Page 13 of Whisper

He could feel their stares burning into the side of his face.

“The military says they will need at least six months to plan and stage an invasion of Afghanistan. That’s not good enough for the president. He wants a response to these attacks and he wants it now. The director has told him we’re the men he needs.” Williams said.

Murmurs rose, grunts and acknowledgments from the room.

“Your mission is to insert into northern Afghanistan and link up with the Northern Alliance, the fighters aligned against the Taliban. You will convince them, any way how, to cooperate with us. You’re also going to evaluate the Northern Alliance. Figure out what they need to become an effective fighting force on the ground, and an ally we can use when we invade.”

“Will they cooperate, sir?” Ryan, a burly man with blond hair and a permanent scowl, spoke up. He was with the SAD, one of the clandestine super-secret soldiers of the CIA. The true James Bonds Kris had once dreamed of.

Williams turned to Kris, his eyebrows raised.

Kris chewed air for two seconds. He spun toward the rest of the room, his chair squeaking. “The Shura Nazar, which is the Northern Alliance’s preferred name, has been trying to secure Western cooperation and assistance for years. The Taliban has pushed them back all the way into the Panjshir Valley, and if they keep pushing, the entire Shura Nazar will be wiped out or will starve to death. The Taliban will control the entire country. The Shura Nazar is the only military force in Afghanistan that is capable of taking on the Taliban.”

“And, as Caldera briefed the president, the only way to get to Bin Laden is to destroy the Taliban.” Williams nodded at Kris. A few eyebrows rose around the table.

“But this Shura Nazar has been pushed back by the Taliban. How are they any use to us if they’re the losers?” Ryan asked.

“This is what the CIA does. We arm and train insurgencies. We topple governments,” Williams said. “Normally, we do it in secret. This time, the whole world knows we’re coming. And we’re going to take out the Taliban, followed by Bin Laden. You will link up with the Shura Nazar and find out what they need to get the job done. Bullets, cash, food, bombs. Whatever it takes.”

Nods around the room. Kris swallowed slowly. How was he supposed to fit in on the first wave of a war?

Williams kept speaking. Kris watched the men around him, saw their jaws tighten, their brows furrow. “The CIA hasn’t fought in a frontline war since World War II. But this time, we’re taking charge. You will be linking up with a small detachment of Special Forces soldiers on your way to Afghanistan. It’s the most the military could spare so quickly. They will help navigate and prepare the battlefield for CENTCOM. You will be sharing everything in your mission. Everything.”

More nods all around.

“And there’s one last thing I want to make clear. There is a strong possibility that not everyone is going to make it back.”

Silence.

“Not everyone is this room may come home. Maybe a third of you will pay the ultimate price. But we have to do everything we can do to bring these terrorists to justice. We owe that to the thousands of our people who were murdered four days ago. We have to act, for them.

“I want to go around the room, and I want everyone to speak their name. I want us all to acknowledge each other and what we’re about to undertake. We will remember this moment when we’re mourning our losses in the days and weeks to come.”

Around they went, men grunting their names, their teams, their positions.

“George Haugen. Deputy Chief of Southeast Asia Operations. I’m leading the team going in. I speak Russian and Farsi.” George was older, but obviously fit, built like an ox. His record in the agency was legendary. Kris could barely believe they were sitting at the same table. George was a former Army Special Forces officer and fifteen-year veteran of the CIA. Kris had learned about his counterterrorism operations in Greece and the Balkans, and his deployment with the CIA in the Bosnian wars, when he was at The Farm.

“Ryan Lawson. Deputy Chief of Special Activities Division. I’m deputy on the insertion team. I speak Russian and some Arabic.”

“Phillip Nguyen. Communications. I’ll do everything I can to keep us linked with HQ.” Phillip looked like a linebacker merged with a wrestler, with a barrel chest and a shaved head, and wireless glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Derek Bronicki.” Derek had the sandy-haired good looks of a California surfer, and the laid-back attitude to go with it, even in this meeting. “I’m your pilot. We’re taking a Russian-made helo over the Hindu Kush, higher than any helo has ever flown before. I’ll try and make sure we don’t die.”

“Jim Lutjens.” Tall and lanky, Jim looked like a basketball player, and had a deep baritone, as if he spoke through a long tube. He’d put Kris to bed in the cot a couple of days before. “Operations. I speak Russian.”

Kris had no idea what to say for himself.

“Kris Caldera,” he finally said, his voice a little breathless. “Afghanistan analyst and linguist. I speak Farsi, Dari, Arabic, and I can get by in Russian.”

More eyebrows rose.

“Kris knows Afghanistan better than anyone in the agency. He speaks the languages we’ll need in theater,” Williams jumped in. “He’s going to be your analyst and political affairs officer in-country.”

Kris blanched.

“No medic?” Ryan frowned.

“Your medics will come from the Special Forces team. They’re sending six men, half an operational detachment. One team medic, and the rest of the soldiers have full combat medic training as well.”