Almas put his hand on Bernadette’s. “I will protect you with my life.”
“You learned more English, Almas?”
Reza laughed from the driver’s seat.” He has been asking me to teach him how to say that in English. He is good, no?”
“Yes, he is good,” Bernadette put her arm around him. He folded into her side and giggled.
She checked where the shotgun was strapped to her thigh. The Glock handgun was on her leg, a combat knife on her left side, and an AK47 lay covered on the floor. In all of this, she wondered what she’d do in a gun battle with the Taliban. Would she have the sense to save a bullet for herself? What about Almas? She couldn’t bear the thought of him being abused again.
The car left the outskirts of the town and resumed its slow journey on the highway. The snow increased. Big, wet, sloppy flakes attached themselves to the car windshield and didn’t want to slide off.
Reza kept putting the windshield wipers on. After a time, the wipers streaked frost across the windshield and then ice built up on the wiper blades. The car’s heater could not melt the frost fast enough; it kept building, making it hard for Reza to see.
“I need to stop,” Reza said. “The windscreen, I cannot see…”
Jason rolled down his window. He leaned out the window, grabbed the blades and smacked them hard on the glass clearing the ice. “Do this on your side, Reza.”
Reza slowed the car. He did what Jason told him. For a short while the windshield cleared. It had no ice in the wipers, then it came back, just as bad as before.
Bernadette sat in the back with her arms, cradling Almas. What they needed was some good old windshield wiper antifreeze. She carried stuff good to minus forty back in Canada, but here in this country, she doubted if anyone had the stuff except for the NATO soldiers.
“Jason, you carrying any high octane booze on this trip?” Bernadette asked.
Jason turned in his Burka. “You asking me to put some of my medicinal tincture on the windshields?”
“Since you don’t have any de-ice in your windshield washer—then yeah.”
“Ah, crap. Reza, pull over,” Jason said dejectedly.
Reza pulled the car to a slow stop, watching carefully that he was not going too close to the edge of the road. He looked nervously behind him, hoping a tank or troop transport did not come barreling up behind them and crush them.
Jason got out. The wind caught his burka, volumes of blue fabric streamed outward and looked as if Jason had a parachute fall on him. He opened the trunk and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid. He opened the bottle, took a swig of its contents through the slit in the Burka and trudged forward. Pouring the bottle on the windshield, it instantly cleared.
He got back in the car, looked at the empty bottle with a sigh, and threw it out the window.
Reza chuckled in the front seat. “Allah has found a good use for this alcohol you covet so much, Jason. One day you will become a true Muslim. You will see the will of Allah. How he guides our destiny.”
“Well, if Allah is running things, and this is his will, he owes me one bottle of really good one hundred-fifty proof vodka from the best bootlegger in Kandahar.”
Reza put the car in gear, the car’s wheels spun in the snow, caught, and moved forward. The snow increased and the wind blew harder. Reza leaned forward to see the road; it was starting to disappear in the blanket of white.
Bernadette sat in the back with Almas, who clutched her for warmth and security. A feeling of foreboding came over her. She felt there was something out there ahead of them. She couldn’t see it. She could sense it.
She leaned forward, wanting to say something to Reza, but she didn’t know what to tell him, to slow down—to stop? She hesitated.
A group of figures appeared out of the snow, standing with their weapons pointed at the car. They looked like snow statues, like someone had carved them. But Bernadette could see they were real. One put up a hand to stop.
“Taliban,” Jason said.
32
Reza muttered under his breath, “What do I do?”
“Don’t look at me or Bernadette. Remember we are your wives. You’re heading to Farah to see your sick father. You remember his name?”
“Yes, yes, I remember. I will be okay.”
Bernadette pulled Almas tighter to her. His tiny arms circled her like a vice. If anyone tried to take him away, they’d be taking her ribcage with them. At this point, Jason could give no more advice. Afghan men rarely spoke to their wives when talking to other men. If Reza looked to Jason in his burka disguise or back to Bernadette it would be a complete giveaway.
