Page 9
Story: The Devil's Ransom
“Let’s go get it.”
Ahmad said, “Wait, before we do that, we need some assurances.” He pointed at Jahn and said, “I have a friend here. We need some help.”
The man looked at Jahn, then at the small girl. He said, “You’ll get nothing from me. I have my orders. Get me what you say you have and you might live to see another sunrise. I can’t promise anything else.”
Jahn stood up, ready to fight, and the man said, “You are free to go. Nobody here will interfere. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you, other than letting you leave here on your own accord.”
Jahn stood still for a moment, then took the hand of his niece, saying, “Let’s go.”
She said, “Where? Where are we going?”
“Away from here.”
Ahmad said, “Wait a minute. We have what your boss wants. That is our ticket out of here.”
The man flipped back his jacket, showing a pistol. He said, “It’syourticket out. Nobody else. I don’t own this airport, but I own the security for the next sixty seconds. If you want to push this, I’ll leave, and you’ll be on your own. My boss will help you, but he doesn’t care about refugees.”
Ahmad looked at Jahn, and Jahn smiled, saying, “You did what you said you would. I’ll get out on my own. Can I have your cell phone?”
Ahmad passed it over, a look of pain on his face. Jahn took it and, in Pashto, Ahmad said, “One thing about that phone. It’s loaded with spyware. Ghani made all cabinet members download a program that allowed him to see what you did with the phone. His way to stamp out corruption.”
“Who can see it?”
“Ghani’s men. And they’re all gone.”
“Give me your other phone.”
“I don’t have another phone.”
“Yes, you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have this contact that’s here right now. You didn’t use this phone for your side projects.”
Ahmad smiled and said, “You were always ahead of everyone else. But I’m sorry, I’m not giving you my other phone. It’s my lifeline out of here. It’s where all of my contacts are stored.”
Jahn glanced at the Russian, continuing in Pashto, “You got me here. It’s okay. Good luck with the devil’s ransom on this.”
Jahn left the terminal, the girl in tow. He passed by several armed guards, but they showed him no interest. He was allowed to leave the building, entering the streets of southern Dushanbe. He’d never been to the city, but knew he needed to get off the streets immediately. He had no doubt the Taliban or Haqqani network would find out he’d fled, and Tajikistan was not exactly a safe haven.
He dragged his niece into a fetid alley and called a man whom he’d risked his life for on multiple occasions. He got some panicked flunky on the other end, someone who didn’t know him and seemed to be shouting at others in the room as much as talking to into the phone. The man said, “Look, I understand you want to leave Afghanistan. Everyone wants to leave Afghanistan, but we can only take so many. You’ll have to make your way to the airport gate like everyone else.”
Jahn said, “Let me speak to Bill Akers, please.”
“He’s not here.”
“When will he be back?”
“Never. He’s gone to the United States, and trust me, nobody’s coming back here.”
He was disgusted. He knew what was happening in Kabul, and he knew nobody cared about him or his niece here in Tajikistan.
Jahn said, “Can someone pass him a message for me? Please?”
“Yeah, yeah, I can do that I guess.”
Jahn said, “Just tell him Cowboy is in trouble in Dushanbe and give him this number.”
The man agreed, but Jahn didn’t believe him. He sat down on a trash heap, pulling the girl into his lap, thinking about options. He was on his own, but he wasn’t without skills. Skills he’d learned from the very United States government that had abandoned him.
They remained in the alley for four hours, Jahn afraid to leave until he’d determined the best course of action. Once he did, he planned on executing it on the run, with plenty of fallback options. He was using the mapping function of his phone, planning a route out of the city, then out of the country, when it rang, surprising him. He answered, unsure if he was creating a geolocation target for whoever was on the other end.
Ahmad said, “Wait, before we do that, we need some assurances.” He pointed at Jahn and said, “I have a friend here. We need some help.”
The man looked at Jahn, then at the small girl. He said, “You’ll get nothing from me. I have my orders. Get me what you say you have and you might live to see another sunrise. I can’t promise anything else.”
Jahn stood up, ready to fight, and the man said, “You are free to go. Nobody here will interfere. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you, other than letting you leave here on your own accord.”
Jahn stood still for a moment, then took the hand of his niece, saying, “Let’s go.”
She said, “Where? Where are we going?”
“Away from here.”
Ahmad said, “Wait a minute. We have what your boss wants. That is our ticket out of here.”
The man flipped back his jacket, showing a pistol. He said, “It’syourticket out. Nobody else. I don’t own this airport, but I own the security for the next sixty seconds. If you want to push this, I’ll leave, and you’ll be on your own. My boss will help you, but he doesn’t care about refugees.”
Ahmad looked at Jahn, and Jahn smiled, saying, “You did what you said you would. I’ll get out on my own. Can I have your cell phone?”
Ahmad passed it over, a look of pain on his face. Jahn took it and, in Pashto, Ahmad said, “One thing about that phone. It’s loaded with spyware. Ghani made all cabinet members download a program that allowed him to see what you did with the phone. His way to stamp out corruption.”
“Who can see it?”
“Ghani’s men. And they’re all gone.”
“Give me your other phone.”
“I don’t have another phone.”
“Yes, you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have this contact that’s here right now. You didn’t use this phone for your side projects.”
Ahmad smiled and said, “You were always ahead of everyone else. But I’m sorry, I’m not giving you my other phone. It’s my lifeline out of here. It’s where all of my contacts are stored.”
Jahn glanced at the Russian, continuing in Pashto, “You got me here. It’s okay. Good luck with the devil’s ransom on this.”
Jahn left the terminal, the girl in tow. He passed by several armed guards, but they showed him no interest. He was allowed to leave the building, entering the streets of southern Dushanbe. He’d never been to the city, but knew he needed to get off the streets immediately. He had no doubt the Taliban or Haqqani network would find out he’d fled, and Tajikistan was not exactly a safe haven.
He dragged his niece into a fetid alley and called a man whom he’d risked his life for on multiple occasions. He got some panicked flunky on the other end, someone who didn’t know him and seemed to be shouting at others in the room as much as talking to into the phone. The man said, “Look, I understand you want to leave Afghanistan. Everyone wants to leave Afghanistan, but we can only take so many. You’ll have to make your way to the airport gate like everyone else.”
Jahn said, “Let me speak to Bill Akers, please.”
“He’s not here.”
“When will he be back?”
“Never. He’s gone to the United States, and trust me, nobody’s coming back here.”
He was disgusted. He knew what was happening in Kabul, and he knew nobody cared about him or his niece here in Tajikistan.
Jahn said, “Can someone pass him a message for me? Please?”
“Yeah, yeah, I can do that I guess.”
Jahn said, “Just tell him Cowboy is in trouble in Dushanbe and give him this number.”
The man agreed, but Jahn didn’t believe him. He sat down on a trash heap, pulling the girl into his lap, thinking about options. He was on his own, but he wasn’t without skills. Skills he’d learned from the very United States government that had abandoned him.
They remained in the alley for four hours, Jahn afraid to leave until he’d determined the best course of action. Once he did, he planned on executing it on the run, with plenty of fallback options. He was using the mapping function of his phone, planning a route out of the city, then out of the country, when it rang, surprising him. He answered, unsure if he was creating a geolocation target for whoever was on the other end.
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