Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office (35 page)

“Then, please use that battlefield experience, sir,” Kamal said, interrupting him.

Haroon took a deep breath, controlling the urge to smash Kamal’s straight nose in with a stapler. “I still think that a controlled attack on a border post will give us the cover that we require to move personnel and equipment into position. We know that route is used by smugglers bringing arms and drugs into Pakistan,” Haroon explained, pointing to the pins he had placed in the map. “We move the current personnel out of the post and hit it hard.”

“Sir, again, with all due respect,” Kamal said. “That would close the border to any traffic. The Sheikh wouldn
’t attempt to cross knowing that the military was on alert and looking for whoever hit their base. He won’t risk it.

“There are a number of things that work against us in this equation that we must account for,” Kamal continued. “First, we can
’t trust the Frontier Constabulary. We don’t know which side they’re playing for. That means that the roads are out. Second, we have a target that is in the wind in Afghanistan. We need him to come back, which means keeping the border open no matter what. Your plan makes these things impossible.”

Haroon shook his head at Kamal
’s commentary. “Not everything is black and white, Captain. Sometimes, we have to work within the grey areas.”

“
Sir, I don’t need a lesson on the boundaries of military combat,” Kamal replied abruptly. “I live in that grey area… you’ve read my file…”

“
Look, Kamal,” Haroon began. “I know you have been involved in many covert operations in your career, but this is not covert. This is a hit and run.”

“Again, with due respect sir, I disagree,” Kamal retorted, struggling to keep control of his anger. “There is a part of this assault that must be covert in order for this to be successful. Anyone figures out what is going on and the camp will be warned… the op is over. We can
’t risk it with this many HVTs inside.”

“You obviously have a better idea,”
Haroon replied. “Why don’t you share?”

Kamal leaned back in his chair, glancing between Haroon and the map board, before getting up.

“May I remove your pins sir?” Kamal asked, reaching for the pushpins placed around the map.

Haroon looked over to another map board in the corner, saying, “Why don
’t you use that one instead?” Kamal looked over, pushing the current one out of the way with his foot. He heard it slam against the wall as he pulled the fresh board forward in its place.

He moved around the board, pushing pins into different locations, considering his plan based on the locations of the pins, before turning back to Haroon and taking a deep breath.

“Sir, my proposal is targeted and resource driven,” Kamal started. “Since we know the smuggling routes into Pakistan are here and here,” Kamal explained, “we need to keep our men out of these areas. We also have FC posts and bases here, here and here that we must also avoid, otherwise the operation will be compromised.” The General nodded, agreeing with Kamal’s assumptions.

“If we put two teams in play at the Panjkara and Babukara rivers, we would be able to provide surveillance and quick response to the assault when it begins. They would be roughly twelve hours by foot from the camp, but no one would suspect them because they are not along any of the routes that are patrolled by the FC or used by the smugglers.”

“Quick response teams?” Haroon inquired. “What for?”

“I would use them for a few purposes,” Kamal explained. “First, I would want to them to cripple the FC
’s communications capabilities so that when we start our assault, they are not able to respond in force. Second, with a few hours advance notification, they could take out the snipers and the anti-aircraft weapons giving our birds clear access into the camp.”

“What is your force personnel requirement?” Haroon asked.

“Two teams of two snipers, three explosives specialists, two navigators and one signals operator. Fifteen men total.”

Haroon was impressed with the critical thinking and strategy that Kamal had put before him. This was an excellent plan that would deliver the first objective and clear the path for the rest of the assault team. “So you would bring commandos in from the air and supporting infantry from?” Haroon asked.

“Sir, our men are trained to attack from the air. It was a core requirement in our training,” Kamal said. “With the FC posts compromised, we can roll our infantry right down Agency Road without major resistance. Once their defenses are compromised, we can hit them hard and fast… assuming that we move the contingents to the relevant bases before the covert operation.”

“What are you thinking in terms of equipment on ground?” Haroon asked, more intrigued with the plan as Kamal expounded on it.

“Transport vehicles, sir,” Kamal answered without hesitation. “No tanks, no APCs, no heavy weaponry. It would draw too much attention.”

Haroon leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table and tapping the butt of a pen against his chin. Kamal stood motionless for a moment, then grabbed his cigarette pack from the table taking one and slipping it between his lips. His tongue shot out to moisten them before placing it there. He knew that plan he had put forward was strong and with the Brigadier
’s experience, it would become an executable plan. Now, he just had to wait for the Brigadier to agree with him.

“Listen, Kamal,” the Brigadier said, spinning the pen between his lips. “Let
’s break for fifteen and we’ll come back to discuss this further,” he said dropping his feet to the floor with a thud, stretching as he stood up. “Write this up so that we have it documented.”

Kamal watched him walk out the door.
Fucker
, he thought to himself. He waited a few minutes to make sure that he cleared earshot, then in his best imitation of the Brigadier, he repeated, “Write this up so that we have it documented, you little arrogant shit.” He grabbed a blank pad and pen as he pulled his chair to the table to draw out and detail the assault plan.

Like clockwork, Haroon returned to the barracks fifteen minutes later with a few leather-bound books under his arm. Behind him entered one of the soldiers that was charged with guarding them carrying another stack of similar books. “I brought up some reading material to facilitate our discussion better,” he said, smiling.

Haroon placed the books on the table and instructed the soldier to do the same. Kamal checked out the spines realizing that he intended to teach him battlefield tactics to prove whatever points he was going to expound before declaring his assault plan faulty. He had been a long-time instructor at the War College in Nowshera, not to mention his training at the US Army College. “Did you get the documentation done that I asked for?” he asked.

