The chopper eased into a hover and began descending. Within moments the wind from its prop wash began kicking up dust from the thin cover of dirt over the hard-packed ground. The children rushed toward the aircraft, taking no notice of any potential danger from the landing gear, the rotors or the fact that the helicopter might lose power and crash. Aburrani was always amazed by the kids' inability to recognize danger in any form. It seemed to be a racial characteristic of the people not to consider the consequences of their actions. Even experienced fighting men of the Pashtuns many times let their emotions get the best of them in battle. They would take rash actions that resulted in heavier casualties than were necessary. The biggest reason for this illogical behavior was the fatalistic teachings of Islam that encouraged accepting death as the inevitable consequence of Allah's will..
Aburrani was a seriously practicing Islamic, and he resented older Muslims enticing their youth to sacrifice themselves in a misdirected version of martyrdom. It was rather disconcerting that these volunteer victims were unable to understand the political side of their self-immolation.
As soon as the helicopter wheels hit the ground, the motor was cut and the crew chief slid the fuselage door open. Aburrani, carrying his briefcase, stepped down to the ground, where he was met by Ahmet Kharani, the warlord's chief officer.
'Asalaam aleikum,' Kharani said in greeting.
'God be with you,' Aburrani replied.
'Warlord Durtami awaits you, Brother Aburrani,' Kharani said eagerly. 'I shall take you to him without delay.' 'Shukhria,' Aburrani said, thanking him.
The two men hurried through the throng of gaping, grinning adults and the yelling children, toward the gate. It took only another half minute to reach the warlord's residence.
Aburrani went through a realistic greeting ceremony with the warlord when he entered his presence. This included some brief inquiries into each other's health and well-being, then the inevitable drinking of tea. Some samosas--pastry filled with potatoes and chickpeas--were also offered. All in all, three-quarters of an hour passed before they were able to get down to the real reason behind the visit.
'And what may I do for you, Brother Aburrani?' Durtami asked, as if he had absolitely no idea as to why the other man would endure a helicopter flight all the way from Kabul to call on him.
'I wish to discuss the hostages,' Aburrani answered. 'Are they well?'
'Of course,' Durtami said. 'They were most polite and cooperative when they were brought to me. I have rewarded their good manners with excellent accommodations.'
'I am pleased by your kindness and merciful goodness,' Aburrani said, knowing that the unfortunate men were undoubtedly locked up in a storage container and probably getting no more than one scanty, miserable meal a day. 'We, of course, are anxious to have them back among us. May I ask what tribute you seek for their safe return?'
'One million American dollars,' Durtami said. 'They appear to be most valuable assets to the government's causes.' Aburrani shrugged. 'They are low-ranking officials.' 'But they must be important if they are sent all the way here to visit the farm village in my fiefdom.'
'They visit many villages, Amir, all over Afghanistan,' Aburrani said.
'Seven hundred thousand American dollars.'
Aburrani seemed thoughtful before he said, 'Twenty-five thousand dollars.'
'I cannot let them go for fifty thousand dollars.' Aburrani shook his head. 'That is twenty-five thousand dollars for both.'
'One hundred thousand dollars for both!' Durtami said. He waved his hand in a gesture of finality. 'That is it. I have bargained down as far as I can possibly go.'
'I will have to take your offer back to Kabul.'
Durtami frowned. That could mean several weeks more of feeding the hostages. Then he smiled confidently for appearance' sake. 'I am sure your superiors will see the logic and fairness of my offer. Please inform them that I have good use for the money. My fiefdom has been invaded by infidels. I estimate there are a thousand of them. Maybe many more. A good number of my men have been treacherously slain, and some innocent youths out tending a herd of goats on yon mountain were hideously tortured and slaughtered.'
'I shudder at such wanton cruelty:' Aburrani said.
'Then you see my predicament.'
'Perhaps the unconditional release of the hostages would convince the government to do something about this invasion,' Aburrani suggested.
'I have purchased some weapons from my brother-in-law Hassan Khamami,' Durtami said. 'They are new French mortars. I will need no outside help to deal with the infidels.'
Aburrani knew that Khamami was a powerful warlord with four to five times the men Durtami had in his band. He had always thought that the day would come when the brother-in-law would add this fiefdom to his own. The envoy took a thoughtful sip of tea, then said, 'Now I shall turn to another item of discussion. The opium poppy crops. How do they go?'
'The resin will be ready for shipment soon,' the warlord said. 'We have a good yield on this last crop of the year.'
'That will please the cartel,' Aburrani said.
Aburrani was deeply imbedded in the opium trade out of Afghanistan. He talked the talk with outsiders about eradicating poppy production, but walked the walk with the dealers. There was more than greed in his motive for being a part of this local illicit industry. It raised the standard of living of the farmers, for whom he had a great sympathy and understanding. These people needed every advantage they could obtain in order to ease their physical and spiritual misery. By raising the poppies and processing them, a farm family was able to purchase a good wood-burning stove, some furniture or even a motorbike. Communities could chip in and buy a communal truck, tractor or minibus to make their lives easier.
The Americans and Europeans provided the market for the crops, and if they didn't approve of heroin addiction, they should turn inwardly, into their own society, to get rid of it. Zaid Aburrani and scores of other Afghanistan leaders and officials were not going to sacrifice their people to assuage the hypocrisy of Western civilization. As long as there was a market, a product would be produced for it. Was that not the basic philosophy of the infidels and their capitalism?
'I must return to Kabul,' Aburrani said, standing up. 'I fear they will not meet your ransom demands.'
'Tell them I need the money to put back in my treasury after purchasing the mortars,' Durtami said. 'It is the leaders like me that will guarantee Afghanistan for Afghans.'
'I will tell them, Amir,' Aburrani said with a slight bow. 'De khudey pea man.'
'Pa makha de kha.'
Chapter 7
SOLS
THE PENTAGON, WASHINGTON, D. C.
15 AUGUST
0900 HOURS LOCAL
THE Special Operations Liaison Staff had an office in a little used area of the Pentagon. This small team had been organized to ease the efforts of coordination and communication between the various special operations branches of the nation's armed forces. Access to this small administrative group was severely limited. Only a select few military and political echelons knew of its existence.
The concept behind SOLS was not unlike the U. S. government's intention of placing intelligence matters into a more compact administrative body to expedite functions and exchange of information. The main purpose was to create a convenient method for the nation's sneakiest and hardest hitting components to communicate. Basically, they had to make sure the left hand knew what the right hand was doing among all special operations all over the world.
The officers assigned to SOLS performed duties that sounded much easier and simpler than what the jobs actually demanded. The hard part was to prevent misunderstandings and wrongful conclusions based on the available information. The officers chosen for this staff were all SOF veterans who had been injured in the line of duty. Rather than accept physical disability separations from the service, they chose to serve in administrative capacities while remaining on active duty.
The chief of this staff was Colonel John Turnbull, U. S. Army. This Delta Force veteran had broken his ankle