A man with his machine gun came to Reza’s window. His face was barely visible from his wrapping of heavy wool around his face and over his head. He exchanged greetings with Reza. There was the usual hand waving between the two as they talked.
Reza’s voice became agitated. He waved angrily at the man. Bernadette wondered what the hell he was doing. The man had an AK47, one burst of the thing would put everyone in the car in danger of being injured or killed.
The man backed away and called someone else to the car.
“Now, you’ve just pissed him off, Reza,” Jason whispered.
“He wants one hundred thousand Afghanis for safe passage to Farah. I told him he is ridiculous. I offered him half that much,” Reza said.
“You’re right, if you did not bargain, he’d have thought you even more suspicious,” Jason said, staring straight ahead.
A large man with a rocket propelled grenade launcher balanced on his shoulder came to the car. He smiled at Reza. They shook hands; Reza gave him a large wad of Afghani bills. A truck pulled out with flashing lights behind it and a man with a machine gun in the back. They followed.
“This is your average Taliban shakedown. Who says these guys aren’t smart? They will guide us through about four more checkpoints. Bernadette, I hope you know that this is going on your account cause each Taliban checkpoint may ask for a cut. Our escort will profess they’re doing it out of good will and the others won’t believe them. This could cost fifty thousand Afghanis per checkpoint,” Jason said.
“Really, there’s no honor amongst these bastards, how odd,” Bernadette said. She couldn’t even think of calculating the money now. The money for this trip, the money for bribes. How much was Chris’ life worth? Her bank account was draining, but all she knew was every day she stayed alive in this country felt like it moved her closer to Chris.
Progress was slow and just as Jason had forecasted, several Taliban checkpoints got a payment, some fifty thousand Afghanis and the last one got only twenty thousand. Reza had put his foot down, telling the last group there would nothing left to take care of his ailing father if they kept fleecing him. That seemed to strike a note with the Taliban; they let him through for the reduced fee.
The snow and wind let up as they entered the city of Farah. It was now late evening. The call to prayer from the mosques confirmed the time. People moved about the town, vendors put their prayer rugs down beside their stalls and joined in the prayers.
Reza pulled the car over in the square and Almas joined him in prayers.
Jason turned his head slightly towards Bernadette, “I’ll bet you’re wondering why I don’t participate in this?”
“No, not at all,” Bernadette said. “I’m a semi-practicing Catholic. I figure there are two camps of religion. Those who are scared of life after death and want to improve their odds, and those who don’t want to be left here in limbo on earth after they die—because this place is pretty bat shit crazy most of the time.”
Jason gave a muffled chuckled from beneath his burka, “I think you got a good handle on it. But I couldn’t believe in Islam after I saw what they did to each other in Croatia.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but then that’s not religion killing people. That’s people killing each other over their religious beliefs. Big difference,” Bernadette said.
“Sorry, not convinced
. Everyone here and back in Croatia would constantly say that things were the will of Allah, from what I saw, Allah was pretty cruel.”
“Again, you’re judging the people being cruel. I don’t see God doing these things.”
“Really,” Jason said spinning in his seat.
Bernadette put her head closer to Jason’s so no one outside could hear them speaking in English. “I’ve spent years wandering the forests of Canada, and you know what I saw when people weren’t screwing things up? I saw harmony. I saw things in order. So, yes, I do believe there’s a force of God, but no, I don’t like how the human race has personified him, her or it.”
“Damn fine speech,” Jason said.
Reza and Almas got back in the car. Their escort had left them at the square. They traveled on until they found a guesthouse that Reza knew.
They piled out of the car and Jason made sure that all the gear was brought inside. He was afraid of thieves stripping the car bare at night, as there was no courtyard to pull the car into.
Bernadette helped with the packs. “These are pretty heavy, what did you bring with you?”
“Just a few toys,” Jason said with a wink. He threw the pack over his shoulder and walked into house.
