Chaos in Kabul (17 page)

“I told Mullah Beradar about the difficulties you encountered in Kabul even before you were able to put your plan into effect.”

“Did you tell him that someone tried to kill me?”

“I had already sent a report to Quetta on that matter,” said Kotak. “Mullah Beradar was very angry. He launched an internal investigation and arranged a confrontation between himself and Mullah Mansur in Mullah Omar’s presence.

“After some reluctance, Mullah Mansur admitted that he disagreed with the secret committee’s decisions. He felt that it wasn’t worth the trouble to kill Karzai, that we should let him fall like a rotten fruit on the day we seize power. That his death would only complicate things by enraging the Tajiks and the Uzbeks.”

“Did Mansur admit that he tried to kill me?” asked Malko.

Mullah Kotak waved the question away as if it weren’t relevant, and went on.

“Following this confrontation, a
shura
was held with the various
members of the secret committee, presided over by Mullah Omar.

“In the end, he settled the matter and decided the project should go ahead. That way, we avoid wasting our energy fighting the Americans. Once Karzai is dead, the regime will disintegrate and its most corrupt members will flee. We will have fewer people to hang. That will ensure a smoother transfer of power.

“Mullah Mansur promised to take no further action. He would never dare oppose Mullah Omar, our respected leader. Mullah Omar’s only regret is that the task of killing Karzai has been given to an infidel.”

Malko knew that Omar took matters of religion extremely seriously. The man had supposedly never in his life spoken to a non-Muslim, of any rank.

“Does this mean I won’t have any more problems from within the Taliban?”

Kotak nodded.

“Mullah Mansur would never defy Mullah Omar. He put forth his point of view, and it was rejected. We are a democratic organization whose members are honest in the highest degree.”

The chubby cleric wasn’t above a bit of sly humor.

Malko felt relieved. He had taken this assignment reluctantly, and not to work with people who would stab him in the back.

“This sounds reassuring,” Malko said.

But Kotak wasn’t smiling. He merely fingered his amber tasbih—prayer beads—in silence. Malko sensed that he still had more to report.

The cleric leaned closer and said, “In my investigation, I had a long talk with Mullah Mansur. He and I may not always agree, but we fought the Soviets together, and that created a deep friendship between us. Mullah Mansur swore on our holy Quran that he didn’t tell anyone about your presence in Kabul.”

As Malko slowly grasped the implications of what Kotak had just said, his blood ran cold.

“Are you saying that the kidnapping had nothing to do with your people?”

“Nothing at all. The only action against you was the gas station attack by the people from Wendak, whom my fighters killed. May Allah forgive me for that, because they were good Muslims and brave men.”

Malko was shaken. “You told me that the kidnapping came from the presidency.”

“Absolutely,” the mullah confirmed. “And I am positive about my information. It was a devious operation, using people who had no direct link to Karzai.”

“So who tipped Karzai off?” asked Malko.

The mullah spread his fat hands. “I have no idea, but it didn’t come from our side.”

Which raised a whole new problem.

Malko could hardly imagine continuing a mission that was rotten at the core. Because there could now be only one source for the leak: the CIA. He didn’t know who knew about the assassination project in Washington, where Hamid Karzai still had supporters. But Karzai had learned about it here in Kabul, so it was in Kabul that Malko would have to investigate.

“Thank you very much,” he said to Kotak.

“I hope you are not going to give up your project.”

“I don’t plan to lift a finger until I know where the leak is coming from,” said Malko firmly. “Otherwise, we’re bound to fail. I will keep you posted.”

They again exchanged a long handshake. Mullah Kotak seemed sincerely contrite.

“I have solved the problem on my side,” he said. “It’s now up to you to solve it on yours. But remember, you are not alone. I am continuing to protect you, discreetly.”

In fact, Malko could think of only one person who could really protect him: Warren Michaelis, a man who was apparently already taking a great interest in him, by way of Alicia Burton. He would confront him in a day or so.

