The Puppetmasters (21 page)

They sat in silence for fifteen minutes, as she watched the stream flow at its constant gentle pace. A
cyprinid snow trout
native to Afghanistan lazily made its way past them, swaying with the current. At that moment, Kendall wished she had no more cares or concerns than that fish. Her world was weighing way too heavily on her shoulders. She was overwhelmed with her feelings. She was in a faraway, mysterious country with strange customs. She had witnessed brutal behavior and a lack of respect for the most basic rights. Soldiers and ordinary citizens were routinely physically abused. They mistreated each other and anyone who got in their way.

Kendall wasn’t fearful any more. She was angry. She tried to contain the rage and bitterness. Rashid was sad to see that piercing irate look in her eyes, but he also knew that he had to tap that emotion and feed it. It would keep her senses sharp and keen. She just might survive the next few days if she could focus on that. But what would happen if she did survive? Where would all that rage go then?

He pushed that thought away as he realized the best option for Carson’s survival was to split up the Orion people. Carson would need to be rescued first. Because he would not be able to help himself, his rescue would take time and care.
Rashid would need to cause a diversion to afford him the time for Carson’s rescue. He pondered his options and the loyalties of his friends. Could they be trusted? Would he be putting their lives in jeopardy? When he looked up, he realized there had been silence between him and Kendall for some time.

Kendall seethed and fumed. Finally, she stood up and stomped around Rashid, circling him as if he were prey. “Well, say something! What great plan do you have to get us out in one piece?”

Out of the blue a pair of beautiful, full-grown peafowl came into view. The male peacock with its greenish iridescent tail and brilliant markings strutted towards them, followed closely by the female peahen. Kendall sucked in her breath. “Oh my God, they are so beautiful. Where did they come from?”

“They belong to Ahmad. He has a lot of animals … the horses, hunting dogs, these peacocks, a
markur
goat, and even a snow leopard.” His voice trailed off, encouraged at her interest in something other than her own present dismal and uncertain circumstances.

“Are the peacocks native to Afghanistan?”

“No. Ahmad bought them from an Indian merchant, but you can buy them at the Kabul market.”

“Are they safe here … just running around the meadow?”

“As a matter of fact, no.” Rashid frowned. “It looks like they’re hungry and looking for their usual cracked corn. They are kept in a large pen behind the stables. Obviously, they’ve gotten out and are on the loose … just like everything around here. We’ll tell Poya when we return. In the meantime, we can drop the rest of our food in crumbs, and entice them to follow us. I don’t want to be blamed if something untoward happens to Ahmad’s damned peacocks.”

Kendall looked over at Rashid, who was still sitting on the bank of the stream, and shook her head. What a contradiction this man was. Obviously, a man of action … not afraid to kill or plan killings. Yet willing to consider the lives of a pair of peacocks, fairly meaningless in the scheme of things, she thought. He had clearly seen a lot of misery in his lifetime and been dealt a great deal of unfairness, yet he persevered with plans and goals for the future.

She resolved to get through the next few days doing what she could to help Rashid in securing the safety and freedom of the Orion people and most importantly, medical assistance for Glenn Carson. She would set her fears aside. After all, she had lost everything—first her boyfriend and now her mother—in just a matter of weeks. She figured that if she died during the escape attempt, she would go down having done her best and fought her hardest. She would do this for her mother.
No,
she told herself. She would do this in memory of her mother. She would use her wonderful childhood memories to be strong and be the bravest leader and warrior she knew she could be.

I’ve learned to fire a gun, throw a knife, and fight with my hands and feet,
she rationalized.
I’m getting the hell out of here as soon as I can … and on my terms!

Rashid was watching her, trying to decipher the strange expressions that crossed Kendall’s face. He was almost afraid to ask. He could tell she had come to some decision … but about what?

T
HE DAY BEFORE THE PLANNED
dinner event passed quickly. Rashid spent the morning reviewing Shazeb’s scattered financial accounts associated with the “business.” He sought out Fields and once again found him alone.
That damn, lazy Saaqib,
Rashid cursed. Fields helped Rashid set up several alternative international banking accounts using the various aliases Rashid had already carefully created. While these days it was virtually impossible to open a completely anonymous bank account, it would still provide Rashid with a measure of secrecy, because no banking establishment would agree to reveal the account holder’s name unless there was proof of deliberate fraud.

He wasn’t worried about Fields’ knowing his personal business. Fields would not have access to any of the numbers, and was only too willing to assist if it meant he was closer to getting rescued and saving his head in the process. Fields was ready to get back to the U.S. and home and was therefore quite eager to be a part of whatever plan was proposed. The faith he put in Rashid’s abilities was a bit daunting in the latter’s eyes. Fields asked few questions. He seemed to know that if anyone could make this
coup d’état
happen, it was Rashid.

Rashid’s issue with Fields was that for the first time since arriving in Afghanistan, Fields was able to interact technically outside Afghanistan’s computer network. He begged and pleaded for Rashid to let him contact his family or get a message to Orion. But Rashid was resolved that this could not happen. The events needed to play out his way. He strenuously objected to the insistence of a short email message; he sympathized with Fields but held firm that the U.S. intelligence community must not learn of his whereabouts or the upcoming plans. Rashid had worked too hard on the details, and any interference by a third party not already in the works would surely be a disaster. Rashid didn’t need or desire help from the U.S. Fields was angry that his seemingly reasonable request was rebuffed. The continued loss of control was fraying Fields’ nerves. Good God, he ran a multi-billion-dollar company, he thought. He was at the edge of the abyss. He was on board with the plan, but just barely. He was no longer really
thinking clearly. The captivity was affecting his reason. The sooner the plan went into action, the better for all.

