The Apostle

Harvath looked through the titles in English. One in particular caught his eye. Picking it up, he smiled.

Done with his shopping, he followed the old man to the counter and paid him.

Handing the bag across the table to his customer, the old man said, “U.K.?”

“No, U.S.A.”

“Ah, America. America good.”

Harvath nodded and replied, “Afghanistan good, too.”

Glancing toward the door to make sure they were still alone, the old man’s toothless smile faded as he stated, “Taliban bad.”

“Yes, “Harvath said as he picked up his bag. “Taliban very bad. But Afghanistan good.”

The smile returned to the old man’s face and he watched his American customer leave the shop.

Outside, Harvath climbed back into the waiting Land Cruiser, pulled out the tattered Jackie Collins novel, and tossed it into the front seat.

“What took you so long?” asked Gallagher as he looked at the book. “I thought you were just buying a drink.”

“I was making a new friend,” replied Harvath. “You’d like him. Same taste in literature. You two could start your own book club.”

“I don’t think so,” said Baba G as he put the truck in gear and pulled out onto the road. “You just couldn’t pay me to sit around with a bunch of Taliban deconstructing Lady Boss.”

“How about having a lady boss who pays you to deconstruct a bunch of Taliban who are just sitting around?” asked Harvath as he settled back into his seat.

Gallagher laughed. “Throw in a cooler of cold beer at the end and that would be my kind of job. But by the same token, I learned a long time ago that you should be very careful what you wish for.”

CHAPTER 36

In Bagrami, on the outskirts of Jalalabad, Gallagher turned down the driveway of the largest walled compound Harvath had seen outside of Kabul. It sat in the middle of about eight acres and was surrounded by nothing but flat, rock-strewn, dusty ground. Tactically, it was a brilliant location. You could not only see trouble coming from any direction, you could also engage it and mow it down before it even got close to your front door.

“The realtors around J-bad will talk your ear off all day long about location, location, location,” stated Baba G as they approached. “But for me, it’s all about the interlocking fields of fire.”

The compound had been constructed by a local Afghan contractor at the behest of the United Nations. It was built to exacting U.N. standards and was composed of two buildings with seventeen en suite bedrooms, a full basement with workout facility and safe room/bomb shelter, a large communal dining room and kitchen, an expansive garden, swimming pool, and tiki bar.

When the U.N. fled Bagrami on the heels of the overhyped Mohammed cartoon riots, Gallagher had heard about the property and drove down from Kabul to check it out. He and Hoyt had been wanting to expand their operations farther into eastern Afghanistan. NGOs were doing more work there and would need security. Gallagher also saw the compound as a great money-making opportunity and turned it into a guesthouse, complete with free WiFi access, and dubbed it the Shangri-La. Its garden tiki bar was the only international bar in the region and did a hell of a Thursday night business. In the summer months, Baba G sold memberships to the pool, where Westerners could swim and sun themselves without offending Afghan sensibilities. The man was always alert to opportunity.

There was a guardhouse outside the main gates, and as Gallagher’s guards saw him driving up, they opened the large iron gates for him. He parked near the main building, and when Harvath stepped out of the vehicle, the first thing he noticed was how much warmer it was. The air was thick and humid. The sky was clear and azure blue.

“Pretty nice, huh?” asked Baba G. “You’ve come down over four thousand feet in elevation.”

“Very nice,” replied Harvath as he unwrapped the patoo from around his shoulders and took the pakol off his head. It was at least twenty degrees warmer.

“It can get pretty cold at night, though,” added Gallagher as two members of the house staff appeared. He directed them to grab the liquor out of the back of the truck and take it inside along with Harvath’s bag.

Fontaine already knew his way around the Shangri-La and told his colleagues that he’d see them shortly for lunch.

Baba G gave Harvath a quick tour of the property, then put him in the biggest room he had available and told him he’d see him in the dining room in fifteen minutes.

Harvath drew back the drapes and opened the large French windows. The fresh air felt good.

Setting up his laptop, he logged on to the Internet and checked the email account he had established for communicating with Stephanie Gallo. There was a message waiting. The subject line read POL, short for Proof of Life.

Opening the email, Harvath read Gallo’s update:

Wonderful news! All questions answered correctly! When will you get hold of the rug dealer?

Harvath didn’t like stringing Stephanie Gallo along, but it was going to be necessary for a little while longer. He was way off the reservation, ru

Pulling out his Afghan phone, Harvath dialed Hoyt at the Shahr-e Naw safe house. “How’s our guest?” he asked when Hoyt answered.

“Who? Ha

Harvath sat up straighter in his chair. “What happened?”

“After he soiled himself, Midland went in to try to clean him up and-”

“Wait a second,” interrupted Harvath. “Why did Midland go in and not you?”

“Because rock beats scissors, that’s why. Besides, I’m management and he’s labor.”

“Do you think he soiled himself on purpose?” asked Harvath.

“You’re damn right he did.”

“You should have left him like that.”

“I didn’t have a choice. Flower was raising holy hell. He thought maybe the guy was sick or something. Since he’s our prisoner, it’s our duty to see to his comfort. You know, all that Pashtunwali crap. Blah, blah, blah.”

Harvath knew what Pashtunwali was and he had a lot of respect for it. It was far from crap. The rest of “modern” civilization could benefit from adhering to such a code of honor. “So what happened?”

“Midland and Flower went in to deal with the guy while I covered them. As Midland was removing Khan’s pants, the shitbag bent over and tore a chunk out of his ear with his teeth.”

“Jesus. Is he going to be okay?”

“Flower drove him over to the CARE hospital to get his ear sewn back on.”

“CARE?” replied Harvath.

“Relax,” said Hoyt. “He doesn’t know anything about where we got Khan from. Besides, CARE is the best place for plastics.”

Plastic surgeons or no plastic surgeons, Harvath didn’t like it. “You should have gone with him. If he talks, this whole operation could be blown.”

“Don’t worry, he’s not stupid. He won’t talk. And as far as me going to the hospital with him, I figured you’d rather I stay here and watch our guest. If I’m wrong, I can call a cab right now.”

Harvath put his elbow on the desk and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. “No, you did the right thing. I’m glad you stayed there. Tell Mark I’ll cover all his medical bills.”

“I already told him that,” replied Hoyt. “By the way, did you know the biter speaks English?”