Tour de France races.
Malko was still watching the news when Berry phoned.
“How’s it going,
bra
?”
“So far, so good,” said Malko.
“Let’s meet tomorrow morning. Pick you up at the same place, at nine o’clock?”
“That works for me.”
The South African was apparently starting to find the idea of assassinating President Karzai appealing.
The Sufi’s nearly empty dining room lay in a gloom pierced only by the gleam of the candles on its tables. A waiter in an embroidered vest led Malko past a big stove to a second room, where a man spotted him and waved.
“I’m the person you are meeting,” he said, as if afraid to say his own name.
“You’re Luftullah Kibzai?” asked Malko.
“Yes,” the NDS agent breathed, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
Kibzai ordered for them both, glanced around, and spoke in a low voice. “I have to be careful. For some time now, President Karzai has been angry with the Americans. I have an advantage because officially my job is to maintain relationships with my opposite numbers in the CIA, and to oversee the negotiations over the return of the Bagram prison to the Afghan authorities.”
“What’s the situation in Kabul?” asked Malko.
“There aren’t any more large-scale attacks,” he said. “Though a few weeks ago a female suicide bomber blew up a minibus with seven South Africans who were working as pilots for NATO. Otherwise, the streets are quiet. The army controls the city.”
“So everything’s fine,” said Malko.
“No, it isn’t. At the NDS, we’re worried. The Taliban havesleeper agents everywhere. They know everything. They even knew the security plans of the last
loya jirga
assembly.
“They can infiltrate and strike at will. We discovered there’s a huge traffic in stolen uniforms. You can get a pair of military boots for three hundred afghanis—about six dollars. A uniform costs five hundred afghanis; a coat, two thousand. With that you can outfit people very easily.”
Kibzai reminded Malko that every Afghan family had members on both sides, and the dividing line could be pretty porous. Three months earlier, a sergeant who’d been in the army for four years drove to the Ministry of Defense at the wheel of a general’s car. It had an “A” pass on the windshield, which exempted it from searches. Once he was inside, he detonated two hundred pounds of explosives. It was later discovered that his cousin was an important Taliban leader.
Under a surface calm, Kabul was apparently seething with violence.
The restaurant started filling up, mainly with Afghans. Malko lost his appetite when his entrée came: a glutinous mass of rice and tough chunks of mutton. Pushing his plate aside, he asked, “Does President Karzai really know how bad the situation is?”
“Of course!” said Kibzai. “We give him alarming reports every day. For example, he knows that south of Kabul members of the Haqqani network secretly force members of the police and the army to sign statements declaring their loyalty to the Taliban. With that kind of document, they’ve got a hold over them. They’re ruthless, and people are afraid of them. Not long ago, the Taliban approached a truck driver who delivered merchandise to the ISAF in Bagram. They asked him to bring in a large, remote-controlled explosive device. He refused. The next day, they strangled his son.
“And three days ago, a woman came to our headquarters and killed a Tajik officer who had been arresting Taliban leaders. Sheshowed the NDS guards all the right passes, walked into his office, pulled out a gun with a silencer, and shot him twice in the head. Then she calmly strolled out. We still have no idea who she was.”
“Are you frightened yourself?” asked Malko.
The Afghan nodded. “Of course, because I’m known to be close to the Americans. If the Taliban take power, I won’t be able to stay in Kabul. I already don’t dare visit my home village. The Taliban are in charge
Malko was still watching the news when Berry phoned.
“How’s it going,
bra
?”
“So far, so good,” said Malko.
“Let’s meet tomorrow morning. Pick you up at the same place, at nine o’clock?”
“That works for me.”
The South African was apparently starting to find the idea of assassinating President Karzai appealing.
The Sufi’s nearly empty dining room lay in a gloom pierced only by the gleam of the candles on its tables. A waiter in an embroidered vest led Malko past a big stove to a second room, where a man spotted him and waved.
“I’m the person you are meeting,” he said, as if afraid to say his own name.
“You’re Luftullah Kibzai?” asked Malko.
“Yes,” the NDS agent breathed, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
Kibzai ordered for them both, glanced around, and spoke in a low voice. “I have to be careful. For some time now, President Karzai has been angry with the Americans. I have an advantage because officially my job is to maintain relationships with my opposite numbers in the CIA, and to oversee the negotiations over the return of the Bagram prison to the Afghan authorities.”
“What’s the situation in Kabul?” asked Malko.
“There aren’t any more large-scale attacks,” he said. “Though a few weeks ago a female suicide bomber blew up a minibus with seven South Africans who were working as pilots for NATO. Otherwise, the streets are quiet. The army controls the city.”
“So everything’s fine,” said Malko.
“No, it isn’t. At the NDS, we’re worried. The Taliban havesleeper agents everywhere. They know everything. They even knew the security plans of the last
loya jirga
assembly.
“They can infiltrate and strike at will. We discovered there’s a huge traffic in stolen uniforms. You can get a pair of military boots for three hundred afghanis—about six dollars. A uniform costs five hundred afghanis; a coat, two thousand. With that you can outfit people very easily.”
Kibzai reminded Malko that every Afghan family had members on both sides, and the dividing line could be pretty porous. Three months earlier, a sergeant who’d been in the army for four years drove to the Ministry of Defense at the wheel of a general’s car. It had an “A” pass on the windshield, which exempted it from searches. Once he was inside, he detonated two hundred pounds of explosives. It was later discovered that his cousin was an important Taliban leader.
Under a surface calm, Kabul was apparently seething with violence.
The restaurant started filling up, mainly with Afghans. Malko lost his appetite when his entrée came: a glutinous mass of rice and tough chunks of mutton. Pushing his plate aside, he asked, “Does President Karzai really know how bad the situation is?”
“Of course!” said Kibzai. “We give him alarming reports every day. For example, he knows that south of Kabul members of the Haqqani network secretly force members of the police and the army to sign statements declaring their loyalty to the Taliban. With that kind of document, they’ve got a hold over them. They’re ruthless, and people are afraid of them. Not long ago, the Taliban approached a truck driver who delivered merchandise to the ISAF in Bagram. They asked him to bring in a large, remote-controlled explosive device. He refused. The next day, they strangled his son.
“And three days ago, a woman came to our headquarters and killed a Tajik officer who had been arresting Taliban leaders. Sheshowed the NDS guards all the right passes, walked into his office, pulled out a gun with a silencer, and shot him twice in the head. Then she calmly strolled out. We still have no idea who she was.”
“Are you frightened yourself?” asked Malko.
The Afghan nodded. “Of course, because I’m known to be close to the Americans. If the Taliban take power, I won’t be able to stay in Kabul. I already don’t dare visit my home village. The Taliban are in charge
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