Licensed to Kill (8 page)

Haji welcomes me with the bear hug and double buss of a prodigal son. He immediately senses that my friend is much more than a cameraman. In addition to carrying an AK and wearing Oakleys, the Contractor has the disconcerting habit of pacing twenty yards back and forth as if doing a security sweep, and scanning every room he enters for hostile elements. But since the Contractor is my friend, he is welcomed without question.

Since I had first arrived at Haji's compound a few days prior, we had by now established a pattern of three daily long meals served on the floor, followed by endless cups of tea, and hours of conversation through a translator. It was really all we had been doing since I had arrived. Though it had taken Haji some time to grow comfortable with me, he eventually had opened up about his opinions of the current situation in Afghanistan.

The first night we had engaged in small talk, his stance was neutral. Yes, he supported the Americans, even though he still seemed angry over something they had done in 2001. Yes, he thought the Taliban was finished. The second night we discussed more specific concerns. There is violence here, no government, only one school but no teachers. By the third night, as the remains of dinner were picked up and green tea was poured, Haji had finally become more forthright. I had asked him if the reports of the Taliban's return to the area were true.

“Yes, they come here… usually at night. They ask for food or shelter. They do not stay long, and we do not ask them where they are going. In some cases they intimidate people, and in other cases they pay. But they seem to know who to talk to. In every group of twenty or so Taliban, there are about four or five Arabs. They need to be with the Afghans because they do not know the way, and they do not speak the language.”

Haji has enough stature to speak his mind about the Taliban, but even he sees the need to be cautious when discussing the Arabs, what Americans call al-Qaeda. “People do not like the Arabs here because they are arrogant and act superior to the Afghans.” He laughs. “We like to say they are more interested in taking videos than fighting.”

It is clear that al-Qaeda is still here and still intimidates. Back at the tribal meeting before Haji invited me to stay with him, I had asked to stay with another elder who controlled a border region. The long-bearded man had replied, “You are welcome to stay, but the Arabs will leave a letter at my door that unless you leave the next day, they will kill me and my family.” I had thanked him for his offer and accepted Haji's invitation instead.

“During the jihad against the Russians, there were people in every village who would cook food and help us,” Haji tells me. “No one ever worried about being betrayed or discovered. No one even posted sentries. Now these same people are scared when they see the Talibs or the Arabs. The Arabs have to use sat phones to communicate and sneak into villages at three
A
.
M
., usually leaving before light the next day.”

Haji first met bin Laden in the 1980s, when bin Laden was a wealthy young Saudi helping the mujahideen in their battle against the Soviets. The Pakistani ISI had given Haji three truckloads of rockets but no way to transport them back to Afghanistan. “What was I going to do with three truckloads of rockets? The ISI told us that Osama had an office near the University of Peshawar and to go and ask him for help…. We went to his office and filled out an application so that he would pay for the camels and mules. They wanted to know things like how much the rockets weighed. I didn't know how much the rockets weighed.” Since Haji wasn't with one of the Saudi-backed mujahideen commanders, bin Laden said he couldn't help them.

Haji only knew bin Laden as a man helpful to the mujahideen and never expected he would become what he has, but he doesn't think bin Laden will ultimately succeed in Afghanistan because “the Afghans are tired of migrating and fighting.” Haji says he thinks bin Laden has taken refuge on the Pakistani side of the border, in a valley town called Chitral. “That is where people traditionally hide from those who seek them. There is little movement there in the winter. The airplanes don't work well [for surveillance] that high up, and you will know when people are coming. Bin Laden knows the tribal areas very well, and the tribes know him very well.” His answer makes sense but doesn't quite ring true somehow. Newspapers in Pakistan have been reporting that bin Laden has visited the tribal areas between Gardez and Khost. I would guess that Haji probably has a pretty good idea of bin Laden's location, but knows that it would be dangerous for an Afghan to possess such information. A close friend of his was sent to Guantanamo Bay for knowing the same people whom Haji knows.

