‘This man says that he is Mohammad Haidari, and these boys are his sons, Nasir and Hajera,’ the interpreter explained. ‘He says that, one day in the past, your brown dog wandered into his kal. Your dog was injured and Hajera and his sister, Meena, took care of him. But then a Taliban commander took him away, saying that it was an infidel soldier dog.’
Ben nodded, smiling. He beckoned the man’s younger son, Hajera, who looked to be about the same age as Josh. ‘Come closer, mate,’ he said.
Hajera, whose nickname was Haji, looked to his father. Mohammad Haidari nodded his consent and told his son not to be afraid. Haji slowly made his way to stand in front of Ben and Caesar, whose tail was wagging furiously.
‘You looked after Caesar?’ Ben asked Haji, pointing to his labrador. ‘You looked after my dog?’
After the interpreter had translated this, Haji nodded. ‘He is Soldier Dog,’ he said, waiting for the interpreter to translate for Ben before continuing. ‘He is a good dog. I trained him to be a guard dog. I will show you.’ Looking intently at Caesar, Haji raised his right hand and clicked his fingers.
Caesar cocked his head to one side, clearly a little mystified, as if to say, What’s that, young friend?
‘Woof, Soldier Dog,’ Haji commanded. ‘Woof!’
This triggered a memory in Caesar’s mind, of the weeks he had spent in the Haidari family’s kal, where Haji had taught him to bark for food. Caesar let out a single bark. Haji beamed, and the men in his group – Haji’s father, uncles, brothers and cousins – all laughed at Haji’s ability to make the Australian dog bark.
Ben still seemed troubled. ‘But why did Caesar growl at your brother?’
‘My brother Nasir did not like Soldier Dog,’ Haji replied. ‘I think he may have kicked Soldier Dog when I was not looking.’
‘I did not kick the dog, Haji!’ Nasir spoke up in his own defence. ‘You are making that up.’
‘Well, you did not like him,’ Haji countered. ‘And Soldier Dog knows it.’ He looked pleadingly at Ben. ‘Please, Soldier Australia, my brother Nasir is not a bad person, really. He is not Taliban. My father will not allow the Taliban to take any of his sons.’
‘Fulton, is this Nasir worth taking in for questioning or not?’ interrupted the lieutenant in charge. He was beginning to think that perhaps Nasir was not a threat after all. ‘Your dog picked him out. It’s your call, Sergeant.’
Ben looked at Nasir, then at Caesar. ‘You know what, sir? That was not Caesar’s usual EDD signature. I think this young bloke gave Caesar a hard time when he was with this family, and Caesar remembered.’
‘So?’ the lieutenant demanded. ‘What do we do with Nasir?’
Ben came to a decision ‘Let him go, sir. Caesar reckons he’s harmless.’
‘Okay, untie him,’ the lieutenant instructed.
Mohammad Haidari now came forward and vigorously shook Ben by the hand. ‘Thank you, thank you, Soldier Australia,’ he said in heavily accented English.
‘I should be thanking you, Mr Haidari,’ Ben replied. ‘For looking after my dog.’
Haji’s father spoke again, this time in Pashto, after which the interpreter told Ben, ‘Mohammad Haidari says that his son Hajera and daughter Meena should be the ones to receive your gratitude, Sergeant.’
Ben now reached into a trouser pocket and took out one of the little bags of jellybeans that Maddie had given him. He held them out to Haji. ‘For you, mate,’ he said. ‘I wish there was a lot more I could do to thank you for looking after Caesar.’
Grinning, Haji accepted the sweets, glancing at his father to make sure he approved.
‘And I’ll ask local officials if there is something more the Australian Government can do to help your family,’ Ben went on. ‘Please, give me your address.’
Haji’s father hesitated.
‘Why do you not wish to give your address, Mohammad Haidari?’ questioned the interpreter, suspiciously. ‘What do you have to hide?’
For years, Haji’s father had been trying to walk a middle course between the government and the Taliban and other anti-government militias. He had become a malek, a neutral go-between trusted by both sides in the war, and was fearful of being seen to be too friendly with these foreign soldiers. It could get him into trouble with the Taliban. But, at the same time, he didn’t want to antagonise the Westerners. Reluctantly, Mohammad Haidari gave the location of his compound, which lay in the northeast of the province. The Haidari family were then permitted to go on their way.
