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  Kay left the house to greet the Khans. She was still wearing the black abaya she’d worn on the journey and had the scarf covering her hair. Eli had insisted she keep her head covered; Sahid Khan may have been fairly liberal when it came to his daughter, but Eli didn’t know what his attitude was toward other women.

  When she saw Kay, Ara smiled broadly. “It’s so good to see you again,” she said, and as they walked toward the house, Ara linked her arm through Kay’s as if they were old friends. “When we finish our business this evening, we’ll have to have a drink and talk. I did some research on you, whatever I could find online. You’ve had an interesting life.”

  “Did you ever call that Yankee?” Kay asked.

  “Yankee?” Ara said.

  “The ballplayer. You know, the stud you met in Fraunces Tavern there on Pearl Street.”

  “Oh, him,” Ara said, and smiled.

  “Well, did you call him?”

  “Maybe,” she said, and Kay laughed.

  Kay really liked Ara Khan. The woman was smart, she was fun to be around, and she had a sense of humor. More important was the fact that even as young as she was, she was a woman of substance, one who had the ability, the grit—and yes, the trickiness—to navigate the treacherous political waters of Afghanistan. She was a person Kay would genuinely like to have for a friend regardless of how Callahan’s plans worked out.

  As Kay was leading the Khans into the house, she looked back once and saw Nathan Sterling talking to Khan’s driver. She imagined Sterling was establishing whatever protocols were necessary when two groups of heavily armed men, who didn’t trust each other, all gathered in the same place.

  Inside the house, Kay introduced Eli and the Glardon mining engineer, whose name was Schmidt. Ara introduced her father and the tall man wearing the black kufi. He was Dr. Hamid Jalal, a professor of economics and international law. Jamal handed Kay and Eli his business card, probably so they could see how many different institutions of higher learning he’d attended and how many initials he had after his name.

  Sahid Khan was shorter than Kay had expected, about five-foot-eight. He was broad-shouldered and stocky, and he hadn’t shaved in three or four days. His black hair and beard were streaked with gray, and with his dark eyes and hooked beak he reminded her of a bird of prey. Kay’s first impression was that he looked like the brutal thug she’d been told he was, but when he smiled at her as he was introduced, she could sense the charm in the man. He had a delightful smile and a mouth filled with white teeth that had been well maintained.

  The group moved into the dining room, where the meeting would take place and where there was a glass-topped table large enough for everyone to sit comfortably. Kay, Dolan, and the Glardon engineer took seats on one side of the table, the Khans and the professor on the other. Kay was actually surprised by how few people were attending the meeting; if this meeting had taken place in the United States, each side would have bought six lawyers, four finance guys, and three VPs from headquarters. Eli opened a briefcase and took out a laptop and his copy of the contract, and Dr. Jalal did the same.

  For the next two hours, Kay didn’t say a word, and she wondered again why she had to be at the meeting. She was also surprised that the primary spokesperson for Sahid Khan was his daughter and not the professor. Ara began by saying that her father had a number of issues he wanted clarified—although Kay had the feeling it was really Ara who wanted the issues clarified. She said her father spoke English but he was more comfortable speaking Pashto, and she would translate as necessary. As the meeting went on, Kay got the impression that Sahid Khan was able to follow the discussion in English quite well and he spoke in Pashto to his daughter only when he didn’t want Eli to know what he was saying.

  As near as Kay could tell, Sahid Khan—or Ara Khan—had no major problems with the formal, written agreement that allowed Glardon to mine and export the lithium. Nor did they really have many questions about how the lithium would actually be taken from the ground, processed, and transported. They figured that Glardon had enough experience doing such things that they didn’t really need to know the nitty-gritty technical details. Most of Ara’s questions and concerns had to do with secrecy and speed. She wanted to make sure that as few people as possible inside Afghanistan knew they were planning to mine the lithium and Sahid Khan would decide who needed to know. They also wanted the mining equipment brought into the country without people knowing it was mining equipment. The main thing they wanted was a cover story for accomplishing the necessary infrastructure upgrades related to roads, facilities, and power. For example, they wanted to be able to say they were building some sort of manufacturing plant near the dry salt lakes that would employ local people and structures were being constructed for that reason. Then, when most things were in place, they wanted to move as quickly as possible to begin the mining operation and thus limit the time anyone would have to stop them.

  After Ara ran out of questions, Eli said he’d like to talk about how Sahid Khan intended to handle the bureaucrats in Kabul. Without waiting for Ara to translate, Sahid shook his head and whispered something to Ara in Pashto.

  “My father says he doesn’t want to get into all that right now. He knows how to deal with the politicians in Kabul.”

  Kay could tell that Eli wasn’t happy with this answer. He knew that it didn’t matter what papers were signed in this room if Sahid Khan couldn’t control or bribe the right people in Kabul. The situation was similar to the governor of Montana signing documents allowing the Chinese to come in and start mining natural gas in his state—something that would never happen unless the politicians in D.C. could be sold on the idea. But for whatever reason, Sahid Khan didn’t want to talk about that right now—and Kay suspected she knew why.

