Disavowed (16 page)

Chapter 34

Kabul, Afghanistan

9:07pm AFT, August 29
th

This was the tricky part. There’d been no sign of Farrago. Even with help from Coles, the spook was somehow masking his location. They knew he was in Kabul, but trying to find him had turned up nothing.

Neil had found plenty of information after they’d quarantined the president, but he was still a ways from having what they needed. Under the careful extraction techniques of the undercover Dr. Higgins, every detail of the Afghan president’s scheme had been catalogued, to include client information. Cal had given President Zimmer a pared down report of their findings. The orders from President Zimmer were clear, “Get me everything.”

But the effectiveness of the Ebola scheme was starting to unravel. The populace was getting restless. It wouldn’t be long before the simmering unease turned into protests and violence. That was not what they wanted.

The initial Ebola “patients” were chosen by Kadar and Latif Saladin. Those picked were promised lucrative payments in exchange for acting and their discretion. A crucial part of the plan was to have the Ebola scare negated before violence erupted. A simple statement explaining the unfortunate misdiagnosis would be circulated to news outlets.

That meant their time was almost gone. Jonas predicted that they might have until the end of the night, but that it would be safer to leak the news to the media before Afghanis went to sleep. The story was ready, all they had to do was whisper it into the right ears along with video clips of the patients happily leaving quarantine.

Cal paced as Neil clicked away in front of his computer. The initial stages of their plan had gone off perfectly. The Marine felt the rest of it floating in space, drifting farther away. He had to get them all, the player and the money. Oh, and there was still that little detail about grabbing Anthony Farrago.

+++

9:37pm

The news spread from home to home with blazing speed. The Ebola patients did not have the disease. A blood lab discrepancy and shoddy follow-up was to blame. News reels showed the smiling patients leaving, waving to cameras.

Kabul exhaled a collective sigh of relief.

Farrago fidgeted with his phone, waiting for one call. He’d stopped answering it. Too many demands. He was tired of listening to their complaints.

What he needed now was a call from the president. Without him, the two successors wouldn’t talk to Farrago. Not that he cared, but Coles kept checking in every hour. He had to take those calls.

A car full of celebrating men sped by, music blaring, hands waving outside windows. Farrago ignored the revelry. His success depended on one man.

His phone buzzed. He looked down at the caller ID. Farrago smiled.

“Yes?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Okay.”

Farrago shoved the phone back in his pocket and grinned.

+++

Dr. Martins extracted the IV needle from the president’s arm and pressed the spot with a piece of gauze.

“Thank you for your assistance, doctor,” he said, his spirits on the rise.

“It was my pleasure, Mr. President. I only wish that I could have diagnosed you earlier.”

“It was not your fault that the technicians are incompetent.”

Dr. Martins shook his head, covering the gauze with a piece of tape. “It’s a shame those idiots misdiagnosed the others. I hate to think of what would have happened on the streets if the mistake had gone uncorrected.”

The president frowned. “I assure you that whoever is responsible will be held accountable. You, however, are to be commended. Despite the threat, you stayed by my side. How can I return the favor?”

Dr. Martins waved the question away. “It’s all part of the job, Mr. President.”

“Nonsense. There must be something I can do.”

Dr. Martins shook his head. “I only hope that you don’t think ill of me for keeping you in quarantine because of simple food poisoning and exhaustion.”

They laughed together for a moment, the Ebola scare behind them. The president was surprised by the level of relief he felt. Death had seemed an all too real option a few hours before. That must have been the reason for the dim memories and the half-remembered dreams.

But now there was much to do. His American friend would be there soon and there would be phone calls to make, frazzled personalities to soothe. It was what he did best. He relished the thought as he eased into a pair of slippers and headed to his office.

+++

10:49pm

The room stood and clapped when Dr. Higgins entered the makeshift headquarters.

“Oh, please gentlemen. Take your seats,” said Higgins, plopping his leather bag on the floor.

“Masterful work, Doc,” said Gaucho.

Dr. Higgins smiled and bowed to the small crowd. “I’m happy to say that the rest is in your capable hands.”

Cal walked over and shook Higgins’s hand as the others got back to work.

“Great job, doc. You sure you don’t want to do that more often?”

