Jack Terral - Rolling Thunder (2007)

The sixties will be much better for mountain operations, Khadid remarked. It looks like the second crate has more of the same.

Let's have a look at them other two, Sikes said. The third and fourth crates contained 7.62-millimeter ball ammo that could be used in both the AK-47s and the Soviet PK machine guns. This is a good start, but we'll need more.

There will be three additional deliveries of the same thing, Khadid said.

Well! Sikes said. You're real sure of yourself, ain't you?

I'm the one that put in the supply requisitions, Sikes Pasha.

And you made a damn good job of it, Cap'n Khadid, Sikes said in good humor.

Further inspection of the ammo boxes was interrupted when one of the mujahideen in Orakzai's headquarters guard came up the hill. He went straight to Sikes and babbled some words at him.

Malyar stepped into the breech. Sikes Pasha, Orakzai Mesher commands you to dine with him and Husay Bangash at sunset.

I'll be there o'course, Sikes said. As soon as his reply was given, he turned to Warrant Officer Hashiri. Get some tarpaulins to cover this ammo. And I want at least two bluddy guards on it twenty-four hours a day, yeah?

Yes, Sikes Pasha! Hashiri replied, snapping to attention.

.

ORAKZAI'S QUARTERS

1900 HOURS

THE three men Archie Sikes, Yama Orakzai, and Husay Bangash sat in a circle on the thick carpet in the firelit cave. Bowls and plates of food were spread between them, consisting of samosas, fried bread, and the contents of some of the vegetable and fruit cans brought in by the smugglers. Several women had been honored with invitations to prepare the meal. The trio of diners ate by dipping their right hands into the dishes to pick out what they wanted.

Sikes had been surprised to learn that Bangash had lived for several years in Chicago in the United States. He had gone there on a student visa to study at DePaul University, overstaying his time. As an illegal alien, he began living and working in the city's Muslim neighborhood. His English was excellent, and he spoke with an accent that was almost American. Sikes had been surprised by the informality the man used when talking to someone the other Pashtuns addressed as Orakzai Mesher.

Bangash took a handful of green beans and, after studying them for a moment, shoved them into his mouth. He chewed and grinned. I'd much rather have a fork, y'know what I mean? And these are supposed to be eaten hot. He winked at Orakzai. Not that I'm complaining, Yama.

Orakzai laughed. I have been up in these cursed mountains so long I have forgotten the comforts and conveniences of civilization, not to mention the proper preparation of foods.

Too bad you never had the chance to get a taste of Western culture, Bangash said. There's nothing better'n that in the whole world.

Sikes gave him a direct look. So wot brought you back to this place, hey?

Bangash grinned. A little trouble in America. It had to do with a lapsed visa and dealing drugs to some undercover narc. I jumped bail and got the hell out of there. The cops knew I'd make a run for it, but they didn't care. It was cheaper letting me flee the country than locking me up. You gotta think of the taxpayers, y'know.

At any rate, Orakzai said, taking a sip of tea. He is back here running our opium operation. And that is why I invited you to dine with us, Sikes Pasha.

What? Bangash exclaimed with a laugh. What's this 'Pasha' shit? Are you the great British raj commanding your faithful little wogs?

Me responsibilities with Orakzai Mesher give me the right to that title, mate, Sikes said testily. Besides commanding the field forces for him, I got me twenty Arab fighters that I brung with me, hey? And let me tell you something for nothing, yeah? Them blokes is disciplined fighting men, thanks to me. I sharpened them up almost as good as UK soljers, and they're me elite troops.

Hey, chill out, Sikes! Bangash said. Whatever you do is cool, okay? It doesn't matter a damn to me if you want to be called Your Royal Highness. I run the dope from Afghanistan and across Iran into Turkey. And that's all I do. If you want to play soldier boy, go right ahead. But I'm not going to call you 'Pasha.'

I was in the Royal Regiment of Dragoons, Sikes said coldly. I left them and my country 'cause they didn't give me the respect I deserved.

Believe me, Bangash said. I don't want any trouble.

Let us all calm down now, Orakzai said. He looked at Sikes. You are going on the next opium run with Husay. It will be a good experience for you, and you will meet the man who supplies us with arms and ammunition.

That wouldn't be a Mr. Harry Turpin, would it? Sikes asked. I already know him from Iran.

Bangash laughed. You know Harry, huh? Hey, he's a cool old dude. I hope to hell I got his moxie when I'm his age. He's still a bad-ass. The old guy still likes to get out and into the middle of things.

Orakzai smiled at Sikes. I am sure you will be pleased to see your old friend when you get to Turkey.

Right, Sikes said. Pass me one of them samosas, will you Bangash?

I'd be glad to, Bangash said, reaching for the bowl. Here you go Sikes.

Chapter 18

THE OVAL OFFICE

WASHINGTON, D.C.

14 MAY

1930 HOURS

I apologize to everyone for summoning you at this late hour, Arlene Entienne, the President's Chief of Staff, said. Unperturbed by the time of the meeting, the members of the Lamp Committee had taken seats in the hastily arranged semicircle of chairs facing the large desk. As soon as everyone was settled and attentive, Entienne turned to the Chief Executive. And I beg your pardon in particular, Mr. President. But when Edgar called me with this latest intelligence, I felt it required immediate assessment, then a quick decision.

The President smiled good-naturedly. That's perfectly alright, Arlene. All I was going to do this weekend was unwind at Camp David after this previous two weeks of banging heads with Congress over immigration reform.

Edgar Watson of the CIA was not a man with a sense of humor, nor was he tuned in much on the art of repartee; thus, he failed to note the lightness in the exchange between the Chief Executive and Entienne. I assure you, Mr. President, that this intelligence is the sort that merits instantaneous reaction.

Carl Joplin and Colonel John Turnbull looked at each other with mutual grins, noting Watson's lack of social graces. Like most people in the intelligence community, his thought processes were coldly logical, almost plodding in the analysis of what went on around him. Turnbull always got a kick out of putting in a dig at the somber CIA man. Relax, Watson, no-body's upset with you, said the colonel.

Watson frowned at Turnbull, who he didn't like very much. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. At any rate, earlier today we received word of another transmission from Aladdin to our Middle East monitoring station. He has sent the exact coordinates of the route taken by the opium smugglers who are engaged in Operation Persian Empire.

Turnbull, clad in the civvies he was wearing when summoned to the White House, sat with his legs extended, his bad ankle crossed over the uninjured one. Has this info been properly evaluated, Watson?

Of course it has! Watson snapped. Do you think I'm going to contact the President's Chief of Staff and recommend a meeting over some iffy data? The Agency's best minds have studied this latest transmission as well as all others, and they have judged the whole group to be worthy of consideration.

I don't hear the word 'trust' in there, Turnbull said.

Before Watson could talk back, Joplin displayed his diplomatic skills. Listen, everybody, this is not the time for nitpicking and fault-finding. At some point, we must have enough confidence in each other's ability and opinions to move forward. Nay-saying in a case like this can only bring about delays that may cause irreparable harm. And that goes double for intentional sarcasm.