KANDAHAR
Captain Sam Long, the military intelligence officer from the Australian Special Operations Task Group, placed his pen down next to his writing pad. Sipping on a cool glass of water he looked around the room. The other twenty or so intelligence officers from the various task forces were all listening intently to Leon Panetta, the director of the CIA, as he outlined the agency’s strategy for the next five years in Afghanistan. The intelligence officers had worked through the night sharing information and cross-referencing their facts. Even when news had come through of the attack on Tarin Kowt they had kept to their agenda.
Finally we might all be on the same page, thought Sam. He was impressed by Panetta’s opening address. When the director made an offhand remark about the Taliban and the insidious relationship between the governments of Afghanistan and Pakistan, Sam chuckled and caught the eye of Steph Baumer. He smiled across at her. Steph gazed back at him, her face giving nothing away.
Sam watched as the American CIA agent ducked her head to flick through some papers in a manila folder. Even dressed as she was in tan cargo pants and a black T-shirt, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, he found her attractive.
‘As you are all now aware, we are continuing to hear that the Taliban are planning a decisive blow at the end of Ramadan this year. In fact, we have heard their senior leadership discuss it openly. They are up to something big; all the indications are that it is going to be some type of bombing campaign. Some of the information suggests that the Taliban have obtained a new type of suicide vest. We don’t know exactly what that means and we don’t have any indication as to the intended target.’ Panetta paused and looked around the room. ‘Let’s have a five-minute break, guys, and then we’ll go round the room for your monthly action items.’ With that the brains trust made their way to the coffee urns, toilets and smoking areas to decompress.
• • •
Steph stayed in her seat and continued looking through the files on her desk as her colleagues returned to their seats and the meeting resumed. She tapped one particular folder with her finger, deep in thought. The file, which bore the title ODIOUS, was a dossier of indications that Iran was getting actively involved in the region. Through her network, she had gathered enough information over the last few months to draw the conclusion that the Iranians were supplying weapons to the Taliban. She had painstakingly pieced it all together and searched for any evidence that supported her theory.
Her father had been an accomplished CIA operative and also best friends with William Buckley, the Beirut CIA Station Chief who had died at the hands of Hezbollah in 1985. Buckley’s death had had a profound effect on Steph’s family. Her mother and father separated a year later, after her father turned to the bottle looking for solace, and then, in the early 1990s, her father committed suicide. After that Steph became obsessed with joining the CIA and even more obsessed with the Middle East, in particular.
Steph looked up from her papers to listen briefly as Sam Long gave his monthly report to Panetta. She shook her head and went back to her own folder. She had never really liked Sam. He had always seemed awkward and uncomfortable in her presence. But there was more to it than that: Sam was a genius and she didn’t trust him. He always held back his analysis until the last minute and then would play a lay down misère, seemingly not wanting any accolades but not allowing others to take the glory either.
‘Ms Baumer, what have you to report?’ asked Panetta as he came to Steph for her update. It was already well past midnight and he was pushing to get a conclusion to the meeting. She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she had completely missed the others as they updated the director.
‘Well, sir, I have secured another three informants across Regional Command South. They are new and still being groomed.’
‘Good, go on.’
‘There’s a rumour on the streets that Khazi’s brother is intending to flee the country to the United Arab Emirates, although that seems to be a common theme we hear before every fighting season.’
‘Okay, yes, that confirms what Jackson said in his brief.’ Panetta nodded at Jackson.
‘I wish the whole family would just up and leave – perhaps then we could get some traction with the government,’ chimed in one of the other intelligence officers, others nodding their agreement.
Steph dismissed him with a wave of her hand. She looked up at Panetta. ‘There is one more thing, sir.’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, it’s just a theory at this stage – it’s about the Iranians.’
There was a chorus of groans from the group.
A Marine Corps intelligence officer interjected, ‘Seriously, here we go again. Do you have anything concrete this time, Steph? The last time we went down this path we had half of the 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit wasting six weeks looking for supply lines that never even existed.’
Steph ignored him and looked directly at Panetta. ‘Sir, there is strong evidence that the Iranians are seeking to keep us tied here while they exert further influence regionally. They’re supplying weapons to Syria and advisers to Yemen, not to mention the ongoing Hezbollah support.’ Steph held up her thick folder. ‘My theory is that they are the ones supplying the IEDs and weapons to the Taliban through their southern border and up through Pakistan. Once in Pakistan they’re moving things with impunity to Quetta and then into Afghanistan.’
‘That theory has more holes in it than a sieve, Steph,’ Sam argued. ‘I just don’t see how that’s viable. We’ve found their IED factories here in Afghanistan. We know that most of the weapons here were leftovers from the Soviet occupation. Sure, there’s no doubt that the Iranians are involved in smuggling, and that low- or no-metal content IEDs are coming across the border, but these are mostly criminal elements. There’s no evidence to suggest that it’s state-sponsored.’
‘I totally disagree.’ Steph smacked her folder on the table and glared across at Sam.
Sam glared back. ‘Your information is always based solely on your own network’s sources, Steph, rather than corroboration from all our combined networks.’
‘I have an idea, Steph,’ said Allie van Tanken, a Dutch intelligence officer. ‘Why don’t we pretend that we are giving your sources some information in return for the information they have? It might save us some time and lead us directly to Iran – misinformation manipulation, espionage 101.’
Panetta stepped in. ‘Steph, let me reiterate what I have said to you before: this is an interesting theory –’ his gaze swept around the room to encompass the gathered intelligence officers ‘– and let me remind you all that Steph is here because she provides the strategic viewpoint.’ He paused and then rose from his seat. ‘Listen, Steph, Captain Long is right: involve the others more. Share your information and cross-check it against what the other networks are saying. When you have a solid lead on Iran, something concrete to support your theory, then bring it back to me. In the meantime, you guys have to play nice together.’
The director smiled at the group. ‘Okay, everyone, that’s the end of the update. It’s been a long day and a much longer evening. I’ll be back in four weeks and we can do this again. I expect that in that time you will all prepare your briefs for my review prior to the Senate’s committee hearing next month.’ Panetta began to pack his piles of papers into his leather holdall, still talking. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, reach out to your sources – go over the intelligence; I have a bad feeling that we are about to be sucker-punched.’
As the director left the room, Steph shot Sam a furious look.
As if oblivious to her annoyance, he walked over. ‘Sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so dismissive.’
Steph ignored him and started to gather her papers.
‘Perhaps we can sit down together some time,’ he suggested, ‘share some information – see if we can find any trends that might support what you’re chasing. Over a coffee, maybe?’ Sam smiled.
Steph rose from her seat and pushed the chair under the table. She picked up her folders and files and placed them in her small camouflage backpack.
‘Whatever, Sam.’
• • •
Sam watched, bemused, as Steph walked off. Obviously Panetta’s exhortation to play nice had gone over her head. He shrugged and looked down at his watch. He had better get moving if he was going to get his gear packed; the next flight back to Tarin Kowt left early that afternoon.