Viking Bay (5 page)

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“Lithium,” Callahan said, “is a soft white metal and its atomic number is three. It's the lightest metal in existence, and it's highly reactive because . . .” Callahan stopped when he saw the look on Kay's face, and said, “Yeah, you're right. Who gives a shit?”

He tapped the remote three or four times, skipping past PowerPoint pages that had more information on the atomic properties of lithium. He stopped when a map of Afghanistan appeared on the screen. The map showed the country's thirty-four provinces in different colors.

Callahan zoomed in on a province in the eastern part of the country, south of Kabul. “This is Ghazni Province,” he said. “It's an absolute shithole of a place, made more so by the fact that the Taliban are constantly killing whoever in Ghazni pisses them off. But in 2007, a U.S. Geological Survey discovered the mother lode of lithium in some dry salt lakes in Ghazni. In fact, an internal Pentagon report said that Ghazni could be the Saudi Arabia of lithium.”

Kay wondered how Callahan had gotten his hands on an internal Pentagon report, but didn't ask.

“You see,” Callahan said, “lithium is used in a number of applications—glass, ceramics, optics—but the big one is batteries. And these days, with everybody trying to build electric cars, batteries are a big deal. But there's another application for lithium that's even more interesting. It's an element that's used in nuclear fusion; it's a neutron absorber. Do you know the difference between nuclear fission and nuclear fusion?”

Kay wondered if he was intentionally trying to make her feel stupid.
She was an ex-cop, not a fucking physicist. “I know fission is when you do things like split atoms and fusion is when you, ah, fuse 'em together.” She could feel her face turning red and avoided looking at Eli Dolan.

“Exactly,” Callahan said, sounding pleased as Punch that she knew anything at all. “In fission, we split uranium and plutonium atoms, and when you split 'em, they give off heat, or energy, which is a good thing. What's bad is you're left with a lot of radioactive garbage, and basically all we can do today is stick the garbage someplace like Yucca Mountain and wait ten thousand years for it to stop being radioactive.

“But fusion is different. Fusion is the holy grail of energy. In fusion, instead of using uranium we use water—actually, something called
heavy
water—and if you can jam these water atoms together they give off energy, too, but you don't end up with the nasty, long-lasting radioactive shit you get from fission. Up until now, however, the boffins haven't figured out how to make fusion work in an economically viable way. Well, it appears DARPA knows something. You know what DARPA is?”

“Sort of,” Kay said, “I know it's a government research-and-development outfit.”

“That's right,” Callahan said. “DARPA is the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, and they're theoretically responsible for developing new technologies for use by the military. Some of the brightest nerds in the country work there, and they're always looking into the future, trying to come up with things that sound like science fiction. If we ever have time travel, the guys from DARPA will be the ones who take the first ride back to the Middle Ages. Anyway, it appears DARPA knows something about nuclear fusion that nobody else knows, and they whispered into the president's ear that it might be a good idea for the government to stock up on lithium.”

Callahan pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, then looked around the conference room, growing more annoyed the longer he looked. “Where's my ashtray?” he asked Mercer.

“I have no idea,” Mercer said.

“Liar,” Callahan said. He got up, walked over to a sink in the conference room, and partially filled a paper cup with water, intending to use the cup as an ashtray. He sat back down and started patting all his pockets. “Goddamnit,” he muttered. “I don't suppose any of you has a book of matches,” he said. No one answered him except for Sylvia, who said, “Sorry.”

“God, you're a bunch of Puritans,” Callahan said. “You all make me sick.”

He put the cigarette back in his pocket and, turning to Kay, he said, “Today, about half the world's known supply of lithium is in Bolivia, in a place called Salar de Uyuni. It's not easy to get the stuff out of Bolivia, however, as that part of the world is a tough place to mine and South Americans, in general, are pretty wise to our act when it comes to filching their natural resources. Well, these dry lakes in Ghazni Province are thought to contain as much lithium as there is in Bolivia, and if it weren't for the politics of Afghanistan and the Taliban and the fact that the country has been in a continual state of war for half a century, it'd be a lot easier to mine there than Bolivia. You with me so far?”

