Cherry Point—”
“No. McLanahan has the forces I want,” Hershel said. “And he won’t need another logistics flight to move them, either. He’ll have them ready and waiting for us in Washington by the time we get back, you’ll see. We’ll need diplomatic credentials for them. Make sure they have those ready for us.”
“That’ll take time. Turkmenistan doesn’t process those kinds of requests quickly — no one in Central Asia does.”
“But I predict Mr. Martindale won’t have any difficulty getting a visa,” Hershel mused. “Credential McLanahan’s people as embassy security personnel.”
“That’ll use up our only allotted short-notice personnel-changeover slot for this year.” To help prevent introducing spies into their countries and to help the nation’s internal security apparatus to track foreigners, Turkmenistan, like many other countries, allowed embassy security personnel to change only once per year if there was less than thirty days’ notice.
“That can’t be helped,” Hershel said. “I don’t think Turkmenistan will be a very friendly place in the near future anyway. We might end up pulling everyone out soon. And if we can ultimately help that country, they’ll agree to give us all the personnel we want.”
“You’re going to take a supplemental security force to Turkmenistan on board your own plane? That’s impossible. An embassy-reinforcement team usually deploys in a separate C-141 or C-17….”
“They’ll come in our plane,” Hershel said with a smile, “and they’ll look like the rest of us — until they get inside the embassy. Get Patrick — I mean General McLanahan — on the line for me right now.”
“ ‘Patrick,’ huh?” Izzy Meiling asked with a mischievous smile as she used a secure telephone to dial the communications center at the federal building in San Francisco. “Someone out there in Nevada made an impression on you, I see.”
“He’s definitely off-limits until I can find out what’s happened to him over the past few months — something very tragic and horrible,” Maureen said. “The guy might have scar tissue in place of his heart, and that’s the
“But you care enough to find out?”
“I want
“Not to mention a big pair of you-know-whats,” Izzy said.
“Get him on the phone and wipe that smirk off your face, sister, or I’ll sic Kevin Martindale on you again.”
“Hey, I can put up with a lot of nonsense for the kind of money that guy has,” Meiling said. “A
Five
For the thousandth time in just the past few days, Jalaluddin Turabi asked himself why he was there, why he chose to march with Zarazi’s army into the heart of this godforsaken country. Why in hell was he standing on this armored personnel carrier, protected only by several thousand acres of cotton — while what appeared to be the entire Turkmen army was marching toward them? Wakil Mohammad Zarazi’s campaign to capture the western half of Turkmenistan and turn it into a training ground for Muslim holy warriors did indeed seem to be blessed. Except now the blessings of Allah were going to be severely put to the test.
Up to that morning their campaign seemed to be not only blessed but plainly miraculous. They captured Gaurdak with barely a shot fired. After their victory at Kerki, the Turkmen soldiers at Gaurdak fairly rushed into their arms. Their army nearly doubled in size overnight. They had over six thousand fighters plus dozens of attack and scout helicopters, weapons of all kinds, from pistols to self-propelled artillery pieces, and vehicles ranging from motorcycles to main battle tanks.
Turabi was simply caught up in the emotion of their victories. When the army started marching westward along the Amu Darya River, he couldn’t help but come along. His original idea was to remain behind at Gaurdak, in charge of the “rear guard,” and then prepare to bug out at the first sign of a Turkmen army counterattack. However, they had captured the hearts and souls of not just the Turkmen army, but the people there as well — there was clearly no need for a rear guard. Zarazi’s army started moving westward, and Turabi could do nothing but march as well.
When Zarazi’s brigade was one day’s march away from Charjew, the largest city on the Amu Darya River and a major nexus for oil and gas transshipments across Central Asia, an armored personnel carrier, its fifty-seven- millimeter cannon removed and a white flag flying in its place on the turret, came out onto the main highway to meet them. A young man wearing a leather jacket, a bump helmet over a pair of headphones, and knee-high tanker boots was standing in the APC’s cupola. Zarazi, Turabi, and Orazov — the Russian-speaking Turkmen traitor was now seemingly inseparable from Zarazi — rode out in their own APC, with the cannon installed, to meet him.
“I am Captain Rizov,” the young Russian officer said. Orazov translated the Russian for Zarazi. “I am aide- de-camp for the commander of the Turkmen Seventeenth Mechanized Infantry Brigade, Colonel Yuri Borokov.”
“Why couldn’t the colonel come out here himself?”
“Colonel Borokov does not negotiate with terrorists,” Rizov said. He was remarkably calm, Turabi noticed — the confidence and fearlessness of youth, no doubt. Rizov had probably never been in battle and thought he was invincible sitting in that little APC. “He is busy planning his operation to grind your little band of raiders into the sand. I offered to negotiate on behalf of the colonel and the people of Charjew.”
“Then your colonel is a coward for sending a junior officer to do his dirty work for him,” Zarazi said. “You have shown great courage by coming out here alone and unarmed. I admire that. You do not deserve to die. You may withdraw; I guarantee your safety.”
“Thank you for the compliment, sir, but I don’t need your guarantees. What I need is your cooperation to avoid any violence,” Rizov said. “If you move your forces any farther west, Colonel Borokov will attack without warning. That is
“I could use a young, courageous fighter like you in my force, Captain,” Zarazi said. “You could command one of my tank companies.”
“Then I’d be commanding a company of corpses,” Rizov said. “You cannot hope to win an assault against Turkmen regulars. The Seventeenth has a total fighting force of eight thousand soldiers in seven combat battalions—”
“My intelligence says the Seventeenth has a total of
Rizov fell silent for a moment. Zarazi had indeed left a few things out, but Rizov was amazed at what the Taliban fighter
“If you join my army, Captain, you will learn everything,” Zarazi said. “Because of your courage, you may still withdraw with safety if you refuse to join me. But I warn you: If you do not join my army, you will be killed the next time we meet.”
“Sir, I did not come here to listen to threats,” Rizov said. “I agreed to come out here like this to learn what you want. We know that TransCal company officials are prepared to offer you large sums of money to keep their