When asked about Mullah Omar, he responds promptly, “Mullah Omar was in Miram Shah during Ramadan and has now moved to Quetta for the winter.” This time his tone is matter-of-fact. He won't say how he knows this, but his guess coincides with both Pakistani president Pervez Musharraf's and Afghan president Hamid Karzai's statements about Omar and other senior Taliban being spotted at prayers in Quetta.

Despite having worked with the Taliban, Haji has mixed feelings about their reign in Afghanistan. “I met many times with Mullah Omar and all the other Taliban commanders. They were not educated men. They were not even good Muslims. The Taliban took all the prostitutes to Kandahar, and the Arabs were all screwing around. In time, they considered themselves separate from the people. A foot soldier was more trustworthy than a tribal elder.” Now, he explains, “there are two categories of Taliban: the jihadis, who want martyrdom, and the people who fight for money.

“The Taliban are not Pashtun. We have dancing. We sing. We make decisions in jirgas [a democratic-style group of representatives].” The Taliban, Haji tells me, has ignored its Pashtun culture by becoming entranced by Wahhabism, Saudi-backed religious extremism. “Afghans do not like Wahhabis. The Taliban relied on other people and lost touch with the Afghan people. That is why, in the end, the Taliban could never be governors, only occupiers.”

Haji has an equally bleak forecast for the Americans: “I can guarantee you the Americans will not succeed. They rely on people they pay money to. Now they are surrounded by people who want money. They have turned away from the tribal elders and made bad friends.”

He does not show a preference for either contingency, responding in disgust, “I try not to involve myself with these things.” Though he may hold unspoken preferences, clearly neither has earned his full support, perhaps because both seem to view his role as a tribal elder as irrelevant under the new system.

I grow to like Haji, and he treats me like a son. He insists that I sit on his right-hand side and urges me to eat the best part of the sheep, not clearing the vinyl mat until I have eaten to his satisfaction. He makes sure I sit on the warmest part of the floor. He pesters me to grow my beard out and tugs at it every day as if that will speed the process. It was Haji's generosity that had made me want to invite the Contractor to join me for a visit at the compound, though the Contractor's awkwardness ends up trying Haji's hospitality.

At dinner the night we arrive, Haji wants to hear all about my trip. He pushes food directly in front of the Contractor: choice cuts of greasy mutton with fresh bread and a dish—specially prepared by Haji's wife for the guests—of what appears to be curdled milk with oil poured into it. The new guest keeps his arms folded and mumbles, “Gotta get to ten percent body fat.” Haji makes several attempts before giving up, staring hard at the Contractor, then looking at me with hurt confusion. “Just pretend to eat something and compliment the food,” I tell the Contractor. The Contractor frequently stands up in the middle of the hours-long meal, making excuses about having to shoot some video. When he leaves the room for good, Haji turns to me and asks through the interpreter, “What's wrong with your friend?”

The same scene repeats at each breakfast, lunch, and dinner for three days. Two of Haji's sons and an ever-changing parade of locals who come to ask favors from the elder usually join us. Haji's brother visits with his three-year-old grandson and asks me to come by to try to fix his satellite phone—a phone that still makes free calls courtesy of the CIA. The Contractor mostly stays silent. He seems genuinely interested in the conversations but doesn't seem to know how to interact with Afghans who aren't informers. The Contractor continues to refuse to eat even a grain of rice, and I come to dread Haji's stone-faced looks in my direction. Haji even tries shopping for us himself, apologizing for not having eggs at one breakfast because it is too cold for the chickens to lay. The Contractor, meanwhile, gets by on Atkins Bars and sips of bottled water pulled from his pack at daybreak and before bedtime.

