THE OLD BAILEY
MAIN COURTROOM
1300 HOURS
Sir William stood as he addressed the High Court Judge. "My Lord, a new critical witness has been brought to the attention of the defense. I must beg your indulgence and request an adjournment of five days so that we can examine this witness."
Lord Bryce gestured for the prosecutor to retain his seat. "Sir William, this is a highly unusual request. The prosecution is about to present its first witness and I will be inconveniencing a great many people if I grant your request."
"I am aware of that, your Lordship, and I would normally not make such a request, but for the unusual circumstances. As you are aware, I have only been assigned to this case ten days ago and our defense would be severely disadvantaged if we could not interview this witness who is presently in the war zone in Helmand Province. The Ministry of Defence has advised me that it will take five days for them to transfer the witness to London, my Lord."
"Let this be the last time, Sir William. The Clerk of the Court will assign our next date."
PRISONER'S CELLS
BASEMENT OF THE OLD BAILEY
The two men faced each other from opposite sides of the stark white cell.
Sir William removed his white, horsehair wig and dropped it onto the bench beside him. "I will give you five minutes to answer my questions, Mr. al-Abbadi." He extracted his pocket watch from his vest pocket.
From under hooded lids, Hamed al-Abbadi observed his actions and smiled.
"If and when you answer my questions, I will leave this cell and consider the information you provide me later this evening." Sir William turned the ornate pocket watch slowly. "If I consider them to be truthful, I will continue to defend you." He swung the watch on its chain and observed its pendulum motion before continuing. "And if you are not truthful, I will recommend to the Home Secretary that you should be detained under the 2005 Prevention of Terrorism Act. Are you prepared to provide me with truthful answers?" He undid his waistcoat and removed the traditional white band from his collar stud.
An enigmatic smile suffused Hamed al-Abbadi's bearded face. He stood up and advanced to the single barred window. "Ask what you will, Sir William. I will answer if my duty does not prohibit me from answering."
The watch swung in a hypnotic motion as both men warily observed each other.
"Is your real name Hamed al-Abbadi?"
"No. It is a nom de guerre as you have already surmised. I cannot give you my real name because I have a family to protect, Sir William."
"I see." The arc of the swinging watch increased. "Did you kill that young lady?"
Hamed shook his head vigorously. "No, I did not kill her. As I told you when we first met, I entered her flat, but I don't remember anything until the police woke me up. I know they found me covered in blood and with the saif in my hand, but I did not kill her. I was there to help her." He paused to loosen his tie. "I was only there because she requested me to come to her flat. She said it was an emergency and was afraid of someone following her. She didn't want to discuss it over the phone so I immediately cancelled my squash lesson with a client and ran for the Tube, Sir William." He held up the tie as he turned to face his barrister. "It's funny how Her Majesty's Prison System has determined that I'm not a suicide risk and permit me to have a tie." He folded it and placed it on the bench. "I called her for directions when I left the Tube at Edgeware Road."
Sir William stopped the watch's motion. "As you are aware, we have found no evidence to corroborate your statements. We do have CCTV footage of you at the Tube station and proceeding to her flat, but we have no footage of you entering the subway system. However, we have no records of any calls on your mobile phone records that evening and there are no calls registered for Miriam's mobile and home phones."
"I can offer you no rational explanation for this, Sir William, but I am not a man who suffers from hallucinations or imagining non-existent conversations. I did make and receive those calls."
"I think you're telling me the truth or you're delusional since you passed our lie detector tests." Snapping his watch shut, Sir William stood up from the bench. "Did you know her real name?"
Hamed's trademark enigmatic smile was his only response.
"Then I take it you will understand why I am puzzled by your association with this woman."
"As I said, Sir William. I have a family and a duty to consider." Hamed walked over to the door. "Guard! My consultations with Sir William are finished." He turned to face the barrister. "I still have a duty to perform."
Sir William stared out the cell window as the footsteps of Hamed and his guards receded.
125 KILOMETERS NE OF KANDAHAR
UNKNOWN CAVE
Almost 4,000 miles east of London, Sir William's 'protégé' sat on a blanket in a large cave northeast of Kandahar as he listened to the introductions being performed between Taliban and NATO truce negotiators.
