Chapter 6
Stooping to Conquer
We needed to go back to the day of the event and reconstruct what happened on a moment-by-moment basis, if possible. I assigned Chester the task of hunting and gathering intelligence with the local authorities. Despite his new citizenship, they still spoke the same language and were of the same tribe. I told him to get with the cops and pull together all of the factual information and documentation he could without being thrown in jail. I wanted copies of all photographs and sketches of the crime scene; all witness reports, and all investigative materials that they had compiled to date. I wanted all forensic reports that had been completed. Secondly, I wanted Chester to put aside his logical investigative mind and ask his former colleagues for their theories and speculations as to which group might be behind the kidnapping. What were their possible motives and who were the possible players in this deadly docudrama.
I told him to jot down everything mentioned no matter how illogical or absurd or bizarre it might seem. I wanted to know what others were thinking. This was a tried and true investigative trick that called for serious, mindless thinking.
As an aside, Kali and I agreed not to brief Chester on the Karzai connection. We fully trusted him, but we were both interested in knowing if there was any gossip or scuttlebutt or good old-fashioned speculation about that aspect of the investigation. Chester would give us all the information he collected during his stop at the cop shop. We didn’t want to thoughtlessly preempt, prejudice or prompt him in his inquiries—just the facts, ma’am!
After Chester finished with the cops, I instructed him to go to the crime scene and mentally reconstruct the event. I told him to re-interview any and all witnesses. I told him to confirm that the authorities had collected all of the video recordings in the neighborhood from any street or storefront cameras. Maybe someone remembered something they didn’t mention to the police or didn’t want to tell them.
I asked Kali to work with the station and other embassy sources. She needed to review all of the communications intercepts on file. I also told her to pull intercepts for the week preceding the incident to see if there was anything of significance. I asked her to review any overhead imagery that might be available. It was a long shot because America’s spy satellites were aimed at India’s nuclear weapons and development facilities located elsewhere in the country. Commercial satellite photos might provide a possible lead, so I asked her to check that avenue as well. I only wanted the big-picture stuff at this stage of the investigation.
While Kali and Chester went about their assigned duties, I would focus on the principals at the center of this drama—Alicia Thurman, Zeenat Karzai, Singh Singh, and the two APPF agents. I needed some perspective and background on their personalities. Only one of them could be interviewed so I started with Kamal Barbak. I met with him in the embassy cafeteria and he bought the coffee and donuts, as customary under such circumstances. At least that was what I told him.
He was sullen, depressed and even a bit despondent and the language differences didn’t help matters. It was a difficult interview from that perspective alone. Regardless, Kamal told me he had been handpicked by the Director of the Afghan Presidential Protection Force for the assignment to protect Zeenat. It was prestigious duty, an honor, and a feather in his professional cap.
He avowed that both he and his partner, Mohammed Shah, were selected for the plum job due to their loyalty to President Karzai. They were both Pashto tribesmen, kinsmen of the president. He acknowledged that this was an important consideration for his boss in choosing them. The APPF leadership was quite rightly concerned about the infiltration of Taliban or Mujahedeen fighters into their ranks. Kamal mentioned that they didn’t want to unwittingly put any foxes in that henhouse. Obviously, Afghans were familiar with foxes and hens, but not quislings and fifth-columnists. It must be a cultural, geopolitical thing since quislings were not a formally recognized clan in Afghanistan.
Loyalty was the first and most important qualification for APPF candidates. And Kamal stated he passed the Afghan government litmus test with flying colors by claiming his turned true blue. That was because his uncle and the President were boyhood friends. His entire family would be at risk if the President or his tribesmen believed he had any responsibility for the incident. He was already in serious trouble with his bosses. They didn’t take kindly to one of their own losing the beloved daughter of the President of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan. Apparently, they had no sense of humor whatsoever in such matters. He said he was awaiting his fate and further instructions from Kabul. Moreover, he swore he had no knowledge or involvement in the kidnapping and that Mohammed didn’t either; the thought was simply unthinkable. He was now facing humiliation or worse when he returned home.
I asked the perfunctory questions and Kamal provided the perfunctory answers. Did he or Mohammed observe anything unusual in the days leading up to the kidnapping? Was there anything out of the ordinary in the daily routines of Zeenat or Alicia? Did he pick-up on any indications of surveillance? Was he aware of any threats directed toward them? Had there been any prior, minor incidents of an unusual nature?
Kamal responded with a shake of his head to each question. He said he couldn’t think of anything useful or relevant along the lines of my queries. He commented that everything was routine, actually dull, during the three months that they had been guarding Zeenat. She rarely left the ambassador’s compound other than to attend school at the ISD. She wasn’t a troublesome, rambunctious teen or risk-taker who liked to push the envelope or her luck. He described her as being a bit shy and bookish most of the time. She understood she was the daughter of a head of state. More importantly, she was mindful of the duties and obligations as a daughter in the Islamic tradition and faith. She would never dishonor her father or her country.
