Read Online Operation Dark Heart by Anthony Shaffer - Free Book Online
Authors: Anthony Shaffer
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their residence in Lisbon, and I’d been a drunken hellion in high school—but never any illegal drugs. Why bother when I had as much booze as I wanted?
Oh, yeah. When confronted with their allegations that I was “deception indicated” on criminal activity, I admitted on the polygraph that I had taken U.S. government Skilcraft pens from the American Embassy in Lisbon. Yeah. Just like John Dillinger.
After that experience, I knew never to believe the results of any polygraph exam. If they couldn’t figure out I was telling the truth about drug use, then chances are they couldn’t figure out who’s telling the truth about anything else.
Looking back on it, though, God must have been smiling on me. The path I ended up on was far more interesting—and fun. I believe everything happens for a reason, and I just wasn’t meant to work for the CIA. I’d moved past it years ago, and I shook off Walker’s offer. “I’m pretty happy where I am,” I told him, adding politely, “but I’ll think about it.”
In truth, my experiences with the CIA in Afghanistan would be less than happy. The CIA, it turned out, was running its own game, a game they didn’t bother to coordinate with anyone on the Defense side of the house. At one point, I was to learn later, we had an ugly experience with a warlord who was on their payroll. It was not that they played against both sides. It was the fact that they did it so obviously and poorly that pissed all of us off.
Before we rolled out, Dave showed me the *****-bar” on the hotel’s first floor, an honor bar *** ************ ******** equipped with tables, chairs, and a few couches. You grabbed a cold beer or made yourself a drink, and tossed money into a box on the bar to pay for it. I always had tonic water or a Coke.
The white walls were covered with old, nonserviceable weapons, everything from Enfield rifles from the nineteenth century to Kalashnikovs captured from the Taliban during the 2001 invasion. Great quotes from spooks were scrawled on there as well, and, most poignantly, mementos of fallen comrades—scraps of clothing or pieces of keffeyeh, the distinctive black-and-white scarves that many wore to keep out the dust. The place had a great stereo system and a huge library of top-notch music CDs, left by departing spooks, which I later borrowed for convoy rides.
Those who had finished their tours of duty traditionally signed the wall, but only on your last day of duty. Signing any earlier was bad luck.
After, Dave briefed me on the ***** mission. Among other tasks, we were headed for a destination away from central downtown. We were taking two vehicles. The first one was an equipment vehicle and the second was security. Our mission ** *** ***** was classified, so I’ll skip that part. Dave, as commander of the mission, drove the first vehicle.
“We’re going to a part of town we’ve never been before,” he told me. “I’d like you to stay with Julie in the second vehicle. Any questions?”
“No, I’m good,” I said. Truth was, I was nervous as hell but working hard not to show it.
He stopped for a minute. “One other thing. Watch out for provocations. The Taliban has been training kids to do stuff. They’ve been throwing explosive devices at vehicles—hand grenades and IEDs. So be aware of what’s going on.”
I’d seen tons of kids today in the streets. Using them … I couldn’t believe it.
We suited back up and rolled out again to do our business. Most of the areas we went to through the day were not market areas, but still heavily urban. Mainly mud huts and brick homes up to the crests of low hills that bordered the mountains surrounding Kabul.
After settling into the turbulent rhythm of the vehicle’s movement, with Julie driving with expert abandon through the Kabul streets at an average speed of 60 miles an hour on the straightaways, I was almost enjoying the roller-coaster-like ride, watching the blur of people, men in their long
Oh, yeah. When confronted with their allegations that I was “deception indicated” on criminal activity, I admitted on the polygraph that I had taken U.S. government Skilcraft pens from the American Embassy in Lisbon. Yeah. Just like John Dillinger.
After that experience, I knew never to believe the results of any polygraph exam. If they couldn’t figure out I was telling the truth about drug use, then chances are they couldn’t figure out who’s telling the truth about anything else.
Looking back on it, though, God must have been smiling on me. The path I ended up on was far more interesting—and fun. I believe everything happens for a reason, and I just wasn’t meant to work for the CIA. I’d moved past it years ago, and I shook off Walker’s offer. “I’m pretty happy where I am,” I told him, adding politely, “but I’ll think about it.”
In truth, my experiences with the CIA in Afghanistan would be less than happy. The CIA, it turned out, was running its own game, a game they didn’t bother to coordinate with anyone on the Defense side of the house. At one point, I was to learn later, we had an ugly experience with a warlord who was on their payroll. It was not that they played against both sides. It was the fact that they did it so obviously and poorly that pissed all of us off.
Before we rolled out, Dave showed me the *****-bar” on the hotel’s first floor, an honor bar *** ************ ******** equipped with tables, chairs, and a few couches. You grabbed a cold beer or made yourself a drink, and tossed money into a box on the bar to pay for it. I always had tonic water or a Coke.
The white walls were covered with old, nonserviceable weapons, everything from Enfield rifles from the nineteenth century to Kalashnikovs captured from the Taliban during the 2001 invasion. Great quotes from spooks were scrawled on there as well, and, most poignantly, mementos of fallen comrades—scraps of clothing or pieces of keffeyeh, the distinctive black-and-white scarves that many wore to keep out the dust. The place had a great stereo system and a huge library of top-notch music CDs, left by departing spooks, which I later borrowed for convoy rides.
Those who had finished their tours of duty traditionally signed the wall, but only on your last day of duty. Signing any earlier was bad luck.
After, Dave briefed me on the ***** mission. Among other tasks, we were headed for a destination away from central downtown. We were taking two vehicles. The first one was an equipment vehicle and the second was security. Our mission ** *** ***** was classified, so I’ll skip that part. Dave, as commander of the mission, drove the first vehicle.
“We’re going to a part of town we’ve never been before,” he told me. “I’d like you to stay with Julie in the second vehicle. Any questions?”
“No, I’m good,” I said. Truth was, I was nervous as hell but working hard not to show it.
He stopped for a minute. “One other thing. Watch out for provocations. The Taliban has been training kids to do stuff. They’ve been throwing explosive devices at vehicles—hand grenades and IEDs. So be aware of what’s going on.”
I’d seen tons of kids today in the streets. Using them … I couldn’t believe it.
We suited back up and rolled out again to do our business. Most of the areas we went to through the day were not market areas, but still heavily urban. Mainly mud huts and brick homes up to the crests of low hills that bordered the mountains surrounding Kabul.
After settling into the turbulent rhythm of the vehicle’s movement, with Julie driving with expert abandon through the Kabul streets at an average speed of 60 miles an hour on the straightaways, I was almost enjoying the roller-coaster-like ride, watching the blur of people, men in their long
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