MeteorOnAMoonlessNight: Without Wings Chapter Six

QPOV

It’s been a while since I’ve worn a suit, but I make the effort to relax, to appear as though it’s my everyday attire. The Hotel Intercontinental in Kabul is five-star and perfectly suited to my undercover persona. Every day, I get dressed in a three-piece suit, straighten my hair—now dyed blond—and exit the hotel. My day consists of breakfast in an expensive cafe, pretending to work on my laptop, and meetings with other agents planted as businessmen. The effort is to look busy, important, and wealthy. As though my company is doing so well, they’d be fools to pass up the opportunity to work with me. Wilhelm is my translator, and he accompanies me everywhere I go. Our information gathering is the true reason for our stay in Afghanistan, and though I learned Farsi, Pashto is more difficult to master. Wilhelm's primary job is to eavesdrop on our surroundings so I can focus on what’s in front of me.

“Look, we’re just trying to close this deal,” I say into my cell phone—in German. Silence greets me, but I pause before resuming my pre-written speech. “I know, Billings, but this is the last shipment. No, look, we need to close this deal now.”

As expected, a gentleman native to the area approaches our table. Through gestures and the little bits I understand, he tells Wilhelm he wishes to speak with me in order to facilitate a deal with his boss.

“Look, Billings, I have to go. The paperwork better be signed by the end of the day.”

Hanging up, I slip my phone into my inner jacket pocket. Every exchange is picked up by the miniscule bugs planted around the cafe. From video to audio, even a device by the door that detects explosives, I know we’re covered.

With a terse smile, I look expectantly at the man as he falls silent.

Clearing his throat, he tells me in Pashto, “Mr. Schmid, my name is Abdul Yaqoob. I represent Jamshid Oil Company.”

I wait while Wilhelm translates for me, then respond. “I’ve heard of them.” Tapping my fountain pen on the yellow legal pad on the table in front of me, I study his mannerisms. Nervous to approach me, fidgeting with his hands a bit, but meeting my eyes directly.

“We can’t help but notice that you have been making numerous deals,” he continues. “We want to work with you to export large amounts of product to your country.”

“What’s the product?” I know the answer already, but I allow him to explain it to me. Again, I wait patiently while Wilhelm repeats him in German.

“Sesame oil.”

“I’m intrigued.” Tapping the pen a few more times while Wilhelm translates my words, I say, “And you want to work with Jeanneret Imports?”

“I’ve heard good things about the amount of import and the money you make.”

“It’s probably all true.”

Tying up the loose ends of where we’ll go to meet with his boss, Hassan, Wilhelm exchanges eye contact with me. Nodding, I rise and fasten my suit jacket, gathering my items into my laptop bag. Cool and collected, I follow Abdul out the door.

A little boy, who is probably older than I assume based on his acute malnourishment, offers to shine my shoes in exchange for a few coins. As is my habit, I discreetly pass him much more than he would make in a full day of work. He doesn't speak German or English, but he thanks me profusely in Farsi.

“You’re very welcome,” I reply in Farsi.

Abdul glances at me, and I smile at him. The poor boy probably hasn’t seen a decent meal in his entire life, so it’s the least I can do. After all, I’m supposedly loaded, so I might as well spread the wealth. What I receive in exchange for the money is gossip; street talk. The boy tells me things while shining my shoes in the late afternoon, and has become invaluable to us and our mission.

Abdul could easily be setting us up. However, the agents surrounding us in hidden cracks and crevices would have already taken an image of his face and sent it through a scanning system to determine his true identity. All it took was him stepping foot into the cafe for the computers to set to work on it, but it helps that Wilhelm stared directly in his face to get a clear front view of him. With our silent exchange, we agreed it wasn't a ruse and that he was safe to follow.

The Hindu Kush mountains surround the city almost in a claustrophobic manner. For such a relatively small area, the population is high. Even in October, the temperature is in the high 70s, and I struggle with the restriction of the tie around my throat. It’s like living in a fishbowl, one I can’t escape no matter how many times I bang my head on the glass. This was what I wanted, I remind myself as we cross the bridge. Skills I didn't realize I possessed begged me to make use of them, dragging me away from my new wife and our baby daughter. Part of me regrets the decision, mostly because I had no idea I’d be stuck here for this long. Some dumbass part of me expected to spend a few months overseas and then hop on a military plane back home, but that was naïve of me.

If I try, I can bring up a picture of Layla in my mind’s eye. But what I can’t do is picture Aerinn. I don't know who she grew up to resemble, whether it be me or her mother. Her hair was dark at birth, so I can assume she favors her mother. I mentally draw in her features: dark eyes like Mom’s, a strong, straight nose like my father-in-law’s. Is she tall like the Blacks, or shorter like the Swans? Has she learned to read? No, she’s probably too young for that.