Haji had welcomed the Contractor, but the feeling was different than when I had been staying there alone. It was an official sort of hospitality now, one designed to discharge Haji's responsibilities in order to communicate something to someone most Afghans in the area would consider the enemy. Haji adamantly wanted his opinion of a recent bombing to reach someone at a level of authority inside the American forts. So finally, on the third day with the Contractor, he breaks out of Pashtun protocol, speaking frankly to tell his mysterious American guest about the increasing frustration that the tribal elders have with the Americans. He has received word that a family of eight has been killed in the nearby town of Seyyed Karam. He doesn't explain how he knows the details of their deaths so soon.

“A local thug lived there for eighteen years and has been threatening to rocket the meeting in Kabul,” he tells us. “An informer called the Americans, but by the time the air attack took place, the man was long gone. Instead another man and his family were hiding out in the house because the man had killed someone in a property dispute. He, his wife, and his six children were found buried under a wall.”

Haji explains that the people in town are upset. Not about the fugitive, since this was perceived as an odd form of justice, but for the man's innocent wife and children who had no quarrel with the Americans or townspeople.

“This man could have been arrested with a minimum of violence, but the Americans chose to attack the house with aircraft and weapons designed to destroy tanks.”

What's going on is clear to Haji. “The informers are making money from both sides.” The Contractor says he understands, and the meal ends in silence.

After breakfast, I thank Haji for his hospitality. He talks to me like a clucking mother hen, pushing me to get a move on and to stop messing around with my camera. Once we get out in the daylight, he rushes us to get in the car and drive away, lest we are spotted outside of his compound. He trusts the discretion of the locals who have come by to visit over the past few days, but if word had gotten around that he had some unidentified Americans staying with him, unfriendlies could be watching the compound. Across the horizon, the rotors of Blackhawks slice through the crisp morning air.

On our way back toward the border, the Contractor wants to stop in at another base and talk to someone from OGA (other government agencies), a euphemistic term used to describe high-level clandestine operators who don't fit into the traditional military structure. He seems eager to pass along Haji's complaints about the Americans' use of excessive force and reliance on paid snitches. I stay outside.

After just a few minutes, he emerges, shaking his head. “Seems like the OGA guy wouldn't even get off his cot to say hi. He just sent his local peon to say he already had the intel.”

The Contractor holds up a stack of dirty Pakistani rupees. “The puke said thanks and here are some rupees for the cab ride.” He shakes his head. “Company policy is to always give something to someone bringing intel.”

Looking at the pile of grubby notes, he shakes his head again. “That's fucked, man,” he says, getting back into the car. What better reason for someone to feed the Americans a bunch of lies than to get a handful of money out of it.

To be fair, the idea that an armed American civilian would just stroll into a military base with relevant information might give any official pause, since the military only works with established intelligence sources. Walk-ups are considered the most unreliable form of intelligence, but being on the other end of a wad of dirty rupees clearly pisses off the Contractor.

Reliance on bad intel and the lack of good relations with the local population has compounded the security problems, he says. “When you do a madrassah hit”—that is, a raid on an Islamic school—“the locals get pissed. You don't always find bad guys, but everyone gets slammed to the ground, zip-tied, bagged, and tagged. You forget to give them a hundred bucks at the door and they'll swear to get you. They will, too. The next time the Americans are on patrol in their Dumbvees, they are set up.”

This reminds me of a traditional Pashtun saying Haji told me days before: “If you take your revenge in a hundred years, you are rushing things.”

Despite the treatment he just received from OGA, the Contractor insists the folks he works directly with are beginning to catch on and improve their methods of collection. “Now we want to get inside the heads of the people we are dealing with. We want a softer, more personal relationship, instead of basing the transaction on money.

“A while back, Rumsfeld said we might be creating more enemies than we are killing…. Duh… But things are changing. We don't work with local Afghan commanders so much. We also don't give a shit about what the Paks say, so we are allowed to slide and glide a little more inside Pakistan…. For some reason Pakistan is still like the Catholic Church, where it is sanctuary,” the Contractor tells me. “The bad guys are inside Pakistan using Pakistani protection to attack Americans inside Afghanistan and then running back knowing they won't be chased. Hopefully, things will change.”