Ous allowed.
Muhammad ibn Abd al-Wahhab had been an eighteenth-century scholar from Arabia. He considered anything but the strictest adherence to Sunni Islam and Sharia Law to be “innovations” that needed ruthless and violent crushing. The Taliban took much of their doctrine from Abd al-Wahhab’s teachings and had applied it with fanatic zeal during their five-year reign of religious terror as the governing body of Afghanistan.
“The attack in the village yesterday wasn’t exactly what I would call Taliban standard tactical procedure,” Bolan ventured.
“Both the attack against us and the slaying of your envoy were very unorthodox.” Ous puffed his pipe for a contemplative moment. “I have operated with the United States Marine Corps in the past. I found this morning’s incident profoundly disturbing.”
Soldiers refusing to take prisoners during the war on terror wasn’t unknown. Some prisoners had been mistreated. A U.S. Marine fragging an infirmary with U.S. personnel inside was positively anomalous. Ous took another sip of beer. “What have you learned?”
There wasn’t much. “Corporal Saulito Convertino, from New York City, a strict Catholic. The chaplain says he attended services every Sunday. No known radical, terrorist or criminal affiliations. Was recommended for the Bronze Star in action during the surge into Helmand.”
“And his disposition now?”
“In custody, not talking to his appointed lawyer, not talking to anyone.”
Ous eyes narrowed. “You said he was weeping when you apprehended him?”
“Yeah.” Bolan nodded very slowly. “Yeah, he was.”
“You fear he was coerced,” Ous surmised.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. But he didn’t owe anybody money, wasn’t on drugs, the preliminary FBI investigation back in New York states his family is fine and has no idea how this could have happened.”
“You believe the coercion had to be local,” Ous suggested.
“We brought in the prisoner last night and he got fragged this morning. Corporal Convertino hadn’t been planning this, he was activated.”
“Sleeper cells,” Ous said incredulously, “in the United States Marine Corps?”
“More like a mole.”
“So how was he recruited, locally, as it were?”
“I can think of only one thing, Convertino was an exemplary Marine except for one thing,” Bolan said. “Oh?”
“On three separate occasions he was found AWOL, but each time the statement of charges was dropped.”
“And why should this be?” Ous asked.
“Because Convertino was a scrounger.”
“I am not aware of this term.”
“He was good at getting things,” Bolan explained. “I spoke with a few of the men on his squad. If you wanted beer or liquor in Afghanistan, he’d find a way. If you couldn’t find any Marlboro, he’d get you Tajiki Kahons at half the price. U.S. and European pornography is almost impossible to sneak into Afghanistan, but if you wanted some, he could find you the Russian stuff that flows down through the northern border by the bushel basket. Every unit has a scrounger, and by all accounts Convertino was a scrounger par excellence. He was born in Puerto Rico, and they’re the last bastion of bartering culture in the United States. From what I hear he had the gift of gab, everybody liked him, and he had been to the language school and spoke some Arabic.”
“So why would the statement of charges be dropped if he was dealing in contraband?”
“Because he acquired contraband for his superiors,” Bolan said.
“Ah, yes, I see. Truly the world is the same all over. So, you believe it was in the midst of this scrounging that he was seduced?”
“I’m thinking seduced is exactly the right word. When he was in Iraq, Convertino had the reputation of being one hell of a charming horn dog. Female soldiers and Iraqi women liked him, a lot. Here in Afghanistan the female soldiers are a lot fewer, the Afghanis are far more violent about protecting their women. What little prostitution there is takes place in the big cities, and those are few and far between. A woman in Afghanistan who has been reduced to prostitution has seen a lot of hard miles, and that’s not Convertino’s type. The real brothels are run by Russians and Turks, are stocked with Eastern European and Russian women and cater to rich Afghans and foreign visitors with money. Out of Convertino’s league. After being transferred to Afghanistan I’m thinking Convertino was jonesing pretty hard.”
“Jonesing.” Ous nodded as he pondered this bit of American slang. “I believe I understand what you are saying.” His eyes suddenly went wolflike. “You are saying we must find Corporal Convertino’s sexy girlfriend.”
“Something like that.”
CHAPTER THREE
Sangin Base stockade
“Where the hell have you been?” Agent Kathryn Keller struggled to keep up with Bolan and Ous without breaking into a trot in the hallway.
“Drinking beer,” Bolan replied.
“Hey!” Keller snarled.
Bolan stopped and turned. “What?”
“Well…” Keller suddenly grinned. “How come you didn’t invite me?”
Bolan considered his answer and jerked his head at Ous. “He doesn’t drink beer with women.”
“What in God’s name leads you to conclude that I do not drink beer with women?” Ous asked.
“My mistake,” Bolan admitted. “Can you give me a sitrep, Keller?”
“Convertino talked.”
“What’d he say?”
“Just that he admits to the murder of Dr. Early, the John Doe suspect, and the attempted murder of you and Mr. Ous.”
“Anything else?”
“He’s dismissed his appointed council, says he will plead guilty to all charges and requested the death penalty.”
“He seems dedicated,” Ous said.
“Down right self-sacrificing,” Bolan agreed.
Keller looked back and forth between the two men. “What can I do to help?”
Bolan’s cobalt gaze burned into Keller’s eyes. “NCIS is still in charge of this case?”
“Not for much longer,” Keller said. The MPs outside the cell snapped to attention and saluted the woman as she and her party approached. “And then God only knows who is going to take over. When this goes public, it’s going to turn into a real dog-and-pony show.”
“Then
