“Where to hide it? If it’s here, the militia must have it, and bought it from the Chinese. Yes, I know the whole story. Glad you boys didn’t get shot up any worse than you did when you took on that Chinese destroyer all by yourselves. Pure guts.”
“Would have been a gutsy move if we knew it was a destroyer,” Franklin said. “Sure looked like a freighter to us.”
“Still stands. You’re goddamned heroes. Where to hide the bomb? Not at the outfit’s GHQ. They would be afraid of leaking radiation and just scared stiff of all that potential power. Some of these people are not the brightest. So it would be outside of the city somewhere.”
“Bin Laden’s caves?” Khai asked.
“Certainly one possibility. I’m thinking more of a garrison of militia trainees on the outskirts of town, maybe forty miles from here. Far enough away so if the bomb goes off accidentally, it won’t wipe out Kabul.”
“We must know for sure, and how tough it will be to take over such an area long enough to destroy the warhead.”
“Agreed.” She parked in front of a four-level apartment building that had suffered some damage but looked as if it had been repaired.
“Home, sweet home. In Kabul this is upper-middle-class living. Wait until you see inside. As a man, I run a travel agency here in town. No one knows what I really do. I don’t do a lot of business. It gives me good travel connections and I can move around without suspicion. Kabul is actually trying to stir up some interest in tourism.”
She led them into the small hallway and up steps to the second floor. The second door on the right was Number 203. She used a key and they went inside.
“Four rooms and a bath. Absolute luxury accommodations for Kabul where housing is tight. Too many bombed-out buildings and no new construction. You’ll stay here. I often have guests. Missed planes, no hotels. Even the Secret Police have stopped watching me. It lets me be more effective.”
“After your family came back here, was your father still in politics?”
“Yes, for various presidents. The last one was President Na-jibullah, who was hanged, and twenty of his cabinet were shot, including my father. So, now I do what I can.”
“Sorry about your father,” Khai said. “We have money.”
She took them to a door and opened it. “This will be your room. A double bed and dresser. You travel light, that’s good. No weapons, I hope. A concealed weapon these days is cause for immediate execution.”
“Not even a penknife,” Franklin said.
“You rest up. I’ll cook us something, then I’ll call my business friend, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
After a simple meal, Jeru telephoned her importer friend. It was by then late in the afternoon. She arranged to meet Gulbi in the back of his store just after dark.
“We must be careful. Only three or four people in Kabul know who I am and that I am a woman. If the Taliban knew I was my father’s daughter, they would at least throw me in prison.”
A half hour after dark, they drove into the alley behind a row of small businesses. The woman told the SEALs to stay inside. “He may not say a word if you are along. I won’t be long. Stay here and keep out of sight.”
She slid out of the car and into the shadows behind the store, then vanished.
The SEALs waited. After twenty minutes, Franklin got worried. “What the hell do we do if she doesn’t come back?”
A few minutes later a figure slipped out of the shadows and hurried to the car. Jeru stepped in and at once drove on through the alley. At the first street a police van with red lights flashing and siren wailing swept past.
“What happened,” Franklin asked.
“We had talked for about five minutes when someone pounded on the front door. He went up there and opened it. Two men crashed into the store and without a word, shot Gulbi three times in the chest. He’s dead. I’ve been hiding ever since.”
19
Franklin stared at the woman. “Your contact is dead? I’m sorry. He was your friend?”
“An acquaintance. He will be missed. He only had time to tell me the name of someone before he was killed. The man who shot him wore a mask.”
“So what can we do now?” Khai asked.
“We see this man Gulbi named. We do it tonight before the secret police find him.”
They stopped at a dark corner where there was a public telephone booth. Jeru made three phone calls. She came away from the booth frowning.
“Nobody wanted to talk when I mentioned his name. They say he’s a dangerous man and I shouldn’t have anything to do with him. They say even the secret police do not mess with him.”
“You have an address?” Franklin asked.
“Yes. One man said it is best to see him late at night. That way not so many eyes are on the visitor.”
“Good, let’s go,” Khai said.
Jeru looked at him. Her frown vanished and she smiled. “Yes, if we are going to find those warheads we must take some chances. This will be a big one. You have no weapons. That’s good.”
She started the car and drove. It took fifteen minutes as they wound into the old section of town, where the streets were originally goat paths and the lanes were too narrow for a car. She looked at the notes she had taken and stopped the car.
“This is as close as we can drive to it. Down this way about three blocks.”
The lane narrowed as they moved along, until it was little wider than a sidewalk, with houses and buildings pressing in from both sides. A dog barked at them, but was quickly hushed. Franklin checked his watch. It was just after 0120. Should be late enough, he decided.
A man appeared in front of them, paused, then faded into a doorway and let them pass. A woman screamed somewhere ahead, but the sound cut off suddenly.
Franklin moved up beside Jeru and took her arm. She looked over in the darkness and nodded. He saw the tension on her face. Someone laughed. Music played out a window, then snapped off suddenly.
A woman walked toward them, slowly, with purpose. She held up her hand to stop them.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
Jeru answered. “We need to talk to Farrah. We have news for him.”
“I know of no one by that name.”
“You lie. Out of our way so we can find someone who will show us the way.”
“All right, I do know him. Why should he see you?”
“To save Kabul from being vaporized by an atomic bomb.”
The woman smiled. “Good enough. This way.”
She led them another half block, then into a courtyard and up steps to a third floor. It was strangely quiet here. Franklin could sense moisture, as if there was a garden in this usually arid land.
They came into a large room only spotted with furniture. Someone sat behind an oblong desk at the far end of the room. Two men with submachine guns stepped forward, shielding the person behind the desk.
“Who are you?” one of the guards asked.
“I am called Jeru.”
“Ah, yes,” a woman’s voice said. The two guards stepped aside and moved behind the woman at the desk. A spotlight snapped on highlighting the woman sitting there. Franklin’s first impression was that she was topless with full breasts that had no sag. Her hair was dark and she wore eye makeup and rich, red lipstick, so unusual for the other women in this country.
Her frown was steady, eyes curious, yet wary.
“Yes, I am Farrah, but I didn’t send for you.”
“No,” Jeru said. “How do we know you are Farrah?”
“I say so. I am.”
“I am Jeru. We need to talk.”
“Your bodyguards?”