Nefarious (The Blackwell Files Book 1) (7 page)

CHAPTER 18

Camp Eggers, Kabul, Afghanistan

Alton approached General Mooreland first thing in the morning. “Sir, last night some friends and I were returning from Gandamak’s Lodge and observed possible IED drilling in a nearby wall.”

The general raised an eyebrow, and Alton continued. “I know the site is well outside our normal security perimeter, but since Gandamak’s is frequented by our troops, I recommend we send EODs to check it out.”

“I see, Captain. I’ll have it looked into.”

Alton described the details of his observation to the general. “General, if I may make a suggestion, sir.”

“Yes?”

“I’d recommend investigating the wall site as discretely as possible and, if possible, replacing any ordinance we find with dummy rounds. We may have a window of opportunity to discover who is planting these explosives, and I’d hate to lose that opportunity because we tipped our hand too early.”

General Mooreland scratched his chin, then nodded. “Good idea, Captain. Are you interested in knowing what we find?”

“Of course, sir.”

Later that morning, General Mooreland stopped by Alton’s desk. “You were right. There were twenty charges in that wall. I’m not sure why they weren’t detonated last night.”

“Perhaps the terrorists weren’t finished setting the charges,” said Alton. “They might have decided waiting one more day wouldn’t hurt.”

“Guess they figured no one would spot their handiwork in the dark. It’s a damn good thing you did. Nice work, Captain.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll relay our findings to the other patrons of Gandamak’s. We’ll work up an appropriate safely protocol. We’ll also discuss the best approach to flush out whoever in the Lodge is passing along our routes to Al-Qaeda.”

“Invite Lieutenant Pham from the MPs. He can keep me in the loop.”

“Will do, sir.”

Alton organized a meeting of the Lodge’s usual patrons. Just after shift charge, the group assembled in the courtyard outside Delta building. Gazing around the impromptu circle, Alton felt a flicker of the old battlefield command excitement. As in the past, the expectant faces awaited his leadership and creativity.

He described the wall’s drilled holes and the explosive devices found inside them. “It appears the insurgents drilled the holes once they learned what road we’d use last night. We were lucky they didn’t have time to finish their work and detonate the devices.

“In the future, we can’t count on luck. We’ve fallen into a routine of using just three routes—north, central, and south—for a destination we visit several times a week. We need to change that up, use a greater number of routes.” He handed the nearest soldier a stack of maps to be passed around. “I’ve indicated twelve different routes on this map. Each one is numbered. Prior to each trip there or back, we’ll pick a number and use the corresponding route on the map. Of course, we need to pick the route numbers at random or eventually the insurgents will hone in on the pattern. Any questions?”

Mallory raised her hand. “I like this approach. It will make it harder for us to get picked off with an IED. But there’s still an unanswered question, right? You said that the bombers last night didn’t have time to finish drilling the holes. Doesn’t that imply they or one of their friends overheard our discussion as we were preparing to leave last night, when we were deciding which road to take home?”

“Probably,” said Alton. “If they weren’t waiting to overhear our specific route, they wouldn’t have waited until the last minute to drill the holes.”

“So don’t we need to discover who has been eavesdropping on our conversations?” asked Mallory. “It has to be someone in the Lodge, right? That’s where we always decide which route to take.”

Alton smiled. Mallory’s mind had journeyed down the same logical path as his own. “As far as our friends inside the Lodge are concerned, we aren’t going to alter our routine one bit.”

Lieutenant Pham spoke up. “But you just said—”

Alton held up an interposing hand and grinned. “I have a plan. Let me explain…”

CHAPTER 19

Kabul, Afghanistan

Before leaving Camp Eggers, Alton swung by his desk and picked up a small electronic device that resembled an electric razor. He pocketed the gadget and limped to the camp’s secure parking lot to meet David. Once in the car, he taped a set of ear-bud headphones to the device to give it the appearance of an MP3 player.

Once inside the Lodge, Alton, David, and the rest of the US troops caroused and joked as usual. Over time, they spread out to form their usual cliques around the bar and dining areas. Wearing his headphones, Alton made a point of visiting each group, occasionally joining in the conversation while at other times merely listening. As he walked, he periodically removed the device from his pocket and peered at it, adjusting both it and his ear buds. He pumped his head to an imaginary beat.

Eventually, Alton rejoined David at the bar, where Fahima was serving him another Miller and speaking to him in broken English. Even if she had been speaking in Pashto, the glow in her eyes would have needed no translation. Despite the weighty nature of the night’s mission, Alton allowed himself a smile. The attraction between David and Fahima seemed to cut both ways. Unless storm clouds blew them off course, he could see the welcoming waters into which that ship was headed. Alton wondered what would happen when David’s deployment was over.
Alton shook his head and refocused on the job at hand.
As the Lodge Turns
could wait until tomorrow.

