into the kitchen, where the corned beef was already laid out, along with kaiser rolls and deli mustard.
“Thank God for an American lunch,” Clark said aloud. “I love the Brits, and I like having a pint of John Smith’s with it, but home is home.”
In the car, Ryan said, “Now that you’re free men, tell me: How’s the new Langley?”
Clark answered, “You know me, Jack. How long have I been screaming about building up the DO?” he asked, meaning the CIA’s Clandestine Service, the real spies, the field intelligence officers. “Plan Blue got off the ground just long enough to be shot down in flames by this jack-off Kealty.”
“You speak Arabic, right?”
“Both of us,” Chavez confirmed. “John’s better than I am, but I can find the men’s room when I need to. No Pashto, though.”
“Mine’s pretty rusty,” Clark said. “Haven’t been there in twenty years or so. Interesting people, the Afghans. They’re tough but primitive. Thing is, the whole place is about the poppy.”
“How big a problem?”
“There are some no-shit billionaires over there, all from opium. They live like kings, spread the money around in the form of guns and ammo, mostly, but all the hard drugs you can buy on the street in Southeast Washington come from Afghanistan. Nobody seems to recognize that. All of it, or damned near. It generates enough money to corrupt their culture, and ours. They don’t need the help. Until the Russians came in ’79, they were killing off each other. So they got their act together and gave Ivan a major bellyache, took maybe two weeks off after the Red Army bugged out, and then they started killing each other again. They don’t know what peace is. They don’t know what prosperity is. If you build schools for their kids, they blow the schools up. I lived there for over a year, climbing the hills and shooting at Ivan, trying to get them trained up. There’s a lot to like about them, but don’t turn your back on ’em. Toss in the terrain. Some places too high to fly a helicopter. Not your basic vacation spot. But their culture is the hard part. Stone-age people with modern weapons. They seem to have genetic knowledge of anything you can kill a guy with. They’re not like anybody you’ve ever met. The only thing they won’t do is eat your body after they kill you. They’re Muslim enough for that. Anyway, as long as the poppy brings in money, that’s the engine that drives the country, and ain’t nothing gonna change it.”
“Sounds grim,” Ryan observed.
“Grim ain’t the word. Hell, the Russians tried everything they knew—building schools, hospitals, and roads—just trying to make it an easy campaign, to buy them off, and look how far that got ’em. Those people fight for fun. You can buy their loyalty with food and stuff, and, yeah, try building hospitals and schools and roads. It ought to work, but don’t bet the ranch on it. You have to figure a way to erase three thousand years of tribal warfare, blood feuds, and distrust of outsiders. Tough nut to crack. Hey, I served in Vietnam, and Vietnam is like fucking Disneyland compared to Afghanistan.”
“And somewhere in the Magic Kingdom the Emir is playing hide-and-seek,” Chavez observed.
“Or maybe not,” Clark countered. “Everybody’s assuming he’s still there.”
“You know something we don’t?” Ryan asked with a smile.
“No, just trying to think like the guy. In SEALs, that was rule number one in evasion and escape training: Go where the bad guys ain’t. Yeah, his options are limited, but they’ve got a decent infrastructure and plenty of cash.”
“Maybe he’s in Dubai,” Ding offered, “in one of those luxury villas.”
Former President Ryan laughed at that one. “Well, we’re looking hard. Problem is, without a DI to ask the right questions, and a DO deep enough to go get them, you’re just spinning your wheels. All the guys Kealty’s put in are big-picture thinkers, and that just isn’t gonna get the job done.”
Two hours later, Clark and Chavez were heading back to Washington, digesting lunch and contemplating what they’d learned. Though Ryan hadn’t given the subject more than a passing comment, it was clear to Clark that another run for the White House was weighing heavily on the former CINC.
“He’s going to do it,” Chavez observed.
“Yep,” Clark agreed. “He feels trapped.”
“He is trapped.”
“So are we, Domingo. New job, same shit.”
“Not exactly the same. Going to be interesting, that’s for sure. Wonder how much—”