None of them noticed the two men squatting by the wall across the narrow street. One nodded in their direction. The other took out his cell phone and took a picture of Bernadette and her companions.
They checked into the guesthouse. A little woman who was hunched over and walked with a limp gave Almas and Bernadette a room together.
Bernadette turned to Reza, “Do I have to stay in this burka the whole time we’re in this guesthouse. Are these people friends of the Taliban?”
“Oh, no,” Reza said. He put his hands to his mouth and began to laugh. He yelled to the hosts who came out of the kitchen. The woman was dressed in trousers, the man wore jeans, and a western shirt and a baseball cap. “Please let me introduce you my friends, Miriam and Azar. They run this guesthouse and do archeology on the side.”
Bernadette peeled off her Burka, she watched Jason do the same. “I’m so glad to be rid of that.”
Miriam shook Bernadette’s hand. “So glad you could make it through the Taliban. Get yourself freshened up with a hot shower, and I’ll be making some cocktails and hors d’oeuvres once you’re ready.”
Miriam was in her mid-thirties, thin and wiry with curly hair and a distinct polished English accent.”
“You’re British?” Bernadette asked.
“Yes, from London actually, and Azar here was born and raised in Dublin, Ireland.”
“And you’re here?” Bernadette asked in a puzzled tone.
“Yes,” Miriam replied. “This was the original Silk Road from China to Europe. There’s a wealth of history here. We’re working with a university to preserve some of the sites before they are destroyed.”
“Or looted,” Azar added. He was stocky with dark features, wavy hair, and bushy eyebrows. His accent was distinctly Irish.
“Both of us have Afghan parents. We came here to preserve our culture and our heritage,” Miriam said.
“And what about the Taliban. Don’t they harass you?” Bernadette asked.
“You have to realize they’ve only been here a short while. The Afghan army will be here soon and shoo them out. Then we’ll be back to our archeological digs in the spring,” Miriam said.
Bernadette hit the shower and was delighted to find a caftan made of fine cotton in a bright pattern on her cot when she came back to her room. She pulled it over herself and went into the dining room.
Reza and Almas were sitting on cushions in the dining area, drinking tea and feasting on a tray of nuts and figs. Jason was lying on his side, swishing something in a glass with ice. He looked up at her. His grin told her he’d found some alcohol.
“Best damn G and T I’ve had since my time stuck in London’s Heathrow airport waiting for a plane back to this place,” Jason said, his words slurring a bit.
“May I fix you a cocktail of ‘mother’s ruin?” Miriam asked.
“Mother’s what?” Bernadette asked as she sat on the cushions.
Miriam laughed. “Ah, the English slang name for gin and tonic.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Bernadette said. Meeting the Taliban had unnerved her. A cocktail of G and T or ‘mother’s ruin’ suited her just fine.
Miriam was back a few minutes later, handing her a large tumbler of gin mixed with tonic, a slice of lime and some tinkling of ice cubes.
Bernadette took a sip and let the delicious blend of juniper berries, botanicals, and fermented spirits roll over her tongue and slide down her throat. “This is wonderful.”
“I’m glad you approve. This is the legendary Tanqueray TEN that we reserve for our special guests. Hopefully the road to Iran will open again soon once the Taliban are gone, and we can replenish our supply,” Miriam said.
“What road is that?” Bernadette asked taking another sip of her gin.
“That road you came on to here was Route Six-oh-six. A few years back, India, Iran, and Afghanistan agreed to put through a new trade route that will bypass Pakistan completely.”
“And, I guess, that’s a good thing?” Bernadette asked.
Azar walked in with a plate of food. “Most Afghan trade is principally foreign aid and opium smuggling through the port of Karachi in Pakistan. But Pakistan simultaneously supports and hosts the Afghan Taliban rebels fighting the government in Kabul and its western allies. The Afghan president said he wanted to prove that “geography is not our destiny.”
