Bloodstorm

19

Franklin stared at the woman. “Your contact is dead? I’m sorry. He was your friend?”

“An acquaintance. He will be missed. He only had time to tell me the name of someone before he was killed. The man who shot him wore a mask.”

“So what can we do now?” Khai asked.

“We see this man Gulbi named. We do it tonight before the secret police find him.”

They stopped at a dark corner where there was a public telephone booth. Jeru made three phone calls. She came away from the booth frowning.

“Nobody wanted to talk when I mentioned his name. They say he’s a dangerous man and I shouldn’t have anything to do with him. They say even the secret police do not mess with him.”

“You have an address?” Franklin asked.

“Yes. One man said it is best to see him late at night. That way not so many eyes are on the visitor.”

“Good, let’s go,” Khai said.

Jeru looked at him. Her frown vanished and she smiled. “Yes, if we are going to find those warheads we must take some chances. This will be a big one. You have no weapons. That’s good.”

She started the car and drove. It took fifteen minutes as they wound into the old section of town, where the streets were originally goat paths and the lanes were too narrow for a car. She looked at the notes she had taken and stopped the car.

“This is as close as we can drive to it. Down this way about three blocks.”

The lane narrowed as they moved along, until it was little wider than a sidewalk, with houses and buildings pressing in from both sides. A dog barked at them, but was quickly hushed. Franklin checked his watch. It was just after 0120. Should be late enough, he decided.

A man appeared in front of them, paused, then faded into a doorway and let them pass. A woman screamed somewhere ahead, but the sound cut off suddenly.

Franklin moved up beside Jeru and took her arm. She looked over in the darkness and nodded. He saw the tension on her face. Someone laughed. Music played out a window, then snapped off suddenly.

A woman walked toward them, slowly, with purpose. She held up her hand to stop them.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Jeru answered. “We need to talk to Farrah. We have news for him.”

“I know of no one by that name.”

“You lie. Out of our way so we can find someone who will show us the way.”

“All right, I do know him. Why should he see you?”

“To save Kabul from being vaporized by an atomic bomb.”

The woman smiled. “Good enough. This way.”

She led them another half block, then into a courtyard and up steps to a third floor. It was strangely quiet here. Franklin could sense moisture, as if there was a garden in this usually arid land.

They came into a large room only spotted with furniture. Someone sat behind an oblong desk at the far end of the room. Two men with submachine guns stepped forward, shielding the person behind the desk.

“Who are you?” one of the guards asked.

“I am called Jeru.”

“Ah, yes,” a woman’s voice said. The two guards stepped aside and moved behind the woman at the desk. A spotlight snapped on highlighting the woman sitting there. Franklin’s first impression was that she was topless with full breasts that had no sag. Her hair was dark and she wore eye makeup and rich, red lipstick, so unusual for the other women in this country.

Her frown was steady, eyes curious, yet wary.

“Yes, I am Farrah, but I didn’t send for you.”

“No,” Jeru said. “How do we know you are Farrah?”

“I say so. I am.”

“I am Jeru. We need to talk.”

“Your bodyguards?”

“Yes.”

“You are the lady who works for the American CIA. I know of you. Soon Omar will learn of you and you will vanish. Until then, why are you here?”

“With the hope that you and I can prevent Kabul from being vaporized by a nuclear weapon.”

Farrah relaxed a little. Franklin couldn’t stop looking at her breasts and the sleek torso under them.

“You know about the nuclear warhead. I should have expected it. In this case we can work together. It was a mistake for the leaders to bring the device here. No, it isn’t in Kabul. Our leaders are not sophisticated enough to trust such a weapon. They fear it might explode without anyone’s help and kill everyone in our city.”

“Farrah, we would be pleased to work with you on this problem. We want to destroy the warhead so it can no longer be used as a nuclear weapon.”

“How can you do that without releasing radiation?”

“There is a way. The actual radiation is minimal. The danger is even less. Much less than a retaliatory attack by some foreign power.”

“We think along the same lines,” Farrah said. “Please, sit down and relax. I will do you no harm. We must talk. I do not know exactly where the warhead has been taken.”

