Chaos in Kabul (18 page)

“What about your exfiltration?” asked Malko.

“That shouldn’t be an issue,” said the South African. “I’ll leave the rifle behind. It was stolen from a Russian unit in Tajikistan, so it can’t be traced to me.”

Berry rewrapped the Degtyarov, and the two men returned to his office.

“Has anybody else thought of getting rid of Karzai this way?” asked Malko.

“Maybe, but there are a couple of hurdles. First, you have to know how to use a rifle like that, and it isn’t easy. I’m big enough, physically, because the recoil is terrific; 14.5 is the caliber of a Dushka, the heavy Russian machine gun. It’s like firing an RPG, except the projectile travels much faster.

“Also, this kind of attack isn’t in the Taliban mind-set. They’ll swarm a building, break into it, then blow themselves up. I don’t think they would conceive of this kind of tactic.”

“Tell me more about your plan,” said Malko. “Having the rifle is all well and good, but you still need a target.”

“I’ve made some progress there, too,” said Berry. “In a week or so, Karzai will be going to Lashkar Gah in Helmand Province. He’s flying, so he’ll be traveling from his palace to the airport, as he always does. The Airport Road route will be cordoned off, but not too far on either side. I’ve located a building under construction set back from the road that I can use as a hide site.”

“What about Karzai’s departure time?”

“I’m looking into that, but it shouldn’t be too hard. Mainly I need a spotter at the palace so I can predict the time slot. There will be about ten minutes between the time he leaves the palace and when he enters my kill zone.

“The biggest problem is that when Karzai travels, his convoy always uses three identical Mercedes with tinted glass. He doesn’t choose his car until the last minute. I don’t need to see him, but I have to know which car he’s in. I’m working on that.

“So what do you think of my plan?”

“It looks pretty good to me. But you’re running a big personal risk.”

The South African gave him a crooked smile. “That’s what you’re paying me for,” he said. “What about you? You getting out of the country before D-Day?”

“No, I’m not.”

If he left, he’d have felt like a coward. He rather liked the roughhewn South African, even though he was a killer. He wasn’t afraid to take chances.

“That should do it,” said Malko. “Don’t leave that rifle of yours lying around.”

It was raining in Kabul. Sheets of water fell from a leaden,
grayish sky, turning rutted roads into muddy swamps. Thick fog hid the tops of the surrounding hills.

The change in the weather had been sudden and depressing.

Malko was in his room, staring out at the hotel’s leafless garden. Kept indoors by the lack of action and the bad weather, he felt gloomy. This strange mission was lasting a very long time, and a hostile, invisible world seemed to be swirling around him.

By now, Hamid Karzai almost certainly knew Malko was in Kabul on a mission targeting him, even though he didn’t know its exact shape. It would explain the attempt to kidnap and kill him. That could happen again, in some other form. Given the rocky relationship between Karzai and the Americans, anything was possible. The Afghan president’s mix of smooth lies and public tantrums excluded overt action, but not dirty tricks. Malko probably wouldn’t be arrested by the NDS, for example. Some other attempt would be made to discreetly get rid of him.

Hamid Karzai had far-reaching influence, lots of money, and many accomplices. And Malko’s so-called Taliban allies weren’t much help.

Just then, the rain stopped.

As if there were some connection, Warren Michaelis’s number appeared on Malko’s cell almost immediately.

“I’m sending you a car,” announced the CIA station chief. “Are you available?”

“Of course,” he said.

Malko practically wept with relief. At last, he would find out if the leak had come from the Americans, as he feared. Until the leak was plugged, it was impossible for him to make headway on his project.

Michaelis was looking grave when Malko entered his office. The station chief carefully closed the door and switched on the red light that meant he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Then he slumped onto his brown leather sofa and said, “You were right!”

“About what?”

“About Jason Forrest. We compiled a record of his cell phone communications. He called Karzai seven times since your arrival.”

“Did you put a tap on his line?”

“No. That would have required a special security request.”

“When was his first call?”

Michaelis went to his desk and returned with a printout of names and numbers.

“At nine thirty-five p.m. on the day after your arrival. The conversation lasted eleven minutes.”

Malko did a quick calculation. That was two days after his meeting with Luger and Mulligan. Mark Spider hadn’t wasted any time before racing to help his protégé.

So Malko had found the origin of the leak that had almost cost him his life.

A clearly tense Michaelis was watching him. “What do we do now?” he asked. “I can call Jason in and confront him with this list of phone calls.”

“Why not give him a lie detector test while you’re at it?” asked Malko sarcastically. “He hasn’t done anything obviously wrong. He would come up with a perfectly good reason for those calls and immediately alert Spider. No, this calls for different countermeasures.”

“Such as?”

“I’m going to make a quick trip to Washington. That’s where the key to the problem lies. This leak has to be cut off at the source.”

“So I shouldn’t take any action?” asked Michaelis, looking somewhat disappointed.

“Whatever you do, don’t tell anybody I’m going to Washington. You can hint that I left for Islamabad to visit some Taliban leaders in Quetta. I actually am going through Islamabad, to get a flight to the United States. It’s not a very direct route, but I’m used to it.”

Michaelis gave him a long, probing look. “Malko, someday I hope I find out what you came to Kabul for.”

“Warren, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

It was colder in Washington than it had been in Kabul. It had recently snowed, and an icy gale howled through the avenues. Malko had flown Kabul-Islamabad, then Islamabad-London, and finally London-Washington, and was exhausted.

The Willard InterContinental was as formal and low-key as ever. Malko phoned Clayton Luger the moment he checked in.

“I’m here,” he announced.

“Great,” said the deputy director. “Let’s meet tomorrow for lunch at your hotel restaurant. It will be more discreet.”

“I’ll make the reservation.”

