Combat Alley (2007) (27 page)

Andy Malachenko sat across from Leighton's desk, completely uneasy about this clandestine nonregulation environment he had been cast into. For some reason it seemed even more ominous than his infiltration into the Russian gang. After meeting Leighton and being invited to sit down, the interrogator said to Andy, We're going to get you a navy offi-cer's uniform, Malachenko. You're going to be a lieutenant (JG) during your visit to our happy abode.

What's that shit all about? Andy asked, not happy about the idea.

It is a very important part of our program with your Russian pals, Leighton said. And I want you to know that I'm very happy to have you here. Perhaps I should say that I'm glad to 'have you aboard,' as it is expressed in the Navy.

Whatever, Andy remarked sourly, wanting to get back to the Brigands.

So what I'll do is prepare you to interrogate those two, Leighton said. The questioning will go in planned and scheduled steps, but it must appear to be spontaneous to them. We want them to think that we have lot of information they don't know about, but we don't want them to get the idea we're being tricky. Understand?

Yeah.

I've already had a quick go at 'em, Leighton continued. I got pretty much the same basic story out of both, but I picked up some hesitancy on their part when it came to revealing a lot about the activities of that Russian gang. The Taliban was a subject they found sensitive as well. They readily admitted to being in a military prison, but they claimed it was for mistreatment of recruits. A quick check with some of my contacts in the FSB revealed both men were murderers under sentences of death that were obviously not carried out.

Yeah, that's true, Andy said. I got to know all those guys and they were a tough bunch. It seems they got lost in that Soviet bureaucracy and became unknown entities that had dropped through the slats. They would have rotted in jail if the Communists hadn't gone out of business.

What about that Pashtun village that was wiped out? Leighton asked.

We have some strong suspicions that the Russians were involved, Andy said. I made some inquiries while I was staying in their settlement, but nobody would talk about it. I guess I was too new to be fully trusted.

Okay. The first thing is to get to the truth of that particular matter. If the Russians are responsible it will make it easier to make deals with them. We can threaten them with crimes against humanity charges. Even deportation back to their home country for surefire executions.

I got to tell you something, Leighton, Andy said. I'm no expert interrogator. The only training I have is when you're in the field and need some important information real quick. I'm talking about taking the prisoner flying in a helicopter and threatening to throw him out if he doesn't cooperate. If you've got several EPWs, you can always go ahead and toss one out to scare hell out of the others.

Leighton chuckled. We can operate with a lot more finesse here at Barri, so forget battlefield interrogation. You're valuable to us because you speak Russian. Even though Tchaikurov speaks passable English, he'll respond better to you in his native tongue. And I'll be coaching you through the process.

So why do I have to be an officer?

Because both those guys are long-term professional soldiers, Leighton explained. They were not career criminals. At one time they willingly subjected themselves to military discipline, and obviously did fine since both attained warrant officer rank. Ergo, they'll respond better if they're dealing with a man who is superior to them in rank.

Fuck it, Andy said. Hook the bastards' balls up to a field telephone and turn the crank. They'll talk quick enough.

Leighton shook his head. That won't work, my friend. Physical torture will only make the subject say things to make you quit hurting him. Then you end up with a lot of information that could be more made-up than fact. You get absolutely nothing but a mixture of truth, lies, and errors.

Okay then, Andy said. I'm ready to have a go at 'em.

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INTERROGATION ROOM

1315 HOURS

PETTY Officer Andy Malachenko wore the service dress blue uniform of a U. S. Navy lieutenant (JG) with a quarter-inch gold stripe over a half-inch gold stripe on each lower sleeve. He carried a briefcase as he stepped into the room where Luka Yarkov sat at the table. Andy walked up, removed the white service cap, and set it on the table. He gave Yarkov a stony glare.

I believe it is proper for a warrant officer to stand at attention when a commissioned officer enters the room.

Yarkov immediately got to his feet with his heels locked.

Sit down, Andy said, as he took a seat. He fished some papers out of the briefcase and scanned the top one for a moment. Then he glanced at the Russian. I am very disappointed in you.

Why is that, sir? Yarkov asked.

According to these papers, you were in prison for beating a recruit to death in a drunken rage, Andy said. We may have to turn you over to the Russian government for the final disposition of your case.

I was framed!

Well, Andy said, let's discuss other matters now. What about that horrible massacre of an entire Pashtun village? Men, women, and children were slaughtered like cattle.

I know nothing about it.

We understand there was another Pashtun tribe involved, but there were foreigners also.

That could be true, Yarkov said. But if there were foreigners, they would be Tajik bandits. Those rotten bastards have been raiding into Afghanistan for generations. Why would we Russians wish to kill a crowd of Pashtuns?

Who do you sell opium poppies to?

We have done nothing with opium poppies, Yarkov said. But we were planning on taking over next season's crops. The crime syndicate in Khorugh was going to run the show, see? You know Aleksander Akloschenko quite well. He was the fellow in charge of the operation.

Then who would Akloschenko sell the crops to?

Yarkov shrugged. The Moscow Mafia, I suppose.

What about the Taliban?

I was working for Akloschenko, Yarkov said. You'll have to ask him about that.

