Flynn watched the other man’s eyes closely and saw the quickly hidden irritation he’d been expecting. Bokharai knew only too well that the Taliban, who controlled most of the surrounding countryside, routinely sabotaged power transmission lines, roads, medical clinics, schools, bridges, and other major public works. Even before the recent effective collapse of central authority in Afghanistan, tens of millions of dollars’ worth of international aid to this isolated corner of the country had been reduced to heaps of blackened rubble.
The other man spread his hands. “A perceptive analysis,” he admitted. His expression, if anything, become even blander. “I am somewhat curious about something else, however, Señor.”
“Indeed?”
“Those light aircraft your men are putting together outside,” Bokharai said carefully. “What role are they intended to play in this solar power marketing scheme of yours?”
Flynn heard the edged emphasis in the other man’s words. He concealed a grin. Now they were getting down to the core of what the Afghan official was really interested in. He clearly didn’t believe a word of all the bullshit he’d just read and heard about small-scale solar facilities. “We plan to use that little two-seater passenger plane, the SkyReach BushCat, for maintaining customer contact in remote rural areas,” he explained mildly. “Since it can land and take off again from almost anywhere, we’ll be able to ferry company sales representatives and service technicians out to even the most isolated villages.”
“I see.” Bokharai studied his fingertips for a moment before looking back up with a slightly harder expression. “And the Predator drone you are also assembling? What real commercial purpose can that possibly serve?” He met Flynn’s eyes. “We Afghans have seen much of those unmanned aerial vehicles over the years — and the air-to-ground Hellfire missiles they carried.”
Flynn nodded. The other man’s scarcely hidden suspicions were reasonable. Until they were retired from combat service in 2018, both the U.S. Air Force and the CIA had employed General Atomics MQ-1 Predator drones for reconnaissance and attack missions in Afghanistan and in many other conflict zones around the world. He leaned forward. “Our drone has absolutely no military capability,” he assured Bokharai earnestly. “My principals discreetly acquired it from the U.S. Customs and Border Patrol — as they were phasing out their Predator surveillance fleet. Before we took possession, all equipment of warlike utility was removed.”
“Which still doesn’t explain how you plan to use this vehicle,” the Afghan said bluntly.
Flynn smiled genially. “We see two significant uses. First, the Predator makes it possible for us to conduct unmanned aerial surveys of likely sites for our small solar plants, avoiding the risk of losing lives should your local bandits react aggressively to our plans. And second, our technicians have equipped this particular Predator to carry cargo. So we’ll be able to deliver up to a hundred kilos of machinery and spare parts to job sites in remote villages as needed… at a considerable savings in man-hours and transportation and labor costs.”
“Of course,” Bokharai said dryly. “I can see the advantages.”
Oh, I just bet you do, Flynn thought with the same measure of cynical amusement he could hear in the other man’s voice. In reality, he could tell that the Afghan official strongly suspected “Duarte” and his associates of being smugglers — of drugs or black market weapons or both. In which case, their real plans would involve using the BushCat light plane for covert meetings with suppliers and prospective buyers well away from prying official eyes. As for the Predator drone, its role as a trafficking tool was even more obvious. Being able to covertly transport a couple of hundred pounds of heroin or guns and explosives over long distances, avoiding every government checkpoint on the way, was a criminal’s dream.
This guy Bokharai knows that I’m lying, Flynn thought, fighting down a grin. And I know that he knows I’m lying. And he knows that I know that he knows I’m lying. But he doesn’t know exactly what I’m lying about. Which was good enough.
More relaxed now, the Afghan official folded his hands over his stomach. “You present a persuasive case, Señor Duarte,” he allowed. “I have only one more concern. Do you intend to confine your firm’s efforts solely to Nimroz Province? Or are there plans to expand your reach over time, perhaps to international markets?”
“Naturally, we hope to grow our business,” Flynn said. He smiled. “My principals are ambitious men.”
Bokharai’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And do their ambitious plans include operations in Iran?” he asked pointedly.
“Iran? Not at all,” Flynn said with equal bluntness. “We might find the business climate there… too challenging.” He drew a finger across his throat. “Profits are useless to dead men.”
“So they are,” Bokharai agreed. Tehran’s revolutionary regime trafficked heavily in illegal drugs, but it did so for its own foreign policy purposes and for hard currency. And it dealt harshly with foreigners who tried to horn in on its smuggling business or who sold narcotics to its own citizens. “So then? You are thinking about Pakistan?”
Flynn nodded once. “We believe conditions there are promising. Very promising.”
The Afghan nodded sagely. Like Iran and his own country, Pakistan was a major transshipment point for heroin and other illicit substances. But unlike Iran, the central government had considerably less real control over many of its outlying territories and even some cities. That made it a much safer place for international criminal gangs to set up shop. “Well, then, Señor,” he said at last. “It seems your organization has thought out its plans to the last detail. Naturally,” he continued delicately, “there are certain regulatory and legal formalities that must be observed. Paperwork and other bureaucratic requirements that govern the conduct of business here. A burden, I admit, but still—” He left the rest hanging unsaid.
And there’s my cue, Flynn realized. He’d been wondering how long it would take Bokharai to get to the real purpose of this visit. “Of course,” he said with conviction. “We understand fully that every government has its own set of rules. And my organization would never dream of cutting corners or of subverting local laws.” With a visible effort, Bokharai tried to hide his displeasure. “Still, we also understand the importance of custom in ensuring that these procedures operate smoothly,” Flynn went on. “And with a minimum of red tape.”
The Afghan official suddenly looked more hopeful, and the Kabul-based interpreter appeared to be secretly amused. No doubt he’d seen this same ritual dance enacted a dozen times over in as many different parts of the country. Fluent in at least five languages, his services were much in demand whenever foreign businessmen came calling.
Flynn lifted the leather briefcase he’d brought with him and put it between them on the low table. “It’s extremely important to my principals that we establish good relationships with our local partners,” he said. “So I hope you’ll accept this first, small token of our appreciation… and ensure that it is distributed to some worthy charity.” He slid it across the table.
Almost hungrily, Bokharai flipped the catches open and raised the lid partway. His eyes widened slightly, seeing stacks of U.S. dollars. He must have known that he was looking at a sum in excess of one hundred thousand dollars. Forcing himself to adopt a studied air of carelessness, he closed the case again. “You can be sure of that, Señor Duarte,” he said. His teeth gleamed. “Your gift will bring great happiness to orphans across the province.”