Michaelis was fairly dripping with goodwill. He’d immediately returned Malko’s phone call with an invitation to lunch at the Ariana Hotel. An armored Agency SUV came to pick him up at the Serena.

As they ate, Malko let the CIA station chief do all the talking, without broaching any serious topics. Michaelis broke this tacit agreement with an innocent-sounding question.

“How is your stay in Kabul going?”

Michaelis apparently didn’t know about the attack at the Salang Highway gas station.

“I have a big concern,” Malko said as he finished his steak.

“Really? What’s that?”

The American seemed honestly surprised—and interested. Malko gave him a totally innocent smile.

“You’re aware that Langley gave me a mission with an extremely high need-to-know, right?”

“Yes, I am,” said the CIA station chief with a frown. “I was instructed to steer clear of your activities, and I have.”

“Not entirely.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been persistently approached by a freelance reporter
named Alicia Burton. She did everything she could to find out—somewhat clumsily—what I was doing in Kabul. I told her a few things that she probably passed on to you.”

“To me? Why?”

Malko looked the American in the eye. “Because you sent her, Warren. Burton is a newspaper stringer. She has contacts in the Agency, and she depends on you for her livelihood. I’m not angry at what you did, but I need to be sure of what I’m saying. Once I am, I can abandon a lead I’ve been pursuing. You were probably just doing your job, but I have to know.”

A long silence followed. If any pins were dropping, they would’ve been heard. At last, the CIA station chief spoke.

“I apologize, Malko,” he said sheepishly. “What I learned, I kept to myself. I just wanted to stay informed and be sure you weren’t taking any unnecessary risks.”

Malko allowed himself a small smile. “Then we can consider the matter closed,” he said. “But I have a much more serious problem. Did you know one of your predecessors, Mark Spider?”

“Of course. A remarkable man and very close to President Karzai, whom he’s been following for the last twelve years. Spider did two tours as Kabul COS and is now in Washington.”

“Do you know what he does there?” asked Malko.

“He’s on the Strategic Committee for Afghanistan. It has people from the Agency, the Pentagon, the federal government, and the White House.”

“Are they active?”

“Very. When President Obama decided we would withdraw our troops in 2014, it raised a lot of problems, and those issues are still on the table.”

“Do you receive instructions on that subject?”

“Some, but our relations with President Karzai are very difficult. Even I sometimes have to wait several days before I can talk to
him. He’s very capricious and constantly complains about us to the media. Fortunately, one of my deputies is on good terms with him.”

“Who is that?” asked Malko, sounding casual.

“Jason Forrest. He was number two when Mark Spider was COS. Mark introduced Jason to Karzai. He may even have the president’s private cell number, which I don’t.”

Malko’s face betrayed nothing. He might just have found the source of the leaks that had nearly got him killed in the kidnapping.

“What exactly does Forrest do here in Kabul?” asked
Malko.

“He runs the Office of Regional Affairs. It’s a group of analysts that draws on Pakistani, Afghan, Iranian, and Indian sources to generate situation assessments.”

“Does he meet with President Karzai in the course of his work?”

Michaelis paused before answering. “No, I don’t think so. In any case, he’s supposed to inform me if that happens. Why are you asking me all this?”

“For a very serious reason,” said Malko. “I think someone told Karzai about the mission I’ve been assigned.”

Michaelis’s eyes widened. “How’s that possible? Even I don’t know what it is.”

“I know, and I’m not accusing you. But I’m afraid that someone in the Agency—whom I can’t name—has learned what I’m doing here and is keeping Karzai informed. I can’t tell you how I know this, but I’m virtually certain that my kidnapping was a setup arranged by someone in his entourage to get rid of me permanently.”

