Kazakhstan: Mission 1512
Alexis Guerra and Alyssa Parker
per. 4 03/28/03
“Yep, those were the days,” I, Alexis Guerra commented to Alyssa Parker, my former CIA partner.
We both had specialized in Undercover International Affairs and had worked with each other for more than 20 years in the drug-busting business. As our day in retirement dragged on, we couldn’t help but look back on our rookie cases. The most memorable: Mission 1512, which included the wipe out of the most sought after drug dealer in the world, located in Kazakhstan.
“Remember our first mission? M. Barlow, our Chief Agent in the United States CIA at the time, briefed us as we prepared ourselves for the journey.....”
BRIEFING: “Your mission, ladies, is to successfully intermine the largest drug ring lead by Colonel Mustard. His operation house is said to be located in the southern part of Kazakhstan near Uzbekistan and the Aral Sea. He is responsible for 1/2 of all the drug dealing this decade has witnessed. With Kazakhstan’s 1.67 million square miles and over 16.8 million people, it’s not going to be a snap like those three busts in TJ yesterday. Rather, this is going to be a long-term process that you two are handling by yourselves. You will be flying into the most populated city, Almaty, and will be given a suitcase that is not to be opened until you exit the airport for security reasons. You will also be notified on any updates that we uncover here in the states. Besides this, you are free to capture your crook in any way you feel necessary. Good Luck, and be careful, this man is known to be brutal. M. Barlow, signing off.”
We jumped off the airplane, making sure to grab extra bags of fire-roasted sugar-glazed peanuts, of course, anxious to tear open the suitcase and peer at this well-kept secret that we had carried on the plane with us. As Alyssa lifted the top of the suitcase, both our eyes gaped at the marvelous technology that lurked inside the small area, although we had no idea what any of it did. The screen flickered and within seconds a familiar face appeared on the screen.
“Olga! What’s up!” we cried.
Olga, a.k.a. Crystal Roldan, our resource agent located at the CIA home base, was a friend of ours and we dated back to middle school. All three of us decided into go into the same field of work.
“Yo,” Olga replied back, “ took you guys long enough. What happened, your plane got canceled or something? Anyway, I’ve got all the information you need right here in order to successfully carry out your mission. I’ve also just received word that M. Barlow wants you to stay the night at a certain motel in the area, just couldn’t tell you until you landed. “
I jotted down the information we needed and then went to say good bye to Crystal. “Oh, no no no, don’t even think about carrying this suitcase off with you. Once you shut the lid on this baby it self implodes so that none of this gets into the wrong hands. Peace out, man.”
Alyssa shut the lid, and we darted off, not knowing when or how that was going to be carried out. Sure enough, a few seconds later, we looked behind us and smack dab in the middle of the street lay a small ball of fire.
Our first obstacle: finding the hotel we were suppose to go to somewhere about two miles away in a country that bears few people who speak English (their official language is Kazak although 2/3 of the population prefer to speak Russian). In addition, we would primarily be in the unmodernized, rural towns where most Kazaks reside.
We decided our crime fighting job would start tomorrow, after we relaxed and got comfortable. Walking through the streets, an array of culture and a new way of living surrounded us and engulfed of minds. After taking in all that was around us, Alyssa spoke first.
“They seem so cold, and uninviting. Just unfriendly.”
I explained to her how people in this country are usually reserved, since the village is a place to impress your neighbors and respect the elders.
“People greet each other by saying ‘Torge Shygynyz,’ but otherwise save smiles for the home, where they are very warm and open to guests and family.”
We stopped at a cart on the road and bought Baursaki, or fried doughnuts, for a snack, mainly to satisfy Alyssa’s sugar craving. I popped out my dictionary and said zdravstvujte, or hello. While we walked on I practiced different words, like yaneloljmano (I don’t understand), izvinite (excuse me), and dosvidandtya (goodbye). We tried to communicate with the village people with our primitive skills, in order to learn more about their government. Hopefully this would allow us to communicate with the police there and have them on our side. One native Kazak told us that they had a Republic Government, and a President (Nursultan A. Nazarbayev) in addition to a Prime Minister (Imangali Tasmagambetov). Another man we asked described the format of their government. He explained how the President’s power is divided into four sections: the Parliament, Prime Minister, Constitutional Council, and the Supreme Court. From there, the Parliament is composed of Senate Mazhelis and Maslikhat, and underneath the Prime Minister are Akims, which could compare to American State Governors.
