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By the time Kara had driven the motorcycle back to her hideout overlooking the mansion, the housekeeper was outside cleaning windows, which appeared to be a large part of her routine. The home had dozens of large exterior windows. There were simply too many to clean on a single day, or even many days. Doing a few each day seemed like a sensible method. Like painting the Golden Gate Bridge, Kara was certain once the housecleaner finished cleaning all the home’s exterior windows, the next day she would start at the very beginning.
The banker’s children played on the front driveway like they did yesterday. They seemed happy and well cared for. Again, the children wore the colorful and traditional salwar kameez.
Instead of the scooter and trike, each had a little pedal car. They took turns coasting down the driveway prior to huffing and puffing back up to the top. Kara zoomed in on the housekeeper. The woman was now standing on a short and wide folding stepstool as she reached for the tops of the windows. Every so often, the housekeeper would turn to check on the children before returning her attention to the windows.
Parked in the driveway was a black SUV, a Mercedes town car, a sky-blue Toyota Corolla, and the housecleaner’s car. Kara allowed her binoculars to follow the driveway down to the guard station next to the front gate. The same guard could be seen through the window watching something on a small television. To the left of the guard was a bank of video screens, but Kara couldn’t make out what was on them. She assumed the property had dozens of security cameras that linked to the monitors in the guardhouse. Kara reached into her backpack and took out a spotter’s scope. This high-powered scope was used by sniper assistants or spotters. The spotter calculates the distance to a target and is responsible for the wind call. The sniper follows the spotter’s directions to the letter. That way if the first shot goes astray, both the sniper and the spotter know where they stand. The spotter also follows the trajectory of the bullet so it can be determined if the bullet went high, low, or off to the side. This process enables the team to adjust the scope to dial in the second shot.
Through the spotter scope, Kara focused in on the guard shack. The powerful optics almost put her inside the room. She could see a soccer game playing on the main screen. The other screens displayed bland images of the property surrounding the mansion. She guided the scope to the right and saw something on the other side of the guardhouse she had not previously noticed. Tucked away on a small spit of ground was a second black SUV. It was backed into a parking space, as if it was prepared to give chase should one be required.
“Hmm...” Kara mumbled to herself, placing the scope in her backpack. She picked up the binoculars and watched the housekeeper and the kids. She observed for more than an hour until everyone went back inside.
At 4:48 p.m., the black SUV carrying Zain Shallah drove in through the main gate. The vehicle pulled up ridiculously close to the front door of the mansion and came to a stop. This time, Kara couldn’t even see the banker get out. There was a flash as the top of the door opened and closed, and a few seconds later the Suburban pulled away to park in the driveway. The driver exited the vehicle and started wiping down the SUV with a clean blue cloth.
If the housekeeper followed the same schedule she had over the last two days, Kara assumed she would be leaving the mansion soon. It was time to get ready. Her motorcycle riding leathers squeaked as she got to her feet. She was pleased Kornev had supplied his underground stash with so much useful gear. Kara tried to imagine Kornev going into a Pakistani Goodwill store and loading up a truck with garments of every type. Kornev probably considered that task beneath him; she was certain he had paid someone to do it for him. Did that mean others in the Peshawar vicinity knew about his tunnels? That thought zapped Kara with a jolt of paranoia. She could plan for the known, but planning for the unknown was virtually impossible. However, an unknown variable was what got you killed. Worse, you would never see it coming.
Even worn over her camo shirt and pants, the leathers were comfortable on her, and she liked the way they felt. Snug enough for ease of movement, yet able to disguise her natural curves. The zippers glided smoothly. Almost a superhero type of thing. The leathers combined with the full-face black motorcycle helmet would provide her protection from a severe case of road rash if she were to lay the bike down. She used a rubber band to bind her long red hair to the top of her head and slipped on her helmet.
Pulling on her backpack, Kara got on the motorcycle. The bike had an electric starter, so she reached down and pulled out the choke and pressed the red button. The engine turned over smoothly and caught. Twisting the throttle a few times, Kara allowed the engine to warm up. When she felt the bike was ready to run, she pressed back in the choke and allowed the machine to idle. With her left foot she popped the bike into first gear and slowly drove down the narrow dirt road. Stopping short of the main road, she had a good vantage point of any car that passed, and the housekeeper would be traveling in this direction.
Removing her phone from her jacket pocket, Kara checked the time. It was 5:03 P.M., and she anticipated the housekeeper’s ugly little car would pass in front of her soon. The motorcycle putted softly like a dog panting while waiting to pursue a rabbit. The drab white car drove by. Kara let out the clutch and jumped in behind it.
Instead of turning left on the N5 Highway like she had done the prior day, this time the housekeeper took a right toward a little town called Jamrud. She continued to drive down the wide Grand Truck Road for a few miles. Upon entering the town, traffic became increasingly more congested. Motorized rickshaws, scooters, trucks, cars, and bicycles competed for space. The potential of dying in this chaos obviously had never entered the drivers’ minds. As before, horns either blared for no obvious reason, or perhaps for very good reasons, but with so many horns it became unclear as to the purpose of the honking except it added to the chaos.
Several times, Kara was cut off by a vehicle or motorbike, forcing her to make an aggressive move to catch up with the white car. The housecleaner transformed from a child-watching, window-cleaning, reserved domestic into an aggressive horn-blasting racecar driver. Her car darted in and out of traffic, sometimes cutting off drivers, but then other times she was forced to come to an abrupt stop because she was cut off by an even more crazed driver. Through all the weaving in and out, Kara kept her in her sights. She was pleased with her prudent decision to drive the motorcycle instead of the car. There was no way she would have been able to stay on her tail.
Eventually Kara found herself directly behind the housekeeper, who made a right turn onto a side street without using her blinker to indicate her intent. Kara remained behind her, but with less traffic, she allowed more distance between the vehicles. Kara simply didn’t know the woman, so she couldn’t evaluate if she was a terrible driver, paranoid, or aware enough of her environment to determine if she had a tail. Ahead, the road dead-ended. The homes on either side of the road came to an abrupt halt. Past the last home stretched out nothing more than a barren desert into the distance. Kara pulled over and parked in front of a random home. She removed her backpack and pretended to search inside for something while keeping an eye on the woman’s car. Four houses down, the housekeeper drove into an empty, narrow driveway. The woman went inside a modest home that looked to be made from brown clay.
Kara slung her backpack on and drove to the end of the street into the desert beyond. She found a pile of boulders and parked her bike behind them. The pile of rocks formed a natural set of stairs. Kara climbed to the top, got down on her belly, and rested her elbows on the tallest rock. In her hands she held the binoculars. For the next six hours she did nothing but watch the house. Sunset turned to night and the housekeeper had not come back out. Kara was relatively certain that this was the woman’s home. What then was the other home she had gone to the night before?
With this final task complete, the CIA agent was ready for action. At first light, she would return here. Kara clambered down the rock pile, fired up the bike, and headed back toward the safe house. She still had to stop at a store to purchase a few necessary items. Then she had some additional prep before she could get some sleep. It was going to be a long night, but sleep was critical. After tomorrow morning, there was no telling when she might have an opportunity to sleep again.