As the time of their departure neared, Mallory joined Alton and David at the bar. Leaning over to David, she asked, “So how are we getting home tonight? The southern route?” As Fahima leaned in to collect empty bottles from the bar, she smiled at Mallory.

“Sure,” replied David lazily. “You ‘bout ready to leave?”

“Yep—I’m ready when you are.”

Alton cast a quick glace to the other groups of soldiers. As agreed, they were conducting similar conversations and preparing to depart.

The soldiers paid their bar tabs and exited the Lodge into the dimly-lit parking lot. Alton climbed into the back seat of David’s car, and the other soldiers mounted their respective vehicles. The group sped out of the gravel lot, the spinning tires of their cars lobbing a spray of pebbles towards the aging restaurant.

The soldiers in the convoy traveled their usual route down the first block. At the end of the street, however, they swung a hard right down a narrow lane, heading almost directly away from Camp Eggers on a return path they had never previously used. As they raced down the lane, Alton peered behind him. He observed nearly-silent muzzle flashes through the rear window.

“Gun it!” yelled Alton into David’s ear, mindful of his convoy’s lack of armor or weapons. The flashes continued until they drove around the corner. Alton held his breath until the last car in their line safely cleared the corner. They turned onto a major thoroughfare and doubled back towards the camp. While they drove, Alton used a small radio to speak with the commanders of the squads involved in the firefight on the street near Gandamak’s. After collecting the results of the operation, he shared them with David.

As they pulled into the camp’s parking lot, Lieutenant Pham approached David’s car and peered at Alton through the backseat window. “How’d it go?”

“Quite well,” said Alton.

“‘Quite well’? We kicked ass is what happened,” exclaimed David.

The Lieutenant nodded and emitted a snort of satisfaction. “General Mooreland would like a debriefing at oh-nine-hundred in the morning. It sounds like it’ll be an interesting story, huh?” He turned on his heel and departed.

The next morning, the Gandamak attendees as well as the squads involved in the previous night’s gun battles crowded into General Mooreland’s briefing room.

“Report, Captain Blackwell,” said the general.

“Yes, sir,” replied Alton. “We developed a two-part plan, the first part involving the development of a more robust set of routes, and the second part focused on identifying Al-Qaeda’s informant in the Lodge.”

“‘
We
developed?’” interjected David. He turned to the general. “Sir, this was Captain Blackwell’s plan from start to finish.”

“Captain Dunlow,” said Mooreland, furrowing his eyebrows, “you don’t seem like the type of fellow to sidestep responsibility.”

“No, sir,” replied David, “I hope I’m not. But I am the type of fellow to give credit where credit is due.” He straightened his collar. “Sorry for interrupting, sir.”

General Mooreland turned back to Alton. “Continue.”

Alton explained the route maps he had distributed the previous evening. “In case an unfriendly was listening in the Lodge, we agreed to use a horserace analogy. For example, if we’re going to use route number five, I’d tell Captain Dunlow here that I’m betting on the fifth horse in tonight’s race. It’s not foolproof, of course, but it will make our intention a bit less obvious.”

The general nodded in approval. “And the second topic—identifying the informants. Have you thought about how to proceed on that front?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve already made some progress. Before we left the camp last night, we agreed on a plan. To return from the Lodge, we decided ahead of time to use route number nine, a path we had never used before. This took care of the route issue, but we knew that as soon as we started to deviate from our normal routine, our Al-Qaeda friends would know we were on to them. We still needed to find out who in the Lodge was passing our routes along to Al-Qaeda.

“As far as Al-Qaeda knew, we only used three routes: north, central, and south. Last night, Captain Dunlow and Lieutenant Wilson ostensibly agreed to use the southern route, the same decision they make every time we visit. This conversation was repeated at two other spots in the Lodge, with one group agreeing to use the central route, and the last group deciding on the northern route. The intent was to see which route Al-Qaeda jumped on. Each group had instructions to carefully observe which patrons and staff were around them as they made their route choice. Once that route was booby-trapped, we’d have our list of potential Al-Qaeda informants.”

“So did it work?” asked the general.

