Apostle (24 page)

“Nothing happened,” Hutchinson replied, and there the microexpression was again. This time she was certain of it. He was lying about something. That had to have been why he had looked away from her.

Elise watched his face closely and pressed her point. “What do you mean
nothing
? Something must have happened.”

Hutch turned back and looked her square in the eyes. “By the time the president arrived, the first lady had passed out.”

N
ANGARHAR
P
ROVINCE
, A
FGHANISTAN

B
ack at the cordon, Daniel Fontaine made two phone calls, and within fifteen minutes, Captain West had been given orders to allow the former JTF2 operative to leave the village with whomever he wanted. As his superiors failed to provide him with an excuse to give the inbound Americans if they happened to show up in the middle of this Canadian-sanctioned exodus, West encouraged Harvath and company to move quickly.

They compared the captain’s maps with the one the
shura
had given them, which included the layout of the village and the location where Asadoulah had seen Julia Gallo. Convinced the information was reliable, Harvath gave the order for everyone to mount up. Including the elders’ security detail, they numbered fifteen people.

Anticipating at least two checkpoints on the way into Massoud’s village, Fayaz, the chief elder, rode shotgun in Gallagher’s Land Cruiser with one of his men at the wheel. Harvath, Gallagher, and Fontaine rode in back, their
patoos
pulled up high to help disguise their faces.

The rest of the men, including Asadoulah and Daoud the interpreter, who had agreed to come along for an additional fee, were divided between another SUV and a severely beaten-up pickup truck.

By the time the small convoy drove around the roadblock and out of the village, the sun had already disappeared from the sky. And as it did, the temperature began to drop.

As the
shura
had predicted, they encountered precisely two checkpoints on the way into Massoud’s village. Before each of them, Harvath watched as Fayaz removed a special SIM card from his pocket and used it in his cell phone to make calls to notify the elders of the opposing
shura
that they were coming and should be allowed to pass through the checkpoints. He was a clever old man. Using different SIM cards clearly demonstrated that he wasn’t as provincial as he looked and that he took his own operational security very seriously.

Thanks to the phone calls, at each checkpoint the speeding convoy was waved right through and not asked to stop. So far, so good.

Crumbling rock walls and the occasional abandoned mud brick building were the only signs that they were actually headed toward a populated settlement. Other than that, the landscape was completely desolate.

When they had driven as close as they dared with Harvath, Gallagher, and Fontaine, the convoy stopped. The three men hopped out of the Land Cruiser, quickly gathered the weapons and supplies they needed from the back, and with Daoud and Asadoulah in tow, signaled for the convoy to take off again. The drop had worked like clockwork, and the vehicles were moving again in less than sixty seconds.

Gallagher wasn’t thrilled about relinquishing control of his SUV, but there was no other choice. It was now completely dark, and at the speed with which the vehicles had zoomed through the checkpoints, the men manning them never would have been able to count how many people were inside. All they would be able to report was that there was a total of three vehicles on their way into the village.

The other advantage to doing it this way was that though Harvath and his team would have to sneak into the village by foot, the Land Cruiser would be waiting for them when they got there.

According to Asadoulah, the structure where Julia Gallo had been held was less than a kilometer away, if you were walking straight through the center of the village. Wrapping their way around the outside of the village as they tried to avoid all human contact meant that their trip was going to take a little longer.

As they had been when they had gone after Mustafa Khan, Harvath and Gallagher were both wearing night vision goggles. Fontaine was wearing a pair he had brought as well, and to allow Daoud and Asadoulah to see where they were going without attracting any attention, Harvath had clipped the Streamlights Marjan and Pamir had used in the tunnel under Darulaman Road to each of their belts. He also made sure they both knew how to operate them in case they needed to be extinguished in a hurry.

Harvath, Fontaine, and Gallagher also had their bone mics in and carried their encrypted Motorola radios with them. Even though they had been switched to a new frequency, they had adopted call signs specific to this assignment. If anyone heard them, they intended to sound like a convoy of some sort. Harvath was “Convoy 1,” Fontaine was “Convoy 2,” and Baba G was “Cover 6.”

With the temperature dropping, they now donned Afghan-style coats with plenty of pockets to hold everything. Over their coats they wrapped their
patoos
, and they still wore the
pakols
on top of their heads.

Eyeballing the impressive array of weapons and equipment, Daoud and Asadoulah asked to be given firearms. Though Harvath knew most Afghans had experience with firearms, he didn’t see any upside to these two carrying and turned them down. The men tried to argue with him, but Harvath shot them a look that quickly shut them up.

The village was built in a valley with a stream that ran right down through it. The terrain was rocky and steep. Though Harvath worried about his Afghan charges, of whom one was wearing sandals and the other was wearing the Afghan equivalent of penny loafers, his concern was misplaced. Even in the dark, with nothing but the small pool of light from their Streamlights, they steadily picked their way along like a couple of Afghan mountain goats. In fact, had they been leading instead of following, Harvath had a strong suspicion that he, Gallagher, and Fontaine would have been working very hard to keep up with them.

Fortunately, the village had no dogs and very little livestock that could be disturbed. The men gave all of the dwellings a wide berth and reached a concealed area about two hundred meters away from their target without incident.

