact to turn up, waiting for someone to complete a task before the next one could begin. And then there was the waiting for Afghan drug lords and Taliban leaders to turn up at a scheduled meeting.
It was 11:30 p.m. when he looked at his watch. They’d been in place for an hour, and there was no indication a meeting of any kind, not even a family gathering was going to take place here tonight. Being so late for such an important meeting as the CIA made it out to be, irrespective of wealth, standing or power, made no sense. Unless, of course, the CIA made a mistake with the location, or the date, or the time, or all of it.
Every ten minutes or so, Trevor reported when Digger had completed another pass around the property and found nothing.
At 11:35 p.m. Rex thumbed his throat mic. “Frank, I’m thinking it’s a bust. I knew something wasn’t right when I scouted this afternoon. Let’s roll. Nothing’s going to happen. Do you concur?”
A click, and then Frank’s voice came through. “I don’t know, buddy. It’s your mission, and your call, but my guys are okay to wait a while longer.”
No one contradicted him.
“I’ve been thinking all day that something’s hinky. I’ve got this itchy feeling between my shoulder blades. Not like there’s someone drawing a bead on me, but that I got bad intel.”
Rex felt restless. The effects of adrenaline – butterflies in the stomach, sweaty palms, raised heartbeat – all of those he’d become used to on missions over the years. But restlessness was a new one.
What the hell is bugging me? Brandt specifically said eleven p.m. was the meeting time.
&
nbsp; Just then, Trevor reported. “Digger’s done the rounds. Nothing. Not so—”
Trevor never finished the sentence. A ball of fire erupted in the house, a noise like the end of the world, and then nothing.
13
Koh-e Shir Darwaza, Kabul, Afghanistan, 11:45 p.m.
DIGGER’S EARS HURT, and a noise like that made by his alpha’s phone when it was wake-up time would not stop. Digger whined and crouched on the ground, rubbing at one ear and then the other to try to stop the noise. It wasn’t coming from the thing in his ear where his alpha spoke to him. He stopped rubbing that ear when he heard sounds coming from his alpha, but it was not orders. It sounded like nothing he’d ever heard before.
The other noise in his ears made it hard to hear anything else. Digger opened his eyes and saw the fire, where the house had been before the big noise had knocked him down. Limping toward the last place he’d seen Trevor, Digger lifted his nose to catch his alpha’s scent. All he could smell was fire, and meat cooking. He snorted, clearing his scent receptors.
Eddies of heated air confused his sense of the direction from where the scents came. He lowered his nose to the ground and followed the scent, though his natural inclination was to follow air scents. He smelled blood, human blood, but all mixed up with other scents. He followed this trail and that, but none of it led to his alpha. Finding human arms, legs, and unidentifiable bits disturbed him, and he began whining as he hurried from one to another. He recognized the scents of his pack, but they were dead or injured.
Digger was distressed. He sat down, lifted his nose, and howled plaintively. His wolf ancestors would have understood and rushed to help their packmate, but Digger’s pack had been destroyed.
With soft, whining sounds, he began his search again, ignoring all scents except his alpha’s. He finally found him in the room in the front of the house. His alpha was there but he couldn’t reach him under the rubble. Digger began circling the spot, but couldn’t find a way in.