Mario had made it perfectly clear to Kim that he would never return to Afghanistan. It wasn’t that he was afraid, although there was much there to fear. It was a self-imposed exile, some derivation of the adage you can never go home again. Between his time as a SEAL and the CIA, he’d put down roots and made lifelong friends. Many of which had not survived.
For the sake of his own sanity, Mario, like many others in the military and intelligence communities, had compartmentalized that part of his life. But not everyone had apparently sectioned off the desertion—hence the muzzle of a battered M4 carbine pointed at his face.
Mario had expected this might be a possibility and offered no reaction but an easy smile. “Well, that’s a helluva greeting, Billy. Thought you said you’d help.”
“Said we’d meet.” Billy flashed a grin also. “Didn’t say what would happen when we did.”
It was a fair point. They had only agreed on a location and nothing more. Now, Mario was held captive within the crumbling walls of a bombed-out shack, in some dusty village near the Tajik border. But for a few bleating goats and some ancient-looking dirt farmers in filthy turbans, there was nothing in this lonesome outpost but the dark feel of a dying community.
Mario couldn’t help but think that it was as good a spot for an ad hoc execution as it was for a secret rendezvous. And at the moment, it was about fifty-fifty as to which way it would go. He’d disarmed when he’d arrived, leaning his Noveske rifle in the corner of the room as a gesture of goodwill. The four former Afghan paramilitary officers surrounding him had not reciprocated.
The man aiming the M4 at him was named Hakeem Sarbani. But he was simply known to everyone as “Billy” because of the uncanny similarities in looks and demeanor to Billy Sole, the legendary Native American tracker from Arnold Schwarzenegger’s 1987 action movie Predator. This former Afghan commando, with high cheekbones and muscled arms, basically still looked the same. But his long black hair was now streaked silver.
“Had you on the list,” Mario replied quietly. “All you had to do was get on that damn plane.”
“And leave my wife and kids behind?”
When the U.S. abandoned Afghanistan, Billy was left with two horrible options: get on a jet alone or stick around and hope for the best. For the specialized units helping the CIA, the option to Mario was clear. Get the hell out of there while you could and come back for your family later. But this was coming from a guy with no special attachments beyond drinking buddies.
Mario raised his hands to his sides. “I don’t make the rules. If I did, there’d be nothing left of the Taliban but a bad memory. But I worked my ass off to get our guys out of here. And risked my life to do it. So did Kim. None of this was fair. But that’s just the way it is.”
Mario had known Billy to be a to-the-point kind of guy. As a leader in one of the most elite Afghan National Strike Units, known by their code name Kiowas, he had seen his share of combat alongside CIA paramilitary officers and U.S. Special Operations Forces. More than a few of these squads had a bad reputation for vicious night raids and civilian deaths.
This distinctive force, in tiger stripe camo like their forerunners in the Phoenix Program back in Vietnam, evoked terror in their adversaries. Acting as intelligence gatherers and assassins, these hit squads took a notable toll on the Taliban, Al Qaeda, and ISIS-K. They were warriors to the bone, and vicious as hell, providing security in Kabul in the last days before it fell. But it takes a monster to kill a monster. And the Kiowas were the fighters the Taliban feared the most.
Billy’s eyes blazed with hatred. “They killed my wife. My sons. My baby girl. They took everything from me. Even when I offered myself in exchange.”
Mario didn’t have to ask who he meant by they. Badri 313 had tracked down and murdered dozens of members from the Kiowa unit. The group was the Taliban’s Special Operations Forces (SOF). While they were well trained and equipped like most traditional Western SOF units, operators within this group were only allowed to join if they agreed to be martyrs. They were even connected to the Haqqani Network, which meant strong ties to Al Qaeda.
“You want to find their killers, Billy? I can help you with that.”
“Your broken promises are how I ended up in exile. Like a stray dog. Living off garbage.”
Mario took a moment to gather his thoughts. “You want an apology?” With no answer in response, he continued. “Okay, you can have one. And you deserve one. I’m sorry for you and your family. And for what happened to your country. For everything. To be honest, I don’t even know what not to apologize for at this point.”
There was a moment when it looked like Billy might pull the trigger. But if Mario had learned anything about the man over the years, it was that he was not prone to rash decisions. The former team leader was calculating. Icy. He wouldn’t make a move without a plan. And despite the abandonment, Mario knew Billy would never fully blame him for what happened.
They’d bled together and bonded over a mutual hatred of totalitarians. Although he’d never experienced it personally growing up in Puerto Rico, Mario’s grandparents on his father’s side had fled Cuba when Fidel Castro came to power. Stories of their imprisonment, torture, and execution of family members who didn’t make it out were etched into every fiber of his being. And because of this, Mario knew just what to say.
“Look, Billy, I can’t give you back what you’ve lost. And I won’t pretend that I can. But what I can offer is a chance to reconcile. Put all this behind you.”