Andy wrote down a few notes, then put the papers back in his briefcase. When he stood up, Yarkov immediately assumed the position of attention. Andy picked up his cap. This will do for now, Yarkov. But I will be back as we uncover more information.

Yarkov relaxed when Andy went through the door, then sank back down into his chair with a deep feeling of apprehension.

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1530 HOURS

IGOR Tchaikurov did not have to be told to show the proper respect for an officer. The instant that Andy entered the room in his uniform, the former warrant officer was on his feet. Once again the SEAL turned to his act of angry disappointment.

You lied to me, Tchaikurov! he snapped. You said you were jailed for mistreating soldiers, but we have learned that you killed another soldier and his wife in a love triangle.

I swear I am innocent! Tchaikurov insisted. The woman was having affairs with me and some other fellows. After they murdered the couple, they made it look like I had done it.

The United States government may decide to return you to the Russian authorities over this, Andy said. You had better keep that in mind.

Yes, sir!

Sit down.

Yes, sir!

Let's turn to that Pashtun village that was wiped out, Andy said. How were you involved?

I was not involved at all, Tchaikurov protested. Some of the other fellows went along on the raid for a lark. The Pashtuns did all of the killing. They were angry with the other tribe for betraying them to the Taliban.

Did this involve deals for selling opium poppies?

I know nothing of opium poppies except that we were going to be involved in next year's crops, Tchaikurov said. We were contracted to do the work for Aleksander Akloschenko. You know all about him.

Was he going to sell the crops to the Taliban?

I do not think so, Tchaikurov said, very much aware of the Americans' hostile attitude toward the Islamic terrorist organization. We Russians do not like the Taliban any better than you do.

Just as he had done with Luka Yarkov, Andy ended the interrogation in a manner that made it obvious this would not be the last session.

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NAVAL AMPHIBIOUS BASE, N1 OFFICE

CORONADO, CALIFORNIA

23 NOVEMBER

1430 HOURS

CHAD Murchison sat in the outer office on a bench along the wall. He was next to a desk manned by a yeoman who was busy updating personnel records on his word processor. The guy reminded Chad of Randy Tooley back at Shelor Field. Both Randy and the yeoman were among the faceless crowd in the armed forces that kept administrative and logistical operations moving along smoothly while underranked and underpaid in the jobs. Their successes were credited to officers who benefited with great notations in their OERs. These commanders, however, were appreciative and smart enough to see to it that these efficient subordinates were kept as happy as possible. These talented individuals were given privileges far beyond those received by less valuable personnel.

The intercom on the desk buzzed and the man answered it. He switched it off, then nodded to Chad. Commander Wilson will see you now.

Thank you, Chad said. He went to the office door, knocked twice, and stepped inside, delivering a salute. Petty Officer Murchison reporting, sir.

Commander Wilson returned the gesture, obviously in a hurry. What can I do for you?

Sir, I've just been returned to duty status from the hospital, Chad said. I received orders to report to a SEAL team aboard the base, but I would like to return to my outfit in Afghanistan instead.

Well, Petty Officer, that's too damn bad, the commander said. This is the Navy and right now we're involved in a hell of a war. Individual wants and desires must be put aside at times like this. We all must do what the Navy wants us to do.

Sir, I am not seeking a cushy berth, Chad said. I want to return to combat.

You can go back to the battle zone when your new unit is ordered overseas, Commander Wilson said. You are dismissed, Petty Officer!

Aye, sir, Chad said, saluting again.

He left the office, walking across the base deep in thought. He had promised himself when he first enlisted in the Navy that he would never take advantage of his status or the valuable connections within his family. But now he had no choice but to do exactly that. He found an open area and pulled out his cell phone. After punching in the numbers for a direct-dial longdistance call to Washington, D. C., he waited for an answer.

Office of the Chief of Naval Personnel.

Hello, Chad said. I would like to speak to Admiral Murchison, please.

There was a pause, then a new voice came on the phone. This is Admiral Murchison speaking.

Hello, Uncle Ed, Chad said. This is Chad. I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you.

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STATION BRAVO, BAHRAIN

BARRI PRISON

LEIGHTON'S OFFICE

24 NOVEMBER

0800 HOURS

FRED Leighton had his feet up on his desk, gazing out the window at the desert sky. Andy Malachenko had taken off the service blue coat and hung it on the rack by the door. He had a notebook in his lap, doodling idly as Leighton thought aloud.

Now let's see, the interrogator mused, both those Russian reprobates claimed they were framed for the crimes they were convicted of... Yarkov says the foreigners at the massacre in the Pashtun village were Tajik bandits... But, on the other hand, Tchaikurov admits some of the Russians were present during the atrocity.

Right, Andy interjected. He flubbed it a bit when he told me the killings happened because the Pashtuns were angry at the other tribe because they had betrayed them to the Taliban. Which makes me want to ask him, 'Then why were the Russians there if they don't like the Taliban?'

Right, Leighton said. Yarkov says the opium harvest is going to be sold to the crime syndicate in Khorugh... then it will go to the Russian Mafia in Moscow . . . but Tchaikurov claims he has no idea who will buy it.

And Yarkov said he knows nothing about the Taliban, Andy pointed out. He says if we want to know about them, we must ask Akloschenko.