Page 1 of The Devil's Ransom

Chapter1

August15, 2021

The Arg presidential palace, Kabul, Afghanistan

Ahmad Khan heard the scurrying of footsteps, a scrum of people storming down the hallway outside of his office. Opening the door, he was startled to see the president of Afghanistan, Ashraf Ghani, walking rapidly past with his wife and a clutch of top advisors. Incongruously, the president was wearing plastic sandals and a thin coat.

Ahmad exited the office and scurried to catch up to the group, wondering what was happening. As the president’s national security advisor, he had reason to be concerned. Jalalabad had been taken by the Taliban last night, and Mazar-e Sharif—once the bastion of anti-Taliban resistance—had fallen without a fight the day before. Kabul was surrounded, and even as Ghani’s top advisors continued to proclaim all was well, Khan knew the barbarians were at the gate.

Others in the city apparently did as well, as the sky above the Arg—the nineteenth-century presidential palace that had been home to the rulers of Afghanistan for generations—radiated a constant thumping of rotor blades from helicopters of all nations, flying about like someone had smacked a beehive with a stick.

Khan caught up to the entourage and snagged the sleeve ofthe man at the rear, saying, “What’s going on? The president has a meeting in thirty minutes about the security of the main avenues of approach into Kabul.”

The man turned, recognized him, and gave Khan a small shake of his head. Another man said, “He’ll be there. Something’s just come up. We’re going to meet the Americans. They’re leaving their embassy and relocating to the airport.”

Matching the group’s pace, Khan said, “Shouldn’t I be there as well?” He nodded toward the older advisor who’d given the small shake, saying, “I mean, along with the foreign minister?”

The foreign minister said, “Not necessary. We’re just coordinating. You need to prepare for the security meeting. We’ll be back in plenty of time.”

Khan stopped and they sped away, exiting into the palace gardens. He saw two Mi-17 helicopters land, and the entire group split up, boarding the aircraft. Within seconds, they were gone, the leaves and branches of the garden whipped about as if a small hurricane had come and gone.

He went back to his office, thinking,Whyis the president not dressed more formally? And why would Ghani’s wife attend a meeting with the Americans?

He opened the door to his office and found a man sitting in a chair in front of his desk. A small girl who appeared to be a tween was playing on the floor in front of his feet. It took a split second, but then he recognized the man. A friend Khan had known since childhood, and someone who had proven fearless over twenty years of war.

Only now, for the first time in Khan’s life, he saw fear in the man’s eyes.

Khan said, “Jahn, what are you doing here? And who’s the child?”

Khan knew Jahn’s wife had died from cancer a few years ago, and his son was now in the fight himself, a second-generation war.

Jahn said, “My son was killed in Jalalabad last night. This is my sister’s child. She asked me to take her to America. She fears for her future.”

Taken aback, Khan said, “Jahn, I’m so sorry.” They’d both lost friends in the war, but Khan had never lost a relative. He said, “We’ll turn this around. His loss won’t be in vain. President Ghani has a plan. I’m working on it now.”

Jahn stood up, and Khan saw the pressure mounting behind his eyes. He said, “Ghani is gone. He’s not coming back. This is done. And my sister asked me to take her daughter to America. This is not going to be a place for her in two days.”

Incredulous, Khan said, “I just saw him. He’s going to talk to the Americans. He’ll be here in thirty minutes for the security discussion.”

Jahn looked him in the eye and said, “Ghani is fleeing. The Taliban are inside the city. We have hours, not days. We need to leave, and you have the ability to do so.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jahn closed in on him and said, “I know what’s happening, even if you government sops don’t want to believe it. They’re here. They’ll be in control by nightfall.”

Khan understood like few others the abilities of Jahn and was taken aback by the statement. Ghani’s aide had just told him he was returning for a security briefing. How would Jahn know more than the president of Afghanistan?

But he knew how. Jahn had been at the forefront of the war since the twin towers had fallen in America. They’d been unlikely friends all their lives, Khan a little plump, short guy with no athletic skills, and Jahn the raw-boned, towering kid who excelled at everything. Khan never understood what Jahn saw in him, but they’d bonded, with Jahn beating back the bullies in the school and Khan helping him with his homework.

Then 9/11 had happened. After living under Taliban rule, the Americans had shattered the Taliban, and Khan had gone into the government after a stint at Oxford. Jahn had gone to war.

At six feet, he was tall for an Afghan, and he radiated energy. He’d started out in the Counterterrorism Pursuit Teams funded by the CIA, chasing Al Qaida into Pakistan, and then had gravitated to the CommandoKandaks, fighting all the way. Eventually, because of his skill, he’d returned to the CIA and become a deep-cover operative, penetrating Taliban operations. He was, to say the least, a most wanted man. And one who had the pulse of what was happening much more than anyone else in the country.

Khan, remembering what he’d just seen, said, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s done. Kabul has fallen, but they just don’t know it yet. We need to leave, and you have the means to do it. Call a helicopter. Get us out of the country.”

“You and the child?”

---