CHAPTER 19

Within five minutes, they had gathered their gear and were ready to roll. Flower, who had returned from eating dinner with his family, was outside waiting for them behind the wheel of Gallagher’s Land Cruiser.

Baba G got in front to ride shotgun while Harvath hopped in back. As Flower put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb, Harvath pulled a Red Bull from the backpack at his feet and prayed that their meeting would be a short one. While being forced to stay awake was one way to get acclimated to local time, doing so while rolling through Kabul after dark had a considerable downside.

Traffic was light as most Afghans huddled at home, trying to keep warm. The people who were out were Westerners, patronizing the many restaurants and clubs that catered to them across the city.

As they exited a traffic circle onto a smaller side street, Harvath took a mental snapshot to help him keep track of their route, just in case the unthinkable happened and he had to make his way home alone.

Following Gallagher’s instructions, Flower performed a series of surveillance detection routes, or SDRs, and when the trio was satisfied they weren’t being followed, they headed toward their rendezvous.

Inspector Rashid had provided Gallagher with a specific route, which Flower now followed.

He threaded the Land Cruiser through quiet streets and neighborhoods, some of which Baba G had never been through himself.

They had just turned out of a narrow side street when Harvath noticed Gallagher’s posture change. “What’s up?” he asked from the backseat.

Flower answered before his boss. “Checkpoint.”

“Double-check your weapons,” said Gallagher. “Make sure everything is out of sight. Have your ID available and remember to smile and be friendly. We’re just a couple of NGO workers out for dinner.”

As Harvath did as Gallagher suggested, he asked, “Have you ever seen a checkpoint here before?”

“No, but they move around all the time.”

“It doesn’t bother you that we’ve got a lot of money with us and right in the middle of the route that Rashid sent us on there’s a roadblock?”

“Of course it bothers me,” replied Gallagher, “but this could just be a checkpoint. With all the attacks, the Afghans are on heightened alert. Just stay calm and we’ll be okay.”

Harvath didn’t believe in coincidences and adjusted the position of his holster so he could access his Glock quickly if he needed to.

Ahead of them were several green Ford pickup trucks with the Afghan National Army emblem on the side. Flower brought the Land Cruiser to a halt and rolled down his window. Gallagher and Harvath did the same with theirs.

The soldiers looked cold and bored. Harvath took that as a good sign this wasn’t a holdup. If it was, the men at the checkpoint would be nervous and switched on.

He smiled as he’d been instructed and holding his hand over his heart bade the soldier outside his window, “Salaam alaikum.”

The soldier had both hands on his AK-47, but he nodded and returned Harvath’s greeting.

Gallagher bantered with his soldier in broken Dari, while Flower spoke in calm, quick sentences. When Harvath heard the soldier laugh, he started to relax. Seconds later, the soldiers bade them all a good evening and waved them through the checkpoint.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” stated Gallagher as he powered his window back up and they drove on.

Ten minutes later, when they were within two blocks of their destination, Gallagher pulled out his mobile and called Inspector Rashid. The gates were open and waiting for them when they arrived.

Flower drove into the narrow courtyard and killed his lights. “I’ll wait here,” he said.

“You sure you don’t want to come inside?” asked Gallagher.

He shook his head and, removing a pack of cigarettes from his heavy winter coat, pointed to a small guard shack where the men who had shut the gates behind them had gone and said, “I’ll be over there.”

Gallagher climbed out of the Land Cruiser and Harvath followed, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

A sentry outside the house they were using for the rendezvous stuck his hand out and asked for something in Dari. Harvath looked at Gallagher, who translated for him. “Take the batteries out of your cell phones. We’ll get them back when we leave.”

The Afghans harbored a paranoia regarding cell phones, especially their ability to act as beacons for American missile strikes. Warring factions had been known to toss compromised phones over the walls of each other’s homes in the hopes that they could draw an American military response.

The Taliban were so afraid of mobile phones, they made cell providers in many parts of the country shut down their networks at night so they couldn’t be tracked.

Harvath found it ironic that other than batteries, they hadn’t been asked to surrender anything else. They didn’t look into Harvath’s bag, nor were he or Gallagher frisked. They were free to walk into the meeting armed, as long as it wasn’t with a functioning cell phone.

The men slipped off their boots and were met inside by Inspector Rashid, who embraced them both. They touched hearts in greeting with the police officer and were shown into a large living area where two bearded men were already seated. The men rose and Rashid introduced them as Marjan and Pamir-his cousins who worked for the National Directorate of Security.

Once the group had said their traditional hellos and had shaken hands, Harvath and Gallagher removed their coats and sat down upon thin cushions on a green-carpeted floor.

Though the room was surrounded with windows, the panes of glass had been carefully covered over with paper. A small chandelier cast a yellow glow over the otherwise barren room.

Dishes of candy and sweets sat on the floor along with a silver pitcher and several glasses.

“Unfortunately,” Rashid said with a smile as he reached for the pitcher and began pouring for everyone, “we only have American tea this evening.”

“My favorite,” replied Gallagher.

The instant his was poured, Harvath recognized what “American tea” was a euphemism for-whiskey.

Harvath sipped his drink slowly. Gallagher, on the other hand, made short work of his first round and wasn’t shy about accepting a second. Cultural sensitivity notwithstanding, Harvath was concerned that Baba G needed to watch his intake. While he was all for male bonding, especially with foreign intelligence assets, this wasn’t boys’ night out. The whiskey was a preamble to a negotiation for which he and Gallagher needed to remain sharp.

After forty-five minutes of chit-chat, during which, Harvath noted thankfully, Baba G ignored his third round, they got down to the reason they were sitting in an NDS safe house in Kabul on a Friday night-snatching Mustafa Khan.

Rashid’s cousin, Pamir, had the best news Harvath had heard yet. He not only knew of the underground tunnels radiating out from the old Soviet military base, he had been through many of them and could get his hands on any maps Harvath wanted.

Marjan had been tasked to the base’s secret interrogation facility at one point and could provide any intel needed.

Inspector Rashid had certainly delivered, but Harvath was wary that it was all just a little too convenient. Undoubtedly they saw him as a walking ATM machine. Suckers were born every minute, but rarely did they roll through Afghanistan with the kind of money that Harvath was carrying.

He’d been leery about giving Rashid so much up front, but Gallagher had insisted, and Harvath trusted his knowledge of the marketplace to know the right amount to get Rashid’s attention.

Well, they had apparently gotten the police inspector’s attention. The question was, could they rely on what they were purchasing?

As if reading Harvath’s mind, Inspector Rashid got to his feet and asked his guests to follow him. Harvath and Gallagher obeyed, with Marjan and Pamir right behind.