“Are you kidding me?” Billy looked at him with an expression that fell somewhere between curiosity and rage. “Do you really think I could ever forgive the Taliban after what they’ve done?”
Mario shook his head. “I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about coming to an understanding with God.”
It was clear that Billy was a shattered man. But he wasn’t just beaten down by broken promises or authoritarian rule. He was a man who’d banked on the fact that the Almighty would reward the righteous, and now he felt betrayed. Mario’s offer wouldn’t bring back Billy’s family or change a damn single thing. Working for the CIA again, however, would give him a significant advantage over his enemies. Vengeance was there for the taking.
“Don’t need permission,” Billy countered. “We can take revenge anytime we want.”
“That’s right,” Mario conceded. “You don’t need our blessing. But to make it count, to really make it hurt, you need our intel. Names. Addresses. Vulnerabilities. Travel patterns. We still keep tabs on all the high-level leadership. You help deliver what we need and it’s all yours.”
Billy gave a slow nod of understanding. “Okay then. We have a deal.”
“Not so fast.” Mario wagged his finger. “You have something for me?”
“Yeah, I know who took Kim. And I know where she’s being held.”
Mario resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief. “Can we get her back?”
“We can,” Billy affirmed. “But it won’t be easy. A lot of people will get in the way.”
Mario knew exactly what that meant. It was Billy’s not-so-subtle way of saying that the toll of human lives would be a large one. It also meant that he was going to have to look the other way on how they got the job done. The Kiowas had barely followed rules of engagement before the Americans had pulled out. Now that the gloves were off, it was going to get ugly.
Despite the remoteness of their location, Mario could get weapons. “What kind of opposition are we looking at? Just tell me what we’re up against and I’ll make sure we’ve got the tools.”
All of a sudden, it was starting to feel like old times again. He and Billy had planned so many operations together they could do it in their sleep. The problem was that they no longer owned the battlespace, which limited their movement. But there were ways around that.
Billy held up his cell phone. “Got a call from one of our old friends. Told me Kim and two others were taken to a heroin trafficker’s compound.”
Mario was tempted to ask what this guy was doing now, and how he knew that information, but thought it was better if he didn’t know. Many of the guys they’d trained, once loyal to a fault, had found themselves in the drug trade or working for the Taliban. Some had even fallen in with violent Islamic extremist organizations.
Despite their differences, many of the members of the country’s indigenous special operations community were still loyal to one another and maintained contact. Mario had always thought it a bit strange. But that was Afghanistan. The elite training they’d received from the Americans set them apart from the others. And they were fiercely proud of it.
“Is Kim okay?” Mario asked. “Is she hurt?”
“She and the others are alive, last I heard. Being held just outside of Kunduz.”
“Heard from who?” Mario asked.
“Old team member. Guy you didn’t know. Works for Akhtar Omar now. One of the biggest drug runners in the country.”
“Will your friend help us get Kim back?”
Billy shook his head. “Said they already have plans, which don’t include Kim or the others leaving Afghanistan alive.”
“Makes no sense,” Mario argued. “Why wouldn’t they just ransom them to the Taliban?”
“There’s a running argument among the traffickers,” Billy explained. “Some want to kill them outright to show their loyalty to the regime. Others think they’re worth more to the Taliban alive. And a whole other group just wants to sell them to the highest bidder.”
Mario perked up. “No higher bidder than Uncle Sam. Call up your guy and tell him we’re ready to make a deal.”
“Doesn’t work like that. Even if we used a surrogate to make the transaction, the Taliban would smell a rat. They look the other way on heroin trafficking, so long as they get their cut. But a deal with the U.S. without approval puts you on the naughty list.”
“But you said there were other bidders?”
“ISIS-K. Al Qaeda. A few others who would love to torture and execute a few Americans and post it online. That kind of advertising is priceless.”
Mario was confused. “But I thought nobody wanted to cross the Taliban. Wouldn’t selling Kim to their enemies do just that?”
“You’ve been gone too long, my friend. You forget this land is full of zealots. Even some of the traffickers are living the life of jihad. For them, the Taliban is too . . . mainstream. They’d risk it all to make an example of an infidel.”
Mario looked into the air for a second or two as he thought through the scenario. “Okay . . . how much time do we have while they make up their minds?”
“Not long.” Billy looked grim. “If we’re going to go, we need to move now.”
Mario had counted on at least a day to get prepped and supplied but they clearly didn’t have it. “Okay, I’ve got money if you can find weapons and transport.”
“We already have everything.” Billy’s eyes went wide. “Been waiting for this moment for a very long time.”
His revelation struck Mario in two ways. On the one hand, they needed to move, and Billy’s guys were ready to go. That was a godsend. On the other, it dawned on him that he’d just recruited a band of well-trained, highly motivated foreign special operatives for his mission. And it was unlikely they’d be content with revenge against those who murdered their families once the job to rescue Kim was over. They’d be satisfied with nothing short of an all-out war.