What with the time difference and the changes of planes, Malko hardly knew where he was. He got undressed, took a long shower, and went to bed. He immediately fell asleep.

Warren Michaelis warmly welcomed Afghanistan’s chief of police. The veteran cop knew the workings of the country like the back of his hand. Today, something was apparently bothering him.

After the ritual of tea and mutual politeness, Michaelis asked, “Is there something special you’re concerned about?”

The older man answered with a question of his own. “Have you noticed an increase in local communications between various Taliban groups lately? I ask because your monitoring system is much more effective than ours.”

Surprised, Michaelis answered, “I haven’t been informed of anything, but I can find out. I’ll get in touch with Bagram. Everything gets routed there. Why do you ask?”

“In the last weeks, the Taliban have launched several attacks on police stations and training academies. The most recent one was the day before yesterday. They seized a building and used it to attack a special forces barracks. We took some prisoners, and one said that his group came from the area south of Jalalabad. This means they crossed dozens of villages without anyone alerting us.”

“That’s not a good sign,” admitted Michaelis.

“Oh, we’re used to it,” said the Afghan almost casually. “It’s been this way forever. Officially we control big chunks of the country, but in fact our presence is just cosmetic. People have already gone over to the other side. But that’s not what worries me. I get the feeling that Taliban combat units are taking up positions in the city, ready to start something.”

“Like the Tet offensive in Vietnam?”

“Er, yes, something like that.”

“As long as we’re in the country, those groups can’t stand up to
our Apaches and Black Hawks,” said Michaelis. “We don’t have any troops in Kabul, but we have people in Bagram and elsewhere.”

“That’s true enough, but I’m still worried,” said the old cop. “The Taliban never do anything without good reason. It’s as if they’re preparing for some sort of destabilizing event.”

Michaelis escorted his guest out and returned to his office. He didn’t know how seriously to take the police chief’s nervousness. It was true that the Taliban often targeted Afghan police. That, plus desertions, was hard on morale. But he couldn’t see why the Taliban would prepare a general offensive. Because if they came out into the open, they would be crushed.

Malko had been sitting in his booth for five minutes when Luger and Mulligan arrived, looking annoyed.

“I hope you have a good reason for calling this meeting,” said the national security advisor. “I thought this project was already well under way.”

“I didn’t fly halfway around the world just for fun,” answered Malko.

The three placed their orders: Caesar salads, racks of lamb, a bottle of California wine.

Malko knew the two men were anxious to get started, and he began with a simple question, “Who knows about our project?”

“Nobody except John, here,” said Luger in surprise. “Why?”

“Because someone told President Karzai about it.”

“Really?” Luger frowned. “Is this coming out of Kabul?”

“No,” said Malko. “I’m sure it’s not. The only person there who could have done it is Nelson Berry, the man you had me contact. And it’s not in his interest.”

Malko then described his recent misadventures, including the gas station attack and the mullah’s intervention. He concluded,
“The leak came from Washington and we have to plug it. First, because it puts my life in danger, and second, because it might have serious consequences for the future.”

John Mulligan shook his head and said, “It can’t possibly be coming from here!”

Malko looked him in the eye. “Not only is it possible; I even have a lead.”

“What?”

“Have you mentioned this project to the Strategic Committee for Afghanistan?”

A question they clearly hadn’t expected.

“Why are you asking?” Mulligan snapped.

“Because it’s at the heart of the leak problem. And you haven’t answered me, John.”

The White House advisor pretended to be thinking, then spoke reluctantly: “A passing reference was made to it, without any details. But the committee members are all senior officials, totally devoted to serving the United States.”

“Aldrich Ames was also an outstanding CIA officer,” remarked Malko. “Yet he betrayed all the Russians working for the Agency, and quite a few of them were shot. Ames did that for money, as I recall.”

“That was the Cold War,” grumbled Mulligan angrily. “What are you getting at, anyway?”

Malko continued. “Is a man named Mark Spider a member of the Afghanistan committee?”

“Of course! He’s one of our best Afghanistan specialists. He did two tours in Kabul and his advice is invaluable.”

“What else do you know about Spider, John?”

“Nothing but good things.”

“Where were you eleven years ago, in 2002?”

“I was the head of the NSA. Why?”

“Because that’s when Mark Spider got to know Hamid Karzai and helped make him America’s proconsul in Afghanistan. Karzai is a Pashtun from a little tribe called the Popolzai. At the time, he was working for a Pashtun politician and didn’t seem to have much of a future. Spider, who was one of the few Afghanistan specialists in those days, ‘sold’ Karzai to the Americans at the Bonn Conference in Germany. Karzai went in as an unknown and came out as a head of state. This created a bond between the two men. Since then, as you know, Spider has been Kabul COS twice, with unusual access to Karzai.”

“Are you saying Spider is in his pocket?” asked Luger.

“No, it’s a relationship of friends. Spider sees many good qualities in Karzai while ignoring his faults, namely that he’s surrounded himself with deeply corrupt people and acquired a taste for power.”

“What’s the connection with our affair?” asked Mulligan.

“It’s simple. During the Afghanistan committee meeting, Spider realized that the White House wanted to get rid of Karzai in a way that would maintain plausible deniability. Out of loyalty to Karzai, he warned him.”

“He called Karzai?” asked Luger, incredulous.

“No, he called his former staffer Jason Forrest, who is still in Kabul. Forrest passed the warning on to Karzai.”

Silence fell, broken by the White House advisor. “Can you prove this?”

Malko held his gaze. “Yes.”

He summarized the inquiry he’d asked Warren Michaelis to conduct, which revealed the secret contacts between Karzai and Forrest. “I haven’t figured out what the next steps are,” he continued, “but as soon as Karzai was alerted, he reacted by having me kidnapped.”