The Maverick Experiment (9 page)

“No. He'll know soon enough.”

“Let's break out some scotch, then. We're done for the night, boys,” Randy said as he reached into a Pelican case and grabbed two bottles of Johnnie Walker Gold.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Derek said. “Let me go change.”

Wednesday, January 27
Kabul, Afghanistan
CIA Station
0734 Hrs

Karen walked into COS's office looking half awake. The phones had been ringing all night, and she had gotten little to no sleep.

“The Brits are planning to be here in twenty minutes, sir.”

“Good. This should be a fun meeting. Let's make sure we have coffee and tea in the conference room for them. They are already pissed; maybe the truth and some hospitality will help calm them down a bit.”

Station had received word about Jan's death a little after eleven o'clock the night before. The wheels had been spinning ever since, and every office had been reaching out to their contacts to try to determine who had killed him.

The Afghan president himself had been in contact with Bell and sternly warned that if the Americans had conducted such an attack there would be severe ramifications. Bell had assured him that the agency was not involved, but he would check with his military and foreign partners and provide more information in the morning.

Dave poked his head into the room. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, Dave. Do we have any new chatter? Anything at all I can use to calm the Brits and President Naser?”

“I am sorry, sir, but the only chatter we have heard is that he is dead. No claims of responsibility. Everybody else is just as confused as we are.”

“How about chatter on him getting Habib squared away? Is he going to be released?”

“Well, I just spoke with targeting and liaison. That may be the one positive thing that has come from this. Habib was transferred this morning, but I think without the local support of Agha Jan pushing to get this guy out, we may have caught a break.”

“Well I'm sure it's only a matter of time before he is out, but this may have slowed them down so we can think a bit. OK, good. Keep on it and let me know of any updates.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Karen!” yelled Bell, “Can you come in here for a second?”

Karen appeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”

“Any word on this Stevens character?”

“No, sir. Janet and I have both searched all over. Janet even placed a call to the project manager at his old company, but he has been off contract with them for months now. This guy is nowhere to be found.”

“Well, he has to be somewhere. Keep up the search. I'll ask some of my people as well. I'm headed down the hall to meet the Brits. We need to get somewhere with this Habib Rahman story, though, or I won't hear the end of it. Get targeting to intensify their search and ask USMIL if they know this guy.”

“OK. I'll tell them now.”

Bell stood and walked down the hall to the conference room, where two British officers waited for him, sipping coffee.

The first, Mark Harper, stood as Bell entered the room and shook his hand. “Cheers. Thanks for having us over.”

“No problem. No need to thank me. Sorry for all the chaos and confusion. Hopefully we can clarify some of this as soon as possible.”

A woman sat at the end of the table and stood to shake Bell's hand as he made his way to her. “I am Shirina. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, as well. I'm sure you know Grant, here, our liaison officer at station.”

The Brits both nodded.

“I am assuming you were the female officer involved in this case?”

“That's correct. Agha Jan was my asset.”

“Well, please sit, everyone. I can assure you, Shirina, we were not involved in this incident. In fact, just yesterday at a staff meeting, Agha Jan came up and I instructed my people not to target him at this time. While he is a character of interest for obvious reasons, we were instructed not to deal with him right now. Washington politics.”

Mark piped in. “So who could have done this, then? Have you conferred with your military forces? Sometimes they are a bit jumpy and conduct missions without telling anyone.”

“Well, Mark, I can tell you I have spoken with all the major commanders in the country, and none of them conducted an operation anywhere near the home of Agha Jan last night. I understand USMIL gets a bad rap sometimes and does its own thing, but trust me, if they were doing an operation last night, especially one of this magnitude, I would know about it. Grant contacted the Ministry of Interior, Afghan National Army, and the Canadian Service to see if their folks had anything. Is that correct, Grant?”

“That's correct, sir. We contacted everyone we had a number for, and no one has any idea what has happened. We've tasked our assets to put the word out and see if anyone within the ranks wanted Agha Jan out of the picture. But the honest truth is it would make no sense for the Taliban to have done this. He is primarily a facilitator and gives them political support. He is not the regional commander with others wanting his job.”

Shirina nodded. “I agree. I don't think the Talibs would have done this, either.”

“So it looks like either someone is lying or we all are doing a poor job of knowing what goes on around here,” said Mark.

“There is some truth to that, Mark, but again, we are not lying here. I have no reason to lie to you about this. There would be more heartache than it's worth for me if I went after this guy.”

Tuesday, January 26
Washington, DC
Director's Residence
2330 Hrs

The director sat up in his recliner as the red line to CIA headquarters rang. One of the less inviting parts of being the head of the world's most powerful spy agency meant that there was never a minute when you were truly off duty. The director was on call at all times and was required to respond with poise and professionalism to events that were unfolding anywhere, at any time. Tonight was no exception.

The director sighed, then picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Sir, this is Griggs. I am afraid that chief of station Kabul needs to speak with you. Agha Jan has been assassinated.”

The director reached for the remote control and shut the television off. “By whom?”

“We aren't sure, sir,” replied the staffer. “They took out his whole family, though, and station, along with the British, are working to develop any possible leads.”

“When did this happen?”

“Sometime late last night local time, sir.”

