FORTY-FOUR
Lance looked skeptical. “That’s just not possible,” he said. “He wouldn’t go back to the place where we nearly caught him.”
“Well,” Holly said, “certainly that’s the last place we would look for him.”
Pablo unrolled the map and weighted its corners. “Please look at the markings Mohammed X made on the map.”
Lance and his party stood up to look, and a camera moved in on the map for a close-up.
“Mohammed made those markings. They’re meant to outline roughly a series of caves in the mountains that have been joined over the past year. He says generators and heating equipment have been brought in, and they have made the place quite comfortable. He says bin Laden moved in several weeks ago.”
“That is nonsense,” Lance said. “Al Qaeda and the Taliban have no helicopters or aircraft capable of making big drops into those mountains. There are no roads, only footpaths; and you could never get vehicles in there that could move that kind of weight.”
“That’s what the Johnson administration said about the Vietcong bringing supplies along the Ho Chi Minh Trail, using bicycles,” Holly said.
“They have something much better than bicycles,” Pablo said.
“Tell me,” Lance replied.
“They have mules.”
“Mules?” Lance asked. “Mules couldn’t carry loads like that for any distance.”
Todd Bacon spoke up for the first time. “I’m from West Virginia,” he said, “and I can tell you something about mules. One animal can carry three hundred pounds all day, and they’re more surefooted than any other animal.”
“Mr. Bacon is quite correct,” Pablo said.
“But we would have spotted them with satellites,” Lance pointed out. “We can see things a lot smaller than mules.”
“They cover each animal with camouflage material,” Pablo said, “designed to blend in with the rocky terrain. The women in the nearby villages dye the cloth.”
“And where would they get mules?” Lance asked.
“From us,” Todd replied. “Back when Congressman Charlie Wilson was funding the Agency to arm the Taliban against the Russians, we flew in hundreds of mules, and they have long working lives.”
“Mr. Bacon is correct again,” Pablo said. “What’s more, the Taliban have a breeding program to supply new animals.”
“This is preposterous,” Lance said, but he didn’t sound very sure of himself.
“No, Lance,” Holly said, “not only is it not preposterous, it’s perfectly feasible, and it’s just the sort of thing the Taliban would do.”
“Let me tell you a little more of what Mohammed X told me,” Pablo said. “There are half a dozen entrances to these caves, some of which he has marked, and dozens of air shafts for ventilation and escape. Fires are permitted only at night, when the smoke would not be detected. The caves are very deep, some leading more than a hundred feet below the mountains. They even have electric generators for powering lights and equipment.”
“And on what fuel do they run?” Lance asked.
“Propane gas, transported in canisters by the mules. They have a large stockpile of them, bought in Pakistan.”
“I want this Mohammed X found and brought in,” Lance said.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Pablo replied. “I learned after arriving here that Mohammed X was run down by a hit-and-run driver in Marbella and killed instantly, shortly afte
r our lunch that day. By that time I was on the way to meet your airplane and didn’t know about it.”
“Are you saying he was murdered?” Lance asked.
“I don’t know, but it hardly matters, does it? Murder or accident, he’s still dead.”
“I want that checked out with the Marbella station of the national police,” Lance said to no one in particular.