“Enough to irradiate a large city.” Clark paused to let that sink in. “We’ve got a team on their way to Colorado. We’re putting surveillance on the entire group.”
“How long before you have them locked down?” Deion asked.
“Three days, tops,” Karen said. “We planted malware on their computers over the past several weeks, but we found nothing. The phone calls are all in code, and they switch codes after each call. They’ve had training.”
“Have you informed DHS?” Nancy asked.
“We need more intel.” Clark turned to Nancy. “You’re going to have to brief the Old Man.”
Nancy shifted in her seat. “Shit. I hate that.”
Clark turned to Karen. “And there’s one other thing. Tell them.”
“There’s been an uptick in chatter from Al-Qaeda, but no details,” Karen said. “There’s been another picture, and they’ve used steganography to bury text in the picture. I’ve managed to decrypt and extract it and it talks about an upcoming event. Once again, no hard intelligence, but everything is couched in apocalyptic imagery. JSOC isn’t taking it seriously.”
He thought back to his time in Afghanistan. “Can you pass your analysis to the DIA?”
“I can. There’s no indication they’ll do anything with it. DIA doesn’t want to cause a fuss in Afghanistan. They’ve been waging a holding war for the past year.”
“How about the CIA?” Deion asked.
Eric shook his head. “The DIA doesn’t trust the CIA. No offense.”
“None taken,” Deion said. “We’ve done a piss poor job of sharing intelligence.”
“I’ll send it on, I’ve got a friend in DIA who’s stationed in Afghanistan. I can strongly encourage him to take another look,” Eric said.
“Has there been any other activity in Afghanistan?” Nancy asked.
“No more than usual,” Karen said. “A steady stream of IED’s. The usual back and forth between coalition forces and the Taliban. AQ stirs up trouble, and the Pakistani ISI coaches them along.”
Deion shrugged. “It’s Afghanistan. What can you do.”
Nancy nodded her head. “Send it on, Karen. Keep digging, and if you gather any SIGINT that can help, notify us immediately. Let’s hope the DIA takes it seriously and puts resources into HUMINT.”
Karen nodded and returned to her station.
Clark flipped the big screen to the data feed from JSOC. “It never ends.”
“Neither does our training with Frist,” he said. “Come on, Deion, we’ve got to check on him.”
Nancy followed them out. “I’ll brief my father.”
Eric laughed. “I’d rather get pummeled by Frist.”
Abdullah stretched back on his stool, working the kinks from his back and neck. The wind blew through the open window of the warehouse, a warm breeze that tickled his nose with the scent of the desert. He would miss it. As a young man, he was mesmerized by Afghanistan’s stark beauty. The years since did nothing to diminish his feelings.
There was a soft knock. He turned and beckoned Koshen in. “What did you find?”
Koshen entered and took a seat on the dirt floor. “Naseer is with Fahad. They are practicing one last time.”
He studied Koshen. “What do you think?”
Koshen smiled. “I think that Fahad will do as he was told.”
“Why is that?”
Koshen paused. “I think it is because of the money.”
“Of course it is. The cancer makes him desperate. It is that reason he will do as he’s told. Now, how are you?
“I am well, sir,” Koshen said. “I am thankful that you asked.”
He took Koshen’s hands in his. “You are prepared?”
Koshen nodded. “Yes. I will head south out of the city, along the trail. General Azim’s man will take me to Gulistan. There I will be safe. Sir, can I trust General Azim’s man?” He looked doubtfully at Abdullah.
“Yes. Azim will not harm you. I’ve asked an old friend to look for you. If you are not there a week from tomorrow, I will finally have proof of Azim’s treachery, and then I will kill him.”
Koshen’s eyes widened.
He nodded his head. “You’ve been a good student. You learned quickly.” He turned to stare out the window. The sun blazed, unrelenting, and the wind swirled the red dust across the horizon. He sighed. “You will be safe in Gulistan. Find a good wife, Koshen. Teach those who come looking. Teach them to make the bombs the way I taught you.”
He took his leather-bound journal and handed it to the young man. “Take this. If you ever need guidance, read what I have written. It talks about bombs, but also my own observations, advice that I think will help you.”
Koshen stared at it, then reached out hesitantly and took the book, pulling it close to his chest, his eyes big. “Sir, will I see you again?”
“Perhaps. Naseer and I will go to Kabul to find transport out of the country. We will continue Jihad.”
Koshen sat quietly for a moment. “May God protect you.”
He laughed. “You as well, young Koshen. Don’t worry about me. Naseer will protect me.”
Koshen smiled shyly. “I think it is you who will be protecting him.”
Specialist Donnie Lucas shot the shit with Specialist Kelvin Davidson as they guarded the side entrance to FOB Wildcat.
Kelvin argued for the hundredth time, “Look, man, I’m just saying. If I had to call it, I’d call it for Johnny’s old lady. Those pictures she emailed were fine.”
Donnie laughed. “No way. She’s got nice tits, but my old lady’s got a better ass.”
“I do like your wife’s ass. I’ll have to take it for a ride. Don’t worry, though, I’ll let you watch. For old time’s sake.”
Kelvin always made him laugh. “Mighty big of you, but I’ll be too busy with your sister.”
This amused Wahid, their local interpreter, a short young man with olive skin and a soft black beard. He laughed, an infectious little braying that never failed to amuse them. Kelvin smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Donnie was roasting as the sun baked down, the cool early morning air long since gone. It was a quiet detail. The locals barely paid any attention to the base except to come begging for jobs. They were too far from Kandahar to attract attention from the Taliban, and AQ was overwhelmed trying to replace their top commanders lost to drone strikes. There were mortar attacks the month before, dutiful attacks by local Taliban during the night to prove they were still fighting the foreign invaders, but nothing after.
He had no clue what the spooks were doing under the tents at Wildcat. It was above his pay-grade, but he saw the communications gear and the Special Forces guys skulking around, whispering about their tests.
He wished for the thousandth time he was back in Bagram. At least there, he could find something to pass the time. Instead, he spent much of his free time with Kelvin, and as much as he liked the man, he was sick of Kelvin’s company.
In the distance, a small cloud of dust tracked steadily closer, the daily arrival of the locals and the few who were willing to make the trek from Kandahar to clean the latrines and mess.
He laughed to himself. Some days the distinction between latrines and mess were not as big as they used to be. He sure missed the Burger King at Bagram.
The convoy approached and the lead truck stopped for their inspection. Kelvin caught the driver’s eye, the man named Fahad. Donnie and Kelvin liked him, and both had noticed that he looked worse each week. “Fahad, you don’t look so good. You okay?”
Wahid translated as the sweat rolled from Fahad’s brow. Trembling, Fahad answered in broken English. “Okay. I okay.”
As Kelvin inspected the other men, Donnie leaned closer. Shit, he looks like he’s got one foot in the grave. “You need to see a doctor.”