“Very well. Is Bell on the line now?”

“No, sir, but he is waiting in his office.”

“Go ahead and give him a call and patch him through.”

“Will do. One moment, sir.”

The line went quiet as Griggs worked to reach Bell in Kabul. Meanwhile, the director began to ponder how he would play this with Bell. He was not certain that this was a result of the
Maverick Program and Carlisle's crew, but he had a sneaking suspicion it was. If it had been, it would be the first of potentially many controversial actions by the small force, which was to bring justice in ways that the standard agency folks could not. The reality of the director's double life—which he would have to live with, even within the walls of the agency—was rearing its ugly head, once again.

The director often pondered how he had even been able to get to this position. As a forward-leaning operator and intelligence officer, it had seemed unlikely he would climb the ranks. The agency was notorious for promoting the wrong people, often moving personnel up the ladder simply because an office was unwilling to fire them. A culture of fear had been created long ago; fear not just of doing the wrong thing, but also of hurting people's feelings. You could be assured that if you made constant mistakes and were an abrasive character within your particular office, you would stand a good chance to be promoted out—a problem for someone else to deal with, as the thinking went. On the contrary, those who wished to accomplish the mission at all costs and bent the rules when necessary were usually held down for fear of making a branch or division chief look bad. The director had always been the latter type and had often heard a mouthful from his superiors until he was eventually given an opportunity to rise in the ranks at the agency.

Now that he was there, he was finally in a position where he could accomplish the mission the way he saw fit, but he would have to tread carefully, very carefully.

“Sir, I have Mr. Bell on the phone for you.”

“Thanks, Griggs. Bell, what's the story out there? I hear we had an incident.”

“Good evening, sir. I am terribly sorry to disturb you at home. I will try to make this brief.”

“No need to apologize. Just tell me how we can help.”

“Well, sir, we are still trying to determine that ourselves. As you probably heard, Agha Jan, a key parliamentarian, was assassinated last night in Kabul.”

“And we had nothing to do with it?”

“No, sir, we did not, and USMIL is denying any knowledge of operations in the area last night, as well. I just left a meeting with the Brits, who are quite confused and angry. One of their officers had been running Agha Jan, and they are under the belief that we did the hit.”

“Well, we can't give them information we don't have. I am sure they will continue to believe we did it until evidence proves otherwise. What is Naser saying?”

“He is quite angry too, sir. I think he believes the same thing as the Brits, that we did this. I have assured him we will investigate the incident and help the Afghan authorities in any way we can. I also stated that we had no intentions of backing down on our deal to leave this guy alone.”

“Good. That's all we can do for now. So is there anything you need from me?”

“Well, primarily, I wanted to inform you myself of how we are handling this, as I knew it would make it up to your level. If the White House calls, I want you to be able to have the ground truth. The second reason is that we are trying to get in touch with an individual who worked with us who may be able to significantly improve the chances of preventing chaos at one of the prisons here. His assistance could lead to key intelligence on Malawi Rafiq. The gentleman's name is Derek Stevens.”

The director was thankful for the thousands of miles between himself and Bell because his jaw nearly hit the floor. “Hmm. OK, well, have you reached back to headquarters for assistance?”

“Yes, sir. No one has been able to come up with anything. He is no longer with his old company, but his wife says he's out and about. We weren't sure if maybe there was something on the seventh floor that he was being used for and we weren't aware of.”

“No, not to my knowledge. Why is this guy so critical to your operation there?”

“Apparently, sir, he was the first and last person to have knowledge and access to Pol-e-Charkhi prison. We have a sensitive case coming to the surface in Pol-e-Charkhi and have no way to gain the valuable intelligence that we think is there to be gained.”

“What's the case?”

“Essentially, sir, NDS arrested a man who is believed to be Malawi Rafiq's right-hand man, and we are still within a window of opportunity where his information will be extremely useful in our search for Rafiq.”

“What's the guy's name?”

“Derek Stevens, sir.”

“No, the detainee's name?”

“Oh, sorry. Habib Rahman, sir. We really do not have much more on him at this time, but we're working the issue around the clock.”

“OK, Bell. Thanks for the update. I want you to run this case to the ground. Our primary objective on the table now is figuring out more about Habib Rahman and his connectivity to Rafiq. I need something I can tell the White House. In terms
of the Agha Jan incident, I need you to just deflect as much as you can for now and we will look into it more here and see how we can help. Get hold of me as soon as you have some more information on Rahman.”

“Will do, sir. Thanks for your time.”

“Any time. Good hunting. I'll look forward to our next contact.”

The director hung up the phone and immediately picked it back up to call Griggs.

“Yes, sir?” answered Griggs.

“Griggs, I'm coming in to work on some of this. Please call Jerry Carr and Carlisle Davenport and inform them I'll need them in my office for support.”

“Absolutely, sir. I'll send the car now.”

“Good. Send one for them as well. It's late and the least we can do.”

“Of course, sir.”

The director hung up the phone and stood from his chair to head upstairs and change. “Here we go,” he mumbled to himself. He crept upstairs and into the room where his wife, Nancy, slept soundly. After getting dressed in the closet, he gave her a kiss and whispered in her ear, “Honey, I need to go in for a bit.”