**
Separated by an ornate blanket, three Taliban leaders, dressed in their traditional tribal dress, faced three NATO negotiators in the dimly lit enclosure.
**
Sangar Abdullah, the chief Taliban negotiator, gestured at the fruit and utensils arranged on the dastarkhan, the blanket spread into a traditional Pashtun dining arrangement. "I must apologize for the meagerness of my hospitality, but the war ... "
He paused to examine the NATO negotiators seated across from him and his two subordinates. "I think we can both acknowledge that our peoples are tired from this incessant conflict. As you can see, your sensors will not be able to detect this site, since we are not using any heat sources or radio wave emitting equipment. Have you considered the last offer we sent to you?"
Without waiting for a response, he uncapped a large Thermos flask and poured a steaming creamy liquid into several small aluminum cups. He passed the cups to each NATO negotiator and then to his companions.
Two cups remained in the center of the blanket.
"Who is the Sergeant Major sitting in the shadows? I would like to know the names of all of my guests. It is our custom." He passed one of the remaining cups to Piers Zaum, the civilian NATO Negotiator. "Please give him this."
As he accepted the cup of tea, Christopher Nobriega responded, "I'm Company Sarn't-Major Patterson, sir. I'm here to help the gentlemen with any translations or understanding of Pashtun customs." He slowly sipped and gestured his appreciation to Sangar.
"Welcome, Sarn't-Major. Your actions and response tell me that you are a warrior who has fought in Helmand before." Sangar picked up the remaining cup and sipped the sweet, creamy tea. "As your Sarn't-Major has demonstrated, it is not poisoned, gentlemen. He is aware of our customs of hospitality – even to our enemies."
The civilian, Piers Zaum, followed suit before responding. "Good tea." He paused and reverted to his traditional diplomatic demeanor. "We have reviewed your offer and we are prepared to commence negotiations after we establish your credentials." He paused to sip from the aluminum cup. "We must receive assurances that you represent the Taliban in this province. I am the representative from the NATO council. Colonel Dalton represents the NATO International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) and is from the U.S. Army. Major Higgins is the area commander from Her Majesty's Grenadier Guards."
Sangar carefully refilled each of the cups. "I am Sangar Abdullah, of the Noorzai tribe which is of the larger Durrani tribal confederation. I represent the warriors in this region and throughout Helmand. Those are my credentials, Mr. Zaum. I am sure you have already confirmed my bona fides or you would not be here." He recapped the Thermos and suddenly tossed it to Christopher. The action caused the three NATO negotiators to recoil. "Do not be afraid, gentlemen. You are under my protection. Neither I nor any of my followers will harm you. You should explain our customs better, Sarn't-Major."
**
As he recovered, Piers adjusted his reading glasses and peered at his laptop. "We have attempted to validate your credentials, but since you have not provided us with your real name, it has been difficult. However, your in-depth knowledge of the most recent attacks on our forces does establish that you are either a commander or senior advisor in this area."
"Good, but we should both try to avoid using inflammatory terms. This is my country and you are a guest. We did not attack you! We were defending our rights! You and your forces have overstayed your welcome. As one of America's Founding Fathers once stated, 'Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days'. I am defending my country and its traditional way of life! Shall we move on?" Without waiting for a response, Sangar reverted to Pashto to explain to his two comrades the discussion.
"We have reviewed your offer and would like to review your proposal for the governing of this region in any post-truce era."
"Do you have a counter offer?" Sangar studied the German negotiator's eyes in the lamplight as he responded. "We have proposed a traditional Afghani government that has ruled this land before any of your nations were even born. Is there an objection to this?"
Colonel Dalton interjected, "I think Mr. Zaum is saying that our governments would like to see a democracy along the lines of the present central government in Kabul, sir."
"Is that what you call a government, Colonel? Did you allow the traditional leaders of this great nation to enter your democratic elections as candidates? You've installed a puppet government that is not accepted by most Afghanis. If most Afghanis believed in your government, I would be leading ghosts and not men who shoot at you, do you not agree? Less than forty percent of our people voted in your so-called elections. I wonder what would have happened if there had been an open slate of candidates and the entire population had voted." He smiled at the NATO negotiators. "Is that not how you define a true democracy, Colonel?"