Alyssa and I realized we needed to be heading on, so we thanked the man for his kindness and continued in this foreign but intriguing country. As we walked aimlessly looking for the street that our hotel was located on, I decided to test my oblivious partner.
“Tell me who the United States Secretary of Defense is.”
“Huh?” She questioned.
“Donald Rumsfeld. Okay, so then who’s the Secretary of Homeland Security?” I threw back at her.
“Run that by me again.” She answered with a suspicious look.
It was at that moment I realized how much we, as Americans, take advantage of our political system. All we care about is how high our stocks have gone, and we can’t even name the most important figures in our country. Yet, a man off the street in Kazakhstan will take the time to describe his country’s political system and provide me with important names. I reasoned that since other countries have had to deal with so much in their history, government is not something to be taken lightly, like back in America. I explained my theory to Alyssa, who heartily agreed.
“It’s a shame, but reality.” she said.
Just then, I stopped, grabbed Alyssa, and sang to my heart’s content. We had finally found our hotel! The burned-out lopsided sign gleamed like a heavenly object, and we proceeded inside. I wouldn’t have been more surprised than if George Bush Senior himself came and greeted us. Although the outside looked like a run-down Bate’s Motel, the inside shined like Buckingham Palace. Full-length curtains hung across the walls made out of rich fabrics and colors. Authentic braided rugs covered the hardwood floor, and marble top counters were just calling to be leaned upon.
“Wow.” Both of us said and glared from side to side.
Alyssa went to go get us registered, and I decided to admire the many cultural pieces that filled the nooks and crannies everywhere. I picked up a statue of a Buddhist leader, and marveled at its preciseness in the carvings. Since 47% of Kazaks are Muslim, I wasn’t surprised that many of the pieces reflected the Islamic religion. I learned from my aunt (who was a missionary) that Russian Orthodoxy was a close second at 44%. She also told me an interesting fact about Islam: Islamic men can have up to four wives legally, as long as he treats them all equally.
It was time to be led to our room. As soon as the bed was in my sight, I jumped and let my body sink into softness. After Alyssa and I rested, we decided it was time to have dinner. We both grabbed room service menus off the night stand and dialed to order the most cultural food they offered. What’s the point of traveling to a different country (no matter what the purpose, vacation or drug-busting) and not experiencing the native culture? Luckily, the receptionist spoke English and could take our order.
We had chosen a traditional fancy dinner, all courses included. It contained “zhal” (a horse meat), dessert, bread, tea, and hor d’oeuvres. This selection of food is eaten for special occasions, whereas sheep is considered a staple food, according to Kazakhstan For Travelers, at least. Not long after I hung up the phone, a bellboy knocked on the door. Already I could smell the delicious aromas filling the air. Alyssa suggested that we eat our meal like a traditional Kazak family, so we started with our milk and tea beverages like the menu said. The appetizers came next, followed by the horse meat and dessert (kuumyss). We engulfed our food, and then fell back down on the beds to start plotting our strategies of the following day. Although I had been trained in this field, it proved to be a whole different ball game when you’re in a foreign country with no resources to your aide. Our minds were blank with ideas, how in the world were we going to stop the biggest drug-dealer in the world? We definitely needed someone to show us how to get around this country, just some basic tips. There was no way we could get around by ourselves. The door knocked again.
“Bellboy here. Me come to take you plate, please.”
Alyssa and I looked at each other and snickered as sniveling smiles spread across our faces. We knew the bellboy with the accent would be a perfect tour guide. Bingo. As I looked out the window at the city below, Alyssa persuaded the young boy of about 10 to be our sidekick, and he readily agreed.
“An adventure! Me can’t wait to tell Brother!”
That night I thought about what I had seen out the window. It happened to be spring, and people were celebrating the holiday of Nauryz, or the holiday of Spring. Kazaks believe the more you celebrate Nauryz, the more success you will acquire during the year. They put on festive clothes and play several games, including horse races. The National Holiday is on October 25th, and cooking traditional food is the normal way of celebrating this holiday, as well. The gatherings I saw them enjoying brought a smile to my face.
The next day, a hyper little boy waited at our doorstep. Alyssa, being practically a kid herself, jabbered on and on with the boy and described how we used all this high tech equipment and carried out secretive plans.
“Who you looking for, again?” The boy, who told us his name was Kushi, asked.
“A very bad man named Colonel Mustard.” I explained.
He stared blankly at me.
“What? Do you know something we should?” I questioned.
“Me neighbor, Mausaki, and his grandmama know lots of people who talk about Colonel Mustard all time. Me take you to Mausaki house if you want.”
