Chaos in Kabul (14 page)

“You look in great shape, Malko! No one would ever guess
you just spent four days down a well!”

Malko smiled at the station chief’s somewhat forced cheer. Fresh from his rest at the embassy, his first visit had been to Michaelis.

“Did they find the money?” he asked.

The station chief shook his head. “Not a cent. And we’ll never know if it was taken by the kidnappers or by the Afghan police.”

“Then you’ll have to bring me another five hundred thousand dollars from Dubai.”

“I’ll take the necessary steps,” said Michaelis with ill grace. “You still need it, right?”

“My mission hasn’t changed,” said Malko. “As you know, I was kidnapped while bringing the money to its intended recipient.”

“Nelson Berry?”

Malko met Michaelis’s eye. “What makes you say that?”

“I found his number in your cell phone. Which poses a small problem. We stopped dealing with Berry some time ago, on orders from Langley. He’s one of a number of people we no longer hire because of his dubious activities. He’s occasionally been known to protect poppy shipments.”

“That needn’t concern you,” said Malko. “I’ve been in contact
with Berry, and at Langley’s request. And I’ll remind you that my activities in Kabul have nothing to do with your station. So you don’t need to worry about fallout from them.”

Michaelis flushed slightly, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He’d been put in his place, well aware that he couldn’t oppose a decision by Clayton Luger.

In no mood to prolong the meeting, Malko stood up. “I’m counting on you to have the money brought to me at the Serena. If you have any questions, you can ask Langley for a new authorization.”

Even after his rest in the infirmary, Malko still felt pretty shaky. He was eating normally again, but his bones didn’t seem to have completely thawed.

Time to get this assignment back on track, he thought. He would start by contacting Mullah Kotak. But first he had to thank Nelson Berry. Without him, he might still be at the bottom of the well.

The South African had told Michaelis how he’d gotten involved in the kidnapping, when the Pashtuns found his number in Malko’s phone and called him, and what he’d done next.

“You saved my life, Nelson!” said Malko warmly, when he came on the line.

The South African took this with his usual aplomb. “If I hadn’t found you, the station would have taken charge.”

Malko had just hung up when Michaelis called.

“We have some news from the NDS,” he said. “The owner of the farmhouse wasn’t able to tell them anything more. They roughed him up a little too much, and he died of a heart attack during the interrogation.”

That was a sad funeral oration, but for Malko, the incident was
already ancient history. This was Kabul. The city wasn’t really dangerous, but sometimes it had bad surprises in store.

When Malko entered Musa Kotak’s quarters at the mosque, the fat cleric struggled to his feet and hurried over to him.

“My dear friend!” he exclaimed, taking Malko’s hand in both of his. Kotak’s somewhat protruding eyes seemed to radiate kindness. He led Malko to the back of the room and sat him on some cushions, next to a tea tray.

“I prayed to Allah a great deal for you,” said Kotak, as he and his belly settled themselves on the cushions. “When I heard you hadn’t returned to the Serena, I got very worried.”

“How did you know about that?”

“I have friends everywhere,” said the mullah with a beatific smile. “I first did some checking on my side, but I didn’t get anywhere. Now I understand things better.”

“They were just crooks,” said Malko reassuringly. “Thugs who wanted to make some money. I was locked up with a young Afghan banker, and they shot him when his family couldn’t pay.”

Kotak’s chubby face looked grave.

“I think there is more to this than money,” he said mysteriously.

“What do you mean?”

The cleric took a sip of tea before answering.

“After you were rescued, I continued looking into this business. Did you know that the NDS interrogated the owner of the farmhouse where you were held?”

“Yes, I was told that he died while being questioned,” said Malko. “Heart attack, apparently. But I don’t see that he would have anything to tell them.”

“That’s not quite correct,” said Kotak. “It’s true that he died in NDS custody, but not of a heart attack. He was strangled, on orders from above.”

“Strangled!” exclaimed Malko. “Why?”

“Because without realizing it, he told them something very important.”

“About me? I never even saw him!”

“That’s true. But what he told the NDS agents was critical. Apparently the kidnappers discussed you in front of him, and they revealed that the kidnapping was done to order. They’d been told to kidnap you and, once they got the ransom, to kill you. A murder disguised as a botched kidnapping. It wouldn’t have attracted any attention, because it happens often enough.”

“But they really did want the ransom,” Malko insisted. “They even tried to get it from the CIA.”

“Of course! The ransom was their premium for the operation—which wound up costing the people who ordered it nothing.”

“How can you be so sure of all this?” asked Malko skeptically.

“We have informers in the NDS. One of them read the report written by the interrogator. It says that the farm owner talked and was then executed. This report went directly to the head of the NDS. To his deputy, that is, since we managed to put Asadullah Khalid out of action.”

“Who ordered those men to kill me?” asked Malko. “They didn’t know me.”

“We did some investigating and found that this gang often works for a certain Babrak Parwan. He’s a big drug trafficker who has a fancy poppy palace here in Kabul. When they’re not kidnapping people, the gang handles his drug shipments. They do whatever he tells them to.”

“Even assuming that’s true,” said Malko, “what does this drug trafficker have against me?”

“I’ll let you guess. Parwan is a member of the Popolzai tribe, and a distant cousin of President Hamid Karzai.”

Kotak fell silent to give his dramatic revelation time to sink in. Malko was shaken. Not for a moment had he considered that there might be a connection between the kidnapping and his mission in Kabul. What Kotak had just told him opened some very dark new vistas.

“In other words, you think President Karzai gave the order to eliminate me? But why?”

Looking like a cat playing with a mouse, the cleric smiled again. “I can only think of one reason,” he said. “He heard about your intentions. Since he can’t oppose the Americans openly, he used the gang, Afghan-style.”

