Chapter 1
“A wolf pup will grow into a wolf regardless of being raised by men.”
September 9, 2001
Northeast Afghanistan
Two Afghani men lazily walked along the dusty streets of Khwaja Bahauddin as they leisurely anticipated the beginning of an empire. The shorter, well-attired man smiled at passer-by’s a friendly wave ready. His companion was less friendly to strangers. Stone-faced the larger man’s eyes moved from face to face, man to man. There were no women on the dusty hard packed dirt roads. Had there been the big man’s eye’s would have scanned them as possible threats. He took the protection of his smaller friend seriously.
They slowed as they closed in on the crowd of men lingering outside a large walled compound. The amplified voice of a man inside was drowned out by the roar of the crowd inside.
The smaller of the two wore finely tailored Afghan clothing. On his feet were black leather sandals. A brown vest was worn over a long cotton shirt that hung to his knees in the Afghan fashion. The shirt partially covered long cotton pants of the same grey color. On his head was a wool Pakul hat. It rolled up until it fit the persons desired style.
His clothes were covered in road dust from a long tedious drive over punishing dirt roads from the south. To say the Afghan was short was a misnomer, he was tall compared to many of his countrymen at six feet. It was difficult not to call him short in the presence of his constant companion and protector.
The giant was tall enough and big enough to be an NBA center. His height, mass, and attitude could have made him a starter on anyone’s team. He didn’t like games unless he had a hand in their design. Violence was always a part of the design.
The giant was also covered in dust sprayed up from their pickup’s tires. The rough spun cotton clothing he wore was layered with dust, dirt, and grime. He was not a man who concerned himself with fashion in this country or sometimes hygiene.
Outside a high walled compound, a crowd waited in a three-street intersection. A lucky few in front of the wrought iron gate were able to look over or around the security guards. Parked in front of the gate was a pickup truck. A man stood in the truck bed keeping watch on the crowd. His hand’s loosely held a machine gun mounted on a tall pedestal in the center of the truck bed. On the inside of the compound wall were hundreds of spectators lined up in front of a wooden platform. On the elevated structure, a lone figure delivered an impassioned speech.
The smaller man looked up at his friend and smiled. They knew every detail of the inside of that compound more specifically they knew who was on that wood structure giving an impassioned speech.
The expected numbers of men not there for the speech were all in evidence outside the wall. Many more would be inside. The two men strolling up the dirt road had previous experience of this kind of situation. Past association with the Jihad suggested to the two there would be a fair amount of soldiers, bodyguards, flunkies, and CIA officers in General Ahnad Shah Massoud’s compound. They had dealt with enough CIA officers to know their patterns and behaviors. They weren’t concerned. The late unpleasantness with the Russians had been something of a training school for them.
As they approached the compound they casually looked up and saw soldiers on the rooftops. Guards manned posts on the street corners opposite the compound’s walls. The Taliban had made many death threats against the General making their mission more difficult, but not insurmountable.
The CIA and the Northern Army had recently identified General Massoud as the man who should lead Afghanistan. He was the man of the future. He wasn’t the Taliban’s future.
The smaller man adjusted his rifle to his other shoulder. Not, because of any threat more because the sling was digging into his shoulder. His larger companion carried the same type of weapon he possessed, an AK-47. The difference between the two was the AK looked like a toy on the big man’s shoulder.
Most of the men they walked past and nearly everyone else had a weapon of some sort. Some men had unloaded RPG’s balanced across one shoulder. From the other shoulder hung a three rocket bandolier. There was nothing out of the ordinary to see civilians carrying AK-47’s, it was similar to the American old west. Everyone had a gun, just like everyone wore pants.
As he transferred the weapon to his other shoulder the cocking lever caught the pocket on his vest. He reached down to make sure the very convincing ID he carried hadn’t fallen to the ground. Provided by ISI, the Pakistani Intelligence Service, the ID’s had come at a steep price. The finely dressed man expected the price to be well worth it after today’s event.
The trip north had been
Drawing closer, they began to hear an amplified voice speaking to cheering men. The smaller of the two men looked at his watch and motioned to a small shop selling tea. The giant eyed the crowd and followed. The red plastic seats were old, wore, faded, but they served the purpose as they waited. A man rushed up took their order and quickly returned with tea. The smaller picked up his glass and quickly set it down. The heat of the tea burned his fingers through the glass. The Giant, his head on a swivel picked up his glass, drank, and offered no complaint.
“To think Badi, the Americans hired us relying on our patriotism and belief in God to help them fight the Jihad. Today we’ll throw it back in their faces.”
Badi searched the crowd his head moved left, right, then back again. “They did help us build our network.” The tea glass empty he set it down. “Without their unknowing help we would yet to have achieved this position.”
“Hotak!”
Both men turned as one.
A man dressed in typical Afghani clothing eyed them from the street.
He waved his friends on and walked over his head cocked to one side squinting.
“I am confused. You two are the last two people I expected to see here.”
There were no pleasantries, they weren’t friends.
His AK slung over his shoulder the man let his hand slide closer to the pistol grip.
“I said…”
Hotak picked up his tea. “I heard you.”
“Of all the places you could be, you’re here, on this day, the General’s day.” The man gritted his teeth. “You never cared about our country or the Jihad, and yet here you are. I’ll repeat myself.” He leaned forward. “What are you doing here?”
Hotak glanced at Badi and dipped his head.
Badi launched off the chair. The plastic chair remained upright. The plastic table was disturbed. Not a drop of tea slipped over the edge of a glass. With effortless
Hotak watched the Giant search the crowd on the street for anyone who might want to come to the dead man’s defense. Most Afghani men knew about the feuds ongoing in their region, some knew men involved in those feuds, few wanted to be drawn into another man’s quarrel. Any onlooker who’d seen the disturbance decided to move on and attend to his own business.