“Is there just one warhead?” Jeru asked.

“Yes, one. My people are still a little frightened of such a device they do not understand. How can you split an atom? They don’t even know what atoms are. Now, to the problem. Our intelligence shows us that the warhead landed at Kabul airport several days ago and was taken at once in a lead-shrouded van to the south and west.”

“Near the caves of Khowst?” Jeru asked.

“We don’t know. My men are good, but this is so top secret that not even the confidants of Omar know for sure. He trusts no one.”

“Is Osama bin Laden back in the picture?” Jeru asked.

“We think he is, and that makes it all the more important to move swiftly. Mullah Mohammad Omar will negotiate with bin Laden a stiff price of some kind for the warhead. Perhaps money, perhaps where the bomb will be used.”

“Like on Pakistan?” Jeru asked.

“Who knows.” Farrah snapped her fingers, and a woman came up quickly and slipped a robe over Farrah’s shoulders. “We must go now to our planning room. This is your entire force?”

“It is. They are specialists.”

“Yes, SEALs. I know. This way.” Farrah led them from the large room to a much smaller one with a desk, several computer readout screens, and a large, well-lighted wall map.

Farrah sat behind the desk and pressed two buzzers, and at once two men hurried in. Both were tall, sturdy, with briefcases and with submachine guns slung over their shoulders.

She went to the map, pointing out Kabul, then, to the southwest, the town of Khowst. “The caves that bin Laden once used are in this general area near the border. Our data show the transport used from the airport heading in this direction. Then it was seen in Khowst and moving south. My people are working now to determine the exact location. I have men and housing in Wazay, a short distance from the suspect caves.”

“What type of protection does the warhead have?” Franklin asked.

“A company of regulars from the new Afghanistan Army. Their regulars are not really professionals, but have the uniforms, weapons, and trappings of such. My specialists have hit them several times to gather weapons and ammo, and they do not fight well.”

“Then you have arms and explosives that we can use?” Franklin asked.

“Almost anything you want. Now, let me make some arrangements. We will leave in an hour. We can stop by your apartment, Jeru, and you can pick up what you and the men need.”

“Will my two men be able to destroy the warhead, or will we need to call in the rest of our platoon to do the job?” Jeru asked.

Farrah smiled. “We will have to wait and see what facility they have, what protection, and what kind of arms. My first thought would be that we will need more than your two and a squad of my men to do the job. We will see. Shall we leave?”

An hour later they were on the road heading southwest out of the capital for Khowst. Franklin had no idea what kind of a vehicle they rode in. It was a sedan, but not American made, nor British. It could be a lesser-known make from Russia. The highway was paved, two lanes, and they rolled along at just over fifty miles an hour. It was a little over 120 miles the way they would travel to their first destination. It took three hours. The roads became worse the closer they came to the border. The last few miles were on gravel and not well maintained.

It was almost dawn when they stopped at a concrete blockhouse in the outskirts of the town of Khowst. They drove the sedan in back, and two more cars followed. Franklin hadn’t known there were two more cars with them.

Inside, the house was sparsely furnished, with pallets on the floor for beds.

“Yes, not a lot of furniture,” Farrah said in English. “We make sacrifices for our country. As soon as it’s light we’ll start our search. It shouldn’t be hard. Omar and his gunmen will have a large security force around the bomb. They will point us right to it.”

Most of those in the first car had slept during the three-hour ride. Now was no time to look for more sleep. Franklin felt as if he was wired. He couldn’t wait to get into the search.

“Do we need weapons yet?” he asked Farrah. Franklin couldn’t help it. As he said it, he looked down at her breasts and the thin fabric that covered them.

Farrah noticed and smiled. “No weapons yet. They would only get us in big trouble. And, Franklin, do not be embarrassed about looking at my breasts. It’s only natural for a man to do so, and it also pleases me. Now, we should go.”

They took only one car. Farrah, the driver, and Franklin sat in the front seat. It was a close fit, and her thigh pressed against his. In back were Jeru, Khai, and one of Farrah’s bodyguards.