“This is very serious!” said Malko.

The mullah nodded his round head. “True enough, but there’s worse. It means that someone has learned your plans. And if we don’t discover who that is, we are heading for disaster.”

Malko was speechless. This was an absolute catastrophe. It was so easy to get rid of somebody in a city like Kabul—especially if that somebody didn’t know where the attack was coming from.

“Are you positive about what you’re telling me?”

Kotak nodded sadly. “I’m afraid so. It’s a miracle that the farm owner revealed what he did. Otherwise, I would have been as much in the dark as you, and the next attack might have been worse. Now we have to figure who the ‘mole’ is.”

“It won’t be the CIA,” said Malko. “They don’t operate that way.”

“Also, they don’t have the local connections,” added Kotak.

“It isn’t the people I met with in Washington, either. And the NDS agents who searched my room at the Serena wouldn’t have found anything compromising.”

“I doubt that an official agency is involved,” said the mullah. “I can only think of one group: the people in my circle who oppose this plan.”

“You mean within the Taliban
shura
?”

“That’s right. There are a number of factions in Quetta. Some feel that we should deal with Karzai and persuade him to step down. I think they are wrong, because it’s not just Karzai. His entire clique will fight to stay in power.”

“Are you suggesting that someone in Quetta warned Karzai about my plan?”

“It’s not impossible,” admitted the mullah. “He has his contacts among us. Everybody plays his own game.”

“In that case, I’m in very serious danger.”

The mullah gave a short, bitter laugh.

“Yes, but it’s nothing personal! Karzai doesn’t even know you; he just wants to hang on to power. Besides, you work with the CIA, so you are officially untouchable. But you still must be extremely careful.”

“Could that drug trafficker you mentioned be acting on his own?”

“No, he would never attack a foreigner, especially not one close to the CIA. But here’s another possibility. Maybe Karzai’s CIA friend Mark Spider heard about the project and warned him. Let me think about this. When I know something, I’ll text you.”

The dining room in the Jardin de Taimani was full. The
recently opened French restaurant attracted many expats and few Afghans.

Maureen Kieffer was practically dressed for summer, with a long gypsy skirt and a yellow sweater so tight that it precisely outlined her nipples. She was watching Malko eat, almost tenderly.

“You really are doing a lot better!” she said. “I put a bottle of champagne on ice for us.”

She was eager to get Malko home, but as they were drinking their coffee, a tall redhead with green eyes made her way to their table.

“Alicia!” Maureen cried.

The two women air-kissed, and the newcomer joined them.

“This is Alicia Burton,” said Maureen. “She’s an American reporter. She’s also very brave: she lives alone at the Gandamack Lodge.”

“Quite unusual, a woman alone in Kabul,” remarked Malko.

“So what do you do?” Alicia asked.

“I’m a political observer for the European Community.”

“Do you have a place in town?”

“No, I’m at the Serena.”

An eager expression flitted across her face.

“You should invite me over so I can take a bath,” she said. “At the Gandamack, we don’t have hot water that often.”

She gave Malko a bright, meaningful look. She was shamelessly flirting with him right in front of Maureen Kieffer, who kicked him under the table.

Despite the pain, Malko gallantly said, “Come on by. I’ll be happy to let you use my bathroom.”

He was rewarded with another kick.

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name,” said Alicia.

“Malko Linge.”

“I hope we run into each other again.”

She shook hands and walked away, swinging her high, rounded ass.

“What a slut!” hissed Maureen. “I thought she was going to duck under the table and give you a blow job! She sleeps around a lot.”

“Is she really a reporter?”

“Yes, she is. She used to have a boyfriend with the CIA, but they had a fight. She also screwed a couple of the Blackwater guys. But really—she’s got some nerve!”

Maureen paused.

“You ready to go?”

The beeping of Malko’s cell phone woke him. The night before, Maureen had proven every bit as exciting as his fantasies. She’d started by squirting him in the face with champagne, to discourage him from ever seeing Alicia Burton again. After that, things improved significantly. Maureen enjoyed making love as much as ever, and it was very late when Malko got back to the hotel.

Checking his cell, he found a long text message:

You have a meeting with a friend who can tell you some interesting
things. Come tomorrow at 6 pm to the One Star Petroleum station in Kotali Khayr Kana. It is on the Salang road, 12 km from downtown.

Malko had finished reading the text when the room phone rang.

“A young lady is here, asking for you,” said the desk clerk.

A woman’s voice chirped in the handset: “Malko! I’m not disturbing you, am I? It’s Alicia Burton.”

That was unexpected.

“What a pleasant surprise,” he said. “I was just about to come down for breakfast. Would you care to join me?”

“Love to! I’m starving!”

When he met the young reporter in the lobby, he realized that she was hardly starving. Her eyes had a definite come-hither look—with emphasis on the come—and her miniskirt ended well above her knees. Good thing she was wearing a long sheepskin coat over it; otherwise, she’d be attacked at the nearest street corner.

They settled in the breakfast room and chatted about this and that until Malko signed the check.

“Will you treat me to a bath now?” asked the young woman.

Malko smiled diplomatically.

“You can use my whole room, actually; I have a meeting I have to go to. Come on upstairs.”

Alicia followed him to his room and tossed her sheepskin coat on a chair.

She turned to Malko and said, “Thank you.”

Then she leaned into his arms and stuck her tongue down to his tonsils, while doing a furious bump and grind against his crotch.

By dint of great effort, Malko managed to pull away a few inches. Alicia looked at him mischievously.

“No matter what happens, when I tell Maureen that I came to see you, she’ll assume we slept together. So we may as well!”