The Emerald Scepter Read online

  Hawkins extended his hand. “Been a long time, Murph.”

  “Indeed it has,” Murphy said, crunching Hawkins’ fingers, then Calvin’s in his vise-like grip.

  Abby noticed that her friends had stopped. Hawkins waved her over and introduced her to Murphy.

  “This is Terrance Murphy. Murph is a pal of ours from the old days,” Hawkins said.

  Murphy gave Abby the full blast of his white smile. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  “Never expected to find you still here after all these years,” Calvin said.

  Murphy gave out a big laugh. “Neither did I. I’m with the DEA. I left the government after you were transferred out and worked as a private contractor. Good money, but I got tired of body-guarding the embassy crowd and applied to be a drug cop. Everyone else from the old gang is either dead or gone home.”

  “I saw Commander Kelly not too long ago,” Hawkins said. “He’s very much alive. He’s a weapons consultant for the Pentagon.”

  “I could have done the same thing, but you know me. I’ve got to be where the action is.”

  Hawkins swept his eyes around the terminal. “Things have changed.”

  “Don’t let this fool you. It’s still like Dodge City out in the ‘burbs. The bad guys sneak in to raise hell whenever they get the chance. Which leads me to inquire what prompted you to leave your cushy job to come back to this garden spot?”

  Abby saved Hawkins the trouble of making up an answer.

  “We’re here on a job for Global Logistics.”

  “Great organization. Maybe I can help. I’ve got a lot of contacts, especially through the DEA.”

  “Maybe,” Hawkins said. “Let’s talk about it later.”

  “It’s a deal. I’ve got a car outside. We can chat on the way to your hotel.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Murphy. I’ve already made arrangements,” Abby interjected.

  “Efficient, aren’t you?” Murphy said. “Where are you staying?”

  “The Serena,” Abby said.

  “Good choice. How about dinner?”

  “We’ve got plans,” Abby said, much to Hawkins’ surprise.

  They agreed to meet after dinner and parted company. A leased SUV was waiting outside the airport to take them along the heavily-trafficked main road to the city. On the ride in Abby asked about Murphy.

  “Your friend seems quite the character. The operational decisions will be yours, but are you really considering bringing him into this mission?”

  “Only in a limited way, for intel. As he said, he has lots of contacts. I haven’t been here in five years and the place has changed a lot since then.” He gestured out the window. “Murph knows who the players are.”

  “My impression is that he is one of the players.”

  Hawkins nodded.

  “Murph came into Afghanistan with the first wave of CIA agents who turned the local tribesman against the Taliban,” Hawkins said. “We shared intelligence for a number of missions. I left and he stayed.”

  “That’s unusual to stay here all that time.”

  “Most people count the days. But Murphy is like a soldier of fortune back in the heyday of the British Empire.”

  “A mercenary, in other words.”

  Hawkins thought about it. “More complicated. He’s just someone who was born out of time.”

  “Humph,” Abby said, pinioning Hawkins in a narrow-eyed stare. “Your friend Murphy wasn’t the only one born out of time.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Hotel Serena was about a twenty-minute drive from the airport, close to government ministries and foreign embassies and overlooking a beautiful park. With its carefully landscaped gardens, swimming pool, classic Islamic architecture and cool interiors, the hotel had long been an oasis of calm away from the frenetic pace of the city. That tranquility was shattered in 2008 when a Taliban suicide squad attack killed several guests. Since then, security had been beefed up.

  After being thoroughly checked out by the police guarding the entrance, the taxi pulled up under the hotel portico and its three passengers got out. The receptionist smiled when he saw Abby walk over to the desk.

  “Welcome back to Kabul, Ms. McWilliams. A pleasure to see you again.”

  “Thank you. It’s good to be back.”

  “You get around,” Hawkins said as the clerk went to fetch the room keys.

  “I stay here whenever I’m in town on business,” Abby said. “I’m in Kabul two or three times a year. How about dinner in about an hour?”

  Calvin shook his head. “Being my usual anal self. I’m gonna drop my stuff off and head back to airport to double-check that all my hardware made it intact. I’ll grab a sandwich and catch up with you later.”

  Abby made dinner reservations for two in the hotel’s Silk Route restaurant and told Matt to let Murphy know, then they all took the elevator up to the top floor where they had adjoining rooms. On his way to a shower, Hawkins passed a full-length mirror. His shirt looked as if it had been trampled by a buffalo and his jeans were ripe. He called the desk clerk on the hotel phone and asked if he knew of a men’s clothing store nearby.

  “Yes. There’s a Joseph A. Banks not far from here.”

  Hawkins gave the clerk a list of clothes and sizes, and said he would be very happy if he could arrange delivery in forty-five minutes. He took a long hot shower and had just wiped the shaving cream off his chin when he heard a knock at the door. It was the smiling desk clerk holding a plastic bag.

  Hawkins inspected the black cashmere blazer, blue shirt and olive tan slacks to make sure they were the right size and gave the clerk a fifty dollar tip. Where he was going, Hawkins wouldn’t need money.