I inquired about Alicia Thurman as well. Kamal said he didn’t know her all that well. Most of his contact with her was in the car going to and from school. The two girls joked and giggled a lot in the backseat during the drive and that was about it.
I then asked him about Singh Joginder Singh. Kamal described the driver as quiet and reserved. He thought he was a good chauffeur, a careful one. There hadn’t been a single, serious traffic accident or even a fender bender in the few months that he had been assigned to protect Zeenat. That alone was a significant accomplishment given the driving conditions in Delhi. He thought conditions in the city were even worse than in Kabul. I mentally and strongly disagreed with his assertion, but said nothing. Kamal said he didn’t socialize with Singh so he really couldn’t add much to his profile. Well, so much for victim profiling as a useful investigative tool.
I then asked Kamal about the times and routes they used for taking the girls to school. He said they were aware of the precautions to be taken to reduce their vulnerability. However, he added that the schedule was fairly predictable. They left the residential compound within a 15 minute window each morning. He said it was impossible to convince the ambassador’s wife to send the girls to school much earlier or later in the day. They had to contend with their own class times and schedules at school. It was simply impractical to vary the departure times by more than a few minutes either way.
As to the routes, he said that Singh generally chose the routes. He and Mohammed both deferred to him for reasons of traffic congestion rather than security considerations. Singh would typically check with the other embassy drivers to find out where there were traffic snarls or snafus due to road construction or accidents or weather or whatever. Those things drove the route selection each morning more than anything else.
I specifically inquired about the week or so prior to the kidnapping. Which routes were taken by Singh? He replied they had taken the same route over many days due to road closures and traffic detours in the city according to Singh’s intelligence reports. They made relatively good time to the school via the route chosen by Singh.
He said the main road they took was narrow and congested like most roads in the city. He mentioned the street people would congregate around the vehicle when it came to a stop. They’d press their faces against the windows to plead and cajole the passengers for money or whatever. The beggars would beg, the windshield washers would wash, and the newspaper hawkers would hawk. He said he didn’t notice anything threatening or suspicious in the activities. It was just the normal, routine and controlled chaos swirling in a human sea in the capital.
I thanked Kamal and told him not to leave town. I liked to use that throwaway line every chance I got. He told me not to worry since he didn’t have a return ticket to Kabul. He said he was concerned about getting it punched when he finally did go home. I appreciated his droll, Afghan humor. I had found it was often spoken in a sheepish manner around foreigners who tried to get their goats.
I would have the RSO shop in Kabul run background checks on both of the agents, but I didn’t expect to find anything to suggest they might be involved in the kidnappings. I knew what I had to do next and doing it wouldn’t be pleasant. I had to talk to the ambassador’s wife about her daughter and Zeenat.
Beverly Thurman was a Foreign Service spouse who had willingly given up her career aspirations for those of her husband. It was a difficult situation that the department tried to address by providing employment opportunities at the embassy for the unemployed spouse. While tandem couples were more common these days, they were still a distinct minority. Tandems were a husband and wife who were both Foreign Service officers serving at the same post. The department tried its best to accommodate tandem couples, but the needs of the service dictum often superseded good intentions. Such officers were frequently assigned to separate countries and had to balance their children and their lives around their profession and the vagaries of Main State’s assignment process.
As a practical matter, Mrs. Thurman couldn’t accept employment at the embassy anyway. She was the ambassador’s wife at a large and important Foreign Service post that had many demanding representational responsibilities. Years ago, such responsibilities were actually required of spouses at ambassadorial level and below. The officer’s annual performance appraisal included an evaluation of the spouse’s volunteer, charitable work and other contributions to the embassy’s mission. The spouses, mostly wives, performed quasi-official duties for the U.S. government gratis, but with their rich uncle’s sincere gratitude.
Involuntary servitude was alive and well in the Foreign Service then because slavery had been outlawed many years before. Uncle Sam got his money’s worth out of its public servants, and then some, in those days. While such things were no longer expected or mandatory, there was still a strong cultural imperative for uncompensated service from those who weren’t gainfully, or otherwise, engaged in promoting the greater good of America.
The ambassador’s spouse was a special case since he or she was married to the number one person in the embassy. It was an expected duty and obligation that went with the territory. And financially, it wasn’t an easy situation. The costs of holding many dinners, receptions and other events on behalf of the U.S. government added up. Career ambassadors were largely common folk without much money. They received a representational allowance from the department that really didn’t go very far to cover expenses. They had to carefully balance their accounts or pay the price of being out-of-pocket.
The political appointees, on the other hand, were, most often, wealthy. Some were downright filthy rich; nouveau or otherwise. Old or new money didn’t make any difference as long as it was long-green that could be spent by the respective political parties. The politicos had to be well-to-do in order to afford buying the plum overseas postings with their generous campaign contributions.
