Afghan Warlord

By Michael S. Vigil

A novel full of suspense, unexpected twists , and high stakes. It unravels the murky and violent world of the international drug trade.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781663212931

Michael S. Vigil

Michael S. Vigil, born and raised in Española, New Mexico, earned his degree in Criminology at New Mexico State University where he graduated with Honors. He later joined the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) and became one of its most highly decorated agents. He served in thirteen foreign and domestic posts and rose through the ranks to the highest levels of the Senior Executive Service. He was the Special Agent in Charge of the Caribbean and San Diego Divisions. He further served as the Chief of International Operations in charge of all DEA offices worldwide. Mr. Vigil has received numerous awards during his elite career such as law enforcement’s most prestigious recognition: The National Association of Police Organization’s (NAPO) Top Cop award. This award is only given to ten law enforcement heroes each year from thousands of submissions nationwide. Many foreign governments have honored Mr. Vigil for his extraordinary and courageous efforts in the violent struggle against transnational organized crime. He is the only American to be made an Honorary General by the country of Afghanistan. China bestowed him with the “Key to the City of Shanghai.” The President of the Dominican Republic presented him with an Admiral’s sword at an International Drug Enforcement Conference. He is mentioned in over twenty-five books and appears on worldwide documentaries, and popular television programs such as Gangsters: America’s Most Evil, The Rise and Fall of El Chapo, Manhunt: Kill or Capture, and NETFLIX’S Drug Lords. He is a contributor to CNN, MSNBC, NBC, ABC, CBS, Telemundo, Univision, Chinese Global Television, NPR, TRT, Al Jazeera, BBC, TV Azteca, El Financiero Bloomberg, FOX, NTN 24, Caracol Television, CNN Español, and dozens of internationally syndicated newspapers and radio stations. He is also a contributor to the highly regarded Cipher Brief. His highly acclaimed memoir, DEAL, was released in 2014. Metal Coffins: The Blood Alliance Cartel, Narco Queen, Land of Enchantment Cartel, Afghan Warlord, and the Rise of the Sicario are his five fiction novels. Many of the scenarios, however, are derived from his extensive experience as an undercover agent. He is the only American to have a corrido (ballad) made in his honor by Alberto Angel AKA El Cuervo, a famous recording artist and composer in Mexico. Mr. Vigil was responsible for the largest and most successful operations in the DEA’s history. The most significant one involved thirty-six countries in the Caribbean, Mexico, and Central and South America. After the fall of the Taliban in Afghanistan, he designed and implemented Operation Containment consisting of twenty-five countries, to include the China and the Russia. Prior to this initiative, only a few kilograms of heroin were seized in the region. During the first year of Operation Containment over twenty-four tons were seized in this same region. The U.S. Congress continues to fund the highly successful initiative. He also developed regional intelligence centers allowing foreign countries to exchange information on transnational organized crime. The centers are now operational globally. Mr. Vigil was one of the most intrepid and legendary undercover agents in the history of the DEA. He successfully infiltrated some of the most violent and dangerous cartels in the world.

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Copyright © 2020 Michael Vigil.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-1292-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-1294-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-1293-1 (e)

iUniverse rev. date:  11/17/2020

CONTENTS

Foreword

Dedication

Chapter 1     Early Days In Kabul

Chapter 2     The Invasion

Chapter 3     The Struggle

Chapter 4     The End Justifies The Means

Chapter 5     Enter The Taliban

Chapter 6     The Pact

Chapter 7     The Fall Of The Taliban

Chapter 8     The Russian Mafia

Chapter 9     Operation Containment

Chapter 10   Laundering Drug Money

Chapter 11   Assassination Attempt

Chapter 12   The Final Struggle

FOREWORD

During my federal career that spanned four decades and four U.S. Departments, I was fortunate on a few occasions to work for genuine leaders. Mike Vigil was one of those amazing bosses. Working for Vigil early in my DEA career was a transformative experience.

In the late 1980’s, as a DEA Special Agent, I was assigned to work in Vigil’s Enforcement Group at the Miami Field Division. During that era the division’s geographic boundaries included Florida and the Caribbean – the proverbial catcher’s mitt for the Medellin and Cali, Colombia Cartels cocaine fastballs that were hitting the eastern seaboard of the United States. For DEA, it was the major leagues and Vigil led a team of Special Agents that each year racked up the highest arrest and seizure statistics for the entire division.

Vigil was tireless, demanding, aggressive, and fearless. Vigil was wide and muscular and when he walked into the squad bay it seemed like he was bursting into the room; it felt menacing. Vigil was always on the move. Even sitting behind his desk, Vigil exuded kinetic energy – juggling telephone calls, paperwork, and beckoning to the queue of personnel waiting to see him.

