The first signs of an operation that was months in the making erupted when an attack rocked the centre of Kabul in the early hours of Sunday morning: we heard two thunderous blasts on our street nearby.
Speculation swirled around who or what had hit this "empty house" in Sherpur.
It is a neighbourhood which became notorious over the past two decades for its garish multi-storey villas, mocked by Kabul residents as the stronghold of corrupt warlords and officials, a gaudy symbol of the spoils of an ugly war.
Kabulis called it Choorpur, the town of thieves. The Taliban took over some of the empty villas, close to some high-walled Western embassies, which also slammed shut when the Taliban took charge.
With every day, new pieces of this puzzle surfaced: of a possible strike on an Islamic State target; the use of a US drone which raised even more questions; the involvement of US forces on the ground.
The mystery ended early on Tuesday morning.
As Kabul woke to the news that the US had killed the leader of al-Qaeda, Ayman al-Zawahiri, in a drone strike, we tried to approach the area on a main road leading into the street threading past Spinney's luxury supermarket and the Afghan Ghazanfar bank.
A single Taliban guard angrily crossed his arms to warn us away.
From a side street, we reached the back of the villa on foot.
Guards and workers in adjacent buildings confirmed which house had been hit on Sunday; balconies protruding from the top floor were now covered with green plastic sheeting.
Had anyone seen any activity, any residents, at this place?
"The house was empty," was the refrain. Was this a reply rehearsed in advance, an echo of the Taliban's official statement?
Owners of nearby buildings told us they had been ordered, hours earlier, to shut their rooftops to everyone, even their own workers.
As news of Zawahiri's killing shot like an electric current through social media, the scene of this explosive moment seemed strangely quiet.
Traffic flowed on surrounding tree-lined streets on this warm summer's day. But as minutes ticked by, more journalists arrived, more passers-by stopped, more Taliban guards showed up.
"If you don't listen to me, I'll speak to you through my gun," one armed Talib warned a colleague as we stood on the main street.
A group of Afghan and foreign journalists approached us, one journalist in tears after an angry altercation on the main road which led to the front of the house.