Veiled Freedom (43 page)

“I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't,” Steve said evenly. “Look, there's no big catch here. Today's Thanksgiving, you're an American away from your family, and I can certainly use some company. Besides, you'd like Garwood; he's nothing like me.” The addition was dry. “And the service isn't until four. Unless like so many humanitarian types, you've got some beef with the military. I can assure you they won't bite.”

Now Amy could hear definite sarcasm. “Of course I've no problem with the military. I've had family in the armed forces.”

As Steve's challenge hung on the line, Amy considered. She'd no real reason to say no. Once this afternoon's program was under way, Jamil and the others were perfectly capable of finishing up and getting everyone back to New Hope. And why not? It was Thanksgiving, and if Amy couldn't be with family, then to be with fellow countrymen for a few hours without having to wrap her tongue around alien sounds, to be able to speak without weighing every word was suddenly an irresistible proposition.

Amy paused on the marble entry steps to wipe dampness from her face, then inspected her sleeve in surprise. Yes, that dusting of white was snow. She hurried indoors. It was drier but no warmer. “Is the building where you're meeting heated?”

Steve's laugh was the delightful one that made the security contractor a disturbingly attractive man. “Not just the building but my car.”

“Done then,” Amy said. “You can pick me up at the project.”

“Three thirty. Bring your passport. And by the way, that's military time, not local.”

“I can read a watch,” Amy said indignantly. Locals had little regard for punctuality, calling it American time or European time, and long-term expats tended to have a more easygoing attitude toward promptness. “I'll be waiting on the dot.”

“See you then.” With another laugh, Steve rang off. Down below outside the picture glass window, Khalid was climbing into the BMW limo for the convoy run to his Mi-8.

As soon as Steve slapped his phone shut, Phil limped over. “I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but about what you just told Ms. Mallory, there's something you should know.”

Phil's switch to quiet Dari was mystifying until Steve caught Roald's uncomprehending glance from the security monitors. A soberness in Phil's expression roused him to instant alert, and in the same language, he asked quietly, “What's wrong?”

“I'll let you be the judge.” Phil angled his body to block Roald's curious stare. “For starters, that report Ismail gave you earlier just happened to leave one thing out. I talked to the Welayat myself this morning like you asked, and the perps we rounded up the other night are out walking free. In fact, it seems they were in custody only a few hours. No charges were filed against them. After all, they did no real harm, and since every man can understand their very honorable compulsion to retrieve a wayward woman—I'm quoting here—one wouldn't wish to keep them from their families and employment.”

“But Ismail—” Steve stopped himself. Quoting or not, Phil had it right that the deputy minister—or Khalid himself, for that matter—would likely see last week's escapade differently than an American did. Nor, despite the displeasure tightening his jaw, was there a thing Steve could do about it. Only Khalid had more authority over local law enforcement than the deputy minister, while Condor Securities had none at all.

“Well, they were bound to buy themselves out eventually.” Steve shrugged. “At least they seem to have lost interest in New Hope.”

“Anyway, that's not why I've been sticking around for you.” Phil jerked his head toward the security monitors. “You know the new surveillance cameras.”

The CS team's new spy-cam network had been inside that seized container Steve had negotiated out of customs, and like the fiber-optic fencing, was part of a strategy to keep Khalid's defenses as unobtrusive as they were thorough. With the tiny cameras CS command could keep tabs on every inch of the property outside Khalid's living quarters without the minister's touchy guests ever knowing. Though Phil monitored the surveillance network, McDuff and one of the newer operatives were the team's electronics specialists, and they'd installed the system the same day fiber-optic fencing had gone up at the New Hope compound.

“The protocol I gave was video only, but McDuff must have missed that memo, because by the time I checked out the system, it had been recording audio for twenty-four hours. That was the night the police commander from Dilshod's district was here.”

Also the night they'd been rather occupied over at New Hope, excuse enough for Phil's oversight.

“I was running through the footage to see if there's any reason not to erase it. There was nothing we couldn't do without until I ran through the footage from Khalid's reception suite. I've left my screen cued to the relevant section. You might want to take a listen before heading out.”

Phil waved away Steve's interjection before the words got past his teeth. “No, I'm not going to say more. I want you to make up your own mind. Maybe I'm all wrong. Either way, you're the boss, so it's your call. I'll catch you later.”

Phil had left a headset plugged into his laptop so that when Steve settled it into place, the Dari filtering through the earpiece was as clear as though Steve were sitting among those small, gesturing figures lounging Eastern-style on cushions.

The segment was a continuation of the festivities that had been going strong when Steve left the night of the break-in. All but a few trays of honey pastries and tea were cleared away, and only half a dozen men remained, among them several police commanders Steve remembered from the raids, including the regional leader of the Dilshod op. The screen showed Roald standing at agent-in-charge duty behind Khalid. By Ismail's absence, he'd already been called away to meet Steve at the New Hope compound.

At first Steve listened with impatience, tempted to fast-forward through seemingly aimless conversation. But before long, he was no longer giving any thought to the passage of time, the displeasure that had tightened his jaw mounting into a fury he tamped down forcibly lest he put his fist through those smug faces on the monitor as he'd like to do to their real-life counterparts. Outside, overcast skies had given way to a flurry of white that looked as ice-cold as the heaviness squeezing at Steve's chest.

