Strategic Moves

FORTY-FOUR

Lance looked skeptical. “That’s just not possible,” he said. “He wouldn’t go back to the place where we nearly caught him.”

“Well,” Holly said, “certainly that’s the last place we would look for him.”

Pablo unrolled the map and weighted its corners. “Please look at the markings Mohammed X made on the map.”

Lance and his party stood up to look, and a camera moved in on the map for a close-up.

“Mohammed made those markings. They’re meant to outline roughly a series of caves in the mountains that have been joined over the past year. He says generators and heating equipment have been brought in, and they have made the place quite comfortable. He says bin Laden moved in several weeks ago.”

“That is nonsense,” Lance said. “Al Qaeda and the Taliban have no helicopters or aircraft capable of making big drops into those mountains. There are no roads, only footpaths; and you could never get vehicles in there that could move that kind of weight.”

“That’s what the Johnson administration said about the Vietcong bringing supplies along the Ho Chi Minh Trail, using bicycles,” Holly said.

“They have something much better than bicycles,” Pablo said.

“Tell me,” Lance replied.

“They have mules.”

“Mules?” Lance asked. “Mules couldn’t carry loads like that for any distance.”

Todd Bacon spoke up for the first time. “I’m from West Virginia,” he said, “and I can tell you something about mules. One animal can carry three hundred pounds all day, and they’re more surefooted than any other animal.”

“Mr. Bacon is quite correct,” Pablo said.

“But we would have spotted them with satellites,” Lance pointed out. “We can see things a lot smaller than mules.”

“They cover each animal with camouflage material,” Pablo said, “designed to blend in with the rocky terrain. The women in the nearby villages dye the cloth.”

“And where would they get mules?” Lance asked.

“From us,” Todd replied. “Back when Congressman Charlie Wilson was funding the Agency to arm the Taliban against the Russians, we flew in hundreds of mules, and they have long working lives.”

“Mr. Bacon is correct again,” Pablo said. “What’s more, the Taliban have a breeding program to supply new animals.”

“This is preposterous,” Lance said, but he didn’t sound very sure of himself.

“No, Lance,” Holly said, “not only is it not preposterous, it’s perfectly feasible, and it’s just the sort of thing the Taliban would do.”

“Let me tell you a little more of what Mohammed X told me,” Pablo said. “There are half a dozen entrances to these caves, some of which he has marked, and dozens of air shafts for ventilation and escape. Fires are permitted only at night, when the smoke would not be detected. The caves are very deep, some leading more than a hundred feet below the mountains. They even have electric generators for powering lights and equipment.”

“And on what fuel do they run?” Lance asked.

“Propane gas, transported in canisters by the mules. They have a large stockpile of them, bought in Pakistan.”

“I want this Mohammed X found and brought in,” Lance said.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Pablo replied. “I learned after arriving here that Mohammed X was run down by a hit-and-run driver in Marbella and killed instantly, shortly after our lunch that day. By that time I was on the way to meet your airplane and didn’t know about it.”

“Are you saying he was murdered?” Lance asked.

“I don’t know, but it hardly matters, does it? Murder or accident, he’s still dead.”

“I want that checked out with the Marbella station of the national police,” Lance said to no one in particular.

Pablo, who was standing, put a hand on his abdomen. “Will you excuse me for a moment, please?” he asked.

“There’s a powder room off the kitchen, downstairs,” Stone said, and Pablo left the room.

Lance had a hand on one ear, apparently listening to someone through an earpiece. He sat down, looking a little dazed.

“Something wrong, Lance?” Holly asked.

“On the contrary,” Lance replied. “Our Afghan/Pakistan desk at Langley is saying that everything Pablo has told us is entirely feasible. The director has already ordered a satellite moved to the area.”

“If Pablo is right,” Holly said, “the satellite is not going to see very much. Apparently, they’ve been working on those caves for some time without being noticed.”

“We’ll see,” Lance replied. “Where is Pablo?” he asked. “I have some more questions for him.”

“I’ll see,” Stone said, then left the room. He went down to the kitchen and closed the door to the garden, then came back. “I’m afraid Pablo has left us,” he said to Lance.

“Left us? What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s no longer in the house. He has apparently decided to be somewhere else.”

Lance pointed a finger across the table. “You did this, Stone. You set this up.”

“I set up everything,” Stone said, “but Pablo, naturally, has a mind of his own and your actions during the past few days have hardly filled him with confidence in you.”

Lance turned to a technician. “Shut down video and audio,” he said, then waited while the man flipped switches and disconnected cables.

“What are you so upset about, Lance?” Stone asked. “Pablo has given you an extraordinary amount of information this week about underground arms sales, and if he’s right about Tora Bora, he’s given you the greatest intelligence coup since missiles were found in Cuba.”

“That remains to be seen,” Lance said, gathering papers and packing his briefcase. He turned to Holly. “I want a chopper at the East Side Heliport in fifteen minutes,” he said. “Full fuel. I’m not driving back to Langley, and I’m not taking the train, either. Holly, you come with me. Todd, you get yourself back to Newburgh and tend to your new charter business. I want a report soonest on the repairs to the C-17.”

“Oh, Lance,” Stone said, “I almost forgot. You asked about the jamming of your audio and video signals?”

“Yes?”

Stone held up the device. “This did the trick, and a patent application was filed this morning. The inventor tells me he is able to furnish preproduction models that will also block cell phones at a cost of twenty-five thousand each, minimum order of twelve. He expects to be in production in about a year.”

“Tell him I want two dozen,” Lance said, then walked out the dining room door.

“Have a nice flight home!” Stone called after him.