While Others Sleep, Next Year in Jerusalem, Rumors, Where The Best Began, The Circumstances, First Stone, Stoned Too, Stone Cold Christmas, The Saguaro Murders, There is a Season
While Others Sleep, Next Year in Jerusalem, Rumors, Where The Best Began, The Circumstances, First Stone, Stoned Too, Stone Cold Christmas, The Saguaro Murders, There is a Season
THROUGH THE RIFLE SCOPE, ALEX Stone watched a squat, bearded man dressed in a flowing white outer garment crawl from the dinged and dusty SUV. Stone moved the fine crosshairs to the man’s left ear. “Like the snitch said, Ali’s wear’n the scarlet velvet kufi,” Stone whispered to his partners, although there was no need for hushed tones. “The little rat’s earned his money.”
“Only two bodyguards,” Rooster reported as he watched the party of three men leave the gray Hilux SUV. A couple of burly robed men shuffled across the rocky and rutted roadway on either side of Ali headed towards a tiny mud brick home. A small dust whirlwind briefly obliterated the lone oil lamp that burned dimly in the single wood framed window facing the street. The shorter of the two bodyguards slumped on the dirty gray wooden bench, an aged AK-47 balanced on his lap. The other, who stood as tall as a camel’s ass, also lugged a tired looking rifle held together with duct tape, entered ahead of the rotund Arab. The driver moved the Hilux to the south and waited out of sight.
Ali’s wife’s house was located outside the legal limits of Chaman some ten kilometers east in a little settlement that didn’t merit a name. Everyone who lived there or needed to travel there knew where it was and that was enough. They had few visitors. Alex and his team had easily located the house from a handwritten map drawn by the informant plus a little help from enlarged satellite photographs.
On Monday, Alex and his partners slipped across the Afghan/ Pakistan border in a beat-up but reliable white Land Rover. They received a bit of guidance from the CIA officer who pointed them towards holes in a vast region of unprotected border where only the gun ruled. Guns, testicles, and a fist full of cash would be all they needed.
Rooster found the residence of the target’s wife. Across the road, he rented an upstairs room from an elderly couple who charged only a few dollars. Rooster had dropped ample hints that they were Taliban and not to be disturbed. The others arrived in the dark and settled in unnoticed except for the rats scurrying in their wake.
On the second day, it became evident that real Taliban were about. Early one morning, they saw two Taliban bullies whipping a lone woman with canes. The room overlooked the street offering an unobstructed view of the front entrance. They only ventured out when the sun dropped below the desert floor and then rarely. The plan to snatch Ali unfolded as they watched the pattern of activities on the rocky street below. As it turned out, there wasn’t much activity - so the plan was most simple.
Their room was square, ten by ten. The walls, floor and ceiling were clay, dirty clay with no decorations or ornaments. Tattered red and black woven rugs lay on the stained and dusty floor offering the only place to sleep. It didn’t matter that the place was beyond austere, at least there were two windows with a view – a view worth a couple hundred thousand, U.S. The windows were simply thick clear plastic, filthy plastic, stapled to a rough wooden frame. Rooster set about to clean the plastic, however, Stone stopped him pointing out that the dirt provided better cover for the watchers.
They ate MREs, slept, and relieved themselves in a six gallon bucket that leaked in two places despite the duct tape applied liberally to the holes. After being cooped up in the hot upstairs room they were growing tired of each other and the smell. No one complained, except Lee, whose asthma was aggravated by the four inches of dust in the room. He took it in stride, although they had come to the point where they wanted an end to the grand scheme regardless of outcome just for some relief of the mundane.
Although they seldom left the room, being bearded, sun-baked, and dressed in gray kurta shirts and white wool dish dashas they were comfortable moving in the evening hours on the narrow alleyways. There were no street lights so there was little chance they would be compromised. They each carried an AK-47 and the few locals who saw them assumed they were Taliban fighters and kept their distance. They scouted potential threats and escape routes. They were pleased to find that there were no soldiers, or police – like a lion at a watering hole, the Taliban kept their prey at bay.
A day ago, Lee stashed the Land Rover in the next village, a few klicks down the road with the informant’s relatives. They found that for a few dollars they could have the cooperation of anyone. That being said, Stone reminded them that they weren’t buying loyalty and no one could be trusted. Only by instilling fear and capitalizing on greed could they stay for a few days with a modicum of secrecy.