They drove about twenty miles through arid, near-desert conditions. Two sandstorms swirled across their path, and they fought to keep the car on the road. Past that, they came to a few small settlements. Franklin couldn’t figure out why they were there. What sustained them? Where did they get water?

This was described as the Southern Plateau of Afghanistan, with a general elevation of three thousand feet. Franklin was glad that he didn’t have to live in this area.

At the next small settlement, the car pulled off the road and drove behind a house made of mortar and local stones. It was two stories, and Franklin guessed that the walls at the base must be two feet thick and tapered upward.

They went inside and were welcomed. Farrah was treated as a special person. She took it quietly, then began asking questions.

Yes, they had seen a group of soldiers pass through. Unusual for this area. There was a small border checkpoint another ten miles down near the border. Usually six men were there. More than two hundred passed by in trucks less than a week ago.

No, they did not know where the trucks went.

Yes, they could send along a man who knew the area, who could help them get through back roads if they needed to.

Then three women came in with trays of food and drink. There were sandwiches, cold beer, and three kinds of fruit that Khai did not recognize. He looked at the meat sandwich and hoped it wasn’t dog meat. He was careful not to ask.

They left an hour later. Farrah’s driver was replaced by the local man, who said he would show them what they had learned.

They didn’t make it all the way. Less than five miles from where the driver said he wanted to go, they found a roadblock hidden from sight around a curve. A dozen Afghan soldiers all with new-looking rifles manned the block.

The driver rolled to an easy stop next to the soldier.

“Where are you going?” the soldier asked.

“To the Cave of the Prophet,” the driver said. It was a tourist attraction, the only one in the whole area.

“Ah, too bad,” the soldier said. “The cave has been closed to make repairs in the facility and to build a new entryway and restaurant. It will be open in two months.”

“Ah, then we must make the return trip,” the driver said. “Thank you for saving us the extra miles. We’re in your debt.” He turned the car around, drove past the curve, and Farrah looked at Franklin.

“The obvious lie by the soldier makes me more certain the bombs are in this area,” Farrah said.

“Could I make a suggestion, Farrah?” Franklin asked.

She smiled, then sobered. “Yes, of course.”

“We should put out some scouts and do a patrol and see what we can learn.”

“Five miles?”

“We train in the desert, Farrah. All we need is one of those canteens we put on board and we’ll be fine. You drive back down this road and check back with us along here every six hours. Five miles is about an hour for us to get in the area. Then slower finding out what we need to know. Khai and I will go.”

“I will go too,” the guard from the backseat said. “I grew up not far from here. I know the country. I must go.”

Farrah scowled, then lifted her brows, and her pretty face smiled. “Yes. It seems the only way. The three of you go and we’ll check along this road every six hours. It’s now eight A.M. We’ll be back here at two P.M.”

The three men eased out of the car and each took a half-gallon canteen. All had hats, and the drab colors of their clothes would blend in well with the mostly barren ground. They could see no buildings in any direction.

Franklin held out his hand to the guard. “I’m Franklin,” he said.

The man shook his hand. “I’m Syed Durali, former major in the Army. Now I work for Farrah.”

“Good. This is Khai. He’s a SEAL too. Let’s get moving.”

They went out a half mile from the road, then turned toward where the roadblock was. There was no cover whatsoever, so the men moved out another quarter mile before passing the roadblock. Then the SEALs settled into a ground-eating jog. The Afghan kept up with them. He nodded.

“You men are in good condition.”

They jogged for what Franklin figured was four miles, then slowed to a walk. The low hills were bare, offering nowhere to hide. They moved more cautiously as they came over a small rise, and on the roadway saw another roadblock. As they watched while lying in the sand, two military vehicles came up the road, paused at the roadblock, then took the left-hand turn and proceeded down a dirt track that Franklin hadn’t seen before. The trucks were coming their way, and would pass less than three hundred yards away from them. The men remained motionless until the rigs had passed.

“Looks like that is the direction,” Khai said. The guard pointed the way the trucks had vanished, and they turned and ran that way.

There were more small gullies and some hills here. Once they climbed up the closest one, they came over the top and stopped.

Twenty yards in front of them stood a soldier with an automatic rifle aimed at the three of them.