“
Ah, no sir,” Kamal answered, doing his best to hold back the response he really wanted to give. “I am still drawing out the map with troop placement.”

“You can come back to that later,” Haroon commented. “If we
’re going to make your plan work, we need to understand what equipment will be needed. That is what these books are for,” he said placing his hand on the first stack.

He
’s accepting the plan? My luck can’t be this good.
Kamal stopped writing as if someone had just shot him. “Sir, I started to put together a list of the equipment needed based on the teams in the theatre,” he commented, holding up a second pad that contained equipment, weapons and munitions requirements broken down by operational teams. The Brigadier reached out, taking the pad from Kamal and reading the information listed.

“This is a good start,” Haroon said. “But we need to get into the details. It takes the Army about a week to ten days to move the necessary equipment from other bases and theaters.”

The discussion was nowhere near being complete, Kamal knew, but he was going to savor this victory.

* * *

The night had not been as restful as the General had hoped. After the long journey from Islamabad by road, he had hoped to find a few more comforts of home once he got to The Sanctuary, but was forced to settle into a creaking bed with a lopsided mattress and the ever-steady hum of a generator outside. It made him remember why he kept his base of operations at five-star hotels, but the dramatic situational shift in Pakistan forced him to make his visit more low-key. He woke to find his sat phone vibrating against the side of the nightstand floating suspended by the charger, the only thing keeping it from bouncing on the floor. He reached over, pulling it back from the edge and unplugging as he answered.

“
Good morning, General,” said the familiar voice.

“
Hello, David,” the General said. “I don’t know how good of a morning it is. How are things in the civilized world?”

“Three thousand thread count sheets, fine scotch and beautiful women,” Northwright said, clanking the ice in his glass. “I
’m guessing you have found hell to be… well, hell?”

“It
’s hotter than fuck all here,” el-Yahad joked. “The air conditioning doesn’t even provide any comfort.”

Northwright laughed, taking a swig from his scotch. “I know, my friend. The heat in that area is like being in a special part of hell. What
’s new out there? What do our friends have to say?”

“They sent some towelhead to transport me from Islamabad. Bastard talked my ear off,” el-Yahad told him. “He gave me some cock and bull story about operational readiness and some test missions but wouldn
’t give any details. Said that the Sheikh would brief me here.”

“Test missions?” Northwright asked inquisitively. “That doesn
’t sound good. What the fuck have they done? Blown up a donkey cart?” he said laughing.

“David, I think they did the hit on Canary,” el-Yahad said hesitantly. “Did you order that?”

“Are you crazy?” Northwright voice boomed into the receiver. “Canary was our asset. We spent twenty years grooming him for that position. Why would I order a hit?”

“
I don’t think they got that memo. I’ll know more today, but there’s some connection to the camp.” For a moment, there was silence on the other end.

“These towelheads think they can decide something that important?” When he finally spoke, Northwright
’s voice was laced with anger. “Find out and update me.”

“I ran into one of your old friends during a stopover. He spoke highly of you.”

“Are you sure he was a friend? They don’t tend to speak highly of me.”

“There was a picture of you with him and two other men.”

“Abbas, you need to be more specific. I know a number of people over there from my time with The Company.”

“He said his name was Sami Ullah,” el-Yahad said pausing to gauge Northwright
’s reaction to the name. “He told me about you, Andrews and Davidson. How long were you in Pakistan with The Company?”

Northwright was uncharacteristically quiet, remembering his days training mujahideens alongside the Pakistan Army. He recalled the days of free flowing dollars, nasty guesthouse rooms and training sessions in the mountains. His mind turned to his fallen colleagues and the memories they had shared while stationed there. “Andrews was a good man,” Northwright finally said. “The Northern Alliance took him out with a mortar shell. There weren
’t enough pieces to send back to the family for the funeral.”

“What about Davidson? Is he alive or dead?”

“Shit man, how would I know?” Northwright retorted after a slight hesitation. “He disappeared a few weeks after Andrew’s died. We had bunks next to each other. I woke up one morning and he was gone. No one has seen him since.”

“I think you
’re wrong about that, David,” the General said, but was interrupted by a knocking at the door. “Listen, someone is knocking. I think the towelheads are up. We’ll discuss this later,” he said hanging up before Northwright could reply. Rising from the bed, el-Yahad looked into the mirror near the door checking to make sure that he didn’t have anything out of sorts before opening the door.

“Sir, they are waiting for you in the meeting room,” the young boy said in his broken English, quickly turning and rushing down the hall.

“Where is the meeting room?” el-Yahad yelled, hoping to get some response before he disappeared out of sight.

“Across the hall,” he called back without turning his head.

The General looked across at the door that was slightly ajar before turning and closing the door to his room. Before he joined them, he wanted to collect anything that could be searched while he was with them. Shoving all the files from the coffee table and bed into his briefcase, he snapped the clasp closed, turning his key to lock it before entering the bathroom to quickly get ready.

The General emerged from his room fifteen minutes later, briefcase in hand, crossing the hall and entering the meeting room to find Sheikh Atif and Mullah Fazal waiting. On a table in the corner was a breakfast spread that matched any of the hotel buffets he had enjoyed in the past.

“Ah, good morning General sahib,” the Sheikh said, wiping the breadcrumbs from the corner of his mouth. He stood and crossed the room to get his old friend. “It has been too long. I think the last time we met was…”