Kay nodded but was irritated that he'd asked the question, like she was the slowest kid in the class. Then it occurred to her that in this particular class, she
was
the slowest.

Callahan tapped the remote again and a photograph of a bearded man in his fifties appeared on the screen. He had short black hair streaked with gray, an axe blade for a nose, and intense dark eyes. He was wearing a brown vest over a collarless white shirt.

“This is Sahid Mohammad Khan, the current governor of Ghazni Province. Like most provincial governors, he's a complete thug and he relies heavily on force, intimidation, and tribal connections. He's also corrupt, meaning he takes every opportunity he can to line his own pockets, but he's no more corrupt than the president of Afghanistan or the other governors. The good thing about him is, he hates the Taliban, which isn't surprising since they've tried to kill him a dozen times. He's
not a big fan of the United States either, but he's played us like a fish to get money for himself and his province. But the truly unique thing about Sahid Khan is his daughter, his attitude toward her, and his relationship with her.”

Callahan tapped the remote again and a picture of a beautiful young woman in her twenties filled the screen. “This is Ara Khan.”

Ara Khan had lustrous black hair, a model's cheekbones, and full lips. The most striking thing about her was her eyes, which were a stunning shade of jade green—and Kay was immediately reminded of that famous picture of the young Afghan girl that appeared on the cover of
National Geographic
magazine years ago
.
The girl on the cover of
National Geographic
had exactly the same color eyes.

“Sahid Khan dotes on his daughter; he doesn't have any sons and his wife is dead. No one can figure out why he hasn't married again. Anyway, Sahid sent Ara abroad to be educated during the war to protect her from the Taliban. Or maybe, considering the way she looks, to protect her from U.S. troops. She got the equivalent of a high school degree in France and her college education at NYU. She speaks French, English, Pashto, Dari, and Uzbek. Her university degree is in international studies. In addition to being educated in a manner that's extremely unusual for an Afghan woman, Ara Khan is her father's principal advisor.”

“How do you know that?” Kay asked.

Callahan winked at her. “Because the CIA has a spy in Khan's government. The same spy probably works for the Russians and the Chinese and the British and anyone else willing to pay his price. It's really easy to buy an Afghan spy, but you can never be sure who they're working for. At any rate, Sahid consults with Ara on all his major decisions and he includes her in his inner circle, which really pisses off his other guys.

“One last thing about Ara, then we'll take a break, because I need a smoke and I gotta take a leak. The person who I guess you'd say
discovered
Ara was Hillary Clinton, when Hillary was secretary of state.
Hillary met her on one of her trips over there where she got together with a bunch of women to talk about women's shit, and when she got back she told people that Ara impressed the hell out of her. Okay, let's take a break.”

Callahan left the conference room and Dolan walked over and opened the door to a small refrigerator. “Would anyone like something to drink?” he asked. “Coke, bottled water, fruit juice? There's also beer in here, but I imagine that's reserved for Callahan.”

“Nothing for me,” Sylvia said.

“I'll have a Diet Coke,” Mercer said.

“Kay?” Dolan said.

“Uh, just water.”

Dolan handed her a bottle of Perrier and Mercer a Coke. Kay opened the bottle, but before taking a drink, she said, “Do you live here in D.C.?”

“Part-time. My primary residence is in Manhattan, but I have a small place in Georgetown where I stay when I'm down here.”

Mercer snorted. “He has a gorgeous town house. It's worth more than two million. And if he offers to show you his etchings, I'm going to throw up.”

Mercer was really annoying Kay. She almost said:
Don't you have to go the bathroom, too?

“How about you?” Dolan asked. “Do you live here?”

“Yeah, we just moved here. We have a place on Connecticut.”

“We?” Dolan said.