Gallagher removed his NODs and placed them over Asadoulah’s eyes. Once the boy had become accustomed to seeing things through the goggles, Harvath illuminated the structure with an IR laser and they quietly asked if that was where Dr. Gallo had been held.

The boy studied it in relation to the other mud brick structures nearby and then whispered,
“Hoo.”

Before putting his plan together, Harvath had quizzed Asadoulah repeatedly not only on what Dr. Gallo looked like, but also on what circumstances she was being held under.

He found it hard to believe that Massoud’s mentally challenged brother had been put in charge of guarding her, but Gallagher, Fontaine, and even Daoud explained that if the structure and lock on the door were considered secure enough, the Taliban often left their prisoners unguarded.

The village was quiet. After passing the second checkpoint, they hadn’t seen any more armed men. Harvath’s premise that Massoud had called in the NATO troops on the neighboring village so he could slip away with Gallo unimpeded was looking more and more like a reality. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to move too quickly.

The team lay in their concealed location and studied the small mud brick structure Dr. Gallo had been kept in. Nothing moved and no one appeared to be about.

Finally, Harvath gave the signal to get ready. Gallagher had already slid his NODs back on, and he continued to scan the area. He was responsible for staying back with Asadoulah and Daoud and providing sniper overwatch. Though he would have preferred being further up the mountain with better cover and concealment, the team had no choice. Gallagher would have to make do with conditions as they were.

As Harvath and Fontaine gave their weapons one last check, Harvath whispered, “In and out. Then we regroup and head for the secondary target.”

Fontaine nodded, and after scanning the area once more for any signs of life, Harvath signaled that it was time to move.

With their silenced MP5s grasped beneath their
patoos,
the two men slipped soundlessly onto the road. They walked in the slow, shambling Afghan fashion, fully aware that from a distance they might look like the real deal, but anyone who got close enough to see their NODs would immediately raise the alarm.

They stayed close to cover, hugging walls and the sides of the few houses they passed, all the while making sure to avoid windows. Harvath could feel his heart pumping in his chest and the adrenaline coursing through his body. Even with Gallagher manning a rifle, they could be outgunned and overwhelmed very quickly. Harvath reminded himself to scan and breathe, scan and breathe.

When they reached the mud brick structure, Harvath flipped up his NODs and studied the door, while Fontaine kept watch. It was secured by a simple sliding bolt. After pressing his ear up against the door, he flipped his goggles back down and signaled the former JTF2 operator what he wanted him to do.

Both men then pulled their MP5s from underneath their
patoos,
and when Harvath nodded, Fontaine drew back the bolt and swung open the door.

Harvath entered first, followed by Fontaine. There was a small bed in the corner, but nothing else; no Julia Gallo. Harvath flipped up his NODs and motioned for Fontaine to close the door.

The tiny mud brick room was pitch-dark and smelled like damp earth and sweat. There was only one window, which had been covered with a cloth or a tarp of some kind from outside. Harvath removed the extra Streamlight he had grabbed from the “Golden Conex” and switched it on. Now came the moment of truth.

If Julia had remembered the security training CARE International provided its volunteers before they arrived in Afghanistan, Harvath would be able to tell very quickly if she had in fact been held in this makeshift cell.

While Fontaine kept guard, Harvath moved the bed and looked along the walls and floors behind it.
Nothing
. Next came the area above the door frame.
Still nothing
. Harvath examined both sides of each timber that ran across the mud ceiling and helped support the roof. Once again, he came up empty. It was the same story near the hole cut into the floor to be used as a toilet. Harvath was starting to lose hope.
Maybe Gallo hadn’t been here at all.
Maybe it had been some other Western NGO worker the boy had seen. Or maybe Asadoulah was full of shit and leading them on a wild goose chase.

Harvath played his light along the base of the last wall until he came to a small ventilation hole about the diameter of a Coke can. Bending down, he focused his beam just to the left of it and found what he was looking for. Carved into the wall, about an inch above the floor, were the initials
JLG,
Julia Louise Gallo. She had done exactly what she had been taught to do. It was one of the key things taught to people operating in areas with a high likelihood of kidnappings: Whenever possible, wherever possible,
always
leave a trail.

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Harvath snapped a picture of Julia’s initials and then stood.

“Our package was definitely here,” Harvath said via his bone mic. “We’ve got confirmation.”

“We’ve also got a problem,” replied Gallagher from his position back with Daoud and Asadoulah. “You’ve got a truck full of bad guys headed right for you.”

“H
ow many?” asked Harvath as he turned off his flashlight and flipped his night vision goggles back down.

“Four,” said Gallagher. “Two in the bed and two in the cab.” “How far out?”

“A hundred twenty-five meters and closing.”

“We’re sure these are bad guys?” asked Fontaine over his mic.

“Unless the local 4H Club has started issuing RPGs, these are definitely bad guys. What do you want me to do?”

Harvath knew these were not simple villagers. Not with RPGs they weren’t. These were Massoud’s men, and he didn’t need to think twice about what to do. “Take them out.”

“Roger that,” said Gallagher. “Hold your position.”