“Please!!!!” Alyssa and I both yelled, anxious to gain anything on our pretty much dead case.
As our luck would hold, Mausaki’s house was a two hour walk away. Those two hours were not at all wasted, though. We followed a dirt road for most of it, and awed at the beautiful mountains towering ahead of us, and swaying grasses on the flat land surrounding us. We stopped and took a picture with a man riding on a donkey pulling a cart of textiles. He told us he was riding to a local village that would sell the merchandise at a gift shop along tours of the Great Silk Road. Although we knew a little of what it was, we were interested in what this man had to tell us about the history of it. He said it was primarily used to transport spices, porcelain, gold, ivory, exotic animals, and fineries between China and Europe long ago. He also explained that this road was the way Buddhism traveled to China from India. After speaking with him for a few minutes, we sadly told him we had to move on, but that it was a pleasure to meet him.
From then on, the three of us walked in silence to the house of Mausaki and his grandmother, letting the beauty of everything sink into our mind and spirit.
About a half hour after we spoke with the man, I saw tents and bright colors filling the road ahead of us. It came out of nowhere on this endless flat land, so I thought I was hallucinating. Then Alyssa and Kushi started running to explore the new scenery, so I figured it was a local market. When we got closer I could see all the beautiful fabrics the women had spread out, the glitter of handmade jewelry, and the sweet scent of fresh produce. Of course we had to stop, Colonel Mustard could wait.
I awed at the craftsmanship of every item there, especially the necklaces and bracelets one woman displayed under her tent. She explained to me how she had made each of the pieces herself, after her husband brought home leftover scraps of metal from the plant he worked at. I knew copper, gold, zinc, petroleum and cobalt were in abundance in Kazakhstan, so the fact that her husband worked at a mine didn’t surprise me. Actually, 21% of Kazakhstan’s residents work in the manufacturing and mining business, whereas 19% are involved in agriculture and 23% work in the service industries. I bought some magnificently shaped copper bracelets and rings to bring home to the female friends and relatives back home, not forgetting to pick out a few for myself, of course. I also figured this woman had the tent in order to bring in some extra money for her family, so I didn’t mind spending a little cash to add to her husband’s meager wage of $5,900. That was Kazakhstan’s per capita GNP at the time.
Meanwhile, Alyssa and Kushi were off playing hide-and-go-seek between the tents, despite the owners yelling in foreign terms we probably shouldn’t define, and swatting with dish cloths. We ran out laughing until our stomachs hurt. Then it hit us again: wait, we’re going to a house to get information so we can make a big American drug-bust, therefore, it’s back to business.
We continued on enduring the torrid sun beating down on our backs. It felt good to be outside and soaking up the goodness God had provided for us. All the sudden, Kushi ran ahead into a dirt road that led about a mile in.
“This way! This way to Mausaki’s house!” he happily announced.
We followed him down the path and encountered a small, moderately kept up house. Kushi ran right in and told us to enter, as well. The room was dark and musty, smelling of old incense and lingering smoke fumes. Alyssa coughed and scared the shoes off my feet. At this point I wasn’t enthralled by the place I had been led to. All the sudden questions came to me I realized I probably should’ve addressed before I followed this strange little boy. What if he is a direct connection to Colonel Mustard and is not really on our side? Could he have brought us to a drug-makin’ crack house? Is the owner of the house a personal hit man of Colonel Mustard? It was at that point I started thinking about who would receive my cat, Goldfish, after I died. Then, when I finally decided my neighbor Mrs. Greenfield would inherit my possession, I saw that they had all left, and I heard in the next room Mausaki introduce Alyssa to someone named Shimalki.
I ran into the room, following Alyssa’s voice, ready to whip out some kung-foo fighting to stick up for my friend. To my surprise, An old woman dressed in a worn-down dress rocked nonchalantly back and forth in a chair I could tell held a lot of memories from the past generations. I stopped in my steps and glanced from Kushi to Alyssa to the old woman then back to Kushi.
“Kushi.” I asked. “Please explain where we are.”
“Alexis, meet Grandma Shimalki. She say Mausaki not here right now, but she have all information you need to put that bad man Colonel Ketchup in prison.”
Alyssa and I giggled at Kushi’s statement.
“Hello Grandma Shimalki. My name is Alexis Guerra, and I work for the United States of America in the department of crime fighting. Alyssa, my partner, and I came to visit you today because our new friend Kushi told us you could help in the search for our criminal, Colonel Mustard.”