As they walked away, young Haji turned back to wave goodbye to Caesar. ‘It was good to see you, Soldier Dog,’ he called.
Caesar looked at his old friend, his tail wagging.
Ben, bending down beside him, ruffled Caesar’s neck. ‘So, you had a young friend here in Uruzgan, did you?’
Caesar let out a little whine. Then he turned and licked Ben’s cheek, as if to say, You’re still my best friend, boss.
Josh, Nan and Maddie sat facing Josh’s laptop, which was perched on the coffee table in front of them. On the screen were Hanna and Mrs Park, sitting on a sofa in their Manhattan apartment.
‘Mrs Park,’ Nan began, ‘Josh, Maddie and I wanted to tell you that our thoughts and prayers are with you both. We just know that Dr Park will be found safe and well.’
Mrs Park sniffed, a tissue clenched in her hand. ‘Thank you, Mrs Fulton. We appreciate your kind wishes. It has been very difficult for us. There is much media attention, and we cannot leave our apartment. But to have contact with kind friends such as yourselves warms our hearts.’
‘And we wanted to let you know that Caesar and our dad are over there in Afghanistan right now, helping in the search for Dr Park,’ Josh added.
Hanna, teary-eyed, smiled in surprise. ‘Just like you said they would, Josh.’
‘We saw the video of Dr Park on the internet,’ said Nan. ‘At least he looked unharmed. I think we can all take comfort in that.’
‘Yes,’ Mrs Park replied gratefully, though her expression remained solemn. ‘But my husband and the members of his party are in grave danger.’
‘Daddy and Caesar will save them,’ Maddie chimed in with supreme confidence.
This made Mrs Park smile a little. ‘We are thankful that Sergeant Fulton and Caesar are there in Afghanistan.’
‘We know a little of what it is like to have someone missing over there,’ said Nan. ‘Caesar was lost for thirteen months in Afghanistan.’
‘I cried and cried for days,’ added Maddie.
‘I take it that Dr Park is a spiritual man,’ said Nan. As someone who attended church every Sunday, she understood the comfort that religion could provide during times like this.
Mrs Park frowned. ‘A spiritual man?’
‘He said that with the help of, er …’ Nan began to flounder.
‘Oh, because he prayed that Cheong-Ryong would look after him and those close to him?’ offered Hanna.
‘That’s it,’ said Nan. ‘I assumed that Cheong-Ryong is a Korean deity of some sort.’
Mrs Park shook her head. ‘No, we do not have a god called Cheong-Ryong. Like many people in South Korea, my husband, Hanna and I are Christians. We are members of the Korean Baptist Church.’
‘Oh.’ Nan looked confused. ‘Then why did Dr Park …?’
‘Why did he mention Cheong-Ryong?’ Hanna shrugged. ‘That has really mystified Mother and me.’
‘Well, what is Cheong-Ryong?’ Josh asked, intrigued.
‘It is a Korean term meaning “Blue Dragon”, ’ Mrs Park replied.
‘Blue Dragon?’ Nan, Josh and Maddie echoed in unison.
‘We have no idea why my father mentioned Blue Dragon,’ said Hanna.
‘It means nothing to us or to anyone I have spoken to at the United Nations,’ Mrs Park added. ‘My husband’s doctor has suggested that my husband could be suffering from the stress of his capture by the Taliban.’
‘That’s quite likely,’ Nan agreed.
The two families
continued to puzzle over the mystery for a while before ending their Skype session by pledging to talk again as soon as there was more information.
Josh’s mind raced as he walked back to his room. Setting the laptop on his bed, he lay down in front of it and Googled three words: Afghanistan Blue Dragon. The second result listed was for Band-e-Amir, accompanied by a picture of a beautiful blue lake. Josh clicked through to the site. The home page read:
Band-e-Amir is Afghanistan’s first national park. It is a series of six deep blue lakes located in the Hindu Kush mountains in central Afghanistan, west of the famous Buddhas of Bamiyan.
Josh remembered that Dr Park’s helicopter had been found at the foot of the Hindu Kush mountain range. With his heart pounding, Josh read on, hoping to find some reference to a dragon or, preferably, to a blue dragon. But there were no dragons in the Band-e-Amir National Park. All that Josh discovered was that Band-e-Amir had once been the second most visited tourist destination in Afghanistan, after the Bamiyan Buddhas, though the latest war in the country had ended the area’s tourist trade. Disappointed, Josh was about to close the tab when his eye caught a note at the bottom of the page.