It was a clear night with enough starlight for a marksman like Gallagher to be able to engage his targets with the optics he had on his weapon. Flipping up his NODs, he settled his shoulder into the stock of his LaRue sniper rifle and calculated the lead on his moving target.

As the truck closed to within a hundred meters, Gallagher slowed his breathing and prepared to fire. Exhaling, he focused on his sight picture and gently applied pressure to the trigger.

There was a muffled
pop
as the round spat from the suppressed rifle and blistered through the air toward its target. Gallagher’s lead had been perfect and the bullet took out the truck’s right front tire.

The effect was instantaneous, and the driver immediately slowed the vehicle to a full stop. With no clue to what they could have hit to cause such a dramatic blowout, all of the men climbed out of the truck to survey the damage. Short of painting targets on themselves, the small party of Taliban soldiers could hardly have made it easier on Gallagher.

As they squatted in unison to investigate the shredded tire, Baba G whispered, “Clean-up in aisle five,” and began applying pressure to his trigger.

The bullets ripped from the weapon, filling the night air with a fine red mist as they tore into heads, throats, and even chests. There was a faint
tock, tock, tock
like the stamping of sheet metal as a handful of rounds either went slightly wide or passed directly through their victim’s flesh and pinged into the body of the truck.

Gallagher had definitely oversaturated his targets, but it was one of those cases where if a little was good, a lot was better. He had absolutely no doubt that those four had climbed aboard the Seventy-two-Virgin Express and weren’t going to pose a problem to anyone, anymore.

Flipping his NODs back down, Gallagher scanned the area as he inserted a fresh magazine into his weapon. “Convoy 1, you’re all clear,” said Gallagher over the radio. “Don’t trip over the bodies on your way out.”

“How close are they?” asked Harvath.

“Outside, up the road to your left. Within a hundred meters. And, by the way, you’re welcome.”

Turning to Fontaine, Harvath said, “If those are Massoud’s men, there could be some worthwhile intel on them.”

The former JTF2 operative illuminated his Suunto and checked the time. “I’ll go,” he said. “You need to get to that
jirga,
because as soon as those bodies are found, their buddies are going turn this village upside down.”

“That’s assuming there are more of them,” said Harvath.

“Trust me. They’re like roaches. For every four Taliban you see, there are forty more hiding somewhere nearby.”

“Unless Massoud took the rest with him.”

“For all we know,” cautioned Fontaine, “Massoud is still here. That’s the mindset we need to operate under.”

“Agreed,” said Harvath. “Are you sure you’re okay with checking out that truck?”

Fontaine nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” replied Harvath as he made his way to the door. Hailing Gallagher, he said, “Convoy 2 is going to investigate the four downed tangos. Convoy 1 is returning to your position.”

“Roger that,” replied Gallagher. “Two out with a split. I’ll cover you both as best as I can.”

“Negative,” said Harvath, who wanted to afford Fontaine as much protection as possible. “Keep your eyes on Convoy 2. Convoy 1 will come back on his own.”

“Roger that.”

Once they were ready, Harvath nodded and Fontaine pulled back the door. It was still quiet at their side of the village as the two men crept outside.

Harvath gave Fontaine the thumbs-up and the Canadian took off toward the four dead Taliban with the flat while Harvath retreated several feet, risked a flash photo of the structure with his camera phone, and then carefully made his way back to where Gallagher and the two Afghans were waiting.

Baba G didn’t bother looking up at Harvath when he rejoined them. His eyes were focused on Fontaine. “We ready for phase two?” he asked.

“Yup,” replied Harvath, who removed his Afghan cell phone and, handing it to Daoud, said, “It’s time to make the call.”

The interpreter took the phone and dialed Fayaz’s cell phone. He spoke briefly to the elder, then disconnected the call and returned the phone to Harvath. “They are ready for us,” he said.

Harvath nodded and, tucking the phone into his pocket, got on his radio and said, “Convoy 2, we’re ready to roll to our next location.”

“Copy that, Convoy 1. I’ll meet you there. Convoy 2, out.”

Using a tiny Cejay fingerlight to illuminate Fayaz’s hand-drawn map of the village, Harvath and Gallagher went over the route they were about to take to the
jirga
one last time, but Asadoulah shook his head and suggested another route.

Harvath didn’t like it. It was too direct and went straight through the center of the village.
“Na,”
he insisted, using the Pashtu word for
no,
and then retraced the route he intended them to take.

Grabbing Harvath’s left index finger with the small aviator’s light secured to it with Velcro, Asadoulah illuminated Harvath’s proposed route once more and pointed to specific structures along the way. “Taliban, Taliban, Taliban, Massoud,” he whispered with his broken jaw as he pointed to house after house after house.

Harvath looked at Gallagher. “What do you think?”

“Well, out of all of us,” he replied, “this kid’s the only one who’s been to this village before. And I may not be crazy about walking right up Main Street, but he sure seems adamant about it.”

“Fine,” said Harvath as he turned off his fingerlight and tucked the map back into his pocket. “We’ll do it his way, but that means no NODs. If even one person sees us and gets suspicious, we’ll be blown before we ever make the
jirga.
”