CHAPTER 54
NANGARHAR PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN
Even though Reshteen had lined the space with blankets, Harvath and Fontaine lay in the bed of his truck freezing to death. They were also dangerously close to running out of time. For their plan to work, they had to get in and get out of the camp before sunrise.
They had been hidden beneath a mountain of carefully stacked gear, which had then been lashed down with ropes. As the truck fishtailed up the icy roadway, it hit pothole after pothole and Harvath began to worry less about being discovered and executed by one of Massoud’s soldiers and more about being crushed beneath the ton of Taliban cargo swaying above them.
Theirs was one of three trucks making the supply run up to Massoud’s outpost. The Taliban commander had ordered up enough supplies for two weeks. If they didn’t take advantage of this opportunity, it was unlikely they’d get another chance.
Remembering the evil eye he’d received from the old, black-turbaned man in Surobi, he knew that no matter how authentic their clothing, there was no way he and Fontaine could pass close inspection as villagers from Dagar. Coming in sight unseen was their only bet. Harvath prayed that Massoud’s sentries would be like most soldiers standing post overnight—cold, bored, and hungry.
The security setup along the road was similar to that leading into Massoud’s village and involved two checkpoints.
When Harvath felt the truck coming to a halt at the first stop, his heart began to quicken and his hands tightened around his MP5. Next to him, he knew Fontaine was readying himself as well. Neither dared speak and they both knew what they would have to do if they were discovered.
Their bodies tense, each of the men listened for any indication that suggested the sentries suspected something was wrong. Despite the bitter cold, Harvath could feel the sweat forming on his skin as the adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream.
He heard Reshteen roll down his window and speak to the Taliban sentries. This was the first and one of the most dangerous hurdles.
Harvath listened as the Afghan did exactly what he had been told to do. Showing the sentries the box on the seat next to him, he offered them some of the hot tea, warm nan bread, and kebabs he had prepared before leaving Dagar.
There was a lull that seemed to last an eternity. Harvath couldn’t tell if the sentries suspected a double-cross or were just examining the contents of the box trying to decide what they wanted.
While the optimist in him said the sentries would take the food and allow the trucks to pass without inspection, the pessimist told him to get ready because all hell was about to break loose.
Suddenly the voices resumed and there was laughter. Harvath’s inner optimist had been correct. He felt his tension dissolve, but only by a matter of degrees. While the optimist in him had been right this time, it was by listening to the pessimist and always being ready for the worst to happen that one stayed alive.
One of the sentries pounded on the roof of the cab and the trucks were allowed to pass.
At the next checkpoint the scene was repeated. Hot tea was poured into cups, bread and kebabs were handed out by Reshteen, and the supply trucks from the village were once more allowed to pass uninspected.
While Harvath should have been relieved, at the moment he didn’t have that luxury. They were about to roll into the middle of a snake pit. Harvath had given Fontaine every excuse to stay behind in Dagar with Daoud, but the Canadian had refused. In fact, he had accused Harvath of selfishly trying to hog all the fun for himself. The remark had made Harvath laugh. Forty to one odds was not what he would call fun. Forty to two was only slightly better. The one thing they had on their side was that, at least for now, no one knew they were coming.
The truck bumped and jostled along for another five minutes before the steep road finally leveled off. When it swung to the left, stopped, and then slowly reversed, Harvath once again tightened his grip around his MP5 and made ready. They had arrived.