Sangar continued without waiting for a response as he gestured to his two companions. "They were not permitted to vote. They were not permitted as candidates. Your last two elections were riddled with fraud and your puppet government is notorious for its corruption. Do you want to saddle my nation with the incompetents? Will they not be impediments to our future growth? If you love these corrupt men, we will allow you to take them with you to assist you in governing your countries. Perhaps you will make one of them the Governor of New Jersey, Colonel? Or the Mayor of Manchester, Major?" He grinned as he pretended to offer the politicians in his palms. "Please take them with you or we will have to shoot them when you leave – and leave you will."
Piers held his hand up. "We are here to discuss truce terms for Helmand and Kandahar Provinces—not the election process."
"Agreed. Do you have a proposal, Mr. Zaum?"
"All attacks cease for two weeks while we continue these talks ..."
"Do all NATO activities cease at the same time?" Sangar queried. "That must include all reinforcement and resupply activities."
In the shadows, Christopher suppressed a smile as he admired the Taliban leader's negotiating skills.
TWO HOURS LATER
As the NATO negotiators awaited their extraction helicopter, Sangar moved closer to Christopher Nobriega. "I assume that we have made enough progress for you to report to your superiors, Sergeant-Major Patterson."
"That will be up to the officers, sir."
Sangur chuckled as he bowed in irony. "If I were to believe what you just said, I would also believe that I could be the new Pope blessing the faithful from the Vatican Balcony. Travel well, warrior. Until we meet again. Alhamdulillah."
Christopher watched as the Taliban leader and his followers disappeared further into the cavernous darkness.
**
"What's your initial reaction to our Taliban friend, Nobriega?" Colonel Michael Dalton adjusted his headset as the Chinook began its journey to Kandahar airport.
Christopher Nobriega hesitated as he peered at the Apache escort helicopters. As the escort hoppers deployed their flares to deter any ground-to-air missile attacks, he replied, "He's well educated, aware of our tactics, and will cause us considerable pain in the future, Mike. That man knows what he's doing." He adjusted his vest and slumped back further into the webbing of the seat. "Notice how they've picked all the truce sites. He's always had at least three exit points in case we tried an ambush. He's taunting us."
"So you think we should negotiate with him?" Piers Zaum shouted in a vain attempt to be heard above the main engine clamor. Realizing his error, he accepted a headset from the crew chief and repeated his question.
"I don't think we have a choice, sir. We are fighting in his home. He has nowhere to go and we cannot hold all this territory. It would take all the armies in the world to do it, unless we convince the Afghan civilians to assist us. Unfortunately, we lost that opportunity in 2001 and with our subsequent actions, sir. The Afghani people just want this conflict to end quickly—no more drones and bombs from the sky."
The rest of the journey continued in silence.
KANDAHAR AIRBASE
With his normal 'Crown and Pip' subdued rank ribbons in place, Christopher entered the NATO debriefing conference room. The debriefing session leaders sat on one side of a long conference room table facing seven rows of attendees.
The conference room's walls were covered with maps and bulletin boards. In the back of the room, a uniformed camera team recorded the conference for archival purposes.
"I hear you're heading back, Nobriega." Brigadier Winthorpe gestured for Christopher to sit next to him at the head table. "Sit here so we can get your insight into the latest round of negotiations before you disappear into the wild. What do you think of Sangar and his lot?"
"He's well educated—either in Britain or the States. He knows military strategy. He knows minutiae about military life and traditions. The man has studied us carefully. In the semi-darkness of a cave, he recognized the crown rank designation of a Sarn't Major, sir. I doubt that 99% of the British population could do that in the brightest sunlight."
Piers Zaum interjected from his seat at the end of the table. "What was your assessment of his military capabilities?"
"He's either an ardent student of history or he's an intuitive strategic thinker, sir. For the last six months, I have studied each of his attacks while trying to capture or interdict his forces with mixed results. He is using a classic Fabian Strategy. He's wearing us down by attrition and avoiding a pitched battle. That is his way of ensuring that we pay a steep economic price and related casualties, but what really bothers me most is the man has the Coup d'œil – or he's bloody lucky."