The pain is excruciating if I allow it to consume me, so I don’t. I push it down the way the agency taught me during my months-long training. I have no identity outside of Elias Schmid, Swiss National, VP of Operations for Jeanneret Imports. Anything else could get me killed.

The meeting with Hassan and Abdul is as boring as I predicted. It’s familiar to me, though, having attended countless versions of this exchange with my father. Coffee importing is no different from sesame oil importing, with the exception of having my interpreter by my side. One who could kill a man with nothing more than his bare hands while maintaining eye contact—that’s the type of agent I want on my team.

We head back to town, back to the cafe attached to the hotel. Back to the little boy, who I know is named Mullah. He cleans the dust off my shoes, rattling extensively in Farsi about things of no interest. It isn't until he’s nearly done that we land on an important nugget of information.

“The men you seek have been spotted in the mosque exchanging money.”

“Which mosque?” I ask sotto voce.

“Eid Gah.”

Our business concluded, I thank Mullah and pay him his regular rate in case anyone is watching us. Back in my hotel room, I pull up the information on Eid Gah Mosque using a laptop with a secure server. Snorting, I think about the fact that Uncle Ben could hack this shit in a few seconds, given the chance. Finding what I need, I log off and shut the computer down, leaving it on the small wooden desk and moving to the shower.

The only time I’m truly alone is in the bathroom. Removing my contacts, my earpieces, the cuff links, tie clip, and belt, I can leave behind the other agents tracking my every breath and heartbeat. Not that I’m ungrateful for what they do, but it’s taken some time to be comfortable with a constant audience. More often than not, it’s an itch on the back of my neck that I can’t displace.

Wilhelm would be in his connecting room right now, most likely doing what I am. Unwinding, turning off the undercover persona, shedding his second skin. Focusing on myself, I wash quickly and dry off, pulling on sleep pants and wishing for the hundredth time in the past hour that I could call my wife. Tell her about my day, ask after Aerinn, my parents, assure her I’m alive and well and that I’ll be home, eventually.

That’s not in the cards, so I do my best to sleep so I can be ready for new plans in the morning.

As expected, I have a coded email on my laptop when I wake. We’re to move forward with the idea of visiting the mosque as tourists would. If no one of importance is there, we’ll regroup and think of something else.

Sighing, I pick out another suit in light tan, pairing it with a white dress shirt. Back on with the earpieces too small to be noticeable, the tinted contacts with more technology than I want to know about, and the tie clip and belt with their own implanted devices. Shoes—neatly shined—and a swipe over my hair, scrutinizing the roots to ensure the red isn't growing out, and I’m ready to head down the stairs.

Wilhelm greets me, and we climb together into a waiting car. Despite the early hour, the streets are already crowded, the sun already baking the pavement. Nervousness floods through me, and I frown. Wiping the sweat from my palms, I take it as a sign that we’re on the right track. My intuition rarely fails me, so we’ll have to be prepared for any possibility.

A few people are in the mosque when we arrive, milling around the exterior and taking pictures of the minarets flanking the entrance. Under other circumstances, I would be in awe of the archways, the ancient holiness, and the general feeling of reverence surrounding such an old building.

“Around the back?” I murmur to Wilhelm.

Nodding, he hums a tune as he strolls around the back of the building. Inspecting the architecture, admiring the multitude of soaring arches, and looking for particular people.

Inside, my breath is stolen from me as I observe the dramatic series of arches lining the long stretch of the interior hall. The mosque being long and narrow, it will take Wilhelm a bit of time to meet me back inside. So I take my time, keeping my eyes peeled for anyone important. So far, it’s only tourists and a few of the affluent Muslims who live in the area and utilize the mosque for its original intended purpose.

Something catches my attention, and I purposely look down at my shoes. Bending, I adjust the cuff of my pant leg while covertly glancing at the men down at the other end of the hall. Straightening the trouser sock on that foot and buffing a speck of dust from my shoe, I finally stand to my full height and continue to walk in their direction. I can make out what they’re saying now, and so can everyone in my ear. Too many voices crowd me at once, and then I hear Wilhelm tell them to shut the fuck up.

With the newfound relative silence, I walk casually past these men as they plot their next disaster. Wilhelm quietly translates for us all, careful not to talk over them and distort the recording of the audio. It’s as bad as I feared, as my agency feared, and exactly the reason we’re looking for them. But I can’t act now without blowing my cover and the city apart, so I pretend to be ignorant of their language and don't make eye contact as I continue my stroll with my hands tucked in my pants pockets.

I meet Wilhelm out front, and we nod silently at each other. Our reconnaissance was successful, and we can return to the hotel and our boring businessmen's lives.