CHAPTER 62
KABUL, AFGHANISTAN
With the convoy of Massoud’s soldiers taken care of, as well as those he had posted along the road, Harvath knew it was safe to call Daoud in to pick them up. As a courtesy, Flash 22 stayed on station until they were all safely back in Dagar.
Reshteen and his cousins mobilized the other men of their village. Arming themselves, they established a perimeter around Dagar just in case any stray Taliban happened to wander down from the mountain camp or travel over from Massoud’s village looking for revenge.
Out of appreciation, Harvath had allowed the Canadians to be credited with the success of the operation and the recovery of Julia Gallo. He neither needed nor wanted the publicity, but more than that, the Canadians had been integral to their success. Without them, things could have turned out very differently. They more than deserved the credit.
When Captain West and his team arrived, they helped reinforce the village and establish a secure LZ. Twenty minutes later, a UH 60 BlackHawk, accompanied by two AH-64 Apaches, landed to transport Julia Gallo to Bagram.
Once the helos had lifted off, Fontaine led Captain West and his team back to Massoud’s camp to gather as much intel as possible about the Taliban commander and his Russian counterpart. In the truck that Fayaz had loaned them earlier that night, Harvath and Daoud followed.
Most of the Taliban vehicles were still smoldering as the column made its way up the narrow mountain pass. Though it took some doing, the heavy LAVs were able to clear a wide enough path for everyone to make it up without having to permanently dismount.
Once they arrived, the Canadian forces swept the camp. Only one survivor was found; Mullah Massoud Akhund’s brother, Zwak.
Though Zwak had been untied, he had remained in the storage building beneath the protection of the IR strobe Harvath had thrown on the roof. Though the man had no idea that it had been there, it had saved his life.
Daoud spoke to him quietly and tried to calm him down, but Zwak kept asking for his brother, saying he wanted to go home. With Captain West’s blessing, Harvath and Daoud were granted permission to return the man to his village, providing Harvath didn’t tip them that it was their next stop. The Canadians planned on taking Massoud’s compound apart, as well as all of the other houses that the Taliban had been using. Harvath, of course, agreed.
Harvath and Daoud drove Zwak home and remanded him into the care of Baseer, who thanked Harvath for being a man of honor who kept his promises. He also gave his assurance that he would deal with young Usman personally.
Harvath and Daoud then drove to Bagram, on the outskirts of Jalalabad, and Gallagher’s Shangri-La guesthouse cum fortified compound. There, after arranging to get the truck back to Fayaz and his village, Harvath paid the intrepid interpreter and, though the man politely attempted to refuse, gave him a significant bonus. Daoud had more than earned it.
Harvath then took a long hot shower, poured a stiff drink, and popped a much overdue Motrin. He then slid into bed, closed his eyes, and didn’t wake up for twelve hours.
When he awoke, he checked the email account he was using for this assignment. Waiting for him was a two-word message from Stephanie Gallo. It read simply, Thank You.
Out of sheer curiosity, he surfed over to his bank’s website and logged in. Mrs. Gallo had already deposited the balance of his fee. She was a woman of her word, and though he disagreed with much of her politics he had to give credit where credit was due. While he didn’t really care either way, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe her opinion of people like him and the other brave men and women in the world who risked all to protect the innocent and take the fight to the bad guys had maybe now changed.
Next he logged in to the personal account he used to communicate with Tracy and found six emails, all with photos of their dog, Bullet, attached. Harvath smiled as he read through them, but felt an odd sense of melancholy. He loved his dog, but a dog wasn’t the same as having children. There was no bond stronger than family, and he was ready to start one of his own. Considering how much money he’d just banked, Tracy couldn’t argue that kids were too expensive. And he wanted to have a ton of them.
His optimism returning, Harvath smiled and typed a quick reply to the last email she had sent. Done having fun. Wish I was there. Be home soon.
Borrowing the Shangri-La’s other Land Cruiser, Harvath drove himself back to Kabul, alone. He slowed in Surobi and hoped to see the little old man who sold the Jackie Collins book standing outside his shop, but the store was closed. It was prayer time, and even in a village not “officially” controlled by the Taliban, repercussions for not strictly adhering to Islamic laws could be harsh.
Harvath did see, though, the same man with the same black Taliban turban he had seen the last time he had passed through Surobi. The man’s eyes were still filled with hate, and he threw Harvath the same blood-chilling stare. F*ck diplomacy, thought Harvath as he flipped the guy the finger.
He drove to the safe house in the Shahr-e Naw and called Flower from his cell phone to come outside and open the gates.
“Mr. Scot, I am not there,” he said. “My wife had the baby. A beautiful little girl.”
Harvath was glad to hear Flower so excited about having another girl. “Congratulations. I wish you and your family much health and happiness.”
Flower thanked him and said his cousin was at the house and he would call him and have him open the gates.
Less than a minute after they hung up, the gates opened. Harvath drove the Land Cruiser into the courtyard, parked, and entered the house.
The large plasma television was on in the living room. Hoyt was sitting on the couch with his back to him.
“I hope you bought enough beer, Mei. We’re going to have half of the NGO community here for this party tonight.”
Harvath was about to reply when Hoyt turned around, saw him, and said, “Or maybe not.”
“Nice try.”
Hoyt smiled. “Now that the job’s done you’re finally lightening up. Better late than never.”
“How’s Midland?”
“Fine.”
“And our guest?”
“Mustafa, Special K, Khan? Still a creepy pain in the ass, but on the right side of the grass, which is only because I like you so much. Now that Gallo’s safe, Mark wants to hang him from his ankles and beat him like a f*cking pi?ata for what he did to his ear.”
“First things first,” said Harvath, who then glanced up at the TV. “What are you watching?”
Hoyt looked at the plasma and then back at Harvath. “What? You couldn’t get a f*cking newspaper in Nangarhar? Alden just announced his resignation.”
“President Alden?” said Harvath as he stepped closer to the couch.
“Yup. Second-shortest presidency in U.S. history. William Henry Harrison is first. He served for only thirty-five days, and also coincidentally gave the longest inaugural address. Guess who gave the second-longest inaugural address?”
“Alden?”
Hoyt nodded. “Spooky, huh?”
“Why is he resigning?”
“Nobody knows. He made a brief statement and evaporated.”
“Well something must have happened. No one runs for office as hard as he did just to give it up,” replied Harvath, bringing his mind back to the work they still had to do. “We’ve gotta get Khan ready to roll.”
“Where are we taking him?”
“Bagram.”
Hoyt smiled. “Scot Harvath! Aren’t you thoughtful.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Next to cold beer, there’s nothing Baba G loves more than a pi?ata party.”
Harvath smiled. “That reminds me. I need you to pack a cooler.”