Before Kay could tell him that by
we
she meant her daughter and not a husband, Callahan came back into the room and they all resumed their seats at the table. She noticed Callahan had brought an ashtray with him.

“Okay,” Callahan said. “One last picture, and then we'll get down to the mission.”

The next photo that appeared on the screen was of a young woman
in her early twenties. She had long blond hair and blue eyes, and she looked . . . Well, the best word Kay could think of was
mischievous.

“Who does she look like, Hamilton?” Callahan asked.

“I don't know,” Kay said. “Am I supposed to recognize her?”

“She looks like you,” Callahan said.

Kay looked at the photo again. The woman sort of looked like Kay, but she actually looked more like Kay's daughter, if Jessica ever let her hair grow that long.

“Her name is Carolyn Harris,” Callahan said, “and she was Ara Khan's roommate at NYU for four years and her best friend. Harris is dead now. She was killed in a car accident a year ago, and Ara flew back from Afghanistan to attend the funeral. The other thing about Harris is she not only looks like you, but your personalities are somewhat similar. Harris was a bit of a wild thing. She liked to party, and she introduced Ara to Western decadence and dope and a couple of men Ara slept with while she was over here.”

“Callahan,” Kay said, “I don't know what that psychiatrist told you, but I was never a
wild thing.
That's absurd, not to mention offensive. As for dope . . . I worked for the DEA, Christ's sake!”

“Hey, don't get your panties in a twist. I'm just saying Carolyn Harris knew how to have a good time and so do you.”

Before Kay could object again, Callahan said, “Okay, now you have the background on all the players. So here's the job, and like I told you before, it's complicated. We want—the president wants—two things. First, we want to get a company we control in place as soon as possible to start mining the lithium in Ghazni Province. The idea is since we control the mining company, we'll be in a better position to control who gets the lithium.

“But to do what we want is going to be tough politically. Really tough. The guys currently in charge in Kabul are going to be hard to manage and they're going to try to shoehorn their way into any deal we make. On top of that, even if we are able to get the mining rights, it's
still going to be hard to get the stuff out of the ground, because they don't have any real infrastructure over there and we'll probably be fighting the Taliban while we're going after it. We'll also be competing with the Chinese, the Japanese, and half a dozen American companies who also want the lithium for battery production, and they'll be trying to cut their own deals with the big boys in Kabul.

“So the politics are going to be a bitch, and in order to better ensure that things come out the way we want, the second thing we're going to do is support Sahid Khan to become the next president of Afghanistan. We know he'd like to be the top dog over there and his chances for being elected are going to increase dramatically because we're going to give him a substantial war chest to fund his campaign. This political war chest is also a great big bribe to get him to play ball.”

“You want to put a guy you say is a corrupt thug in charge of the whole country?” Kay said.

“Hey, the guy
currently
in charge is a corrupt thug—but Sahid Khan will be
our
thug. The other thing is, Sahid Khan's not a religious nut and he's more likely to make Afghanistan into a secular country like Turkey, instead of a place like Iran that's run by a mullah.”

Kay was thinking that the United States had been down this path before—supporting handpicked dictators—and it often didn't turn out the way we wanted. Like Manuel Noriega and Saddam Hussein. Or, for that matter, supporting the Shah in Iran—which was maybe one reason there was now a mullah in charge of that country.

But before she could say anything else, Callahan said, “The main thing is, and the reason why you're here, is I believe the key to convincing Sahid to play along with us is his daughter. She's not only smart, but she's progressive and leans toward the West ideologically. If we can make her believe that what we want to do will be good for her country, I think she'll talk her old man into it.

“The other thing about Ara is we think that she has even more potential than her father in terms of politics. Afghanistan is a long way
from having a female president or even a woman in a powerful position in their government, but if there's any woman who can get there, it's Ara Khan. She could be like that woman in Burma. . . .”

“Myanmar,” Mercer corrected.

“Yeah, whatever. Anyway, we think she could be like that gal who was under house arrest there for a couple of decades and is now a major political force.”