The Taliban Shuffle_ Strange Days in Afghanistan and Pakistan - Kim Barker [89]
But I wouldn’t know about the fallout for months. Oblivious and trapped in a hotel room with a man who felt neglected, I wrote other stories. I tried to spend time with Dave, but I also ate dinners with various sources, a time commitment that annoyed Dave more than my ticket stunt. Then my friend Sean, the British adrenaline junkie, called. I hadn’t seen him since the barbecue the previous summer at the Fun House, where the Afghan Elvis had peddled cocaine smuggled in toothpaste tubes.
“Meet me for dinner,” he said. “I need to talk to you about something. It’s very sensitive.”
I wanted to say yes. I knew I couldn’t.
“I can’t,” I said. “Lunch?”
I didn’t tell Sean I had a man in my hotel room because I didn’t want to mix the two men. Sean would be fine, but Dave would be jealous. Sean invited me to the Gandamack. As soon as the waiter took our order of chicken salads, Sean looked from side to side and leaned in closer.
“So, I have to ask you about something,” he started, vaguely.
“Yes?”
“I have an opportunity. An invitation to go meet someone. Someone important. But it could be difficult. I’m wondering if you think I should go.”
“Tango?” I said. By now, I slipped easily into his conspiracy lingo.
“Not Tango. Someone senior. I can’t tell you.”
“Hekmatyar?” I said, naming the renegade leader of Hezb-i-Islami, the militant group in the east.
“No. Let me finish. I have been invited to meet a senior commander who’s very important. But the meeting would be over the border, in the tribal areas of Pakistan. What do you think?”
I didn’t have to think long. “I think you’re a fucking idiot and you’re going to get kidnapped.”
“They promised me security,” Sean said.
“I think you’re a fucking idiot and you’re going to get kidnapped,” I repeated.
“Keep your voice down,” he said. “You know, I’m a little worried. I was supposed to meet the contact a few days ago, but Sami didn’t have everything together and it felt weird, so we canceled. And our contact said, ‘No problem, we can reschedule.’ That seemed strange. Normally you have to push and push to get these guys to talk to you.”
I sighed. Sean knew everything I was telling him. His translator, Sami, knew everything. They knew this was a bad idea, but Sean still wanted his fix.
“Tango in Pakistan is not like Tango in Afghanistan,” I said, knowing that Sean knew this. “The ISI’s involved. You can’t just walk into the tribal areas without them knowing. You’re probably in more danger from the ISI than from the militants.”
The Inter-Services Intelligence Directorate, Pakistan’s conflicted top spy agency, was known for some members supporting insurgents.
“Who are you seeing?” I asked again.
“Someone important.”
“Haqqani?” I asked.
Militant commander Jalaluddin Haqqani, an old Pakistani pal of the CIA and ISI, had helped fight the Soviets in Afghanistan in the 1980s and supported the Taliban while they were in power. Three main groups based in Pakistan now fought against foreign troops and the Afghan government, even though the groups were usually just lumped together and called the Taliban. One group was Mullah Omar’s Taliban, suspected to be based in the Pakistan city of Quetta, in western Baluchistan Province. Another was Hezb-i-Islami. The third group was the one formed by Haqqani in the North Waziristan tribal agency and now run mostly by his son Sirajuddin. Haqqani’s group was generally regarded as the most ruthless, sophisticated, and evil of all the militant factions, responsible for a spectacular attack two months earlier at the Serena Hotel in Kabul.
Sean smiled slightly. “I can’t say. Maybe.”
“You’re a fucking idiot and you’re going to get kidnapped. Why would you go meet him? Nobody in the West even knows who he is. He’s not worth it.”
“I can’t say exactly what I’m doing.”
I shook my head and looked at him. I knew what he would decide.
“When would you be back?”
“Easter. I told my boys I would be