“And if the Colemans reached a settlement with her, she probably would have had them sign a bunch of nondisclosure agreements. They’d be gagged so tight their lips would turn blue.”

“Agreed.”

“So without any other relatives, that’s it,” said Campbell. “They’re the only ones who could bring a civil action to get to the bottom of what happened.”

“Not necessarily,” replied Klees. “There may be someone else who still has legal grounds for a suit.”

“So? How would that give me any leverage with the agents who were posted to Gallo’s home that night?”

“It depends on how far you’re willing to go to get to the bottom of this.”

Campbell drained the last sip of wine from her glass, held it up to get the waiter’s attention, and then replied, “I’m still sitting here, aren’t I?”

CHAPTER 21

AFGHANISTAN

SATURDAY

Mullah Massoud arrived back at his compound along with Sergei Simonov and the small security contingent they had taken with them. They had visited a village called Surobi, halfway between Jalalabad and Kabul. As it was safer for Massoud to travel at night, they had conducted the entire trip in two cars under the cover of darkness.

Per standard practice, none of the Taliban commanders attending the meeting had known its exact location until shortly before the meeting was scheduled to take place. They had many things to discuss, but the most important was their spring offensive.

The Taliban had successfully placed a noose around Kabul, and the readiness status of their forces was excellent, but their infrastructure and the condition of their military equipment was quite poor. The Russians and several other countries covertly supported their cause, but were only willing to supply so much. If they flooded Afghanistan with hardware and other things that could be traced back to them, they risked the wrath of the United States government and its allies.

Most of the commanders were pessimistic about what they were going to be able to do with the limited resources they had at hand. Opium eradication in Afghanistan had been stepped up dramatically, and that meant their main source of revenue had been just as dramatically stepped down. If they were to have any long-term success, they needed more money to buy more equipment and to train more fighters. Without a major infusion of cash, all their achievements of the last several years would be for naught.

None of this was news to Massoud. In fact, he’d been one of the first commanders to see it coming, but the other commanders wouldn’t listen to him. The poppy crops had produced so much money for so long and the Americans had been so halfhearted in their attempts to stem the flow that they thought they had a license to print money that would never expire.

As their circumstances started to erode, so did their blind faith in Mullah Omar. His empty promises and unwise alliance with bin Laden and his Arab al-Qaeda would be his ultimate undoing.

Massoud knew something that no one else in the room but Simonov did. Soon things were going to change. While the other commanders complained and worried about the progress of the spring offensive, Massoud had looked beyond it. He had seen a new future for Afghanistan and he was quietly confident in the resurgence the Taliban was going to achieve under his command.

His optimistic mood, though, did not last long. During a break in the meeting, Massoud and Simonov learned that Mustafa Khan was no longer a resident of Policharki. The talk was that he had been moved to another, more secure facility.

The two men were well aware of how the Afghan grapevine worked. Every piece of information was normally inflated as each person in the chain exaggerated his involvement or knowledge of the topic to make himself look more important and better informed. The Taliban commander and his Russian colleague would have been considerably more heartened if the “news” had been of a full blown escape rather than a transfer. If the Afghan government had indeed moved Khan to a more secure facility, it would mean the Americans would have a much tougher job on their hands.

While Massoud didn’t particularly care how difficult the task was for them, he was dependent upon their success. Mustafa Khan was the key not only to the Taliban’s ridding itself of al-Qaeda, but also to its being able to drive the American and other international troops out of the country so they could retake complete and final control of Afghanistan.

When they returned to Massoud’s compound it was shortly before sunrise. Most of the men were already saying their dawn prayers.

To help him stay both warm and awake in Surobi, the Taliban commander had consumed large quantities of tea. Though he had urinated before leaving, he had refused to allow any stops on the way back, even for himself. Combined with the hour at which the meeting had finally ended he was not only late for prayers, he also needed to urinate again most urgently.

Stepping out of the vehicle, Mullah Massoud shooed away one of his lieutenants eager to speak with him and headed for the compound’s rudimentary toilet facilities.

After relieving himself, the Taliban commander performed his ablutions and then hurried to his quarters for his prayer rug. Upon opening the door to the main room, he was quite surprised to find his brother, Zwak, leading the four village elders in prayer. His pride was quite apparent, as the volume of his voice was much louder than it should have been.

Massoud removed his shoes and stepped quietly inside. After retrieving his prayer rug, he respectfully laid it on the floor and prostrated himself toward Mecca.

He followed the prayers until their completion and then greeted the elders and his brother. Stepping away for a moment, he opened his door and found his lieutenant waiting for him. The man’s message was no longer urgent now that the commander had discovered the village elders waiting for him.

Massoud sent the lieutenant for tea and stepped back inside. The room was colder than it should have been and Massoud realized that in his excitement over the visit from the elders, Zwak had forgotten to turn on the heat. Approaching the propane heater in the corner, the Taliban commander took down a box of matches and got it going.

He was tired and not much in the mood to deal with village politics, but he had no choice. Undoubtedly, the elders needed something important from him and had appeared at such an early hour in the hopes that their request would magically jump to the top of his list.

Though he was annoyed to see them, he knew his place. He might be the most powerful man in the village, but it was necessary that he respect the elders. They provided him and his men with cover and that was very valuable. The quality of his life was directly proportional to how content the elders were.

Though Massoud had tried a long time ago to force communication to go through his lieutenants, the elders hadn’t gone for it. They would deal with no one but him and him directly. It could be an incredible distraction at times, but it was also a sign of great respect, and respect was a two-way street.

The men made small talk about the weather, how deep the snows had been, and the relatively strong grip the cold still held on their valley, especially at night. Once the tea came, Zwak played host and made sure everyone was well taken care of before he saw to himself.

When they had been served, Baseer, the chief elder, explained why they had come. Upon mention of the American woman, Zwak’s mouth spread into a broad smile, revealing several of his missing teeth. “Doktar. Doktar,” he sang as he brought his hands together.

Massoud motioned for him to be quiet. Baseer waited until Zwak had calmed down before continuing. “Zwak,” he said, addressing him directly. “Did you strike someone with your rifle yesterday?”