“Well, that one’s easy,” drawled a voice from another desk. “A no-brainer, actually. It’s drug money. That’s how most of these bandits finance their operations.” The voice came from Lance Winters. Lance, formerly one of the top guns at the DEA, was in his early 40s, and had worked on the China White cases — heroin imported from Laos, Burma, and Vietnam. He was well aware that when the American police forces put their sizeable dent in the cultivation, manufacture, and transport of China White, an Afghani pipeline had quickly replaced it. He had also dealt with Columbian and Mexican marijuana, heroin, and cocaine operations. Immediately prior to his transfer to TTIC, he had been dealing with the growing problem posed by BC Bud.
“You guys are talking about al-Qaeda and its surrogates,” he continued. “That means opium cultivated in Afghanistan, and heroin processed there, or in the Northwest Frontier Province, in Pakistan. That’s where the drugs came from. In some way, that’s where the money came from too. That’s where you should be looking.”
“I think he’s right,” said Rhodes, having just returned to the room. “If we’re talking cash provided to a quasi-terrorist group like the Janjawiid, we’re talking drugs. And if we’re talking drugs, we’re talking Afghanistan. Al-Qaeda has for years been funding its operations through the use of drug money. We have a lot of documentation on it.”
“I agree,” said Khasha. She was the other resident expert, having spent years pouring over Pakistani websites and newspapers, and connecting daily with her many friends in Pakistan. “I’d say that it’s definitely drugs. Probably heroin. The opium is grown by the Pashtun farmers in the mountain valleys of northeastern Afghanistan. It comes into Pakistan via hundreds of uncharted mountain passes, known only by the locals. It’s refined in portable labs in the Northwest Frontier Province, and gets shipped to America and Europe from there. The heist we’re looking at cost a lot of money, and shows a lot of organization. And it’s probably part of a much larger operation. Assuming all this stuff is related, it means that someone got their hands on a DC-3, and had a pilot to fly it. They acquired weapons from Germany. They bribed air terminal supervisors, so that no flight plans were filed. They had someone who knew the route the Semtex was going to take from Benghazi to Bazemah. They probably had a smart place to stash it once they got it. There’s a lot of sophistication behind this, and to me, that means they had a lot of money to spend. The answer to this riddle lies in Pakistan or Afghanistan. Once we know who provided the money, we may know where the explosives went after we lost track of them.”
“I think we need to focus more manpower on this Semtex thing,” added Rhodes, raising his voice to draw attention to what he was saying. “All this stuff we’re picking up on the Internet about a nuclear attack could be just a ruse. The only solid evidence we have of things going amiss is the stolen Semtex.” He turned to Dan, who had just walked up to the group. “Maybe we need more people than just Turbee looking at this issue.”
“Why?” argued Dan. “And what’s the hurry?”
“As a group, we’re certain that this heist is being financed and operated by drug lords in Afghanistan,” Rhodes answered, annoyed at having to answer to someone who understood so little about the international stage. “Some of those characters possess the means to transport that Semtex a long distance in a hurry, by ship or by air. Europe and America are the prime drug destinations. It stands to reason that they’d be the prime Semtex destinations, too. The people who are now transporting the Semtex have the means to slip through borders easily. It’s what they do for a living. We’d never see it coming, Dan. That’s why.”
“Maybe we need someone in the field in Peshawar or Jalalabad,” said Lance. “Who have we got?”
“No one good,” said Rhodes. “With Zak Goldberg already undercover, I think all we have left in that area is Richard Lawrence.” He winced as he said this, knowing full well the minimal number of human agents America had in the region.
Dan stood quietly for a moment, considering. “Let me call the commander of the Theodore Roosevelt,” he said finally. “We should be able to get Richard to Islamabad in less than two hours in one of the Super Hornets. Johnson, get me the TR on the line. Now.”
Yousseff watched the cranes and gantries of Karachi Drydock and Engineering recede into the distance. As the Haramosh Star proceeded southward, the smog and crowded streets of Karachi were replaced by the endless mud swamps and wetlands that formed at the delta of the Indus River. These were the places that he and his inner circle had used so effectively in the early years of his enterprise. Again he was flooded with memories, sharpened with nostalgia. He drifted back into his dreams.
He was 16 again. He already had substantial land holdings in both Pakistan and Afghanistan. Izzy and Ba’al were becoming wealthy, just through their association with him. Marak was piling up stacks of money in his safe house in Pakistan. Yousseff’s success was spectacular for his age. Yet his restlessness only seemed to increase. He had gone with the drug traders from time to time, as far as Islamabad. His parents had forbidden him to travel further, and out of respect for them he didn’t. But the ever-greater desire to see what lay beyond the next horizon finally overcame him.
He had come to know, over the years, a pleasant and rotund man by the name of Mohammed Jhananda, who was the owner and captain of a small 30-foot riverboat. He ferried goods up and down the Indus and its tributaries, from Islamabad to the mud flats and islands that dotted the enormous river delta just south of Karachi. His boat, if it could be called that, was a dilapidated, ancient vessel named the Indus Janeeta. Its single diesel motor spewed dark black smoke and made hideous clanking and rattling noises. Mohammed liked Yousseff, and admired his hard-working ways and sensible head. Transporters were always looking for another swamper, especially one who was young, strong, and eager to work. Eventually Yousseff started working for Mohammed on his occasional trips to the coast. Although he had spent most of his life on high desert plains and mountain passes, he took to the ways of the river, and loved the easy travel and customs of the great inland waterway.
Mohammed had a son, Omar, who was a few years older than Yousseff. It hadn’t taken long for Omar and Yousseff to become firm friends. They enjoyed fishing off the end of the boat when she was anchored, and worked like dogs together moving goods of one sort or another from ship to dockside, or vice versa. Once they reached their teens, they moved on to chasing women together. Occasionally they would share hashish or opium, and dream about future conquests.
Sometimes Mohammed purchased half a kilo of heroin in Peshawar and transported it from there to Islamabad, and ultimately to the vast Indus Delta. But he was terrified of being caught by the authorities, and didn’t push his luck with drugs very often. For the most part, Mohammed was a cautious and wily man, not given to ostentatious or wild behavior. He knew how to operate below the radar of the river police, and how to stay out of trouble. From him Yousseff learned the ways of the river, where to deliver drugs, who to trust, who to avoid, and how to survive and prosper. He paid attention to the many river tales of drug transporting and pirating. When he felt he was ready, Yousseff decided to transport a kilo of his own product to the coast. For a cut of the price, Mohammed gave his approval, and Yousseff conducted the transportation and sale with his usual skill.