Jack Terral - Seals (2005)

These anonymous negotiators are polite and sophisticated but speak among themselves in an open, candid manner that only people with proverbial "thick hides" can tolerate. If some of their exchanges of ideas were made public, the citizens of their respective nations would be outraged by much of the give-and-take aspects of the haggling. Their conferences get down to the nitty-gritty. Threats are made, warnings issued, concessions granted and agreements struck that are either happily or rationally accepted.

The bottom line is that solid covenants are made.

One of the world's best and most effective of these diplomats was an African-American undersecretary of the United States State Department by the name of Carl Joplin. The tall, slim man with a gentle voice came from Baltimore, Maryland, and was the forty-year-old son of a father who was a retired janitor and a mother who was still employed as a licensed vocational nurse in a local hospital. The couple had worked hard all their lives to maintain a steadfast home life for their family, at times juggling their regular jobs with additional part-time employment when the bills piled up. When it came to their children, they deemphasized sports, pushing the value of education to the four offspring, and each youngster recognized and appreciated these high standards. All obtained college degrees with the full scholarships they earned through scholastic excellence. Carl, the youngest, continued his education, obtaining a PhD in political science at Maryland State University.

Joplin was a soft spoken man with an unusual insight into other human beings. Even in the earliest stages of his career, he'd demonstrated an uncanny ability to negotiate, knowing just how to convince a stubborn foreign counterpart that going along with the United States' side of an issue was not only in his nation's best interest but would benefit him personally as well. Joplin flattered, cajoled and demanded, while seeming not to. Consequently, he ended up with a reputation of being able to score diplomatic coups when the need for getting the American point of view across was the most critical.

NOW, in the meeting room just off his personal office, Joplin sat across the table from Zaid Aburrani, a special envoy from Afghanistan. He and Aburrani had known each other for three years, and though they were not close friends, they each felt respect and even a bit of affection for the other. The main subject of their undercover meetings was the thorny issue of warlords in Aburrani's native country. The Afghan had come to Washington from Kabul to discuss what he termed a "sensitive" and "judicious" issue. As usual, neither man had an attending stenographer or maintained personal notes. They kept the gist of their conversational exchange in their heads.

Joplin settled back in his chair and smiled. "I was most pleased yesterday when they informed me of your coming, Zaid. I don't believe we've seen each other for at least six months or so."

"I am happy for this opportunity to visit you, Carl," Aburrani replied. "There is much satisfaction when problems are solved, and we have been most fortunate in that process."

"Ah!" Joplin said. "You said 'problems.' Does that mean there are some difficulties we must address today?"

"What else?" Aburrani replied with a laugh. "At least there is only one issue for this particular session. As you know we had excellent results in our first national elections. However, there are still a great many problems to solve. Some of the more isolated areas of Afghanistan still resist the process. It is one of those two steps forward, one step back situations." He laughed. "It is like you Americans say. `The faster I go, the behinder I get.' "

"I know the feeling," Joplin said, smiling. "Tell me, Zaid, does the big issue here today involve the warlords?"

"I fear so," Aburrani said. "It pains me to have to bring up our old friend Ayyub Durtami again."

Joplin chuckled. "An old friend, is he? That is one man I would like to have out of my life."

"I am in complete accord with you," Aburrani said. "For the past month we have been sending teams out into the countryside to address the question of elections with our rural populations. They show videotapes, pass out literature and give little talks. When that is done, they register their audiences as voters, then move on to the next village on their route."

"Has this friend of ours interfered with that?"

"Indeed," the Afghan said sadly. "We sent a two-man team into his territory, and their bodyguards were ambushed. Our agents were taken prisoner and are now being held for ransom. I fear the problem has been dropped into my lap."

"You have my sympathy," Joplin said sincerely. "At best, relations and negotiations with warlords are illogical and confusing. They are erratic, impetuous fellows who tend to be quite dangerous. That's what makes it so difficult to control opium poppy production."

"That is not all the warlords' fault, Carl," Aburrani said. "The poor farmers are mired in poverty. They can make as much as ten times the income from poppies than from normal crops. And they can plant two crops a year."

"It sounds as if you are defending the growing of opium poppies, Zaid."

"Not at all, Carl," Aburrani said. "I detest the scourge of heroin as much as any civilized man."

"Well," Joplin said, "let's turn our conversation back to the warlords."

"I think I may have an advantage in this particular situation," Aburrani said. "That is why I have come to you. Our intelligence services tell us that apparently there is a special operations group in Durtami's fiefdom, and they have been rather rude to him."

Joplin laughed aloud. "Rude? I can only imagine what you mean by that understated remark."

Aburrani smiled. "It is estimated that Durtami's difficulties with the invaders have resulted in somewhere between a dozen to two dozen of his men killed. And it is presumed the attackers are American."

"As of this moment I am completely in the dark about anything going on in that part of Afghanistan," Joplin admitted. "What exactly do you wish me to do?"

"I must negotiate with Durtami for the release of the hostages," Aburrani explained. "I can only be successful by paying a hefty ransom for those poor fellows. That means that Durtami wins." He leaned forward, a look of pleading on his face. "But if there is an American special operations team over there, perhaps they could rescue the prisoners. That would embarrass the warlord and diminish his reputation."

"I can certainly see the advantage in that:' Joplin said.

"I am scheduled to visit him on the fifteenth of this month," Aburrani said. "I will not give in to his demands. Consequently, I will return to Kabul without the hostages. Of course Durtami will look forward to my return, thinking he has put me in a position where I must pay even more ransom than he initially demanded. However, if the hostages are rescued by a raid in the meantime, it will show up his shortcomings to his men. It might even encourage one of them to try to take over the group. If that brings about infighting, then Durtami might be forced to look to the central government for support. And voila! as the French say, he becomes a good citizen and patriot."

"As I said, I am not sure if there is a special operations team in that area or not," Joplin said. "But the information you've been given indicates there is. I will visit my contacts in SOLS and see what can be arranged. I'll send the information to you by diplomatic courier."

Aburrani stood up and leaned across the table, offering his hand. "Thank you, Carl. I shall await your message." Joplin got to his feet and shook hands with his guest.

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EAST RIDGE

11 AUGUST

1820 HOURS LOCAL

THE warlord's compound in the valley below. Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins checked the copy of the layout sketch given them by the operative Ishaq back in Isolation, comparing it with what he now studied through his binoculars.