Rashid tried to explain to Fields that he didn’t want the U.S. getting their hands on the business’s finances, by physical or technical means. Rashid had already deceived the Mossad about the finances. He figured that the Mossad wasn’t worried about his future, so he had resolved to put most of the money aside, allowing him to disappear and assume one of his other aliases. Yes, the Mossad would get a measly ten million dollars, but nothing compared to what it expected.

Rashid and Fields had overlapped the alternative financial accounts and created enough confusion that the Mossad would not be able to pin any missing money to anything Rashid did. The Mossad would simply think that some of the money had been moved by Shazeb’s operatives and associates prior to the chaos created by Rashid. The latter had never been completely forthcoming on those associations. In actuality, there were no others than President Shazeb, his sons, and Rashid. The President had trusted no one outside the family except Rashid.

The Mossad was given to believe there was a network of financial operatives working on behalf of President Shazeb, personally, who continually moved the business money between accounts and countries. This disinformation was what kept Rashid in control.

He considered himself to be a man without a country. His family had been murdered long ago, his second family was led by a dictator to be feared, who abused his citizens, funded terrorist networks around the Middle East, and was nothing more than a crook. The despot didn’t care about the country of Afghanistan or its people, but only the money flowing into his private accounts. Furthermore, Israel and the Mossad had not shown any personal interest in Rashid or his well being, by virtue of his mother’s having been a kidnapped Israeli. Instead, they milked that facet in order to seek Rashid’s loyalty to further their own interests, stopping the flow of drugs out of Afghanistan and into and through much of the Middle East, drying up the millions of dollars flowing to Middle East terrorists, hand-picking the new Afghan leader, and re-directing and claiming the massive amounts of Shazeb’s personal ill-gotten gains for Israel.

Rashid was hoping that by the time the Shazeb men were dead, the business had been destroyed, the Orion people were rescued, and the country was in turmoil, there would be no paper trail.

One of his fortes was explosives. With his background, international associations, and holdover childhood issues, he had no choice but to learn the art of finessing his exit by leaving no trail and ensuring complete destruction in his wake.

It took him a few hours that last day, but Rashid managed to assemble and hide what he needed to cause mini-explosions in the palace after the
Orion people left … if they succeeded. He couldn’t bring himself to even contemplate anything less than full success in the form of the deaths of the president and his sons.

Rashid was not without sympathy for the Shazeb women and younger children. Some of them had treated him fairly and looked after him soon after his parents died. He hoped and expected they would retreat in a panic, flee the scene, and re-appear well after his group had left the palace. But in his business, things didn’t always turn out as planned. He had learned long ago to keep what little emotions he had left—except anger and rage—at bay. Those intense feelings were excellent primers and offered plenty of encouragement and foolhardiness for the most risky of undertakings and ill-advised schemes. But collateral damage was a distinct possibility. Rashid rationalized that if that happened, it was for the best—fate, if you will—and not something he would spend time regretting.

Kendall got in a four-hour workout in the afternoon, complete with target practice on the homemade gun range. Rashid was out of Kendall’s way for most of her workout. When he dropped her off earlier in the day, she promised him she would not run back to the base on her own. He, in turn, gave his word that he would return within a few hours. He was back on time and drove her to the palace to meet with the Head Chef, Taheem.

She and Rashid sat in the large, inviting kitchen at the palace and helped Taheem with the details of tomorrow’s dinner. Two fatted lambs were in a pen outside the back door of the kitchen. They would be slaughtered after this evening’s meal. They would be seasoned with lemon juice, orange juice, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, garlic, oregano, and basil, and the body cavities would be filled with lemons, oranges, onions, garlic, and dry wine. The cavity would then be stitched shut. The lambs would be placed on the spit early in the morning, and would roast for ten hours.

It was agreed that Kendall would arrive early afternoon and help make the dessert … a favorite recipe of Kendall’s … chocolate cheesecake pie. The Shazebs were particularly fond of chocolate desserts, and this dish would satiate them, lulling the president and his sons into a false sense of contentment.

Taheem had a great sense of humor. That was the main reason he had stayed in the employ of the Shazeb household for some ten years now. He knew how to make himself scarce and assuage hurt feelings and flared tempers with kind words and mouthwatering dishes. His meals were loved, and his company was delightful. The children were always in good spirits when he was around.

More than that, Taheem was smart and intuitive. He knew something was in the works. Rashid had never before shown such interest in a particular dinner. Taheem could sense that change was in the wind. He just wasn’t sure which way
the wind would blow. So, he resolved to stay quiet and in the background, but watchful.

Rashid teased Taheem about his dyed red beard that was a custom of older men. They, like Taheem, used henna to dye their beards red, because the Prophet Muhammad was believed to have done so. The beloved head chef was also highly superstitious. With a twinkle in his eyes, he stated that the hennaed beard also helped against his constant headaches.

“But Taheem,” Rashid said with a straight face. “If you’ve had a red beard for years now, then why are you still getting headaches? I thought the henna keeps the headaches from coming back?”

“Oh, no, Rashid. The headaches are under control so long as my beard is red. If I didn’t dye it, then the headaches would be worse.”

Rashid and Kendall laughed. Who could argue with logic like that? They enjoyed the bit of levity, even if all too brief. They talked Taheem into fixing them a quick dinner in the kitchen. Kendall could not get enough of the
naan.
It seemed to always be warm, soft, and fresh. She decided that was the one positive experience she would take away from her time in Afghanistan … if she happened to get out alive. She was introduced to and immediately loved the taste and texture of
naan …
especially when it was seasoned with fresh garlic. She spread a liberal amount of tangy hummus on the warm bread and licked her fingers.