Higgins laughed. “I think I’ll let you young guns do the undercover work from now on. There were some characters who I’m sure had their doubts about my intentions.”

“Okay. But if you ever change your mind…”

Higgins patted Cal on the back and went to find some food.

Cal watched him go. There weren’t many as good as Dr. Higgins. The only reason he’d agreed to the Higgins’s Ebola idea was that Saladin’s moles were watching his back. Kadar had guaranteed the good doctor’s safety, swearing on the life of his eldest son that no harm would come to Higgins.

It had given them the time and access they needed. Neil’s software had churned through the reams of information, and assets had already been activated by Kingsley Coles to neutralize the threats they’d found.

They were on to the next phase of their plan. The outcome was less certain. It all depended on the actions of two men. Two men who were most likely meeting at that very moment. 

Chapter 35

Presidential Palace

Kabul, Afghanistan

12:17pm AFT, September 27
th

Days stretched into weeks as the contentious Afghan elections dragged on. Almost a month after the Ebola scare, all seemed to be decided. Despite his previous promise, the outgoing President of Afghanistan remained. He was the guiding hand who finally helped to bring the two presidential candidates together in compromise.

One would become the new president, while the other would be appointed the first chief executive of Afghanistan, sort of a prime ministerial role. Afghans rejoiced at the compromise, its new leadership cemented for the foreseeable future.

And so came the day for the old president to address his government, to say farewell to those he’d fought with during the last thirteen years. They’d formed a government together. They’d written a constitution together. It was never perfect, but they somehow made it work.

He stood before them on his last day to say goodbye. They looked up at him expectantly.

“Fellow Afghans, I stand before you as a man changed. Thirteen years ago we never could have imagined how far we might come. But look at us. Despite our differences, we have worked together, forged a new peace. Although the way is still clouded, and violence still looms, I am happy that we have done our part to secure the future for our children.”

He went on to tell them about his fondest memories and their hardest fought victories. The time when he’d been attacked and his political opposition stood as a human shield to protect him from his aggressors. He talked of hospitals built and the education now spreading to the most remote villages. He thanked foreign allies who had helped to rid Afghanistan of the Taliban and foreign fighters. The United States was not mentioned.

Then his eyes went hard. He looked out at the crowd, taking his time to meet their gaze.

“But we must continue to be vigilant. There are those who think we are a weak country, who believe that they can manipulate our people for their own gain. The war in Afghanistan serves to benefit foreign powers. I would urge our leaders to continue questioning their motives. If peace was indeed what they intended, the United States could help us make peace.”

+++

5:10pm

Andy read the transcript of the farewell speech for the second time.

“This guy doesn’t know when to quit,” he said.

“You think he’d be happy with the money,” said Cal, sipping from a frosted bottle of beer.

“Yeah.” Andy read the speech for a third time. He knew it was a calculated move. The guy was smart. He didn’t say or do anything without a plan. They’d learned that and more from their infiltration and subsequent monitoring. From their near month-long surveillance they’d learned almost too much about the now former president. What he liked to eat. His bathroom habits. And his surreptitious business dealings.

The breadth of the man’s plans were staggering. He had clients begging for help. Many he’d turned away. The speech would serve to bolster his image with those men.

But luck was on their side. As the Afghan presidential campaign dragged on, so too did their time. Only the day before Neil had cracked the final bank account in Bermuda.

Now they had names, transcripts, files, and accounts. There was only one thing left to do until they could pull the trigger.

“You sure you feel up for this?” asked Cal.

Andy cracked his neck from side to side. It had taken him longer to get back to peak form than he’d hoped. The extra time had helped. He would’ve hated to miss this part of the show.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”    

Chapter 36

Kabul Serena Hotel

Kabul, Afghanistan

8:44am AFT, September 28
th

He’d stayed up late watching the news reports from around the world. Of course the West wasn’t happy. But that was fine. He didn’t need them anymore.

More importantly, half of his new clients had either called or texted with their congratulations. They’d enjoyed the last minute jab against America and its allies.

It was the first day of the rest of his life, the first day in ages that he’d allowed himself to sleep in. For the past thirteen years, he’d been a slave to his schedule. No longer. He would come and go as he pleased.

The former President of Afghanistan padded to the kitchen in search of tea and a light breakfast. There were no staff on duty so he’d have to make it himself. He wanted it that way at least for a week. Privacy. He’d relished it.