Band-e-Azhdahar is another lake in the region, located several kilometres southeast of the town of Bamiyan. Like the lakes in Band-e-Amir, it is famous for its stunning sapphire-blue water. In English, the lake’s name translates to ‘Dragon Lake’.
Josh looked at the words in amazement. Getting up, he paced around the room. And just in case he’d misread the entry, he read it again. There was no mistake – Dragon Lake, blue water, Hindu Kush! Unable to contain his excitement, Josh rushed into the living room with his laptop. He found Nan sitting on the sofa, her thoughts and sympathies still with Mrs Park and Hanna in New York.
‘Nan, you’ve got to read this!’ Josh exclaimed, setting the laptop down on the coffee table.
‘Not now, Josh, dear,’ she said softly. ‘I’m too sad to be looking at computer games.’
‘You don’t understand, you have to look at this, Nan. Look, there’s a Dragon Lake in the Hindu Kush mountains of Afghanistan. And it’s famous for its blue water. Dragon Lake. Blue water. Blue Dragon! Get it?’
Nan looked at Josh blankly for a moment until she realised what he was saying. She sat up with a jerk. ‘What!’
‘Don’t you see, Nan – Dr Park was trying to tell us where he was!’
Nan read the entry, then looked at Josh.
Josh was almost bursting out of his skin. ‘Well, what do you think?’
A smile spread across Nan’s face. ‘I think we should send your father an email.’
In the early hours of the morning at the Fulton residence, the house phone rang. Waking from a light sleep, Nan turned on the bedside light and picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Mum, it’s Ben.’ He sounded worried. ‘What’s so urgent?’
‘Ben, darling, what time is it over there?’ Nan squinted at the clock by her bed.
‘It’s late. Are Maddie and Josh okay?’
‘The children are fine. But your very clever son has stumbled onto something. I told him the authorities would have worked it out for themselves, but –’
‘What is it?’
‘You remember how Dr Park mentioned a Cheong-Ryong?’
‘Sure,’ Ben said hesitantly, still trying to work out where this was all heading. ‘Must be something to do with his religion.’
‘Ah, but it has nothing to do with his religion, Ben. It means “Blue Dragon”.’
‘How do you know that?’ Ben sounded sceptical.
‘Mrs Park told us – we all spoke via Skype today. Apparently Dr Park is a Baptist, and I don’t think there are many blue dragons in the Baptist Church, dear.’
‘Not one,’ Ben agreed, now sounding very interested.
‘But that’s not all. Josh went on the internet and discovered that there is a lake in the Hindu Kush called Dragon Lake. A lake famous for its blue water.’
‘Dragon Lake?’ There was a pause on the other end of the line as Ben’s mind filled with the possibilities. ‘Okay. Not a word to anyone outside the family about this, Mum,’ he said, finally allowing himself to sound a little excited. ‘This is sensational stuff.’
‘So, your army people hadn’t worked that out yet?’
‘That’s precisely what I mean,’ said Ben.
‘Goodness! I thought governments had all sorts of technology to work out things like this.’
‘Nothing beats the human brain for creative thinking, Mum.’
Nan chuckled. ‘Yet it’s taken a Holsworthy schoolboy to work it out?’
‘Yep. Looks like Josh might have a career ahead of him as a security analyst!’ Ben said proudly. ‘Got to go, Mum. Thanks for this. Tell Josh he’s a genius. But don’t let this get out. The Taliban will move Dr Park if they find out we’re on to their hiding place. It’s top-secret. Got to go.’
‘Of course, dear. Bye. And good luck, Ben!’ Nan hung up, then sat staring into space, stunned. ‘Incredible!’
Fifteen men sat in the Special Operations briefing room at the Tarin Kowt base, listening intently as they were briefed by Lieutenant General McAvoy and Major Jinko about their VIP rescue mission. Apart from the four Australians and four Americans already assigned to the mission, another seven had been added to the team by insistent foreign governments.
‘As I call your name, you new guys stand up and state your specialty,’ General McAvoy instructed. Consulting a sheet of paper, he read the first of the names. ‘Angus Bruce.’