Vigil prided himself on pushing the operational and investigative envelope. Vigil stretched regulations to the breaking point and bent the arc of official policy to meet his investigative imperatives. When informed by superiors, headquarters, other agencies, or even foreign governments that an operation or investigation couldn’t be done, Vigil would merely interpret that as a dare. He didn’t take no for an answer. He didn’t suffer weak-kneed bureaucrats gladly. He was audacious.

Most of all, Vigil was supremely self-confident. It wasn’t arrogance; it was bravado. There’s a difference – look it up. That was his aura. Vigil never shied away from making a decision. His subordinates might have scratched their heads a few times, but they didn’t hesitate to execute his directives. And that’s because Vigil had a reputation for having an uncanny ability to anticipate the moves of the adversary. He was playing three-level chess on an international chessboard and everyone around him was merely in checkers mode.

And that’s not to say that Vigil’s crystal ball didn’t let him down on occasion. But what never failed, not once, was Vigil’s ability to call an audible, to pull a rabbit out of his hat, or to take the body blow and shoulder the responsibility for the failed mission. You knew if you were carrying out Vigil’s orders he had your back and you were shielded by his invisible halo. That was the secret to his loyal following. He was fiercely loyal to his followers.

Every Special Agent from Vigil’s Enforcement Group would go on to have illustrious careers in DEA; four of us would rise to the senior executive ranks of the agency. I owe much of my own success to what I learned working for Vigil. Those were some of the most impressionable, rewarding, and memorable years of my career. How couldn’t they be? I had the supreme honor to work for DEA’s version of General George S. Patton Jr. in the height of the drug wars.

Jay Bergman

DEA Senior Executive Service (ret)

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the loving memory of my

parents, Sam and Alice, whose sacrifice, support,

and love made me the person I am today.

It is also dedicated to my sisters, Anita and Mona.

To my niece, Ursula, who is my bright shining star.

And to Nicole who is in heaven with my parents.

To my stepdaughter, Lisa Haynie, and my

grandchildren, Luke Edward and Sarah

Claire, who make life a complete joy.

To my wife, Suzanne, for creating the stunning book cover.

To my friend, Alvan Romero, retired IRS

Special Agent, who provided phenomenal

support in the editing of this book.

CHAPTER 1

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EARLY DAYS IN KABUL

Asadi Abad woke up from a deep slumber when a pack of wild dogs fought each other for a dead rat they had found in the vacant lot next to his window. The loud growling and sharp howls of painful bites went on for several minutes until one of the mongrels grabbed the rat in its jaws and ran off to enjoy its only meal in days. Asadi, whose name meant strong like a lion, slowly sat up and stretched his arms. He was sore. His bed consisted of an old makeshift mattress made of old rags stuffed between two blankets. It was more than uncomfortable, but his family was poor. His father sold fruits and assorted nuts at a nearby bazaar. His mother was a schoolteacher at an elementary school two kilometers away. The combined salaries of his parents were barely enough to buy food and clothes. The small mud house with the flat roof where they lived had been inherited from Asadi’s grandmother when she passed away from cancer several years earlier. Most of the houses in Kabul, Afghanistan were made from wooden poles that were coated with mud and straw.

After washing his face in a rusty washbasin, Asadi put on his perahan turban clothes consisting of a knee length dress and baggy trousers made of cotton. It was the traditional dress for men in the country. Winter was beginning to set in and he reached into a dark brown, wooden trunk and pulled out his khaki colored chapan (coat) and put it on. It was a little tight, but a new one was not on the horizon. Asadi was a tall, handsome teenager with thick, dark hair and a natural smile. He was always in good spirits. Even though he lived in poverty, it was not a problem because he had never experienced wealth or power. One only missed what they had previously savored.

Asadi walked into the small kitchen where his father, Abdul, and his doting mother, Asmaan, sat at a rickety, oval table sipping hot, sabz chai (green tea) and eating goat cheese with naan (flat bread). Asmaan leaped from her chair and kissed Asadi, her only child, on the forehead. In the Pashto language, she remarked, My beloved son, thank Allah for protecting you in your sleep.

Abdul smiled, Asadi, I’m glad you could join us for breakfast. Please eat something so you will have sufficient energy to do Allah’s will. You can enjoy your friends today, or come with me to the bazaar and sell the bushels of fruits and nuts that are stored in the back of the house.

