Hans had just finished hooking up the satellite Internet connection and satellite phone system in the new headquarters. He booted the main server, then, when it was done, booted his laptop to check email. It had taken him all of six hours to get this far. He still had to set up the wet-erase board in the room they would use as a war room and set up what would serve as an office for the man in the suit. When it came to the assignment of office space in a new temporary headquarters, rank was irrelevant. If you expected others to set things up for you, then you got what they gave you. Hans’ office was a full six square feet bigger than the one for the man in the suit.
There were only three other office-type rooms and one other large area meant for some kind of cubical furniture. Most of the team would make do with some office folding tables, secretary chairs, and locking file cabinets. They were only here for briefings and coffee. This wasn’t supposed to be as involved an operation as the one they ran in Pakistan.
Plowing headlong though his email, Hans got to the one sent by the team already on-site. He let out a long low whistle when he read what they had done. The man in the suit was actually going to show emotion over this. They had gone way beyond their orders. Hans was one of the few allowed to go beyond orders. Still, what they had done had been correct. Had Hans been here to pass it by, he would have authorized it. One thing was certain, this team was mostly professionals. Because none of them knew about Vladimir, Hans forwarded the email onto him just to see what came of it. Then he sent the team an email telling them where the new headquarters was. He also scheduled a meeting for the following day while their suspects were both at work.
Hans sat back and wondered what the odds were for one of the team to get recruited by al-Qaeda. They certainly knew where two of their communications people were working. Did these people also do recruiting? Nobody really knew. Until now it had always been assumed that the clerics and a select few recruited, but that assumption didn’t seem to hold water when it was compared to the stories coming back from the interrogation camp. Most of the interrogated had been recruited locally by someone they knew and specifically for an objective.
The cells didn’t seem to be like unions, which simply wanted body counts paying dues. They seemed to have a couple of leaders, then swell their numbers for a particular strike. Once the strike occurred they would scatter and regroup somewhere else – those who had not been chosen for martyrdom. Hans still had to laugh at that phrase: “chosen for martyrdom.” What it really meant was the fat cats told you to die and like an idiot you did it. Hans had been on his fair share of suicide missions. At least with a suicide mission there was some probability, however small, of coming back alive. If there wasn’t, Hans wouldn’t be sitting here today.
He wrote all of these thoughts down in an email which he sent to Vladimir and the man in the suit. He felt Vladimir should be brought into the decision-making level. The man could really think things through, and without him their operation would have been over. Might as well completely piss off the man in the suit today by letting him know Vladimir’s opinion was to be included.
“If the man in the suit actually managed to get in country in time for tomorrow’s meeting, it should be entertaining and educational for all,” laughed Hans. “He has little choice but to come now. We are way off his game plan and running with the ball.”
The Brit was rather angry when he got back to what was left of the old headquarters. He barely had a place to sit or a machine to work with. He thought he would be sent to a new temporary headquarters somewhere close to the communications center. When the man in the suit told him the reason they hadn’t set up a new headquarters in this country, he was rightly corked. He threw stuff, he cussed, he hollered, and most of all he wanted to go back home to continue with the roundups. “Working on a remote server is working on a remote server,” he argued.
When it came to the man in the suit, there were a lot of rumors and very little fact. Some said he had organized death squads for some militant regime, others said he was a war criminal who really came from Afghanistan and was simply doing this job to keep security forces off his back. All of the rumors had one thing in common: They described the man in the suit as the kind of guy who would put little sore-ass ducks in salt water for no other reason than he could. Today, the Brit was learning the truth behind that statement.
“I have decided we will work as best as we can from here until we can deal with this communications center.”
“Deal with it? We can’t even get close to it.” “Some special-forces, long-range recon personnel have been dispatched. They will observe from one of the mountain peaks about a mile or so away and look for a high-profile target.” “A target? Just whack the site.”
“There would be no believable cover story, and al-Qaeda would know we are onto their trainer. We have to sit and observe, waiting for an opportunity to have the Pakistani military blast it off the map. They will put out a story about the high-profile target being there and that will be the reason the hut was blown up. Everything else was just collateral damage.”
“Just how many targets like that visited our last communications center in the time we had control of it?”
“None. This one is different, though. Being located in Khyber Pass, it will be where field commanders go into and out of Afghanistan when their communications equipment is down. There is a very high probability we will identify someone on the international most wanted list.”
“In the mean time, I’m stuck here working remotely with most of the office equipment gone. You can’t even get a bloody cup of coffee here!”
The man in the suit was not having a good day. He knew Hans was correct and the Brit should have been sent on. The simple truth was that the man in the suit was old-school Pakistani. He hated India and was looking for any excuse not to go. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of money then stuck it in the Brit’s hand. “Go buy another coffee pot and coffee. Don’t forget cream and sugar. See if we still have any cups before you leave.”
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