  He slipped into his new clothes and looked in the mirror again. A fashionable gentleman had replaced the scruffy figure who had stared back at him earlier. Abby called and said she was almost ready. When he knocked, she came to her door dressed in a high collar patterned black velvet shift dress with partially sheer sleeves. Black stockings showcased her long slender legs. She was modest and sexy at the same time. Except for her onyx and silver earrings, she wore no jewelry, but she didn’t need any ornaments.

  Hawkins eyed Abby from head to toe. “You make me look like a home insurance salesman.”

  She took in his muscular form that filled out the shoulders and chest of his blazer.

  “Not at all. You’re quite dapper. The work boots are a nice touch.”

  “Woods Hole chic,” Hawkins explained.

  He offered his arm and guided her to the elevator.

  The maitre d’ recognized Abby who told him that they needed a quiet table with room for two more joining them after dinner. He led them across the lavishly appointed restaurant to a table covered with a starched white cloth and set in a small section separate from the dining room.

  Hawkins glanced around. “I must admit that the last time I was in this country my accommodations weren’t as nice as this.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you here. It will be a few days before we enjoy comfort like this again.”

  Hawkins flashed a tight smile. “Glad you brought the subject up, Abby. I wish you’d reconsider your decision to go on the operation.”

  “Uh-uh. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

  “Okay, but I want you to level with me. Why?”

  “Despite the flip comment I made on the plane about this being no guilt trip, I do owe you for the way I cut you loose.”

  “I never blamed you for walking out, Abby.”

  “And I don’t blame you for being bitter. I could deal with your fury against the navy. But not against the world.”

  “I’m past my Captain Queeg phase. I understand why you left me—I was bouncing off the walls—but why did you leave the navy?”

  “The navy has come a long way and I made a ran
k that was unthinkable not long ago. But I could have commanded a carrier, and that just wasn’t going to happen.”

  “You would have made a terrific commander.”

  “Thanks for your confidence.’

  “And you think by taking this mission you can show the navy that they were fools to pass you over.”

  “Something like that,” she said, a slight smirk on her lips. “God, what a fine pair we are.”

  They broke into laughter that made some of the other patrons look their way. Abby had to put her napkin to her lips to stifle her mirth.

  The outburst caught the attention of the waiter, who hurried over to take their order. They both opted for lamb kabobs sprinkled with sumac, palao rice topped with fried raisins, carrots and pistachios and served with the long thin afghan bread called naan. Over dinner, Hawkins reminisced about his more pleasant Afghan memories. The waiter was removing the last plate when the maitre d’ escorted Calvin to their table. Murphy joined them a few minutes later.

  Murphy said, “My offer about helping still stands, but you’ll have to fill me in on the skinny. Like where are you headed?”

  “I can’t tell you everything. Let me start by asking you a question. What do you know about Amir Kahn?”

  “You going into Amir Kahn’s neighborhood?”

  Hawkins shrugged.

  Murphy pushed at the air with his big hand. “None of my business, mate, but I’ll tell you what you’re dealing with. Amir is probably in his late sixties now, but tough as nails. He was a non-political teacher, but became a mujadeen during the Soviet war. Killed lots of Russians on his own long before the CIA stuck a Stinger missile launcher in his hands. He probably turned the tide on his own from what I hear.”

  “What happened after the war?”

  “He was wounded in action and went to the U.S. to recuperate. The CIA brought him back to fight the Taliban, but he got disgusted with both sides. He went back to his home province and started raising opium. He’s one of the biggest dope producers in the country.”

  “You’re DEA now. Have you tried to stop him?”

  “Whole program is about interdiction now. Tried wiping out the poppy fields and the farmers got mad as hell. Now they grow all they want, they get paid and we plug the holes where we can. Amir is a special case.”

  “In what way, Murph?”

  “He’s related to the ruling family. Cousin or something, but still close enough to make sure there’s a protective shield over his operation. On top of that, he supports a private army of about two hundred tribesmen.”

  “Have you ever met him?”

  “Once. We were after a miserable sonovabitch who had tried to kill one of our guys. Unfortunately for him, he tried to move in on Amir’s territory, which adjoined his. When I caught up with him Amir had just turned him and his men into shish kebabs. When I thanked the old bandit he just looked at me with the coldest set of eyes I’d ever seen and asked me to spread the word.”

  “What word?”

  “He said that anyone who entered his territory without invitation would be killed on sight.”

  “Guess we’d best stay away from Mr. Friendly,” Calvin said with a drawl.

  “Wise decision. The countryside is rugged as hell. Lots of ravines, canyons, gullies. Great spots for ambushes.” Murphy leaned back in his chair and looked first at Hawkins, then at Calvin. “I’d suggest that you have a guide.”

  Hawkins shook his head. “This was designed to be a pretty tight little operation, Murph.”

  “A third person shouldn’t make that much difference,” Murphy said.

  “That would be a fourth person,” Abby said. “I’m part of this mission, too.”

  Murphy stared at Abby for several seconds and took a deep breath. “Guide who knows the country will help you move faster. Otherwise, you’ll spend a lot of time running around in circles.”

  Hawkins turned to Hayes. “What do you say, Cal? Do you have room for a fourth?”