Asadi replied, Father, if it is alright with you, I would prefer to spend the day with my good friends, Alam and Amir. It has been a few weeks since I have seen them and friendships, as you know nourish one’s soul. I will work with you at the bazaar tomorrow.

Abdul laughed, How did I know you would choose your friends over work. Maybe that is best since you eat more nuts and fruits than you sell. At least today, I will earn a profit so I can buy your mother some badly needed shoes.

Asmaan interrupted, My son, please don’t forget to come home early for home schooling. I want to provide you with the best education and Allah has entrusted me with that task. Understand?

Of course, my beloved mother, replied Asadi. You have been teaching me since I was able to walk. Thanks to you, I can read, write, and speak in English, Dari, and Pashto. My English is poor, but I can get by. I’m so privileged to have you. But, I have great sadness in my heart because our great country suffers from an eighty percent illiteracy rate. It makes Afghanistan vulnerable to other countries, which have darkness in their hearts. I will come home in the early afternoon. Blessings to you and my hardworking father.

Before leaving the house, Asadi went to his small room and grabbed his kite made with red and green tissue paper. It was attached to a spool of sturdy string. He ran out to the street with the kite pretending both were soaring through the white puffy clouds in the sky like powerful hawks. About two kilometers down the road, at a busy intersection, Asadi saw his friends approaching. Alam was short and his light brown hair was so unruly that a hundred hairbrushes wouldn’t have made a difference. He walked with a limp as a result of being run over by a car when he was ten years old. Amir was tall and lanky. He always had a crazy grin on his face. He had long legs and looked like a camel when he walked. It made Asadi laugh at the sight.

After exchanging greetings, all three friends proceeded to a small park littered with trash where a group of other teenagers stood huddled together. They spoke loudly and shoved each other in a playful manner. Most of them carried colorful kites and were ready to participate in kite fighting, which was part of the Afghan culture. It was played between two or more opponents and the objective was to fly their kites and attempt to cut the lines of their opponent’s flyers. It was a form of aerial combat. The one whose kite was the last one flying won the contest. Some of the contestants impregnated their kite’s string with particles of glass to give them a distinct advantage.

Asadi was the first to launch his kite and was quickly followed by all the other kids yelling at the top of their lungs. The strong breeze quickly lifted several of the sleek kites high in the air and the battle soon began. Asadi deftly maneuvered his kite by pulling the string and it swooped down on another kite cutting its string. The black and yellow kite plummeted to the ground and shattered. Soon, it was only Asadi and one other boy. Their kites hit each other with great speed and force. The heated contest went on for several minutes until Asadi moved his kite underneath the other and attacked as it climbed rapidly. The other kite’s string snapped and everyone cheered and patted Asadi on the back. He was proud of his victory and gently brought down his kite. After hugging his two friends goodbye, Asadi ran home since he was already late.

Asmaan had several outdated textbooks already stacked on the kitchen table and was happy to see her pride and joy arrive. She was obsessed with giving Asadi the best education she could and would continuously borrow books from the school where she had been working at for over a decade. Asadi had attended elementary school and she had been his teacher, but since his family didn’t own a car it was nearly impossible for him to get to a higher-level school. The nearest one was more than fifteen kilometers away. His mother was pleased she could personally continue to educate him. Besides, the one-on-one instruction had greatly benefited Asadi’s ability to learn.

Asmaan stated, Asadi, you are late so let’s get started with your math and history lessons. Both are very important to you, but history teaches us valuable lessons about the future and points us in the right direction. Also, my son, I have a plate of mantu, your favorite dish.

Mantu were dumplings that were filled with lamb meat and steamed to perfection. They were topped with yoghurt and chickpeas. Asadi never tired of them and would beg his mother to make them several times a week.

Asadi worked on math problems for about two hours and then began studying history, which was his favorite subject. He read a passage in the history book that referred to Afghanistan as the graveyard of empires. It pointed out the many nations and empires that had attempted to conquer it, but failed to pacify the various tribes. Even if some empires had won some initial battles, they were forced to eventually give up their efforts of conquest.

Asadi, also read that Alexander the Great had once said that, ‘it was easy to enter Afghanistan, but difficult to withdraw." Asadi understood this to mean that invading armies could easily enter Afghanistan through its porous borders, but would be besieged by fanatical tribesmen who fought them and blocked their retreat. Asadi read voraciously, especially stories dealing with heroism. He studied the various strategies of war used by ancient conquerors and analyzed them in great detail. Late at night, he would lie in bed mulling over them and how they could have been changed to make them even more effective. He knew that a smaller force could defeat a larger one by using tactics such as surprise, maneuverability, speed, and knowing the vulnerabilities of one’s enemy.

