Beijing
Zeb took the risk of meeting his team in person in a lunch house in Sanlitun.
‘Tickets are booked to Jiuquan, for later today.’ Beth briefed them as he chose items from the racks, placed them on his self-service tray and joined the line at the checkout counter.
‘The same formation as last time. Gao Ling will pick us up from Jiayuguan—’
‘We can’t risk his knowing where we will be,’ Roger interrupted.
‘He won’t. We’ll get off on the highway several miles from our hit site.’
‘I’ll be on the gun,’ Bwana announced.
‘And I’ll be on the other Barrett,’ Meghan said, booking her own spot.
‘Drone controls will be with me and Broker.’
‘We’ll provide backup.’
Zeb paid for his food, took his tray to an empty table and, as he sat down, nodded to Chloe, who had spoken last.
‘You?’
Bear’s jaws moved rhythmically as he chewed his food.
‘I’ll approach Hsu’s BMW.’ Zeb sipped his juice and looked around casually in the lunch hall. It was an upscale restaurant that pretended to be a working person’s dining room. Large room with shared tables and benches, open kitchen in which chefs bustled. No table service. His dining companions were a family who were engrossed in themselves and didn’t notice he seemed to be talking to himself. ‘And take him out.’
‘You’re forgetting something.’ Broker got up for a second helping. ‘The surveillance satellites. Won’t they see the activity?’
‘Not to that level of detail. And in any case, Clare has a plan for that.’
‘What’s that?’ Beth asked suspiciously. ‘Is this something you’ve been holding back from us?’
‘I don’t know the details,’ Zeb said defensively. ‘Travis Roth, he—’
‘The billionaire? How does he fit in?’
‘Let me guess. He’s never forgotten we rescued his daughter from Somali pirates. We’ve used his facilities a few times,’ Meghan said slowly as she raised her head to look in his direction. ‘He’s got several weather satellites that help African countries. Looks like one of them, or all, might be equipped with some fancy tech. And one of his birds is in the same orbit and plane as the Chinese ones.’
‘He’ll laser-blind the spy satellites?’ Chloe guessed.
‘I don’t know. Clare played it cagey. No one tells me anything.’ Zeb went for sympathy and got rude noises in return.
‘Won’t the Chinese know their bird has been attacked?’ Roger went to the drinks rack and checked out the various offerings.
‘It’s hard to prove,’ Chloe, the science expert, clarified. ‘CIA claims that Iran blinded one of our birds a decade ago, but we had nothing to offer other than accusations. Countries often get their satellites to shadow others. That’s a common practice. Besides,’ she concluded, ‘who would suspect Roth? He’s a friend to the Chinese, too. His weather satellites give them data for free.’
‘Right.’ Beth brought that discussion to an end: ‘Hsu and his crew will have cell phones. What’s stopping them from—’
‘You, dumbass,’ her sister told her witheringly. ‘Your drone will suck their calls.’
Kabul
Clayton Farley hugged Ross Krueger when the ambassador greeted him outside his room.
‘It’s going to be tough, boss,’ he told the secretary of state, who had flown in the previous night.
‘When is it easy?’ Farley grinned at him. He had slept well, but the hours of flying across time zones, and keeping late hours with his hosts, were showing. He removed the plastic wrapping from an energy drink, gulped it and wiped his lips with a paper towel.
‘You know those aren’t healthy.’ Krueger inspected the bottle as he took it from his boss and tossed it in a trashbin.
‘Don’t start. You’re sounding like Marg.’
The two men had known each other for a long time and were close friends. They had met in law school, after which Farley had pursued a career in politics while Krueger had gone into international consulting. They had come together in President Morgan’s administration.
‘Ahmadzai being difficult?’
‘Yeah.’ Krueger gestured at the armored car that rolled up, and then climbed in through the other side. ‘Like I told you, he wants power.’
‘Is he aware we won’t be happy with that?’
‘Heck, even Rahmani and Rasouli don’t want that. But we’re at an impasse. It looks like the Taliban are ready to walk away.’
‘And resume their attacks?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘You want me to turn on my charm?’
‘Or threaten Ahmadzai.’ Krueger grinned.
Farley straightened his suit as the car rolled to a stop at the presidential palace. He climbed out and clasped the waiting President Rahmani in a warm embrace.
‘You’ve covered some distance, secretary of state.’
‘Clayton, your excellency, let’s not get formal. Yeah. I juggled my schedule when Ross called me.’
‘He’s briefed you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Come, then. Let’s not keep the Taliban waiting.’
Farley got a mixed reception in the conference room when Rahmani led him and Krueger in. Rasouli grabbed the secretary of state’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically, but Mir Pazhman Ahmadzai made no attempt to get up from his seat.
The Taliban leader glared at him and muttered unintelligibly to his men, who laughed.
‘You brought him here,’ he said, turning to the president contemptuously, ‘thinking he can negotiate with us?’