  Hayes shrugged. “Sure, if we pack the desert vehicle the right way.”

  “Thanks, Cal. Who is this person who knows the area so well?”

  “Guy grew up around the warlord’s territory. He’s been working as a civilian security contractor. He knows how to handle himself.”

  “Could he be ready by tomorrow?”

  “Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’s in the lounge.”

  “That’s a coincidence,” Abby said.

  “Not really. He comes here every night to make connections with the movers and shakers.”

  Murphy made a quick call on his cell phone. Moments later, a man wearing a dark suit and white shirt with no tie approached the table. Murphy pulled over a chair and gestured for the man to sit down.

  “This is Rashid,” Murphy said.

  Murphy’s friend was in his mid-thirties. He was short and stocky and had a friendly grin that puffed out the plump cheeks on his wide, clean-shaven face. His head was shaved as well.

  Hawkins quizzed the man about his background. He answered politely in a soft-spoken voice. His English was very good. He had been born in a nearby village and moved to Kabul in his teens. After a stint in the Afghan army he was hired by a contractor to provide security to government officials. Hawkins asked Rashid if he knew about the lake.

  “The Valley of the Dead? Oh yes. I lived in a village around fifty kilometers from there.”

  “Is there a way to get to the lake without being seen?”

  “Many ways. Some better than others.”

  Calvin asked specific questions as to terrain features he had seen on the satellite photo, and when he was finished, he said, “Man knows his stuff.”

  Hawkins said, “What do you think, Abby?”

  “I said the mission is yours from now on.”

  “I don’t want to put either one of you in unnecessary danger. Looks like you’re joining the team, Rashid. Meet us at four am tomorrow at the airport.”

  Hawkins rose from his chair to signal that the meeting was over. He thanked Murphy for his help and said he would look him up when he got back to Kabul. On the elevator ride to their floor, Calvin said that he had double-checked all their weapons and gone over their survival gear. Everything was ready.

  Hawkins said he would see Cal and Abby in the morning then he wrote a quick email to Sutherland, set the alarm clock, slipped beneath the sheets and quickly fell asleep.

  Murphy was in a glum mood.

  He was hardly a Victorian gentleman, but he loved women. Especially pretty ones like Abby. Hell, he could hardly keep his eyes off her! After leaving the dining room he had gone into the lounge. It was hard to get a real drink in Kabul, so he carried a hip flask with him. He ordered fruit juice and spiked it with bourbon. He downed the drink and ordered another, which he also doctored. The alcohol was giving him the illusion of acute mental clarity.

  He looked up from his glass into Rashid’s moist brown eyes. He had hired Rashid for a number of jobs. Despite his warm manner, the guide was a cold-blooded killer whose efficiency was marred only by his sadistic penchant for torturing his victims. Especially women. Murphy figured Rashid’s mother must have done a real number on him. Oh well. Can’t have everything, Murphy thought.

  Speaking in a low voice, Murphy said, “When you take care of the woman, I want you to do it fast. No hanky-panky. Make it clean. Get me?”

  Rashid’s friendly grin was out of synch with his words. “I’ll kill her so fast she won’t even know it,” he whispered.

  Murphy stared at the Afghan for a few seconds, then slowly nodded. “See that you do,” he said.

  Rashid returned the nod, slid off his stool and headed for the exit.

  Murphy watched him leave then poured another stiff shot into his glass.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Islamabad, Pakistan

 
The Pakistani plane refueled in Paris and took off on the second leg of its long journey. The professor slept. Ate the meals served to him. Watched a couple of bad movies on the small screen. Got up to stretch and chat with the army officers about their training experiences. He stayed away from the back of the plane, using the restroom near the flight deck.

  When the plane landed in Islamabad, a waiting shuttle bus picked up the passengers and dropped the officers off at the terminal. The professor and Marzak were driven a short distance to a helicopter with no markings on the fuselage.

  They climbed into the helicopter and buckled up. Marzak eyed the professor’s civilian clothes. “Who are you?’

  “I am Saleem. I’m with the intelligence services. I believe we have mutual friends we are about to see.”

  Marzak raised an eyebrow, but made no reply. The professor was relieved when the engine started and the spinning rotors drowned out the possibility of conversation.

  The helicopter rose above the city and headed west, flying for ninety minutes before setting down in a field where they disembarked with their luggage. The helicopter took off and left them standing there in silence until a dust-covered old Chevrolet Impala raced across the field and slowed to a stop.

  The car doors opened, and three men carrying AK-47s got out. The men frisked Marzak and relieved the professor of his satellite phone, then blind-folded both men and gestured for them to get in the back of the car, squeezed tightly with a guard on either side. The professor felt the car bump along for a short while, then the ride smoothed out as they left the field for a road. Fifteen minutes later the car stopped again, and they were told to get out.

  The men grabbed them by their shoulders and guided them a short distance. When their blindfolds were removed, the professor saw that they were in a windowless room furnished with a small table and three wooden chairs.

  The man sitting behind the table had black hair neatly cut and parted, and a short wiry beard. He was dressed in a conservative western-style black suit and wore a white shirt and no tie.