the_taliban_shuffle_-_kim_barker

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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 ne, 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 dicult. 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 nish. 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.”
from the ISI than from the militants.” The Inter-Services Intelligence Directorate, Pakistan’s conicted 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 ght 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 back home in time for Easter.” “I still think it’s a bad idea,” I said. “But knowing you, everything will work out great.” Sean laughed. “I’ll let you know. But keep it quiet. I don’t want anyone else to know about it.” So I left Sean and the Gandamack, and a few days later, I left Afghanistan. Sean also asked several mutual friends their opinions of his planned trip—as with everything else, Sean couldn’t keep his mouth shut. But I would only nd this out later because Sean had told them, like me, to stay quiet. We all stayed quiet, until we couldn’t anymore. Only then would I learn that everyone told Sean the same thing: that
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Copyright © 2011 by Kim Barker The
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Cover Title Page Copyright Dedicati
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KABUL
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CHAPTER 1
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enough to make it into my newspaper
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championship game. Like everyone el
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grueling way we came, seven hours,
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nothing like the Taliban. But they
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clear sign I was a foreigner, we dr
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I CHAPTER 2 MONTANA ew home to Chic
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nancial ruin. I cobbled together re
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city of about three or four million
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one is supposed to be happy at an A
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CHAPTER 3
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can work with someone who says bad
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thrown at their palace compound. I
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confused with the recently opened A
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smiled, even when talking about tra
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convinced Ismail Khan to abandon He
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CHAPTER 4 THERE GOES MY GUN D espit
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U.S. troops were killed in the ghti
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John Wilson. And always, their miss
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I knew this from Afghans—they fea
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A boy poured the sweet milky tea fr
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watch me take notes. In return, I w
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I CHAPTER 5 ONE WAY OR ANOTHER n Ka
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We said goodbye to the taxi driver
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Nasir looked at me, as if I had any
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“They want money,” Farouq told
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CHAPTER 6
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Warlords then took positions outsid
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three pigs were elsewhere at the ti
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me back and all was forgiven, espec
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Sean, the British journalist who wa
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eversed one of its only decisions t
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I CHAPTER 7 MONKEY GONE TO HEAVEN l
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oy. But now it was too cold for suc
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pressure cooker, going from home to
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Kabul High. One night, as I sat wit
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force, maybe two to three thousand
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CHAPTER 8
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landed rst in Pakistan, then the Un
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Indian capital’s dingy airport be
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laid out carpets in the dirt for us
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simply lming a documentary on the h
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sleep early. At 3 AM, my phone star
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CHAPTER 9
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neighborhood of Shir Pur, where the
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“Sami thinks he’s got a way to
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seemed adamant about returning norm
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for everything. In short, he needed
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apart, and entire chunks had crumbl
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years, no one will recognize you li
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1980s, they had been reluctant to l
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mysteriously end up dead. We soon d
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CHAPTER 10 HELL YES S ure, Operatio
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this to be the best embed possible.
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out two large guns on the side of t
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so thin, they had no time to worry
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screen, we watched the bomb hit, se
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CHAPTER 11
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would be the rst to have sex outsid
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Alaska if you were a woman—the od
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omber had hit a U.S. military convo
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I could do, and I had to work. This
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in Kabul. The Fun House would soon
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CHAPTER 12 BARELY LEGAL M y eccentr
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good rule of thumb for most Afghan
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“He thinks you love him,” she s
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everyone talked about, the example
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“My idea is this,” I told the N
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PART II WHACK- A-STAN
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CHAPTER 13 UNDER PRESSURE T housand
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Page 154 and 155: ght. Throughout the 1980s, the Unit
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Page 164 and 165: were killed. One head cleric, who h
Page 166 and 167: Samad called me “boss.” Often h
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Page 188 and 189: nally told me, referring to Sharif
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Page 196 and 197: CHAPTER 17 LUCKY STAR B uried by th
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Page 216 and 217: CHAPTER 19 REBEL, REBEL S omething
Page 218 and 219: “What the hell?” I asked myself
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Page 226 and 227: I CHAPTER 20 WHY CAN’T WE BE FRIE
Page 228 and 229: President Pervez Musharraf, who had
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Page 236 and 237: CHAPTER 21 LONDON CALLING A fter na
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CHAPTER 23
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eturned from Pakistan. He hadn’t
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against temptation” but with thes
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“I can’t take it.” “Why not
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cassettes (DVs). The mayor called u
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CHAPTER 24
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Farouq, helping the New York Times
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world believed the country was abou
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Why did I want to stay so much, in
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CHAPTER 25
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time seeing Afghans as the other. T
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turn to the right,” the first lie
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And then, in another nine months, t
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police riding tractors that ripped
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I CHAPTER 26 WHEN THE MAN COMES ARO
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actually might win. For the past tw
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Farouq had told me how he would pol
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and without telling my bosses. And
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CHAPTER 27 HOTEL CALIFORNIA U nempl
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paying my salary. Many diplomats ra
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wrappers. After the usual deep-tiss
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heavy makeup, $70,000 worth of gold
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to do here. Karzai would eventually
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the air. For hours we danced, that
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EPILOGUE
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Helmand district of Marja ended up
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Taliban’s clutches in Pakistan.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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my absurd vision. I’m indebted to
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