Early the next day, Abdul woke Asadi by gently shaking him. After dressing, he joined his father for breakfast. Both had naan and peanut butter and jam. This energized Asadi who went to fetch several baskets of fruits to include pomegranates, apricots, and figs. He took them to the backyard where Abdul was readying two donkeys. Asadi then fetched more baskets, but this time of almonds, walnuts and pistachios. After, they were tied and secured to the donkey’s backs with thick rope they set off on a small dusty road. It took them an hour to reach the bazaar, which was a beehive of activity, as all the vendors got ready for the day’s busy market. Loud chatter filled the air as everyone began to place their products in small, rustic stands made of scrap wood. The vendors sold agricultural products, silk scarves, tribal jewelry, clothing, and antiques for the home. Asadi and his father rapidly unloaded the donkeys and placed their baskets in one of the stalls. Abdul and Asadi sat in dilapidated chairs and talked while they waited for customers.

Abdul told Asadi, Remember son, always be kind to people and give them a fair price on whatever you sell them. But beware; there are many evil people who will try to steal from you. Never trust anyone until they have completely gained your confidence. If they do steal from you, then it is Allah’s will that you make an example of them; otherwise others will do the same. Understand?

Asadi asked, Father, what do you mean by make an example of them? I don’t understand.

You are young and I know this sounds harsh, but this means you may have to punish them severely or kill them, replied Abdul. Stealing in many cultures is punishable by death because those that rob are considered social pariahs who prey on the innocent. Under Sharia (the path), Islamic law, it states and for the man who steals and the woman who steals, cut off their hands as a punishment for what they have earned, an exemplary punishment from Allah, and Allah is mighty."

Asadi looked horrified, My beloved father, that sounds so terrible. I don’t know if I would ever be capable of doing such a thing. You must know that violence is not in my nature.

Abdul smiled benevolently, My only son, you will become more hardened as you grow older. Our country is poor and there are so many that will try to take advantage of us. Sometimes violence and war are necessary to protect our families and even more importantly, our country. I’m not worried since you will learn soon.

Within hours, Abdul and Asadi, working as a team sold everything to the bustling crowd who engaged in animated conversation with each other. Once they loaded the empty baskets on their two donkeys, the father and son walked slowly home with seven hundred afghanis (Afghanistan’s currency) from their days work. It was the equivalent to about ten U.S. dollars.

Abdul told Asadi, We didn’t make a lot of money, but it is more than most people make in Afghanistan. I’m saddened that over fifty percent of our people live in wretched poverty. This means that they earn about seventy-three afghani (one dollar) a day or less. Allah tests our strength every day.

Asadi, with a sad look, asked, Father, why is our country so poor? It hurts me to see our people, especially the children, begging in the streets. We are a religious and pious country. All of us were born with strong backs and believe in hard work.

Well, to begin with, our economy is too small to handle the growing labor force, answered Abdul. We also lack the infrastructure of many of our neighboring countries and we have very limited access to markets. Our leaders must do a better job in developing Afghanistan.

When they arrived home, Asmann had already set the table with stacks of warm naan and a large pot of kabuli palaw, a rice dish with meat, fried raisins, slivers of carrots, and pistachios. Everyone shared their experiences for the day and laughed at each other’s jokes. After clearing the table, Asmann sat down with Asadi for a few hours of study. Afterwards, everyone went to bed. It had been a long and tiring day.

During breakfast the next morning, Abdul told Asadi that the following day they would be going with Mohammed, a family friend, to Jalalabad to buy a few goats and assorted vegetables. Asadi always enjoyed taking trips to other areas in Afghanistan. He enjoyed the small, infrequent adventures, especially when he got to ride in a car or truck. Asadi counted the hours and early in the morning, Mohammed arrived in his jingle truck, which was painted in the most ornate designs and bright colors. Truck art in Afghanistan was not only a cultural thing, but also a status symbol. Its name came from the chains and bells hanging from the bumpers, which jingled when the trucks were on the road. The truck owners considered the ostentatious drawings as badges of competition. Mohammed had paid two years of his salary for the artwork on his truck.

Mohammed, an older man with a long, gray beard, opened the passenger door and allowed Asadi and his father to climb in. In Pashto, he said, Allah has been kind to you, Asadi. He has blessed you with good looks. You will not have a problem finding several wives to marry.

Asadi replied, Thank you, kind sir! I know that under Islam we are allowed four wives, but are limited to the number we can provide for. Right now, I can’t even support myself.

Both Mohammed and Abdul roared in laughter.