The Apostle

Studying the elders, Harvath asked, “If I could provide an opportunity for you to prove that your village had nothing to do with the kidnapping would you act upon it?”

After the question was translated, Fayaz’s response was simple and concise. “Hoo,” he said. Yes. “And if we help you,” he continued through Daoud, “will you help get us the water project?”

The threat of the airstrike was one thing, but Harvath needed to earn the shura’s loyalty for what he was going to ask them to do next. In order for that to happen he had to give them something they needed, something that would make the shura look good to their village. Meeting Fayaz’s gaze, Harvath replied, “Hoo. We will help you get the clean water project.”

Excusing himself then to use the bathroom, Harvath took Fontaine and Gallagher with him so they could talk privately.

“I’ve got an encrypted sat phone back in the truck,” said Harvath as he stood next to Fontaine outside the bathroom. “I need you to get hold of whoever you can, so that West will allow us to take some of these villagers out of here with us.”

“Who do you expect me to call?” asked Fontaine.

“I’m sure you’re well co

“Why not you? The only reason that Canadian cordon is there is that the Americans asked for it.”

“I don’t have that kind of pull,” said Harvath.

Fontaine laughed. “Modesty, now that’s an interesting character trait in an American.”

He let the jab slide. “Listen Dan, I’m not even supposed to be here.”

“Really? Okay, I’ll bite. Where should you be then?”

“Back in Kabul,” replied Harvath, “negotiating Julia Gallo’s ransom.”

“So you’re telling me you’re not authorized for this.”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“And you want me to pull strings for you so that you can take a bunch of villagers out of here to do God knows what.”

“Not God knows what. We’re going to take the shura out so they can meet with the shura from Massoud’s village and mediate their dispute.”

“You want to set up a jirga?” asked Fontaine, using the Pashtu word for a gathering orchestrated specifically to administer tribal justice.

“Yes.”

“And how do you know that once the cordon is lifted here, the men of this village won’t just march over that mountain and mow Massoud, his Russian counterpart, and the rest of his village right down?”

“Because I don’t think Massoud, the Russian, or his men are even there anymore,” replied Harvath.

“So what’s the point?”

“The point is that we can gather some good intel there.”

“You want to pull the NGO bit again?” asked Fontaine.

“I doubt it would work,” said Harvath. “You can’t draw a bucket of water from the well without the village elders’ knowing about it. Any interest from an outside organization at this point, especially a Western one, is going to raise alarm bells.”

“Then what’s your plan?”

“The elders here have a legitimate reason to call for a jirga with the elders of Massoud’s village. They could have one set up in less than an hour. Because of the violent nature of the dispute, the shura is going to travel with some muscle. We ride with the shura as far into the village as we can and then we bail out.

“We take Asadoulah with us and have him show us where they kept Julia Gallo.”

“Kept? As in past tense? You’re that convinced Massoud and company are long gone?”

“I don’t know about long gone,” said Harvath, “but I guarantee they’ve moved on. All we need to find out is where.”

“And if we bump into some Taliban along the way?”

“Then we’ll deal with them.”

Fontaine looked at Gallagher and then back to Harvath. “Suppose I could make a phone call and get West and his men to look the other way for a few minutes, why would I want to?”

“Besides the fact that rescuing this woman is the right thing to do?”

“Besides that.”

“I’ll give you two reasons,” said Harvath. “The first is that news of a Taliban commander working with a Russian operative would be very interesting to both of our governments.”

Fontaine was listening. “And the second?”

“You can take credit for loosening up the cordon and arranging the jirga. The elders of this village seem like good people. You’d be doing them a favor and you know how highly the Pashtuns regard favors.”

“Plus,” Gallagher threw in, “with the cordon left in place after we leave, it will buy the two shuras time to reach an agreement. No matter how badly the men of this village are itching for a fight, they won’t be able to leave. You’ll also get points for helping to head off a war between their two villages.”

Harvath agreed. “With all of the time you spend in this area,” he said, “it wouldn’t hurt to have these guys owe you one. Who knows how much intelligence they could mine for you?”

“That’s assuming,” said Fontaine, “I am even in the intelligence business.”

“Of course,” Harvath replied with a smile.

Fontaine was a smart guy and it didn’t take him long to make up his mind. “If you can convince the elders to set up the jirga, I’ll get West to turn his back long enough for us to get whomever we need out of town.”

When they returned to the meeting room, the elders had laid out tea, and they invited the men to sit down with them and drink. Harvath, Gallagher, and Fontaine sat down, and as their cups were filled, Harvath spoke through Daoud and explained what he wanted to do.

Right off the bat, the elders expressed concern about Asadoulah’s being part of the operation, but when Harvath explained why the boy’s presence was necessary for more than just identifying the location where Doctor Gallo had been held captive, they began to relent. It was Baba G’s unsolicited promise that he would personally guarantee the boy’s safety that finally seemed to do the trick. Though Harvath couldn’t have scripted a more perfectly timed response, Gallagher’s spontaneous offering was seen by the shura as genuine and therefore trustworthy.

Once the details had been established and the limit to how far the elders would transport the team into the neighboring village was set, the men finished their tea and Harvath, Gallagher, and Fontaine walked back through the village to the Canadian cordon to put their plan into effect.

CHAPTER 40

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Todd Hutchinson was a classic, midforties narcissist incapable of recognizing that his better days were already behind him. A career B-team Secret Service agent, Hutchinson, or Hutch as he insisted on being called, had risen just about as high in the organization as he ever would. Though he was a thoroughly competent agent, simply by being “Hutch” the man had grated on the nerves of almost everyone who had ever worked with him, including the majority of the people he was charged with protecting.

One of the few exceptions was Theresa Alden. Through some opportune twist of fate, Hutch had been assigned to her detail during the primary campaign and he and the soon-to-be first lady had professionally clicked. She was a woman with multiple anxiety problems, which often kept her from sleeping. Some said that was why Hutch often worked night shifts on her detail, as he and the first lady liked to sit and talk. No one in the Service could understand what she saw in him, and when Hutch finally outlived all of the company pools for when Terry Alden would finally wake up and request his removal from her detail, they gave up on trying to figure it out.

The best physical description of him that Elise Campbell had ever heard was that he reminded people of five-foot-eight Burt Reynolds without the mustache. The female agents in the White House were in total agreement that there was no way there could be any sexual co