Michaelis looked as if he’d been punched. When he finally understood what Malko was implying, he asked in a horrified tone, “You don’t really think Jason Forrest is informing President Karzai, do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why would he do that?” protested the station chief. “He’s a respected senior officer of impeccable honesty, without a single black mark in his file. A man like that couldn’t possibly be a traitor.”

Malko smiled. “You know the four reasons for committing treason, don’t you, Warren? Remember the acronym MICE: money, ideology, compromise, ego. In Jason Forrest’s case, it would be ideology. Here’s my thinking. I imagine that Forrest is still close to his former boss, Mark Spider, right?”

“Yes. They email each other quite often. Jason has mentioned it to me.”

“Okay. Let’s say that Spider, who has close ties with President Karzai, disagrees with American policy toward Karzai. He might very well want to inform him. That isn’t
really
treason. Only, reactions here in Asia can sometimes be brutal. Trust me, I know.”

Michaelis had been staring at his plate. Now he looked up—and went on the offensive. “That’s just a theory,” he said in a firm voice. “In my eyes Jason Forrest is completely loyal. I can bring him in and question him, if you like.”

“That would probably be the worst possible thing to do,” said Malko. “There’s a much better way.”

“What’s that?”

“Discreetly get a listing of all calls made from his cell phone for the last month.”

Michaelis blanched. “That’s out of the question! It would be impugning the man! Anyway, counterintelligence handles that kind of inquiry. Otherwise, it would be casting suspicion on someone when it wasn’t warranted.”

“Come on, Warren!” Malko said with an understanding smile. “It’s exactly what you would do if you thought a senior officer had been a little too chatty with unauthorized people. There’s no shame
in it. As COS, you’d just tell your security officer to keep his eyes peeled. And if it turns out that I’m mistaken, we’ll forget all about it.”

Michaelis shook his head vigorously, jowls flapping. “I just can’t do it!”

When he met Malko’s eye, the Austrian’s gaze was icy. “As I see it, two very important things are involved here. First, the success of a mission given to me by Clayton Luger. Second, my personal safety. If you refuse, I’ll be forced to turn to Langley. And I really don’t want to do that.”

A hush descended on the men, and it flew around the small dining room until Michaelis spoke.

“I’ll launch the inquiry,” he said dully. “And keep you informed.”

His lunch with Michaelis over, Malko contacted Nelson Berry, who promptly sent him the same SUV with Darius at the wheel. They drove along the NDS complex, passing the Gandamack Lodge on their left. The moment they reached Berry’s poppy palace, he bounded down the front steps and shook Malko’s hand.

“Thanks for your little present,” he said. “We’re up to date now. Your timing’s good, because I’ve made some headway. Follow me!”

He took Malko into a room next to his office. Standing on a wooden table was a long object wrapped in a blanket. Berry unwrapped it, revealing an enormous sniper rifle with a Zeiss scope on a tripod. It was a monster, with a barrel more than three feet long.

“This is a Degtyarov 41,” he announced with a hint of pride. “A sniper rifle used by the Soviets. Fires a 14.5 mm cartridge, single shot. Accurate to eight hundred yards. The shell’s kinetic energy is so high that if it hits a vehicle, it destroys it along with the occupants. I had it shipped from Dushanbe with some ammunition.”

Malko gazed at the sniper rifle respectfully. You didn’t see something like that every day.

Added Berry, “The shell will penetrate an inch and a half of armor plate.”

The two men looked at each other, both thinking the same thing.

Malko broke the silence: “I assume you know how to shoot it.”

“I’ve used it before,” said the South African. “It’s an incredibly powerful weapon. Of course, you can’t afford to miss, ’cause there’s no magazine. The advantage is that when you hit your target, your problem’s solved.”

“Have you chosen a kill zone?” asked Malko.

“Yeah, I have. I started looking into that while you were out of touch. I know how Karzai’s people work. They sweep the route and get rid of all the cars along the way, but they don’t go far beyond the perimeter. It would take too much manpower. I found a location I can shoot from, but there’s still lots of problems to deal with.”