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.
At the end of the hall, Rashid removed a key from his pocket and opened the door to a bedroom. Arrayed along two single beds were almost all of the items Harvath had requested.
Entering the room, he began going through the gear and inspecting it. Gallagher stepped in and took a look at it as well.
Once he had finished the inspection, Harvath asked Rashid, “What about the munitions?”
“The munitions you asked for are not easy to get.”
“We can’t do this without them.”
The inspector smiled. “You requested something highly specialized.”
Gallagher looked at Harvath and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
“How much to get the munitions?” asked Harvath.
“Let’s have some more tea,” replied Rashid.
Harvath turned toward the door and said to Gallagher, “We obviously made a mistake. Let’s go.”
Rashid put his hands up and inserted himself into the doorway. “Please, my friends,” he said. “I am here to help you.”
“Then I suggest you help us find those munitions.”
“Of course, of course. Anything is possible.”
“With the right amount of money, right?” replied Harvath.
“As I said, this particular item is not so easy to get.”
“But it is possible.”
“If he cannot locate any of the items on your list, we can,” stated Pamir.
Rashid smiled as if that settled everything and directed his guests back into the living room. Reluctantly, Harvath acquiesced.
After twenty more minutes of “tea,” they discussed terms. While the prices weren’t unreasonable, Harvath knew the Afghans expected to haggle and he was an exceptional negotiator. When they were finished, the cost had not been dramatically reduced, but Harvath had locked in a key insurance policy-Marjan and Pamir would join their team to help snatch Mustafa Khan.
Of course, the NDS operatives were not crazy about this idea at first, but the promise of a bonus of several times what each man made in a year sealed the deal.
They spent another hour talking, with Rashid, Marjan, and Pamir drinking the majority of the American tea in the pitcher.
When they said good-bye, the two Americans received long, whiskey-soaked hugs from their Afghan hosts.
Harvath removed several thick stacks of cash from his backpack and placed them under one of the cushions in