I can't believe I fell for it, fell for
him
again.

No wonder Phil hadn't wanted to share this tape with the rest of the team. Its content was pure C-4. And no wonder Khalid was so gung ho about the CS team's latest two additions. Their lack of Dari skills permitted the minister and his associates to speak as openly as though the two bodyguards were deaf-mutes.

Did Khalid even realize there was a spy-cam trained on him? Or hardly conversant with high-tech toys, had he assumed the new system entailed the same hall and perimeter cameras as the old one? Steve certainly hadn't taken it upon himself to outline the difference.

In any case, it would seem the surge Steve had so fervently applauded—and his principal's role in it—hadn't been quite the valiant battle against internal corruption and external villains the media had been playing up for weeks.

More like the godfather and cronies taking out turf rivals.

Dilshod was a prime example. Steve could still taste the exhilaration of that dawn raid, smell the acrid sweetness of burning opium and hashish, hear the shouts of triumph even if the perps had gotten away. Now from what he was hearing, it appeared Dilshod had been chosen less for his brutal notoriety than that as an Uzbekistan transplant he'd no local tribal alliances to spawn reprisals. The raid had been a sham, an amicable negotiation surrendering the Uzbek's stockpiles for destruction in return for an unhindered retirement to his native land and Swiss bank accounts.

Nor could Dilshod be dismissed as aberration. One high-level tribal leader whose arrest Steve had witnessed was, according to conversation, the chief political rival of a guest deferentially pouring Khalid a cup of tea. Other detainees were behind on police protection fees—i.e., bribes. Even those substantial drug seizures could be seen in a different light by their discussion, increased production leaving such a stockpiled glut that sacrificing a few tons was more tactical maneuver than serious loss. It might even push prices back up.

Why am I so surprised?
Steve asked himself savagely. Wasn't this the Khalid he'd known before? No champion of law and reform as the international media had jumped to proclaim but a wily fighter bent on building his own personal power base, by negotiation where possible, but never shrinking from battle, as long as it was a winning hand.

That Steve wasn't the only one played for a fool was no consolation. How was it he'd broken his own cardinal rule? You didn't have to like your principal or even approve, just keep him alive. Don't get involved. Don't take it personal.

Because I wanted to believe this time was different. That Khalid—and I—were actually doing something to make a difference. That maybe I was wrong before, and there really was hope that this place and a man like Khalid could change.

It was just as well Khalid was on his way out of town so Steve couldn't storm in to face him before he got his temper under control. Need he remind himself he was little more than a glorified security guard? While his former muj ally was the most powerful politician in this country next to the president himself—and with comparable armed force at his command beyond the foreign weaponry to which the president could appeal. No, bracing Khalid over this would be just plain stupid. Maybe the reason Phil, who knew his one-time teammate so well, had waited until liftoff to bring it to Steve's attention.

Still, there were others who would and should find this intel of interest. It was the State Department that signed Steve's paychecks. And they should know what kind of pig in a poke they'd bought in the new minister of interior.

Powering down Phil's computer, Steve reached for his phone. With DynCorp holding the embassy security contract, Jason Hamilton would know who best to approach.

A Gurkha sentry stepped into the room, startling Steve back to his current surroundings. “Excuse me for interrupting, sir, but there is an unusual disturbance outside. Though it may sound foolish, I am sure it was the sound of wild animals I heard. Lions, perhaps, or tigers.”

The DynCorp manager—and Khalid—would have to wait. Grabbing his parka and the mailer he'd opened earlier, Steve followed the anxious guard onto the terrace and listened briefly. Yes, that was a lion's roar all right above the music and loud voices of a celebration. He clapped the guard on the shoulder. “It's nothing to worry about. I'll go check it out.”

The flurry of white Steve had noted through the picture window was now a steady snowfall, making the dirt streets slippery enough to keep the elderly Corolla at a crawl as he negotiated the alleys behind Khalid's mansion. The noise of celebration grew louder ahead. So did the snarling of wild beasts.

Then, as the car slid around a tight corner, Steve braked to a stop. Just ahead was a mud-brick compound wall, its top lined with bodies perched as tightly as a flock of birds on a telephone wire. Others crowded the bed, hood, even cab top of a two-ton truck pulled up tight to the compound gate.

Only one person was paying no attention to the commotion inside the compound. A female, tall for an Afghan and slim even under a voluminous winter cloak, stood with her back to Steve in the middle of the street. At a fresh crescendo of animal growls, Steve punched a speed dial on his phone. As he did so, he slid out the contents of the mailer and studied them again.

Steve waited until that slim female figure raised a hand to her ear to demand with incredulous irony, “
Lion King
?”

“White as snow.”

For all Steve Wilson's talk of military time, the security contractor was more than a little late. But Amy found her irritation fading as she tilted a face alight with wonder to the softly falling snow. It had been growing steadily thicker since the opening scene of the DVD Jamil was projecting onto a whitewashed wall in the brickmaker's courtyard. Though Amy's suggestion they cut the festivities short had been greeted with perplexed opposition.