The Brigadier gestured to the Pathfinder officer to pause. "For the unwashed among my young subalterns and the civilians present, Colonel Nobriega is gracing you with his years of counter-insurgency experience. For those of you who failed history in your respective military academies or colleges, I will paraphrase the lesson."
The Brigadier grinned as he faced the collection of civilians and military officers. "Imagine the boot of Italy. The year is 217 BC and Hannibal has just decimated the Roman Army at Lake Trasimenus. There are only two full legions left in the Roman Army. The Roman citizens are in a panic. Quintus Fabius Maximus Verrucosus, the dictator of the Roman Republic, decides to harass his enemy. He denies Hannibal supplies by adopting the first recorded 'scorched earth' policy. He burns all supplies in Hannibal's path. Then he refuses to be engaged in any large battles. Instead, he harasses his enemy with small guerilla attacks. Remind you of anyone or anywhere?"
"How did Hannibal defeat this tactic?" one of the NATO administrators in the front row inquired.
The Brigadier gestured for Christopher to continue. "Hannibal didn't directly defeat Fabius. Some say Hannibal gambled that Roman politicians would need a victory in order to survive the political clamor from reduced rations. It was either that or the Roman public would get tired of these delaying tactics and replace Fabius."
"What happened?" A German diplomat stood up.
"The Romans appointed a new joint commander to work with Fabius. He was an impulsive man and Hannibal immediately tricked the two bickering commanders into the Battle of Cannae. In that battle, the Romans lost between fifty and seventy thousand men in a single day. Seventy thousand prime troops!" He studied the faces of the NATO diplomats. "The tactics used that day are still taught in most military schools. The shouts of 'cowardice' and other accusations that had been leveled at Fabius were immediately extinguished when the Roman populace viewed the abyss it faced with this defeat." Christopher paused. "Unfortunately, whenever the strategy has been successfully used, it is the politicians who have accused the generals of cowardice. In America, George Washington employed these tactics and was challenged by John Adams in a series of accusatory articles."
"Well, why don't we use the 'surge tactics' that General Petraeus used in Iraq?"
Recognizing the political sensitivity of the question, Brigadier Winthorpe reassumed control. "I think we can all agree that the troop surge did contribute to the decline in violence in Iraq in 2007, but we can also all note that the violence tensions between the various sects have since returned to 2006 proportions almost immediately after. Political problems are rarely, if ever, solved by military methods. In military circles, we all agree that the surge was a temporary solution that also required Sunni cooperation and other factors that are not mentioned in the media. Christopher, why don't you explain your Coup d'œil comment?"
"Yes, sir." Christopher turned to face the NATO administrators. "It means that he has an innate ability to determine the best placement of personnel or weapons in any terrain. I subscribe to the theory that it's a natural instinct and cannot be taught. You either have it or you don't."
"That's easily solved with a drone or two."
The comment at the back of the room caused Christopher to respond spontaneously. "We can make all the derisive comments we want, but it will not solve this problem. We can try to bomb these people back into the Stone Age as the Americans threatened in 2001. We can also call them stupid, backward, but..."
"...thank you, Colonel. I'll take it from here. What is it, corporal?
"Flash traffic for Colonel Nobriega from MOD, sir."
"Christopher, deal with that, I'll continue the debrief."
COMMUNICATIONS BUILDING
"Nobriega," Christopher responded as he adjusted the display in the video conferencing booth.
"Please input your encryption keys, Colonel," the communications sergeant in Colchester intoned.
"Stand by."
"Authenticated. Standby for Sir William McTavish," The sergeant switched the channel.
"Nobriega, is that you?" Sir William popped onto the plasma screen.
"Yes, sir." Chris examined the features of his former commanding officer. "Has something happened on your end?"
"Get back here on the next flight. Operation Shaddad has been compromised. I repeat, Operation Shaddad has been compromised. I need you here, my boy. I have a bad feeling about this—and my bad feelings are never wrong. McTavish out." The video screen changed into a series of parallel bars.