A Covert War (24 page)

Because the United Kingdom came within the overall responsibility of the Station CIA chief in London, the knowledge of these signals was passed to Randolph Hudson, a covert member of The Chapter.

Hudson took this information to Commodore Deveraux and between them they made the decision to launch an attack on the Mission and make sure an insurgent group were blamed for the atrocity.

And it was just a few days before the attack that a man Shakira had never seen before, walked into the Mission and introduced himself as Rafiq. She noticed the little finger on his left hand was missing. He was posing as a potential customer, wanting to adopt one of the children, but was keen to get to know a little more about the orphanage before making up his mind.

Shakira thought he was a very pleasant man, but despite the fact that he was a complete stranger, and his business seemed perfectly normal, she included his name in the report she was to send that evening.

Three days later Shakira died and Rafiq’s name, meaningless to the British at that time, was filed away in the dead box of the CIA in London and perversely it was filed away in the file marked ‘Mission’ in Sir Giles Cavendish’s office.

SEVENTEEN

Susan arrived in Kabul with her nerves in shreds, despite the fact that Marcus had been with her since leaving England. It had been Cavendish’s idea that they travel together. He thought Marcus would provide some kind of inner strength and support for Susan, but privately and uncharacteristically, he was hoping that Marcus’s penchant for invention when things got out of hand might just help win the day for them.

The flight from Heathrow by Air India had stopped at Dubai and Delhi before arriving in Kabul almost twenty four hours after leaving London. All Susan could think of during her flight was the way in which she had been persuaded by Cavendish that this was well within her capabilities and that she had nothing to be afraid of. And with Marcus with her, she should feel relaxed.

The security chief had explained how she could literally walk freely around Kabul and make it known to the local press and radio stations that she was in Afghanistan to look for her brother. He convinced her that the men who were holding her brother would come looking for her and would probably be prepared to do a deal.

When Susan pointed out that she was not a trained negotiator, neither did she carry any clout in the same way a British politician might, Cavendish said that intellect often gets in the way of a good cause, and that she was perfect for the role of appeaser, negotiator and rescuer. He said she had it in her heart to find her brother for no other reason than he was of her blood and she loved him as any sister would. A politician would never be able to speak from the heart because the only goal on the horizon that a politician could see was personal kudos and elevation amongst his or her peers.

As for a negotiator, he or she would be conducting a business deal, and would do that in a particularly mercenary fashion, putting his countries politics and aims first rather than the welfare of the hostage. Cavendish insisted that Susan was perfect for the task, and at no risk to herself.

During the flight Susan kept thinking of Terry Waite, the Christian minister who had been taken hostage in the Lebanon and kept captive for five years. His only crime was to go openly to Beirut and try to win the freedom of the hostage John McCarthy who was subsequently held for five years in the Lebanon. Ironically it was the selfless effort of McCarthy’s friend, Jill Morrell who campaigned tirelessly for his release that finally got McCarthy free. Could Cavendish see another Jill Morrell in Susan Ellis, she wondered?

That thought teased at her for some considerable time, but did little in effect to calm her nerves and stop her from seeing all kinds of demons waiting for her in Afghanistan. From time to time she would take hold of Marcus’s hand, squeeze it and just sit there, taking some kind of comfort from the contact.

Marcus said very little during the trip because he could see that Susan was walking a mental tightrope. He understood that there was nothing he could do or say that would make things easier for her.

Susan would keep thinking of David and telling herself that it was for him that she was doing this, not for herself or for Cavendish, whatever the security man’s ulterior motives were. And she thought how badly David must be suffering, shackled as he almost certainly would be in some insufferable, dark hole somewhere in the distant hills in that sad country.

She pledged to keep control of herself and fight to regain David’s freedom as the plane touched down on to a steaming hot evening in the city of Kabul.

***

David threw his head back and roared with laughter, the wine in his glass spilling on to the table as his hand jerked with the sudden movement. Abdul Khaliq was beaming at David through his beard which was stained red from the copious amounts of wine he had drunk. His bodyguards were in the room, enjoying the ribald jokes that Abdul was telling them all, but for them not the luxury of wine because of their dedication to serving their boss.

David had been fluent in
Farsi
for some time, but now he was fluent in the garbled dialect of Abdul’s countrymen because of the amount of time he had spent in Abdul’s company. He was now treated almost like one of the family, hence the ribald humour being bandied about in that room. But if David felt like he was accepted now, he knew the reality was totally different.

They were in a farmhouse many miles from the nearest town, and probably one hundred miles or so from Kabul. He might just as well have been on the moon. He was allowed the freedom to move about as he wished and hadn’t been shackled for some weeks now. And from time to time, Abdul would hint that his freedom was not too far away. But all this meant to David was that he was still a hostage, but being kept in an open prison that ranged from one border to another.

There were also times, in amongst the humour and good natured behaviour shown by Abdul and his men that the warlord would confess to David that all was not well. It had taken Abdul many months to figure it out, but now he could state with some certainty that he was being edged aside by the influence of the Americans and the British in Afghanistan. By that he meant there were factions within the occupying forces, his words, who were trying to gain control of Abdul’s side of the operation.

At first David told Abdul he was imagining things; that he was probably getting paranoid. But as a result of the previous few weeks, David was beginning to see a pattern emerging; one of almost open hostility to Abdul from the same farmers who used to show almost reverential respect.

There had also been some seemingly, opportunistic attacks from wandering bands of Taliban. Abdul had always kept a small group of men with him, and they had shown they were particularly competent in dealing with the attacks. But as time went by, Abdul’s band of men began to dwindle in numbers.

That evening, before Abdul let the wine get to him, and he was drinking a lot more David noticed, David asked him if he had any idea who was responsible for the attacks, and why.