However, career ambassadors didn’t make much more money, if at all, than the average DS special agent. That was because the agent qualified for Law Enforcement Availability Pay or LEAP. That represented a 25 percent premium over base-pay and not an insignificant sum of money. The Leapers were envied by other Foreign Service officers who labored just as hard in the department’s sweatshop. The difference was they didn’t carry guns and couldn’t arrest people for high crimes or misdemeanors. Their service just wasn’t special enough for Uncle Sam. The rank-and-file agents finally got their reward for a change.
Sometimes good things did come to those who served, protected, and waited for fair remuneration and retribution.
Beverly Thurman was a handsome woman in her mid-forties. She welcomed me and we sat down on wicker chairs on the screened porch of the residence. I politely declined her kind offer of coffee, tea, or something stronger
“Mrs. Thurman, I’m sorry I have to ask you these questions, but it’s important to get a sense of Alicia and Zeenat’s personalities and behaviors to determine if there’s anything that might help with the investigation.” I paused for her reaction and then continued. “I really need to get inside their heads to find out what was going on in their lives. What were their likes and dislikes, who were their friends? Were there any particular boyfriends? Who were their close girlfriends and confidants? How were things going at school? Did either mention anything out of the ordinary or unusual in their school routines? Did either ever express any concerns regarding their personal safety? Have there been any recent turnovers of domestic staff? Were there any workers or deliverymen or repairmen at the residence in the last couple of weeks? Had any servants quit or called in sick since the kidnapping? Did you or the ambassador receive any unusual telephone calls? Were there any hang-ups?”
I quickly backpedaled on the last point by clarifying that I was referring to the telephone. She chuckled at my silliness and I was pleased that I could still bring joy to ordinary people under the most trying of circumstances.
“Dick, I’ve wracked my brain over the past couple of days for information that might help us find Zeenat and my daughter. I’ve given all the information I could think of to my husband and the RSO. There wasn’t much to give. I didn’t notice anything unusual in the girls’ school or living routines. They were, I’m sorry, are, just normal teenagers. Both are good students and enjoy school. They listen to music and watched CDs and play the video games like all the other kids their age. Zeenat lived in the guest quarters above the garage.”
She pointed in the direction of the garage and I looked. The place looked comfortable, I thought.
“Neither one had any special boyfriends,” she continued. “They’ve both attended supervised dances and other social events at the school. Their friends are always welcome here and often visit. I’ve already provided a list of their names to the RSO. I much preferred that arrangement to them going out, even with an escort. Fortunately, the tennis court and swimming pool were big draws for the kids. I admit I was always worried about their safety, but never considered the possibility of a kidnapping. My worry was more maternal, the same as when we lived in the States. I’m simply a doting mom. Both girls lived in a secure, sheltered environment. The residence is well-guarded by both private security guards and the Indian police. We’ve never had a problem of any sort before. A traffic accident was my biggest worry until now.”
She started crying and I looked away to give her a chance to compose herself. When she did, she completed answering my earlier questions.
She mentioned the backgrounds of the domestic staff and embassy drivers had been checked by the RSO before being hired. There had never been any problems with staff. Maintenance workers were always supervised by the embassy’s general services staff. Personal deliveries for the family always went to the embassy first for security screening. Shopping for food and sundries was done by trusted staff as well. Security at the ISD was tight as the institution was often, and incorrectly, called the American School because of the large number of American students. The school administrators were extremely sensitive to security matters and took them seriously. As to phone calls, Mrs. Thurman said there hadn’t been any unusual ones. She didn’t mention any hang-ups she or her husband might have had and I didn’t press the matter.
I asked her about the two APPF agents who guarded Zeenat. She said they seemed to be professional and presumably had been vetted by both the U.S. and Afghan governments prior to being assigned to protect her. Whenever Zeenat left the compound, one of the two agents would accompany her and she never noticed any exceptions to the rule. The agents were under strict orders from President Karzai and Zeenat was a compliant child who was well-behaved and there had been no problems with her.
I also asked her about the driver, Singh. She said Joe had been assigned from the embassy motor pool about six months ago following the retirement of another driver. I asked if we were talking about the same person. She laughed and said that Singh’s second, given name was Joginder, hence the name Joe. He liked it she said since it made him feel more American. He was just a regular Joe, by her account. She also said he was a trusted embassy employee. Equally important to her was the fact he was a cautious, safe driver. She felt comfortable with Joe driving the girls around the city, adding that she worried about his safety too.
I’d run out of questions for the moment. I could easily get back to Mrs. Thurman anytime I wanted. After all, I knew where she lived. I thanked her for her time and promised that everyone was doing their best to get both girls safely returned soon.
Sometimes those who served and protected had to leave places totally empty-handed and headed.