Sikes noted bolts of cloth, canned food, sugar, salt, flour, sandals, clothing, and other items to meet the basic requirements of a simple life. The potato chips and Pepsi were also being picked up, every family representative getting a certain amount. Sikes pointed to the activity, asking Khadid, How come they don't get Coca-Cola or maybe some fruit juice, hey? And why crisps all the time? Ain't they heard o' pretzels or crackers?
Khadid shrugged. They can only obtain what the trader with the opium buyer has to offer. He, on the other hand, must take what his own supplier can produce for him to sell. Right now it is Pepsi and potato chips, and has been for more than a year. Who knows when something else will be available. At any rate, the Pashtuns consider them delicacies.
I'd like to see them poor bleeding blighters in a proper supermarket, Sikes remarked. They'd think they died and went to heaven. He grinned. Right, then, let's get to the bivouac and see what sort o' ammo ol' Harry sent us, hey?
They had to follow a steep path up to the Arabs' bivouac. The area was a small plateau between craggy outcrops of boulders that offered good cover and concealment. The Arabs had set up two-man lean-tos made from extra ponchos and shelter halves arranged in convenient spots among the big rocks. When Sikes and Khadid, along with Malyar and Kakar, arrived, they found the donkeys had been unloaded and the crates were stacked neatly beside Warrant Officer Hashiri's bucolic quarters.
Sikes immediately inspected the crates and had them pried open. He liked what he found inside. Here then! he exclaimed.
Look wot we got in this'un, hey? Sixty-millimeter shells for them Spanish mortars! He laughed. Them Pashtuns is gonna be glad to learn they won't have them heavy Soviet M-Thirty-Sevens to lug around, hey?
The sixties will be much better for mountain operations, Khadid remarked. It looks like the second crate has more of the same.
Let's have a look at them other two, Sikes said. The third and fourth crates contained 7.62-millimeter ball ammo that could be used in both the AK-47s and the Soviet PK machine guns. This is a good start, but we'll need more.
There will be three additional deliveries of the same thing, Khadid said.
Well! Sikes said. You're real sure of yourself, ain't you?
I'm the one that put in the supply requisitions, Sikes Pasha.
And you made a damn good job of it, Cap'n Khadid, Sikes said in good humor.
Further inspection of the ammo boxes was interrupted when one of the mujahideen in Orakzai's headquarters guard came up the hill. He went straight to Sikes and babbled some words at him.
Malyar stepped into the breech. Sikes Pasha, Orakzai Mesher commands you to dine with him and Husay Bangash at sunset.
I'll be there o'course, Sikes said. As soon as his reply was given, he turned to Warrant Officer Hashiri. Get some tarpaulins to cover this ammo. And I want at least two bluddy guards on it twenty-four hours a day, yeah?
Yes, Sikes Pasha! Hashiri replied, snapping to attention.
.
ORAKZAI'S QUARTERS
1900 HOURS
THE three men Archie Sikes, Yama Orakzai, and Husay Bangash sat in a circle on the thick carpet in the firelit cave. Bowls and plates of food were spread between them, consisting of samosas, fried bread, and the contents of some of the vegetable and fruit cans brought in by the smugglers. Several women had been honored with invitations to prepare the meal. The trio of diners ate by dipping their right hands into the dishes to pick out what they wanted.
Sikes had been surprised to learn that Bangash had lived for several years in Chicago in the United States. He had gone there on a student visa to study at DePaul University, overstaying his time. As an illegal alien, he began living and working in the city's Muslim neighborhood. His English was excellent, and he spoke with an accent that was almost American. Sikes had been surprised by the informality the man used when talking to someone the other Pashtuns addressed as Orakzai Mesher.
Bangash took a handful of green beans and, after studying them for a moment, shoved them into his mouth. He chewed and grinned. I'd much rather have a fork, y'know what I mean? And these are supposed to be eaten hot. He winked at Orakzai. Not that I'm complaining, Yama.
Orakzai laughed. I have been up in these cursed mountains so long I have forgotten the comforts and conveniences of civilization, not to mention the proper preparation of foods.
Too bad you never had the chance to get a taste of Western culture, Bangash said. There's nothing better'n that in the whole world.
Sikes gave him a direct look. So wot brought you back to this place, hey?
Bangash grinned. A little trouble in America. It had to do with a lapsed visa and dealing drugs to some undercover narc. I jumped bail and got the hell out of there. The cops knew I'd make a run for it, but they didn't care. It was cheaper letting me flee the country than locking me up. You gotta think of the taxpayers, y'know.
At any rate, Orakzai said, taking a sip of tea. He is back here running our opium operation. And that is why I invited you to dine with us, Sikes Pasha.
What? Bangash exclaimed with a laugh. What's this 'Pasha' shit? Are you the great British raj commanding your faithful little wogs?
Me responsibilities with Orakzai Mesher give me the right to that title, mate, Sikes said testily. Besides commanding the field forces for him, I got me twenty Arab fighters that I brung with me, hey? And let me tell you something for nothing, yeah? Them blokes is disciplined fighting men, thanks to me. I sharpened them up almost as good as UK soljers, and they're me elite troops.
Hey, chill out, Sikes! Bangash said. Whatever you do is cool, okay? It doesn't matter a damn to me if you want to be called Your Royal Highness. I run the dope from Afghanistan and across Iran into Turkey. And that's all I do. If you want to play soldier boy, go right ahead. But I'm not going to call you 'Pasha.'
I was in the Royal Regiment of Dragoons, Sikes said coldly. I left them and my country 'cause they didn't give me the respect I deserved.
Believe me, Bangash said. I don't want any trouble.
Let us all calm down now, Orakzai said. He looked at Sikes. You are going on the next opium run with Husay. It will be a good experience for you, and you will meet the man who supplies us with arms and ammunition.
That wouldn't be a Mr. Harry Turpin, would it? Sikes asked. I already know him from Iran.
Bangash laughed. You know Harry, huh? Hey, he's a cool old dude. I hope to hell I got his moxie when I'm his age. He's still a bad-ass. The old guy still likes to get out and into the middle of things.
Orakzai smiled at Sikes. I am sure you will be pleased to see your old friend when you get to Turkey.
Right, Sikes said. Pass me one of them samosas, will you Bangash?
I'd be glad to, Bangash said, reaching for the bowl. Here you go Sikes.
Chapter 18
THE OVAL OFFICE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
14 MAY
1930 HOURS
I apologize to everyone for summoning you at this late hour, Arlene Entienne, the President's Chief of Staff, said. Unperturbed by the time of the meeting, the members of the Lamp Committee had taken seats in the hastily arranged semicircle of chairs facing the large desk. As soon as everyone was settled and attentive, Entienne turned to the Chief Executive. And I beg your pardon in particular, Mr. President. But when Edgar called me with this latest intelligence, I felt it required immediate assessment, then a quick decision.
The President smiled good-naturedly. That's perfectly alright, Arlene. All I was going to do this weekend was unwind at Camp David after this previous two weeks of banging heads with Congress over immigration reform.
Edgar Watson of the CIA was not a man with a sense of humor, nor was he tuned in much on the art of repartee; thus, he failed to note the lightness in the exchange between the Chief Executive and Entienne. I assure you, Mr. President, that this intelligence is the sort that merits instantaneous reaction.