‘I was visiting the neighboring countries,’ Farley said with an easy smile. He spoke Dari like a native, with an Afghani accent, a result of his spending years in the country. It wasn’t the first time he had faced a hostile audience. ‘I called his excellency when my calendar opened up. I invited myself.’ That will save Rahmani from having to lie.
‘What do you have to offer?’
‘We all want peace—’ the secretary of state began.
‘That doesn’t come by your just wanting it,’ the Taliban leader taunted. ‘You have to give something to get it.’ His men nodded in agreement.
‘Don’t you want peace? Don’t you want children to have normal lives? No more widows?’
‘Don’t tell me what we want, Farley,’ Ahmadzai spat. ‘This isn’t a negotiation between equals. You Americans want to withdraw troops. Rahmani wants to rule for as long as he can. What do we get in return?’
‘Power sharing? That’s what you demanded.’
‘Yes. We want to be in the government. We want to decide policies.’
‘You’re willing to give up your arms, the killing, for that?’
‘Didn’t we agree to the ceasefire?’
‘Every Taliban fighter will quit killing?’ Farley repeated his question.
‘I can’t speak for every person, but—’
‘We can discuss seats in the government later. Once President Rahmani’s government sees stability in the country.’
‘You called us back for this?’ Ahmadzai exploded at the president and the vice-president. ‘He’s saying the same thing you said. Why is he here, anyway?’
‘The US has a big stake in our country’s stability,’ Rasouli said soothingly.
‘So that they can sell their goods to our people. Profit. That’s all they are interested in.’
Farley closed his files and slipped them back into his briefcase. It’s time to play hardball.
‘Shall I be blunt with them?’ he whispered to the president.
Rahmani searched his face and then nodded. ‘I trust you.’
‘Afghanistan can’t offer what you want.’ The secretary of state folded his glasses and slipped them inside his jacket. ‘If that means these negotiations end, so be it.’
Ahmadzai’s jaw dropped. He stared at the American and then at the Afghani government delegation.
‘What? It’s over? Just like that?’
‘You walked out of the previous discussion when the president said there would be no power sharing. You were right. What’s the point of continuing these discussions?’
‘My people will not like it,’ the Taliban leader raged. ‘They will return to killing.’
‘Afghanistan’s history is full of bloodshed. Once the news of these negotiations leaks, I am sure the people will know who walked out. It wasn’t the president.’
Farley got to his feet and nodded to Krueger, who jumped up as well.
‘There is another option,’ Ahmadzai growled when Rahmani and Rasouli stood up, too.
The secretary of state paused and looked at him expectantly.
‘We are ready to drop our demand,’ the Taliban leader said.
‘But?’ Farley guessed something else was coming.
‘We want someone returned to us.’
‘Who?’ The secretary of state felt a sense of foreboding creep over him.
‘Mir Roushan Pasha.’
‘Pasha!’ Rahmani gasped. ‘The terrorist?’
‘Yes,’ Ahmadzai grinned evilly. ‘Give him back to us and we will agree to a peace deal.’
Zeb was boarding the train at Beijing Railway Station when the Taliban leader dropped the bombshell on the Afghani and American delegation.
He bowed to the compartment attendant, who showed him to his cabin.
‘You’ll make friends,’ the railway employee said with a smile as he nodded to the other passengers. ‘That’s what these sleeper coaches are for. Travel in comfort, meet new people.’
‘I’m sure I’ll enjoy the company.’ He eyed Broker, who seemed to be suppressing a grin. He slipped the attendant a tip and shut the door behind him.
‘Meet new friends. Travel to new places,’ Bear guffawed. ‘Sounds like the recruiting pitch you made to me all those years ago.’
‘You didn’t need much convincing, as I remember.’
‘Shucks, why would I pass up the opportunity to travel on the government’s dime?’
‘The women?’
‘They’re two compartments behind.’ Bear pointed to the rear of the train. ‘Have you checked on Bwana?’
‘Nope.’ Zeb shook his head. ‘I got held up at the store.’ He brought out the burner phones he had bought in the station.
‘I’ll show you.’ His friend chuckled and led him out into the hallway.
‘He’s in this coach?’
‘Yeah. Toward the end.’
Zeb followed him as they went past open soft-sleeper compartments. He heard Bwana’s growl and cocked his head. Is he reading something?
He walked past the compartment and had to bite his lips hard from laughing at what he saw inside.
The operative had a small girl perched on his lap and was reading a book to her. Another girl was snuggled to his side and following his words.
‘A Chinese family,’ Bear whispered as he struggled to hold in his mirth. ‘They made friends with him, and once the girls learned he was American, they insisted he read them a bedtime story.’
‘The attendant?’
‘Hasn’t suspected anything.’
‘There’s a reason for that.’ Meghan came to the connecting door between the two coaches and looked out of the window. ‘Beth’s knocked out the security cameras in our coaches. Even if MSS has circulated Bwana’s photograph, the attendant can’t relay the information.’
‘He could call the cops.’
