“The development money would come pouring in. It would dwarf the opium trade. Minerals would become the backbone of their economy. Afghanistan could become a powerhouse.”
“And who might these investors be?”
“U.S. mining companies. Multi-nationals. But mostly developing countries that need important minerals to sustain their growth.”
“What about China?”
“Already a player. They bribed the Afghan minister of mines to let them place the winning bid on a copper operation. He got fired, but the Chinese are in charge of the Aynak copper mine in Logar province. They’re hungry for more and will probably come in using proxies.”
“Very interesting and insightful. Thank you for your time, Dr. Davis.”
“My pleasure.”
The screen went blank. Fletcher turned to Sturmer.
“I think Mr. Davis just answered your question about how bad it is with his comment about the Chinese copper mine. This goes beyond economic interests. Control of minerals is of strategic value. China has used its control of rare earths to push Japan around. The U.S. is heavily dependent on Chinese minerals, which means we could be next in line for blackmail.”
“But our army is in charge of the country now,” Sturmer said. “The only way the Chinese can come in is if they choose to go up against our guys in combat.”
“The Chinese know that and are working with elements of the Pakistani intelligence service to broaden their influence in Afghanistan. This has been made easier by the fact that some Pakistani intel people see China as a counterweight to their arch enemy India. The Chinese are aware of this and are using the Pakistanis to cultivate links with insurgent groups as a strategic hedge so they’ll have influence in Afghanistan once the U.S. leaves Kabul.”
“Looks like the Chinese are making an end run,” Sturmer said.
The satellite picture of Afghanistan reappeared and the camera zoomed in on a body of water shaped like a long figure eight.
“Exactly. They hope to score a goal. Here. The salt flats around this lake cover some of the biggest lithium deposits in the country. This province is a lynchpin. If the Chinese-Pakistani cartel takes control of it, it will become increasingly difficult to stop them from doing the same in other parts of the country where they can negotiate with the locals or corrupt central government officials. Companies like yours and the others here in this room would be nudged out.”
“By God! We’ve shed blood to hold onto this piece of real estate,” Sturmer said. “The men in this room represent some of the biggest minerals extraction companies in the world. We deserve exclusive rights.”
Fletcher raised an eyebrow. He was aware that the only blood Sturmer and his colleagues had ever shed came while they were shaving and that they regarded the U.S. armed forces as an appendage in the service of their corporate interests.
“Calm down, Kurt,” he said. “No one is going to walk into that province with a handful of Renminbi. It’s controlled by a drug warlord named Amir Kahn.”
“Can’t our guys take him out?’
“That would be unwise. He’s connected by family ties to the ruling government and the Haqqani network that has been supporting the insurgents. Elements of the Pakistani intelligence services recently tried to remove Amir. Our intention was to let them do the dirty work for us, then move in. Unfortunately Amir survived the assault.”
“That is unfortunate,” said a guest. “How do we pry this guy out?”
“Simple. With a carpet-bombing campaign and permanent occupation of the border regions that puts up a big No Trespassing sign telling the poachers they will be shot on sight.”
Sturmer laughed. “I like it, Charles. There’s only one problem, the U.S. government wants to get out of Afghanistan and the voters are tired of the whole war. We’re going broke. Bridges, roads and schools have become a priority. People in Afghanistan want us out. Our metaphorical gardener is tired from tending the cabbage patch.”
“What if we made him untired?” Fletcher said. “What if something happened that would marshal public opinion to put aside its misgivings, reorder those priorities and get behind the massive effort I’m talking about?
“Last time that happened was after 9/11.”
“What if something happened that was even more horrendous than 9/11?”
“Is that a possibility?”
“As an intelligence officer, I would say that it is very much a possibility. And we had better be prepared.”
Sturmer made his voice heard above the murmurings.
“What do you need from us?” he asked.
“Your discretion, to begin with. Then the usual things. Money. Influence on Capitol Hill, so that when the time is ripe, you can move in with your heavy equipment at an instant’s notice.”
“I think I can speak for the others when I say that we have implicit trust in you, Charles.”
He went around one-by-one to the others in the room and got their agreement.
“Thank, you gentlemen,” Fletcher said. “I will keep you informed through my old friend Kurt. I’ve arranged for a car to take you back to the airport.”
Fletcher saw his guests to the front door, and watched the stretch limo until its taillights vanished down the long driveway which was still wet from the rain. He went back to his study, poured a couple of fingers of cognac into a snifter and sat in a leather chair in front of the windows.
The rain scratched against the glass and the rumble of thunder had grown louder. The storm was moving fast. His favorite weather. He took a sip of brandy and glanced toward the fireplace at the far end of the study where he saw a purple plume of cigar smoke rising above the back of the chair he’d been sitting in earlier. He realized that he was not alone.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Fletcher put the snifter down on his desk, quietly opened a drawer and filled his hand with a compact SIG Sauer P228 semi-automatic pistol. He eased the safety off and pointed the muzzle at the back of the chair.
“Turn around so I can see you,” he said in a calm voice. “I have a gun.”
Slowly, the chair swiveled around. There was a red glow as the silhouetted intruder exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“Who are you?” Fletcher said. “Be quick with your answer!”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my face so soon.”
Fletcher lowered the pistol.
“Damnit, you could get yourself shot, Hawkins.” He turned a desk lamp on.
Hawkins got up and came over to settle into a chair facing the desk. Moisture matted his thick hair and beaded his black windbreaker. He swirled the liquid in the snifter and took a sip.
“Damned fine brandy. Good smoke, too. Helped myself. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Glad you appreciate my hospitality,” Fletcher said. “What are you doing here?”
“I came for my discharge papers according to our agreement.”
Fletcher opened the drawer that had held the gun. He pulled out a thick brown envelope and placed it on the desk blotter. “You are now officially sane as far as the navy is concerned. How did you get in?” he said.
“Standard SEAL insertion. Fast-roped in by helicopter.”
“I never heard—”
“Just joking, Dr. Fletcher. I climbed the porte-cochere to a second-floor window.”
“It would have been far easier if you rang the doorbell.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your fireside chat and movie show.”
Fletcher’s eyes narrowed. “How much did you hear, Hawkins?”
“Enough so that I know what it was all about. Professor Saleem said there was a bigger prize here than the Prester John treasure. I’d say a trillion dollars in minerals qualifies for that designation.”