“Well, of course I could help you,” she slowly answered me. “He’s my son.”
Alyssa and I about fell over when she told us this, our eyes were also the size of golf balls. I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Can you tell us where he is right now?”
“Yeah.” she answered like Colonel Mustard was your average Joe. “He’s at the plant in Emba.”
“Okay! Well, that was fast!” Alyssa cried.
“Thank You, Grandma Shimalki. We know how difficult it must be to give up your son like this, but it’s very important that he be stopped because he is leading a very illegal operation.” I tried to break the news softly, not knowing how this fragile woman would react.
“Oh, I knew one day he’d be a bad boy. Always a trouble maker as a youngster. Suits him right.” She said, and continued to rock back and forth, back and forth. What do you say to woman who doesn’t really care about her son’s future? I looked at Alyssa again.
“Ready to to catch our criminalous condiment?” I said.
“You betcha!” She replied.
“Only one problem,” I sadly announced. “There’s no way were going to be able to walk there. Emba is in the Northwestern region of Kazakhstan. An experienced criminal moves his site every few days. We would need to get there fast.”
“You could take the train,” Shimalki said, “It’s cheap, but very unreliable now that I think about it. It’s hard to determine if you’re on the right one and heading in the right direction. What about the buses? Well, that would take you to long. You’d probably only go about 300 miles a day with the stops and layovers in addition to the buses going the speed of a snail.”
This woman’s assertiveness and willingness to help us catch her son shocked me. But I didn’t care- we didn’t have anything else to go off of.
“So, what are we going to do?” Alyssa slyly asked, trying to make it look like she wasn’t worried.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know!” I cried and threw myself on the floor.
We had absolutely no other lead, and without this attempt, we had very little chance of finding him again, especially if he found out we were on his case. Then it hit me. A plane!
“We could take a plane!” I yelped. “That’s it! We’ll take a plane!”
I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. It was the perfect plan!
“Now you girls are on to something!” Grandma Shimalki said.
Slowly, she stood up, and grabbed onto Alyssa and me for balance.
“These legs don’t get to walk much anymore.” Grandma sighed. “Won’t be much longer before this run-down house will be given to Kushi.”
“Oh no,” Alyssa and I both said simultaneously. “You’re....errr....in the best shape as ever.”
“Baloney! I’ll be a goner before you can say mashed potatoes. That’s the reason I’m giving you this. Out of all the young people I’ve met, you two seem like you have the greatest future ahead of you and will use this for the best cause possible.”
She pulled out an envelope from a redwood bureau and handed it to me. Inside contained $2,000, just the right amount for two plane tickets to Emba and two tickets back to the states, since a round trip ticket went for about $1,789.
I gawked and remained silent as I thought about whether to accept the money this practically strange woman had given me. Alyssa grew impatient with me, and started to thank her without my comment.
“Thank you so much! I can’t believe you’re doing this! It’s the greatest thing that’s happened to me!”
It was for me too, especially since we had spent our allowance from the CIA on the lavish hotel, extravagant food, and cultural souvenirs. M. Barlow would’ve not been happy with our financial status if he found out.
I didn’t know how to thank Grandma Shimalki. What this woman had done for us, it was incredible: giving away Colonel Mustard’s location even though he was her son, and handing us $2,000!
We chatted with her for a few minutes longer, told her we wound never forget her, then decided we better head off on our two hour walk to the city, where we could hopefully catch a plane as soon as possible.
As we walked back along the long and dusty road, Alyssa and I glanced each other’s way and smiled, both knowing the other’s thoughts. No matter what country you’re in, where you’re from, or where you’re going, random acts of kindness-big or small-from loved ones or strangers can mean so much. We started skipping along, just waiting for someone to go by so we could pass on the gift of kindness, just as Grandma Shimalki had done for us.
“I still remember the way Grandma Shimalki’s house smelled, and the thrill we experienced that day, don’t you, Alyssa?” I asked.
“Of course,” she replied, “I think that mission sparked us to continue to be CIA agents, you think? It gave us so much encouragement, wisdom, and knowledge-about different lands and people- that we were able to successfully solve our other cases. It’s like our way of thanking Grandma Shimalki over and over again.”
“It was pretty amazing what she did for us. I’ll never forget. And although I never got the chance to give rookie CIA agents $2000 when they had to catch a criminal and had no way to get there, I definitely made the effort to make someone’s day a little more enjoyable after I met Grandma Shimalki.” I ended.
“Yep, the wonders that woman did...”
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