“All right. You have two hours before boarding the plane here at the Athens airport. It’s a long trip, but don’t take any English books to read. Look at the pictures in Arab magazines is your best bet. Oh, and sleep a lot.”
Murdock chimed in. “Franklin, you’ve got the con on this one. You two guys find the damn nukes and we’ll come help you finish them off. But first, you have to find them.”
18
Guns Franklin had started to sweat when the Iranian Special Security Police prowled the plane as soon as it landed and before anyone left.
“Routine inspection,” they had called it in Farsi. Franklin knew Farsi. The police at last let those get off who were stopping there. Through passengers were told to remain in their seats, that it would be a quick stop.
The police then checked on the ten passengers left. Those still on the plane were merely passing through the airport, not even touching Iranian ground. Franklin wondered what the police could want from these people.
The policeman looked down at Tran Khai and asked him in Farsi who he was and where he was going. Khai ducked his head and looked away as they had rehearsed.
“Sir, this is my cousin,” Franklin said in Farsi. “He isn’t exactly right in the head. He’s never been out of Saudi Arabia before, so I am giving him a trip.”
“You go to Afghanistan?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why doesn’t he speak?”
“His mother has asked that question for twenty years. He just doesn’t. Something happened in his head when he fell and hit it.”
The policeman scowled, and kicked Khai’s foot back under his seat. One of his feet had strayed into the aisle.
“Good riddance to get him out of Iran. We have no room here for the softheaded. If they can’t work, we shoot them.”
Franklin looked away.
“That bother you, Saudi Arabian man?”
“Sir, it’s your country. I wouldn’t comment on how you run it.”
For a moment the policeman frowned. His hand moved toward the pistol on his hip. Then he grinned and laughed.
“Yes, Saudi, you will do well. You have the right outlook.”
An old man lugging a suitcase stepped into the plane from the loading ramp, and the policeman barked something at him. The old man stopped. The cop hurried up the aisle and out the door before a sudden flood of oncoming passengers trapped him.
“Gone?” Khai whispered.
“Yeah, but keep quiet, mute boy. He could be back.”
He didn’t come back, and Franklin breathed easier once they lifted off the Iranian runway and headed cross-country for Kabul. Franklin tried to remember everything he had crammed into his skull about the area and about Afghanistan. It was a little smaller in size than Pakistan, had twenty-five million people and the lowest per-capita income of any nation in the area at the equivalent of $800 a year. To contrast it with Pakistan, the more southern nation had 142 million people and the per-capita income was $2,300.
It was almost exactly a thousand miles between Tehran and Kabul, as Franklin had found out by talking to one of the flight attendants. That meant a flight of just over two hours. Franklin had no idea what time it was. He asked the attendant again, and she set his watch for him. They would arrive slightly before 1500. Maybe they could find the address they needed before dark.
“Might be a better idea to go there after dark,” Khai said. “We don’t want to compromise the agent.”
Customs in Kabul involved answering a question or two, and they didn’t even have to open their suitcases. When they came into the main terminal with their luggage, Franklin was sure that someone was watching them. He was right. They hurried toward the taxi stands, but didn’t make it.
A young man walked past them and turned slightly. “SEALs?” he said in English so only they could hear.
Franklin grinned. “Yes, the only easy day was yesterday,” he said, giving the password.
The young man fell into step with them. “I must say they are doing a better job of getting the clothes and the skin tone right now than they used to,” he said softly. “I have a car down about two blocks. You have any trouble getting through?”
“We could have carried in a nuke warhead and nobody would have checked,” Khai said.
“Any news about where our babies might be?” Franklin asked.
“Almost nothing. We lost our best source. Now I’m scratching. I figure I have another six months here before the stupid police figure out who I am and I get bounced out of the country. A few regimes ago they would have shot me. But now Omar is taking a slightly different line.”
“Is Osama bin Laden back in the country?” Franklin asked.
“Not that we know of. He did leave for a time, but there’s word that he might have come back in across the border with Pakistan and to his old camps below Khowst. That’s southwest of here about a hundred miles and almost on the border with Pakistan.”
They crawled into the car he pointed at. Franklin had never seen one like it. French, Russian, maybe Polish. He didn’t ask.
“My name is Jeru. I am dressed like a man since a woman can’t be seen in public without being totally covered. A woman could not meet you here, own a car, or even drive a car. No woman can even ride in a car with a man not her husband or a close relative. That’s why I am in this disguise. It is good, no?
“Yes, I grew up in the States when my father was with our embassy there. I am half Pashtun and half Hazara. But that does not make me a half breed.”
She looked over at Franklin, who sat in the front seat. “Yes, I love my country, but it is bad times. Our government is in the hands of the militia. We don’t know who is going to be killing our current president or prime minister and moving in to take his place. I do what I can to help. These warheads, if they are here, would be a disaster for our nation. Some hothead might actually use one and Kabul would be vaporized in retaliation. None of us want that.”
“What can we do today, tonight?” Khai asked.
She turned to look at him. “I have nowhere to look. My one source is dead, my other not sure of my intentions.”
“We could go see him right now,” Khai said. “The quicker we find that warhead, or more if they are here, the quicker we can put them out of commission.”
Jeru frowned. Her face was triangular with strong brows over pale green eyes. Franklin figured that she was about five-eight and solidly built. Not a pretty woman but attractive. Competent looking.
“I’m not sure what we can do tonight. My next best contact is a businessman, an importer.”
“Could we go see him tonight?” Khai asked.
“I’ll phone him from my apartment. Maybe we can see him later tonight. He is often watched by the police.
“Let’s do it. If we need explosives, can you get some for us?” Franklin asked.
“Now that will be tougher. I won’t even try unless you say that you need them. Which means we’ll know exactly where the warheads are and that you can destroy them. As I hear it, there is only one. There might have been two at one time, but the second one from the ship may have gone to someone else after the plane stopped in Iran.”
“Iran has one of the warheads?” Khai asked.
“Not sure. The plane refueled there, but the warhead could have been flown out to any of a dozen other countries, some in Africa. We’re working that angle.”
“Jeru, if you just came into your own nuclear warhead that could be converted into a timed nuclear bomb, where would you store it for safekeeping in this country, until you picked out your target?” Franklin asked her.
She drove and considered it.
Kabul still showed the effects of the devastating civil war as first one side, then the other took control. There were blasted-apart and burned-out buildings on almost every block. The rubble had been cleared away, but the damage was still starkly evident.