The Road to Afghanistan - George Washington University

Dubs, trying to suppress his irritation, nodded again. “Go ahead.” His diplomaticimmunity gave him the right to ignore the order to stop, but such checks on the streets ofKabul had become customary, and the ambassador began to regard them as an inevitableinconvenience. This policeman will look inside the car and possibly ask to open and checkthe trunk before allowing them to pass. Nothing to worry about, Dubs reasoned. He noticed,however, that the policeman was behaving strangely. He pulled open the backdoor of thelimousine, which for some reason was unlocked. Within a second, he was sitting beside theambassador, holding a revolver against his body. The next moment, two more Afghanswearing civilian clothes jumped inside the car, also armed with revolvers. One of themgrinned crookedly into his unkempt moustache and ordered the driver to go to Hotel Kabul.Gol Mohammad, still in a state of shock, gripped the steering wheel with whiteknuckles. He looked into his mirror, guiltily observing the ambassador, who was relativelycalm and seemed to be attempting a smile.“Let’s go,” confirmed Dubs somewhat indifferently.The car proceeded on its way to the hotel. Armed Afghans escorted the ambassadorinto the foyer.An elderly Hazara administrator stood at the reception desk, located to the right ofthe entrance. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat. A young man in his early twentieswearing a faded navy jacket was talking to the hotel administrator. As soon as the groupentered the hotel, the young man joined them, silently motioning them to continue to thesecond floor, to Room 117. While ascending the marble staircase, the ambassador lookedback for a second. Through the window of the vestibule, he saw his car drive towardsPashtunistan Square, in the direction of the U.S. embassy. The clock showed 8:50 a.m.291