CHAPTER 55
Reshteen backed his truck up to the door of the small, mud brick building that functioned as the camp’s kitchen. His two cousins parked their trucks on the opposite side to act as a screen and provide Harvath and Fontaine with as much concealment as possible.
Climbing out from behind the wheel, Reshteen stretched and walked casually into the cookhouse to make sure it was empty. Pushing open its heavy wooden door, he removed a box of matches and lit one of the oil lamps that hung inside. The room was just as it had been left following the first heavy snow the year before.
Stepping back outside, Reshteen called his cousins over and they set to work freeing Harvath and Fontaine from the bed of his truck.
When they had moved enough crates, the men slipped out one at a time and disappeared into the cookhouse.
The cousins continued unloading supplies while Reshteen set up two gas cook stoves and quickly warmed up more tea and nan bread. Filling his pockets with cups and wrapping the bread in a heavy cloth, he exited the kitchen and set off to soften the ground for Harvath and Fontaine.
Fifteen minutes later, he returned. Motioning for Harvath to hand him the sketch of the camp he had drawn back in Dagar, he marked on it where the camp’s interior guards were posted and how many of them there were in each group. Harvath counted three groups of three. Nine men. The rest were still asleep.
Harvath pointed at the small storage building that Reshteen had said would be the best place to hold Julia Gallo, and the Afghan man nodded and drew a dark circle around it with his pencil. That was still their primary target. It also, according to Reshteen, did not have a guard posted outside it. Considering the Taliban’s habit of relying solely on a sturdy, lockable door, Harvath wasn’t surprised, but nevertheless he pointed to all the guard positions on the piece of paper and then back at the storage hut and said, “Na?”
“Na, Taliban,” he replied.
That was all Harvath needed to hear. Checking his weapons, he tucked his MP5 beneath his patoo, and with Fontaine right behind him, he stepped out of the cookhouse into the cold mountain air.
The two men walked with their heads down and mimicked the slow, shuffling Afghan gait.
The camp was not that large and all of the guards on duty were aware of the supply truck’s arrival. Being greeted by Reshteen with hot tea and warm nan was an act of hospitality that had not only put them somewhat at ease about the strangers in their midst, but had given Harvath and Fontaine reason to get much closer to them than would normally have been allowed.
Expanding upon the ruse they had used at the checkpoints, Reshteen visited each group of guards, handing out tea and nan and promising to send men back with hot kebabs. The hope was that if Harvath and Fontaine were seen, it would be assumed they represented the kebab wagon making its rounds.
Harvath and Fontaine understood the limits of the ruse all too well. They needed to act as quickly as possible.
Reshteen had shown them on his sketch where the Taliban normally set up their latrine. It was a long trench on the side of the camp away from the buildings. Even though the forty-plus men had not been there long, they didn’t need a map to find it. Their noses led them right to it.
The trench from last year was still filled with ice and snow that had only partially melted. That didn’t seem to bother the Taliban, who simply urinated and defecated right there as if it was a perfectly suitable latrine.
Harvath and Fontaine tried to ignore the smell as they lay down next to it and readied themselves for the next step.
There had been no way to know how many guards Massoud would have posted. Reshteen had said that Massoud normally had men walking the camp, but had never bothered to count how many. He simply had had no reason to.
Though Harvath’s original intent had been to come up and ascertain if Julia Gallo was here, he had also decided that if she was, and he could get her out, that’s what he was going to do. If it meant he had to kill a few more Taliban in the process, he had no problem doing that.
Harvath traded Fontaine his MP5 for Gallagher’s sniper rifle and got comfortable while Fontaine powered up his NODs and slipped them on so he could function as a spotter.
Flipping down the legs of the weapon’s bipod, Harvath then flipped up the scope covers, wrapped his hand around the grip, and got his shoulder comfortable against the stock.
“Ready when you are,” whispered Fontaine. “Are you getting enough light through the scope?”
While Harvath would have preferred engaging their targets at a much closer range, the chance that someone might hear even the suppressed report of the rifle and raise the alarm was just too great. The other problem was that they were not going to be able to get anywhere close to the building they hoped was holding Gallo without encountering at least one set of guards. And while Harvath had no problem using a knife and getting his hands dirty, the guards were all out in the open. Sneaking up on them would be next to impossible.
“The light’s good enough,” said Harvath. “Let’s go.”
Fontaine guided Harvath as best he could and when Harvath was ready, he exhaled and gently applied pressure to the trigger.
His first Taliban target dropped like a stone, and Harvath quickly readjusted and took out his two colleagues. The first man went down instantly as well, but the next man took two shots before he fell to the ground.
Fontaine tsk’d out loud over the need to take a second shot on the third Taliban. Harvath ignored him.
“Group two,” he said as he adjusted his position and reoriented himself.
“One shot, one kill this time,” said Fontaine.
Harvath raised his middle finger and readjusted his shoulder against the stock. “Call ’em,” he said.
Fontaine did, and Harvath took the three men down in rapid succession, all with bullets through their heads.
Handing Fontaine back the rifle, Harvath pulled out his NODs, powered them up, and slipped them on. Once the men had their weapons hidden beneath their patoos, they made a line straight for the storage building.
They were traversing open ground on what remained a relatively bright night. If any of Massoud’s men had decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air or a visit to their luxury toilet facilities, that would have been the end of everything. Providence, for the moment, appeared to be on their side.
They made it across the open ground without being seen. Creeping up on the structure, Harvath saw it was windowless, just as Reshteen had said it was. Harvath took a step back and studied the outside of the door. A heavy wooden peg held the lock in place.
With one hand still wrapped around the grip of his MP5, Harvath leaned in toward the door and listened. Not a sound came from the other side.
Reaching down, he gently pulled the peg free. As it came out, Harvath exposed his weapon fully and Fontaine did the same. And then, just as they had done in Massoud’s village, Fontaine positioned himself to open the door so Harvath could immediately sweep inside.
Harvath took a deep breath and then nodded.
Fontaine drew back the handle, pulled open the door, and Harvath, weapon up and ready, rushed in.