‘Not without our knowing,’ the elder twin said smugly. ‘We’ve hacked into the train’s network. Yeah.’ She nodded at Zeb’s expression. ‘It connects to the rest of the cellular providers, but because we are in, we can listen to the traffic. We’ve got keyword alerts—pshaw.’ She waved a hand disparagingly, ‘you wouldn’t understand. We are safe.’
Kabul
‘Pasha is a killer.’ Rasouli shot out of his seat. ‘He was the world’s most wanted terrorist. How can you even make such a demand?’
‘Because,’ Ahmadzai’s voice hardened, ‘he alone can unite all the Taliban fighters. You want peace? Give him to us.’
‘What if he returns to his killing?’ the vice-president snarled.
‘He won’t. We’ll convince him.’
‘And if he doesn’t listen?’
‘We’ll kill him,’ the Taliban leader said callously.
Farley watched as both delegations argued heatedly, and looked at the Ambassador when Krueger tugged his sleeve.
‘They’re talking as if they don’t know.’
‘Yeah,’ he whispered back.
‘You all know,’ he drawled as he leaned forward to get the arguing parties’ attention, ‘that Mir Roushan Pasha is probably dead.’
‘You have him,’ Ahmadzai burst out after a short silence at the secretary of state’s words. ‘The Americans were chasing him in the Hindu Kush mountains.’
‘Yes, we were. But we didn’t find him. It snowed heavily that year. He was wounded and we concluded he couldn’t have gone far. He died out there.’
‘Pasha doesn’t die in the cold. Snow is nothing to him,’ one of the terrorists snarled. ‘You are lying. He’s America’s prisoner.’
‘Why would I lie?’ Farley raised his hands helplessly. ‘This is common knowledge. There were newspaper and TV reports about what happened in the Hindu Kush.’
‘We know he’s alive.’ Ahmadzai slammed his palm on the table. ‘Give him back to us. Then, we have a deal.’
He adjusted his robes and stomped out of the room. The rest of the Taliban delegation followed him without another word.
‘We don’t have him,’ the secretary of state said when silence had fallen in the room. ‘Heck, if we did, we would have handed him over to you.’
‘Why is Ahmadzai so sure he’s alive?’ Rahmani wondered, stroking his beard thoughtfully. ‘Niaz,’ he told his vice-president, ‘can you find out through your contacts?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Rasouli had been waiting for just those instructions. Can’t talk to them in the palace. He summoned his vehicle and got to Taimani, where Ahmadzai was waiting for him in Laila’s apartment.
‘It went just as we set it up,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Rahmani and the Americans weren’t expecting that.’
‘Was Farley prepared to walk away? That took me by surprise.’ The Taliban leader frowned. ‘If he had and Rahmani had backed him, then we would have lost everything.’
‘No, I would have convinced him to return to the negotiating table. They want to know why you think Pasha is alive. You never told me that, either.’
Ahmadzai’s eyes were dark and fathomless as he studied him for several moments. He was in his ceremonial outfit: a dark perahaan, the loose robe worn by many Afghani men that hung below the knees, and tonbaan, loose trousers. On his head was a lungee, a turban with a loose end draped over his left shoulder.
He came to a decision and brought out a slip of paper from his perahaan, unfolded it and handed it to Rasouli.
‘This was found on one of our men in the mountains, where Pasha was last seen.’
I am alive.
The vice-president looked at the single sentence and frowned. ‘That’s it? That’s your proof?’
‘The man seemed to be Pashtun, but we don’t know him. He died in the cold. We found this on his body.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ Rasouli said irritably, ‘some stranger has this note on him and that’s gotten you excited that Pasha is alive? After what? …’ He trailed off as he calculated in his mind. ‘More than a year?’
‘Turn the note over.’
The vice-president stared at the crude drawing of a red dagger. ‘This—’
‘Is Pasha’s mark. It’s his identification,’ Ahmadzai said with barely restrained excitement.
The terrorist had become notorious not just for setting off bombs, but also for brutal beheadings he put on the internet. In addition, at every kill site, he drew the shape of the dagger on the ground with the blood of his victims.
‘Why hasn’t he said anything more? Why hasn’t he identified himself or his location?’
‘We think he’s a prisoner somewhere and couldn’t give away more.’
Rasouli took photographs of the note with his cell phone and handed it back to the Taliban leader. ‘He could be anyone’s prisoner, in that case.’
‘Whose?’ Ahmadzai snapped. ‘Pakistan? India? They would have made a big show of capturing him. They would have paraded him on TV and returned him to Afghanistan. No, the Americans have him and are hiding him from us.’
‘Why? What would be their motive?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ The terrorist leader snapped. ‘Pasha is a hero to the Taliban. Every shooter will take to their guns at his bidding. They don’t want that.’
Rasouli nodded in agreement.
‘Tell Farley, Krueger and Rahmani, that’s our condition. Give us Pasha and we’ll give you peace.’ Ahmadzai glanced at the M16 one of his men was carrying, and his lips twisted in a cold smile. ‘Our kind of peace. Our rule, with Pasha to enforce our law and with you as the president.’