Badi sat. “I never liked him.”
Hotak filled his friend’s tea glass a slight smile on his face. They clinked glasses and chuckled.
”Agreed,” Hotak said.
The guards at the gate continued to check identifications. Everyone was thoroughly searched. No exceptions, rough hands checked each individual who desired admittance. Weapons were taken and stored in a small shack next to a sandbag bunker. A machine gun barrel poked out of a slot in the same bunker.
Hotak lifted his watch, shifted in his seat and looked down the street they had come from. He didn’t see who he was expecting on the road or in the three-way intersection.
He motioned to the proprietor for more tea. “It’s almost time.”
“Good.” The larger man looked at the gate then turned his head down the street behind them. Facing forward he tapped Hotak’s arm with his forefinger.
Moments later two men passed them on the street. Hotak noted their clothes, they weren’t Afghani’s. Both had black hair, one man had a mustache the other had no facial hair. They wore western style pants and shirts with beige equipment vests. They appeared to be of middle eastern decent not so uncommon an occurrence, Hotak knew. They stood out, but not enough to cause problems.
With little trouble, the men weaved through the streets and the rough men around them. They weren’t the only foreign reporters in attendance. What made then different was the special permission granted to them by the General’s aid. They’d been granted a personal interview with the General to be broadcast around the world. In it he would give his view of a new Afghanistan.
One reporter held a microphone attached to a recording device that hung from a sling on his shoulder. His earphones wrapped around his neck. The other reporter steadied a large camera on his shoulder. The heavy battery pack around his waist made him fidget and adjust it every couple of steps.
A smile crossed Hotak as he watched guards stop the two reporters, check their ID’s, and frisk them. A man from inside the compound opened the double gates and greeted them with a smile. He talked to the guards then escorted them inside.
The proprietor ambled over his eyes tacitly avoiding the pool of blood under the dead man’s chair. Badi ordered food after the reporters entered the compound. Hotak ordered as well. The tea in his glass was cool enough he could hold it without discomfort.
The General’s voice rose the tone of his speech more impassioned. The cheers from the crowd rose and fell with the General’s inflection. The speech climaxed with the General’s hands raised overhead a huge smile beaming at the men below him. The crowd clapped and cheered as their eyes followed him off stage.
Hotak and Badi ate their meals in silence. The food was simple, flatbread, rice with raisins, fresh vegetables and goat. Badi stole food off the dead man’s plate. The dead man didn’t complain.
A massive explosion went off inside Massoud’s compound.
Hotak looked at the grim that had built up under his fingernails.
Badi continued to eat.
The crowd outside leaned back as one. Some fought to get closer to get a glance through the gate others quickly walked away from the scene. The guards regained their composure and shouted at the crowd to disperse.
Hotak watched Badi finish the food on the plate in front of him and reach over with a grin take food from his plate. Neither man had been surprised at the sudden explosion.
A large plume of black smoke rose over the top of the walls. For a moment silence reigned then shouts for help and urgent orders were issued.
Badi chuckled. “Sounds bad.”
The sound of automatic bursts of fire from AK-47s came from beyond the walls, then more shouts.
Badi chuckled again.
Men and a few women began to stream out of the gate. Hotak read fear on the faces of some. Others had stricken looks. While others still stifled their rage. Some of the retreating men, the more self-aware showed quiet acceptance. It wouldn’t be long before recriminations and oppression followed.
Hotak left money on the table and they stepped into the street. He waved to stop several men. “What has happened?”
“
Hotak had to lean forward to make out the words they were spoken so quietly.
“Dead? How? What happened?”
“We saw it happen,” said another man.
“Two foreign reporters with Shah Massoud,” the third man said. “The man with the camera yelled something then set off a bomb inside his equipment. He killed Shah Massoud and himself. The second reporter was off to the side talking to the General’s aid. He waited till the first bomb went off, ran to the General, and tried to detonate his bomb. It failed to explode. He tried to escape, but the guards chased him and killed him before he could get far.”
“This is terrible.” Hotak laid his hand across his heart. “Thank you for delivering this tragic news. Go with God.”
They nodded and mumbled, “go with God,” in return.
Hotak clapped Badi on the back and they joined the thinning crowd exiting Massoud’s compound. Hotak let his mind swirl with all the new possibilities in front of them. They remained quiet on the walk back to their pickup truck.
On the same road that had brought them to Khwaja
“That went exceptionally well. I would have preferred if both bombs had detonated, but it’s God’s will.”
The giant laughed. “God’s will.”
Hotak shifted in his seat to make himself comfortable for the long ride. “The Pakistanis have done us a great favor today we’ll continue to use them for our purposes.”
Badi gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I don’t trust them.”
“As well you shouldn’t.”
Badi grunted.
“All the work Massoud did to unite the clans will be a great help to us once I take control of them.” The side of Hotak’s mouth lifted into half smile. “Our fortunes have turned again. With the North under our
Badi’s eyes remained focused on the pothole infested dirt road. “It will be slow work building our business here. These people are so ignorant they’ll be difficult to work with.”
“True.” Hotak smiled. “Do you remember Professor Jenkins from that ridiculous English boarding school we attended?”
“I hated that man.”
Hotak chuckled. “Anyway, he said something that always stuck with me. I’ve applied it to everything we’ve planned and implemented so far. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“English prick. I’m glad I killed him.”
They glanced at each other reliving the memory. Hotak shook his head and laughed. “I’m glad you did too.”