Security was a necessary function, but they knew how to be invisible. That was only partly true. His favorite departure gift had come from an admirer who also happened to be a potential client in his new venture.

Much to his surprise, a distant descendant of Shaka Zulu sent him a six-man security contingent. They were huge and wonderfully black. True to custom, they wore traditional Zulu garb, including wicked spears and loin cloths, and stuck to a strict code of silence. The hopeful heir of the Zulu Kingdom (which was now part of the Republic of South Africa) mailed a note along with his “gift” explaining that he should consider the warriors his own, to do with as he pleased. They would fight to the death and never utter a word. Slaves in every sense of the word.

The former president smiled as he passed one enormously chiseled specimen and entered the eating area. They’d been with him for almost a month and he found that their presence comforted him. Oh, and the looks on the faces of his visitors! He would enjoy traveling with them, watching as those passing by stared up in wonder at the magnificent specimens.

A phone rang in the living room. The retired politician almost called for his secretary but then remembered that, for the moment, he was alone with his black sentinels. He set a teapot to boil and walked to the other room, annoyed that he had to go that far. The phone continued to ring.

“Hello?” he said into the phone.

“Mr. President?” came a voice in English.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“This is President Brandon Zimmer.”

For a moment his stomach clenched. What did the American president want with him? Probably something to do with the previous day’s speech. The media was going on and on about how the Americans and their president would react now that the Zimmer Doctrine was in place. But he wasn’t in office anymore. He no longer had any responsibility. His nerves settled as he put on a smile.

“Hello, Mr. President. How are you today?”

“I’m fine thanks. How’s your first day of retirement?”

“I cannot complain. I have to make my own tea, but it that is the price I must pay…” His chuckle was not returned from the American. “Is there something I can help you with, my friend?”

Now Zimmer did laugh. “That’s an odd choice of words coming from you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Let me explain something to you. You can say anything you want in front of cameras. It doesn’t scare me. But what does bother me, what makes me want to jump through this phone right now, is what you’ve been doing in secret, what you’ve got planned for the future.”

“Now I don’t know what…”

“We know about the money. We know about your new business venture. We know that you killed your own countrymen in order to blame it on us.”

That was impossible. No one knew everything except him. No. Zimmer must be bluffing.

“I do not know where you’ve gotten your information, but I am afraid you are mistaken.”

“I’ll give you one chance,” said Zimmer, his voice sharp. “Admit what you’ve done and help us, or you’re on your own.”

Was it one of his partners? Anthony Farrago maybe? No. The money was hidden. He’d whet Farrago’s beak with a small taste, but the vast majority could only be accessed by him. Farrago stood to lose an emperor’s ransom should he be taken out of the picture. Still the worry crept into his throat. He had to force it down to answer.

“I suggest you talk to whoever has told you these lies, Mr. President. They have done you a great disservice.”

No response from Zimmer. The seconds ticked by. Finally, Zimmer said, “Very well. I wish you luck.”

The line went dead. He replaced the handset in the cradle and stared at the phone. The nerve of those Americans. They always thought their money and power gave them the upper hand. Well, that would soon change. The Americans were about to have more than they could handle, and he would be the puppetmaster pulling the strings. It would be a welcome change.

His fears lifted, and he remembered his tea just as the sound of the whistling kettle beckoned from the kitchen. He turned to fetch it and almost ran into one of the Zulus who was standing right behind him, muscles glistening.

“Do you need something?” the Afghan asked, immediately remembering that the large black man would not respond. But he did.

“How was your phone call?” the man asked in American accented English.

The former president took a step back. “I…I…”

Faster than he thought possible, the giant grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off his feet. He could feel the swoon, his mind flittering toward unconsciousness. His hands tried to pry the larger man’s hand off, but the anaconda grip did not relent as they moved back until he was pressed against the wall, legs flailing.

He stared at the man’s eyes. They bore into him, not a shred of compassion as the sparkles turned to black spots in his vision.

He wanted to ask questions, bribe the man, anything to keep breathing. But the air never came, only the mounting pressure and fading light.

Just as the last vestiges of clarity slipped from his grasp, he heard the man say, “Semper Fi.” And then the world was gone.