  Speaking in English for the first time, Khan said, “I think it’s time to finalize this agreement before we move on to other issues.”

  What he meant was: Show me the money.

  “I’m sorry,” Eli said, “but I need to have a fuller understanding of how this agreement is going to be, uh, facilitated.”

  Sahid Khan just stared at Eli, and Eli stared back at him, and Kay was reminded of a drug deal where one guy brings the money and the other guy brings the dope. Somebody was going to have to move first, but neither guy trusted the other guy.

  Ara Khan whispered in Pashto to her father. For a moment he didn’t acknowledge her, then he said in English, “Okay, fine.”

  Ara had apparently convinced him to quit being so bullheaded and share a little of his strategy with Eli. Kay also couldn’t help but think that Callahan had been completely correct when he said that Khan took his daughter’s advice.

  For the next hour, Sahid Khan spoke in Pashto, Ara translated, and the professor occasionally put in his two cents’ worth. The discussion centered mostly around the legal and traditional relationship between the Afghanistan central government and the provincial governors, and how Khan would be meeting with—and bribing—certain people in Kabul. Eli seemed to know the people he was talking about, and judging by the way he nodded, he seemed to be agreeing with Khan’s strategy. Kay, on the other hand, thought the political discussion sounded like a lot of nebulous bullshit and that everything Khan was planning was incredibly complicated, nuanced, and uncertain. The word byzantine came to mind. Finally, Khan said in English, “I think that’s enough to give you an idea of how I will proceed.”

  Kay could tell Eli wasn’t completely satisfied—as if he had a bunch of questions that he still wanted Khan to address—but he decided to allow Khan to have his way. He said, “Thank you for sharing that information with me. I think it’s time to complete our agreement.”

  Eli opened the laptop that had been sitting on the table in front of him. It was already powered up and connected to the Internet. He tapped a few buttons and spun the computer around to face Sahid Khan.

  “Please enter the password
and routing information for your bank in the spaces indicated,” Eli said.

  Ara, not Sahid Khan, took the computer from Eli and from memory entered whatever numbers were needed to transfer fifty million dollars to Sahid Khan’s bank. She started to swing the computer around so Eli could see the screen, but Eli said, “No. I’ll come to your side of the table so you can see what I’m doing.” He stood over Ara as he tapped a few more instructions into the computer, then hit the RETURN button with a bit of a flourish. “All done,” he said.

  “How do I know the money is in the bank?” Sahid Khan said in English.

  “It’s there,” Eli said, “provided you entered the correct routing information. Call Bonhôte & Cie in the morning to verify if you wish. They’ve already gone home for the day in Neuchâtel. Obviously, if it’s not there, the documents you’re about to sign are null and void.”

  Khan nodded, then gestured for the documents sitting in front of the professor. He slid them over, and Eli said, “Initial the paragraphs marked and sign on the last page.”

  As Sahid was signing the documents, Ara said softly to Kay, “What we’ve done here today is going to help a lot of my people. You can trust me on that.”

  Before Kay could respond, the power went out and the meeting room was plunged into blackness.

  “Damn it,” Eli muttered. “I hope this place has a generator.”

  “It does,” Ara said. She didn’t sound particularly concerned about the loss of power. Kay had noticed candles on a credenza behind the dining room table, and Ara must have noticed them, too. She said something to her father in Pashto, he handed her his cigarette lighter, and she stood to light the candles.

  Eli’s phone rang. He listened for a moment and hung up. “That was Sterling. His guys are having a hard time starting the generator and he wants to know if we’ve seen the old man, the servant.” Eli picked up a candle. “I’ll go see if he’s someplace in the house.”

  After Eli left the dining room, Kay said, “Would anyone like a drink? Bottled water, fruit juice, whatever.”

  Sahid Khan, speaking in English, said, “I’ll have a beer. Yunus usually has some in the refrigerator in the kitchen.” He flashed a smile, which looked even brighter in the candlelight. “He keeps it for Western barbarians.”

  “I’ll have a beer, too,” the Glardon engineer said. “That is, if we’re done for the day.”

  —

  KAY’S LIFE WAS SAVED by a stainless-steel Sub-Zero refrigerator.

  The kitchen was connected to the dining room and the refrigerator was at the far end of the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door, then ducked down and stuck her head inside the refrigerator to look for the beer. She didn’t hear or feel the bomb go off. She must have been unconscious for a brief period, and when she came to she was lying against one of the kitchen counters. She could see flames in the dining room—the room where Ara and her father had been sitting. She couldn’t hear anything—it was like she’d stuck her head into a conch shell and all she could hear was this muffled, roaring sound; her head felt as if somebody had driven a nail through her skull. Blood was running down from her forehead and into her right eye, and she could see what appeared to be a long piece of jagged glass—maybe glass from the dining room table—piercing her right thigh. She tried to move and placed her left hand on the floor to push herself up, but when she pushed, the pain shot through her arm and she screamed. Something in her left arm was broken.

  But she had to get up. She had to get to Ara before Ara burned to death.