Abdul muttered something about the Americans, which didn’t make sense to David, but he also mentioned Milan Janov.

David recalled that the last meeting between the two men had been very tense, but both men had brought a small army with them at that time, and it was this that had almost certainly prevented any bloodshed. But now, Abdul was travelling fairly light, and this worried David. He wasn’t concerned for Abdul’s safety but his own.

When David had asked why Abdul was not travelling with his usual band of warriors, Abdul had not been able to answer immediately, and it was obvious to David that some things were beginning to come to light. Abdul’s armed group was crumbling slowly. Men were leaving him, citing all manner of reasons for doing so. And in the customary manner that seemed to linger within even the most savage breast, the men would return to their families.

Abdul’s strength had always been in the number of his static followers, namely the farmers, and in the knowledge he possessed of others involved in the drugs and arms traffic. But that strength seemed to be diminishing, and with the news of the disaster that had struck in England, Abdul knew his power was ebbing away fast. And that was why he kept hinting that David might one day be free. What David couldn’t see was exactly how Abdul could give David his freedom without exposing the two of them to further danger.

The conversation, the subjective arguments and collective reasoning of the four men in that room began to wane as the late evening wore on. Eventually David declared that he was going to bed and left Abdul with his lieutenants still talking.

The wine had taken its toll on David and he fell on to his bed, fully clothed. Within minutes he was fast asleep, the noise from the three men no longer audible in David’s sub consciousness.

About two hours after falling asleep, David was woken by a full bladder. He clambered out of bed and wandered out into the yard where he relieved himself. When he had finished he went back into the house and into the kitchen to get a drink of water from the jug that was always filled.

It was there that he noticed a mobile phone lying on the kitchen table. The moonlight funnelling through the small, open window glinted off the bright metal that decorated the phone.

He stood looking at it for several seconds before picking it up. He flipped it open and stared at the keypad. How long, he wondered, was it since he had used that number; eight or nine months, a year perhaps? He wasn’t sure but he hoped the injury to his head would not stop him from recalling it.

He walked out into the courtyard to find more light from the moon. He then entered in a short text message followed by the number he hoped was correct and pressed the ‘send’ key. Then he went back into the kitchen, put the phone back on the table and finished his drink. Ten minutes after waking because of a full bladder, David was back in his bed with a contented smile playing on the corners of his lips.

***

Marcus gave the taxi driver the name of the hotel and sat back in the battered Toyota with Susan and tried to relax for a while. They had travelled with minimum luggage because Cavendish had supplied them with travellers’ cheques and cash in Afghanis, and they planned to spend her first day doing some shopping. Marcus hoped this would go some way to breaking the tension Susan was feeling.

Cavendish had also given Susan a mobile phone for Afghanistan. He told her it was expensive and would allow her to phone UK all expenses paid. It was a useful gift, one which Susan was determined to use as often as she liked.

Cavendish had given them a copy of Nancy Hatch Dupree’s pocket guidebook, first published in 1965 together with a list of does and don’ts, plus a reminder that Kabul was the most mined city in the world. To wander off the beaten track could mean being blown up. Neither of them had any reason to suspect they might want to walk in unseen places. All Susan wanted to do was talk to people in positions of power and influence and begin her search for David.

Susan’s immediate priority, once she had enjoyed a good night’s sleep, was to make her way over to the British Embassy and arrange an appointment with the Ambassador. She believed that the mention of her brother’s name would be enough to interest the Ambassador to agree to see her. Marcus had agreed to let Susan do the talking and searching, while he kept a low profile.

Susan was disappointed that she was only granted an interview with a diplomatic aide. She explained that she had come over to Kabul to begin searching for her brother. The idea was met with a great deal of condescension, which infuriated Susan but also let her know the kind of obdurate obstacles she was likely to encounter.

Once she had left the embassy, Susan met Marcus in an internet café they had picked out earlier in the day. Together they looked up the addresses of the local, Kabul newspapers. There were many listed, but plenty who published in the English language. Susan made a note of those she believed would be willing to listen to her and perhaps give her some column inches to tell her story.

They agreed on the
Cheragh Daily
first, and phoned the editor who turned out to be a woman. Susan believed a female would listen with sympathy and understanding and probably include something in the paper.

Following that, Susan contacted the editor of the
Daily Outlook Afghanistan
and enjoyed the same, warm reception and the promise of an interview.

Her third choice was the
Kabul Weekly
, a magazine that, like the other newspapers also published in English.

All Susan’s appointments were lined up for the following day, so the two of them took the opportunity to explore Kabul with a guide recommended by her hotel, and it was during a lunch stop that the two of them learned the bare truth about Kabul and the chances of ever finding her brother alive.

Their guide was called Ali Seema. He spoke excellent English and proved to be a valuable guide. It was Ali’s accommodating way that relaxed Susan and encouraged her to ask many questions about the chances of ever seeing her brother alive. His reply was disappointing.

‘You will not have noticed how many extra police there are in Kabul because you have just arrived,’ he told her. ‘But in the last month they have moved seven thousand policemen into the city because of the infiltration of Taliban spies and suicide bombers. Although our President denies it, we know that the Taliban are taking up positions just a few miles outside the city; just like they did twenty years ago after the Russians left.’ He looked around with an expression on his face that seemed to be looking ahead to the terror to come and the past they would have to say goodbye to.

‘The Taliban cannot be beaten. They will have a complete stranglehold on the city within six months. No- one will be able to leave the city without their permission. The only people allowed in will be those who fly in on the commercials airlines or with the military. For all your posturing, you Westerners can do nothing; the Taliban will win.’ He made an empty gesture with his hands and shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is unlikely that you will be allowed to find your brother. If you get a mention in the newspapers, you will be lucky.’