A short, slight man with close-cropped fair hair came to his feet. ‘Sergeant Angus Bruce, British Royal Marine Commandos,’ he said in a broad Scottish accent. ‘Explosives are my specialty. I also have a wee bit of experience in hostage rescues, spanning four continents over fifteen years.’
‘Christopher Banner,’ the general called as Sergeant Bruce resumed his seat.
A tall, muscular man now stood up and looked around at his new comrades. ‘How are you folks all doing? Corporal Chris Banner, British Royal Navy Special Boat Service, at your disposal,’ he said in a strong West Indian accent. ‘If it floats, I’m your man. I grew up on my father’s fishing boats in Jamaica before I moved to England and joined the SBS. I’m your boat specialist.’ He grinned, showing a mouth full of gleaming white teeth. ‘And I’m pretty.’
Several of the others laughed.
‘Jean-Claude Lyon,’ the general continued, ignoring Banner’s cheek.
A well-built, long-nosed man slowly came to his feet. ‘Bonjour, I am Sergeant Jean-Claude Lyon of the French Foreign Legion’s 2nd Foreign Parachute Regiment. Before I joined the Legion I was an electrician. The Legion, they taught me how to look after myself anywhere, anytime.’
‘Casper Mortenson.’
A man of average height with dark hair stood up. ‘Corporal Casper Mortenson, Danish Army Hunter Corps,’ he said with a wry smile. He spoke his perfect English in a flat monotone. ‘My specialisation is as an underwater diver.’
‘Wilhelm Wolf.’
A square-faced private with thick blond hair came to his feet. ‘Willy Wolf of the Kommando Spezialkräfte, the German KSK Special Forces unit. I am a combat medic.’
‘Toushi Harada.’
A man in his twenties and very slim, Harada looked like a teenager when he bobbed up to introduce himself. ‘Yes, here is Corporal Toushi Harada. I am an expert in computer hardware and software with the Aki Haru, the top-secret technical warfare unit of the Japanese Self-Defence Force.’
‘The Haki Karu?’ said Duke Hazard with a frown. ‘Never heard of it.’
‘With respect, Sergeant,’ said Harada, ‘if you had heard of it, the Aki Haru would not be secret, would it?’ This brought laughter from some of those present. ‘Thank you,’ said Harada, and with a bow to the others in the room, sat down.
The general consulted his sheet of paper. ‘And finally, Ali Moon.’
‘My name is Ali Moon,’ said a small
man in his forties. ‘My father is Korean, my mother was born a Pashtun here in southern Afghanistan. I speak many languages fluently, including Pashto. I will be your interpreter.’ Pashto was the language spoken in much of Afghanistan and was the language of the Taliban.
‘Okay, people, there you have it,’ said General McAvoy. ‘You now have fifteen personnel, two dogs and all the technical expertise you are going to need to extract Secretary-General Park. Any questions?’
‘Yes, General,’ said Sergeant Bruce. ‘We’ve been told that you have good reason to believe that the secretary-general is being held near a lake in the Hindu Kush. Can I ask how you came by that information? Was it from a satellite? Or drones? Or did it come from the NDS, the Afghan secret service?’
General McAvoy looked a little sheepish. He cleared his throat. ‘We, er, are not at liberty to divulge the source of our information, Sergeant.’
Ben, sitting with Charlie, Lucky and Baz, smiled to himself but said nothing. As soon as he had spoken with Nan, Ben had gone to General McAvoy with the information Josh had discovered. At first, the general had been dismissive. But when research proved that Dr Park was in fact a Baptist, and once the general was shown Band-e-Azhdahar existed, he had taken Josh’s information seriously. At this point, only Ben, the general and Major Jinko knew what the world’s best security analysts in America, Australia, Britain and other countries had failed to realise – that Dr Park had cleverly identified where he and his UN colleagues were being held captive. And that it had taken a bright Australian schoolboy to work out his coded message.
‘We now have satellites watching Dragon Lake around the clock for signs of Taliban activity,’ the general went on. ‘Major Jinko will fill you in on the area.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ The Australian intelligence officer stepped forward and pointed to the screen behind him, where there was an image of a stunningly picturesque blue lake surrounded by naked white cliffs. ‘That is Band-e-Azhdahar, or Dragon Lake. Beautiful, isn’t it? The lake sits in a bed of white travertine marble. As you can see, there are no trees, no vegetation. This is 1000 metres up in a valley between the Hindu Kush and Koh-i-Baba mountains.’
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