There was nothing surprising about it when Khus Dihugami Dadamizo, Special International Policy Emissary of His Excellency President Hamid Karzai for the Embassy of Afghanistan to the United States of America asked to use my office rest room as soon as he arrived for his appointment. He does that more often than not. Otherwise, he waits until sometime in the middle of our consultation to ask. I can’t say I blame him, it’s a mighty pleasant place.
When he emerged, Dadamizo was his usual self – eyes pinpointed, smirking like Andy Warhol after a million dollar art sale and floating about two feet above the floor.
“Huge problem, Tom,” he confided as he settled into the couch by the window.
“And what,” I asked, “might that be?”
“Last Wednesday night,” Dadamizo sighed, “US and Russian forces attacked a narcotics factory five kilometers inside Pakistan and seized eight metric tons of heroin.”
“That’s odd,” I remarked, “it seems to me that I read in the media that it was one metric ton.”
“That,” Dadamizo asserted, “is what you call – dressing up the window?”
“You mean ‘window dressing,’” I surmised. “Are you saying that the US and Russia burned one ton of duji for show and did… something else with the other seven tons?”
“Exactly,” Dadamizo nodded, and nodded, and nodded…
“Hey,” I interjected, “exactly what?”
“They split the rest of the product between them. The CIA got one half and the Russian FSB got the other. President Karzai is extremely angry about this.”
“So it would seem,” I agreed. “He issued a very strongly worded statement, calling the raid ‘unauthorized’ and ‘illegal,’ although I don’t recall him complaining that seven tons of his half-brother Wali’s heroin went missing.”
“There are things that go in a press release,” Dadamizo shrugged, “and things that don’t. For instance, we said that while Afghanistan remains committed to its joint efforts with the international community against narcotics, it also makes it clear that no organization or institution shall have the right to carry out such a military operation without prior authorization and consent of the government of Afghanistan. That is, of course, because such unilateral operations are a clear violation of Afghan sovereignty as well as international law.”
“Very, very, strongly worded,” I complimented.
“Thank you,” Dadamizo replied with a satisfied smile. “I, myself, helped to craft that language.”
“But didn’t,” I inquired, “Afghanistan’s own elite counter-narcotics force participate in the raid?”
“Them?” Dadamizo sneered. “That’s what we do with… what do you Americans call them? All the rich brats? The rich brats who want to play soldier? We give them to the Americans and they dress them up and bring them along for… window dressing, yes, that’s it, more window dressing. Your DEA dropped all of those fools on the other side of the mountain from the heroin lab and made them run around all night chasing lights in the woods. Then, when dawn came, they choppered them over the mountain in a helicopter. And had them pose with the DEA and Russian narcotics police in front of the burning pile of drugs. They take pictures for souvenirs. It’s all – what do you Americans call it – ‘toys for boys?’ Yes?”
“Understood,” I dryly declared. “And so what, then, is your huge problem?”
Dadamizo shot me a puzzled look. “What do you think, Tom? What do you think is my huge problem?”
“I can’t,” I adroitly evaded, “really see any problem here.”
“But the FSB and CIA,” Dadamizo protested, “they destroyed President Karzai’s brother’s heroin factory, then they take seven out of eight tons of the product and split it up between themselves! That is over eight hundred and fifty million dollars apiece for FSB and CIA! Over one and a half billion dollars Wali Karzai does not have, and, consequently, cannot share with his brother and his many, many, friends… including me!”
“Oh,” I allowed, “that. Yes, well, I suppose, from a particular point of view, that could be construed as a ‘problem’ for… certain people.”
“Ah yes,” Dadamizo chuckled with a sly smile. “I know, I know… you are American, this is Washington, DC. If you agree with me, if you offer me advice on such matters as this, you must register as an agent of a foreign power… or even maybe break United States law, just for saying, perhaps, what Afghanistan, or what President Karzai, should do.”
“Unfortunately,” I announced, “I cannot either confirm or deny your assertions.”
“Of course,” Dadamizo acknowledged knowingly. “But maybe,” he suggested, as he stretched out on the couch, “I can relax here on my lunch hour while my good friend Tom tells me a nice fairy tale.”
“Once upon a time,” I began, “in the Enchanted Forest, there was a fairy king who made and sold pixie dust to all the munchkins and hobbits, and everyone was happy, because that’s what pixie dust does – produce happiness for a price. But then one day, a band of trolls smashed up the fairy king’s pixie dust factory, strip-searched all the pixies and destroyed some of the pixie dust, keeping most of it, however, for themselves. The fairy king looked upon this and despaired, sending his wisest wise man to consult the wizard of the great mountains about what to do. ‘Let me tell you a legend, the wizard said to the wise man. “Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, there was a goat-footed balloon man who walked the streets of a place called Georgetown, chanting ‘Make the ladies happy, make the children happy, make the ladies happy…’ and sometimes tourists would approach him and buy helium filled balloons, and other times, other people would approach him and get balloons filled with other things besides helium, and sometimes, undercover police officers would approach him. And when that happened, the goat-footed balloon man whistled, just whistled, and sold them balloons filled with helium, even though he knew full well that they were not tourists.”’ After hearing this, the fairy king’s wisest wise man wrinkled his brow and said ‘what the ding-busted patootie is that supposed to mean?’ And the wizard of the great mountains said ‘It means that, in milk sugar were your master’s sins done and done again in milk sugar; and so his sins shall be done in milk sugar yet once more.’ And at that, the fairy king’s wisest wise man received the wisdom which he had journeyed so far to receive. The end.”
A long moment passed as Dadamizo contemplated my mid-afternoon nap story. “I think,” he finally murmured, “we will set up a fake heroin factory and stock it with ten tons of milk sugar. Then we will arrange for the Russians and the Americans to raid it. And when they are done, and ready to split the eight or nine tons of white powder they don’t destroy for show, each will analyze the stuff, figure out it is fake and then… conclude the other guys cheated them.”
“Excuse me,” I responded, “but you’ll have to speak up. I’m afraid I didn’t hear what you just said.”
“What we need to do,” Dadamizo clarified as he rose from the couch and headed for the rest room again, “is set the FSB and the CIA at each other’s throats with a scheme to make them mistrust one another. It should be perfect, as long as nobody finds out.”
“I really can’t comment,” I cautioned as he opened the rest room door.
“And, besides, how could they, anyhow? How could anyone find out about it?” Dadamizo grinned as he closed the door behind him.
“I couldn’t possibly imagine,” I assured him.