“Yes, sir. We had to know which route was ultimately targeted, so I worked with Major Michaels here to send a squad of infantry to each route. The bombs from two nights ago were only about half-a-klick away from the Lodge, so last night we positioned each squad at that same distance on all three routes. Major Michaels’ men were deployed hours earlier in nearby derelict houses so they’d be in place before the insurgents arrived. Once the insurgents began planting their IED’s, Major Michael’s men got busy. We not only discovered the route, but we were able to eliminate a few of the insurgents as well.” Alton nodded to the major.

“We have four confirmed kills,” added Major Michaels. “We believe three other insurgents escaped.”

“Any wounded insurgents or prisoners?” asked General Mooreland.

“No, sir.”

“And your men?”

“No casualties, sir. We were in perfect position.” He turned to Alton, nodding in satisfaction.

“So which route was targeted?” the general asked Alton.

“The southern one, sir,” replied Alton.

“And who in the Lodge overheard that route choice?”

“Just one person sir: Fahima, the bartender.”

CHAPTER 20

Camp Eggers, Kabul, Afghanistan

“What?” exclaimed David. “Fahima? You don’t think she sold us out to Al-Qaeda, do you?”

General Mooreland looked at David stone-faced, then returned his gaze to Alton. “So you believe she’s the informant?”

“Actually, sir, there’s a little more to the story,” replied Alton, observing a glimmer of hope appear in his friend’s countenance. “Just after I was stationed here at Camp Eggers for recovery, Sergeant Lambert—one of my former soldiers—came to visit. He mentioned that Al-Qaeda is using eavesdropping bugs disguised as grapes. With grapes being one of the country’s top crops, they’re everywhere, including the snack bar at Gandamak’s Lodge.

“It occurred to me that this kind of bug might be the easiest way for them to listen to our conversations—much less obtrusive than some local guy sitting at the bar with us, and we’d talk more freely if we thought no one was listening. No one would look twice if a stray grape were lying around. Last night, I took a portable spectrum analyzer with me. It’s a device used to detect electronic bugs. Over the course of the evening, I canvassed the entire room with it and found two bugs. One was on the floor, and I ‘accidentally’ stepped on it, long before we made our phony departure plans. The other was at the bar, between a rack of beer mugs and a structural beam, only two feet from the spot at which we ‘decided’ to use the southern route.

“The only remaining part of our plan was determining who was listening in to our conversation. Sergeant Lambert had mentioned that the bugs have a limited range of only fifty feet or so. Two of Major Michaels’ squads roamed the street in civvies looking for anyone with a headset. We figured they’d probably sit in a parked car nearby.”

“Did you find anyone?” asked General Mooreland.

“Yes, sir,” spoke up Major Michaels. “Per Captain Blackwell’s recommendation, we didn’t make contact with the suspect. Once he—Captain Blackwell—radioed us the frequency being used by the bug in the bar, we sent a jamming signal on that same channel. Sure enough, the suspect in the car started fiddling with his equipment, and we knew we had our man.”

“What’s become of him?”

“We tailed him back to a house in southeast Kabul. Ten minutes after we engaged the insurgents on the southern route from Gandamak’s, we sent a strike team into the house. It was a gold mine: IED’s, AK-47s, ammunition, the works. We rounded up our radio man and another militant. They’re both in lockup.”

The general nodded approvingly. “Damn fine work, gentleman…and ladies. The plan and execution were flawless.” He turned to David. “Let me know what intelligence you gain from the interrogation of the prisoners.” He dismissed the meeting and left with a spring in his step.

David accompanied Alton back to his desk.

“Dude, you scared the shit out of me,” he exclaimed. “I thought Fahima was going up the river.”

“Sorry, buddy,” replied Alton with a chuckle. Growing serious, he continued, “Your reactions last night had to be as natural as possible. If I had told you, it could have put our mission—and Fahima—in danger.”

“I get it.” He punched Alton on the arm. “Just warn me next time.” With a pensive look, he asked, “You don’t think she had anything to do with it, do you?”

“I don’t think so. If she were involved, it’d be easier for her to just listen to us rather than go to the trouble and risk of using a bug.”

“Good. It’d be kinda awkward asking out a terrorist. But…do you think it’s still safe to go to Gandamak’s?”

“Yeah, after last night’s pummeling, I doubt the insurgents will be back. Just in case, though, I’ll keep my bug-detector with me, and we’ll use the route maps as planned.”

David departed, and Alton began his normal workday tasks. The last twenty-four hours had been dangerous yet strangely exciting. He felt an upswing of emotion, knowing he had helped his friends at the Lodge avoid an Al-Qaeda ambush. Although he still bore the emotional and physical scars of his injury, Alton began to experience more hopeful thoughts for the future as another shaft of light penetrated the dark night in which he had struggled these nine months.