  That was the last thought she had.

  18 | It was complete chaos in the compound following the explosion. Sahid Khan’s bodyguards started screaming in Pashto, pointing at Sterling’s men, and Sterling was afraid that his guys might get into a firefight with Khan’s security people. One of Sterling’s men who had been trained as a medic rushed toward the burning house before Sterling could stop him. He came back five minutes later holding Kay Hamilton in his arms, followed by Eli Dolan, who had blood on the front of his shirt.

  Dolan immediately took charge. He told Sterling, “You’re going to have to stay here to deal with the locals. I’m taking Hamilton and a couple of your guys back to Kabul. I want to get out of here before the Afghan cops or military show up.”

  Before Sterling could object, the medic placed Hamilton in the backseat of one of the SUVs, got in the backseat with her, and began tending to her wounds. Dolan selected another of Sterling’s guys at random, and he joined the medic in the vehicle, his AK-47 at the ready. Dolan got behind the wheel—and when he did, one of Khan’s security people pointed his weapon at him and started screaming in Pashto, probably saying that Dolan couldn’t leave. Sterling was certain Khan’s man was about to spray the SUV with his machine gun.

  Sterling shouted, “They’re taking the woman to a hospital. Don’t shoot! They’re taking her to a hospital!” Khan’s guard seemed to understand what Sterling was saying—he probably recognized the word “hospital”—and although he still looked angry and like he wanted to shoot, he pointed his weapon away from Dolan.

  Dolan pressed down on the gas pedal and the SUV went roaring through the gates and out of the compound, tires spinning on the hard-packed dirt.

  —

  KAY CAME TO in a room that looked like a child’s bedroom in a small house or apartment building. There was an IV stand next to the bed, dripping clear liquid into her right arm.

  Her left arm was lying on top of the sheets and her upper arm was encased in a soft cast. Her head hurt, and it hurt when she breathed. She moved her right hand slowly so as not to dislodge the IV, and touched her forehead. There was a small bandage near her hairline; she didn’t feel any stitches. She lifted up the sheet. She was wearing only panties and a bra. White elastic bands were wrapped around her torso and a large white pad was taped to her right thigh. She tried wiggling her toes and was relieved to see them move.

  She must have fallen asleep again, because when she awoke a second time, Eli was sitting next to her bed in a chair, sleeping. He was unshaven, but it didn’t look like more than a day’s worth of beard. He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn at the meeting, except the front of his shirt was spotted brown with dried blood.

  “Eli.” Her voice came out in a croak not much louder than a whisper. Her throat was horribly dry, as if she hadn’t had a drink of water in days. When he didn’t wake up immediately, she again said, “Eli!”

  This time he woke up and looked at her through bloodshot eyes. He stood and came next to the bed and took her right hand in his.

  “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “You’ve got a broken bone in your left arm, four of your ribs are cracked, and you’ve got a wound in your thigh where you were hit by a piece of debris. The thigh wound isn’t a big deal unless it gets infected. The biggest problem is you have one hell of a concussion. You need to lie as still as possible and not move your head a lot.”

  Kay didn’t remember a doctor examining her or applying the bandages. Pointing at his shirt, she asked, “Were you hurt?”

  “No. That’s your blood. I’m fine.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Never mind that for now. We’re going to take you out of here in about an hour and . . .”

  “Where are we?”

  “A house in Kabul.”

  She didn’t remember that either: the trip from Ghazni back to Kabul. She wondered if she’d been unconscious the whole way or if she’d been given painkillers that knocked her out.

  “We’re going to transport you to the airport in an ambulance, and we have a charter flight headed out of here for Ramstein Air Base in Germany. That’s where they take American military personnel who are severely wounded in Afghanistan and Iraq. The doc who patched you up here in Kabul is a good guy, trained in the U.S., but we’ll have American doctors check you over again in Germany.”

 
“Ara?” Kay said.

  “We’ll talk later, Kay. Right now you need to rest and we need to get out of this damn country.”

  —

  ALPHA’S PHONE RANG. It was Bravo. Why in the hell was he calling?

  “What are we going to do about Hamilton?” Bravo said.

  “What do you mean?” Alpha said.

  “I mean, she survived, and I don’t like that. She actually saw me come out of the meeting room after I planted the bomb. So I don’t know what she knows or if she suspects me.”

  “She doesn’t know anything, except for what I want her to know. She’s not a problem.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. You need to look for an opportunity to take her out before she gets back to the States. I’m stuck here in Ghazni.”

  “There won’t be an opportunity,” Alpha said. “She’s in a doctor’s house, and he and his family and a nurse are nearby. Then she’ll be taken by ambulance to an airfield. Anyway . . .”

  Bravo interrupted. “I’m telling you, we need to get rid of her. She wasn’t supposed to have survived.”

  “Listen to me,” Alpha said. “We’re not going to do a damn thing to Hamilton. Do you understand? She doesn’t know anything. And the fact that she witnessed the money being transferred is actually a good thing.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Bravo said.

  “Well, I do, and I’m ordering you not to take any action against her.”