“Sounds noble,” Jason commented from his semi-raised position. He looked like he was dropping lower onto the cushions. Either a magnet was drawing him down or the gin was having an effect on his gravity.
“You know, my wife never liked me drinking. Did I tell you that?” Jason asked with an amused smile.
Bernadette only nodded in his direction. She could see he was drunk. There’s no reacting with a drunk. Nod and wave is the best practice, but he referred to his wife in the past tense. She’d save that information for later.
Azar put a large platter of food in front of them. A steaming bowl of rice pilaf was mixed with carrots and raisins. Beside that he placed a large plate of lamb kabobs with a pile of Naan bread dripping in butter.
They dug in. Bernadette ate every morsel. For some reason, the cold, the tension, the danger, it all increased her appetite. She swigged on her gin. When Miriam offered her another, she declined and drank tea instead.
Jason was shoveling in his food as if he had not eaten in months. Bernadette eyed him, wondering what kind of demons had presented themselves that was making him drink so heavily.
Jason waved his empty glass at Miriam. For a moment she hesitated. She looked at Bernadette and the look that passed between them said it all.
“Oh, my word, so sorry, Jason. We are out of gin; may I get you a beer? Or how about some tea?” Miriam asked.
Jason dropped his glass on the pillow. “Beer—that be fine.” His head slid down on the cushions. Seconds later, he was fast asleep.
“I think your man has had enough for this evening,” Azar said. “Should I escort him to his room?”
“No, let him sleep. The tension of the past few days has put him on edge. Drink and sleep seem to be his remedies,” Bernadette said.
Miriam moved over to a cushion beside Bernadette. “I heard from Jason you are going to the village of Azau.”
“Yes, we are. Do you know something about it?”
“We did some digs there last year. The warlord there, Ramin…”
“Rasul,” Bernadette added.
“Yes, Ramin Rasul. We had some dealings with him. He is ruthless. We had to pay him a lot of money to keep our people from getting harmed and to keep working,” Miriam said.
“Is he more money focused than religious?”
“How do you mean?”
“I need to know if he can be bought off. If he has a price that will be
greater than his religious ideals,” Bernadette said.
Miriam nodded her head. “I see where you’re going with this. Yes, I’d say he was more on the monetary side. We wanted to check on some ancient Buddhist temples in the area, to get to them and preserve them before someone destroyed them. Rasul didn’t care about the temples. He wanted us to pay him protection money for our safe passage.”
“Was it protection from other bandits or him?”
Miriam smiled. “Yes, it was safe passage from his men. He made it known to us that if we didn’t pay him, he would either kill us or take us hostage. We had to come up with a price that made him feel like he had a win.”
“Was it worth it for the Buddhist artifacts?”
Miriam sipped the last of her gin. “We were able to get the statues packed, crated, and shipped out of this valley, right under his nose. Had he known how many millions of dollars those artifacts were worth he would have been furious.”
“It’s tough when you beat a crook at his own game,” Bernadette said.
“Can you tell me why you’re going into that valley?”
Bernadette pursed her lips, “I think Rasul might have my fiancé hostage.”
Miriam looked as if the air had been let out of her. “My dear girl. That is very bad, do you have piles of money with you?”
“No, that’s the problem. Most of my cash is back in Kandahar.”
Miriam looked over at Azar, then back to Bernadette. “Give me a minute, I might have something for you to bargain with.” She left the room and came back with something wrapped in a cloth.
She unwrapped it revealing a small figure of a Buddha made of jade that sparkled in the candlelight. Miriam handed it Bernadette. “Show this to Rasul. Tell him there’s another one like it here in Farah, but he’ll have to give up your fiancé.”
Bernadette took the figure from Miriam. It was smooth and heavy. It felt like it was hundreds of years old. “Where is this from?”
“It’s from the dig we did near the valley you’re going to. We found two and brought them here. Rasul heard a rumor we have them; he’d like to get his hands on them. If you must bargain, start with this—you’ll get his attention.”
Caught In The Crossfire: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery Page 16