Gun Deal

The black Land Cruiser approached the meeting point fast, perhaps too fast. Something was definitely not right. I chambered a round in my Glock and was feeling the first drops of sweat racing down my forehead. I pulled out of the side of the road and made a U-turn to be able to follow the Land Cruiser. In a matter of 200 meters we must have passed 5 or 6 policemen just sitting idly, not even paying attention to the two identical Land Cruisers speeding by. Too many police, not a good thing.

The day before we had gotten word from a “friend” we called Black Pajama, that he had some weapons for sale. This being Afghanistan could only mean one-thing…illegal weapons. Which was fine by us because there just wasn’t a gun shop we could stroll in and buy AK-47’s.  Through our interpreter we learned that Black Pajama wanted us to go to a meeting place in front of a hotel. Having been here for over three years I knew this hotel was located on the northwest side of Kabul, an area controlled by Northern Alliance people…Ahmad Shah Massood’s people. That afternoon we made contact with Black Pajama and asked him why he couldn’t just bring the weapons to our villa, it is safe and secure, he shouldn’t have any problem at all. He send message back saying that even though he is very well connected all around, he didn’t want to risk getting caught with 40 AK-47’s and assorted hand guns and ammunition in territory not controlled by his people. Can’t say that I blame him.

As I approached Black Pajama’s black Land Cruiser my eyes were everywhere, on the police to my left, to the men exiting the hotel front door on my right, the vehicles coming around the traffic circle right behind me. I was looking for all possible threats and avenues of exit in case we have to make an emergency exit. I know my partner was doing the same. Gun running is not an easy thing to do anywhere in the world, let alone in Afghanistan.

The original plan was for us to pull up behind Black Pajama and for my partner to jump in his vehicle and check out all the weapons, while I stayed in our Land Cruiser and watch his “six” just in case the deal goes south. Dave would check the weapons, bring them to our vehicle, I would give him the $6,000 in cash I had in my vest and he would give the money to Black Pajama, everything in front of the police. We estimated 30 minutes max, in and out. But like any good plan, this one was about to change drastically.

As soon as I parked behind him, Black Pajama got out of his vehicle as did my translator, and they hugged and smiled and laughed like long lost brothers. By their body language and gestures we figured that we were to follow Black Pajama somewhere else to do the deed. After a few minutes of cordialities we followed him through the dirty and dusty streets of West Kabul. Winding in and out of neighborhoods that I had never been in before; thousands of eyes staring at us; racing to keep up with Black Pajama who was driving like he owned the place. One thing that impressed us was that at a very busy intersection he just drove to the middle and blocked traffic so we can cross and keep up with him. Now that is something an amateur does not do, this guy definitely knew what he was doing. That sort of made us feel a little bit better; however, I was having a hard time remembering all the turns, was it three to the left and then two to the right? I have to say that if anything had happened I would have had a hard time getting out of there quickly.

We made a right turn into a very dusty and foul smelling street and pulled over in front of the third house on the left, what we were assuming was his house. We all got out of our vehicles and while Black Pajama opened the front door, we scanned both sides of the streets making sure we didn’t see anything suspicious.  We entered the courtyard and proceeded to his living room. The room was furnished with a multitude of comfortable sofas and chairs. I took a seat next to the door and Dave sat facing it and to the side. We had the entrance covered. To say that we wanted to do the deal and get out of there fast was an understatement. But it was not to be, the cigarettes, nuts, fruits and tea came out and our translator started to shoot the bull with Black Pajama in the best Afghan tradition. My cell phone rang and it startled me, it was one of our mates calling to check on us as agreed. He had been calling every 20 minutes to make sure we were still alive. Every new sound made me look around, every time the door opened I got a bit jumpier, we had to do the deed and get out of there. From a 30-minute plan, we were into two hours and we still haven’t seen a damn weapon.

I started the bargaining by asking him if the weapons were here. “Of course!” He said. Never forgetting that we were in his house, I politely asked if we could see a “sample”.

We proceeded down very narrow steps to his basement, to his very dusty and dark basement. This time I went down first and Dave brought the rear, our hands never far off our weapons. In the basement, covered with old carpets and two centuries of dust we found hundreds of ammo cans. So far so good, Black Pajama had the ammo. Now we needed to see weapons.

And that came next; he asked us to follow him outside the house, so moving up the narrow stairs from the basement to the ground floor, I was wondering what was in store for us now. From the room we had been eating at, we followed him to the front and outside of the house, to the back of his Land Cruiser. He opened the truck and lo and behold he had the weapons in the back of his vehicle all along. There were are least 50 AK-47’s there, all covered with an old carpet. Getting a bit nervous for standing in the middle of a street in Kabul looking at AK-47s, I asked him if we could take eight inside and check them out. He immediately agreed to it and told his “boy” to take them in, while Dave and I kept our eyes everywhere.

Again, being polite and trying not to offend we asked if we could take the weapons apart to further inspect them, “koneshna” he said, using the Russian word for “Of Course”. We proceeded to tear the weapons apart and checked them; they were all good weapons, very good actually, compared to what I had seen in the last 3 and half years in Afghanistan.

The weapons looked as if they had been buried for a long time, there were dirt and leaves in them. I mentioned that to Black Pajama to which responded “well what do you expect? I had to keep them hidden for many years!” I guess we had to laugh at that.

What we wanted to do then was test fire the weapons, he said no problem, he asked his helper to get us some magazines so we can test fire them. I asked him were did he intend for us to shoot the guns and he said “In my backyard of course!” That’s where we had to draw the line and accept his word that the guns were good.  We were not about to shoot eight AKs in the air in the middle of Kabul. There is an old saying that whatever goes up, must come down…eventually.

To show our appreciation for what he was doing for us and his hospitality, I pulled one of my .45 cal magazines and emptied in my hand and gave the bullets to him…all 14 of them. I knew he had a Colt .45 but had no rounds, so I decided to give him some of mine, knowing that I still had two other full magazines. He was very moved by the gesture and embraced me and told me that we were now real friends.

So now the payment. We asked him if he wanted the money now or later, he said he would come to our villa later and get it from us. What about the guns? He said he trusted us now and that we could take the guns with us; he really didn’t want to go to our side of the city and risk getting stopped by the police with the guns in his trunk.

After placing the weapons and ammo in the back of our Land Cruiser we got ready to go, but I realized that everything was exposed in the back. Dave asked Black Pajama for something to cover the weapons. He came out with a carpet.

My translator said something to the effect that the deed was done and we were finished. What I was thinking was that it ain’t over until it’s over, and for us that was when we drove into our villa and the front gate was closed and locked. We still had to drive across the city and anything could happen: the police could stop, unlikely; we could get a flat tire, likely; or worse, this could all be a set up and Black Pajama might call the police and tell them about us, highly unlikely. Needless to say I drove as fast as possible without drawing too much attention and made it to our villa in record time. As soon as the gates closed we all let out a sigh of relief, it was over.