by Azam Hossain
Then in the distance I heard an echo that punctured the air, followed by a groaning sound and I froze and listened keenly. Just then a terrible crashing sound pierced through the cold air across the valley floor to my ears and I saw movement above the base. Small booming type echoes could be heard – as each piece of C4 that we had so diligently placed did the work for which they had been ordained. The wall was moving – initially an ominous groan could be heard and then abruptly it increased in volume to a deafening and awesome thunder. The walls of Khazali’s Mound overlooking the base, just moved down in a crescendo, partially obscured by a cloud of dust. Many large fragments were being flung violently into the distance; such was the potency of the C4. There was a stupendous rumble which reverberated from under the valley floor; as if the earth was expressing its outrage from its subterranean bowels, affronted by our deed. Just at that instance I felt a gentle tremor. It came from the ground upon which I was standing; it emanated through my feet and up my legs to my entire being. Guy must have felt it too, for he looked over to me and nodded in admiration. The impact of thousands of tons of rock crashing down was such that even at our distance and height we could feel it. In a sense it was an earthquake. My breast swelled with pride for I had made the earth move - well the Bactria Valley if one wants to be pedantic. I was mesmerised and overawed by the spectacle before me. Enormous pieces of rock, each weighing several tonnes, as well as many smaller pieces; were now crashing, tumbling and being hurled down, on or around the base, just as we had hoped for. Consequently, the canopy collapsed and was partially buried in a mass of debris. I peered over and down into the valley floor below and saw a few guards awoken from there slumber running amok.
“How much more spectacular would it be if we could witness this annihilation more closely?” I shouted, as our labours bore witness to the climax of our endeavours.
Guy smiled, amused at my choice of words, “This is a safe distance to watch your annihilation,” he shouted back paternally.
I thought about how far I had come for this denouement - from England, via Russia and the wastes of Azakistan, for this “distant annihilation,” in this seemingly never ending stratagem known as the Great Game; into which I had now been well and truly initiated as a player. The mass of rectangular concrete that made up the surface of the base was now largely covered in debris, which had however, failed to penetrate the base. But no matter, it would’ve been destroyed from within its very foundations I thought with conceit, as I recalled the explosives I had placed in its very depths, to which the subterranean rumblings could be attributed.
Almost as abruptly as it had started, the explosions, the violence unleashed and the accompanying cacophony of thunderous vibrations and crashes - akin to the death throes of some ancient beast faded away. This was replaced by the shouts of confusion of the Persians beneath us, as a cloud of dust rose slowly above the debris.
“Guy, the Iranians are looking for me, or they will be when they discover I’ve escaped,” I pleaded turning to him.
“You’ve escaped?” he asked astonished.
I explained how I was caught in the base, taken to the Guest House where I was imprisoned and interrogated by Rostami, before escaping in the van.
“You’ve certainly lead an eventful life here in Azakistan,” he said smiling.
“My job here is finished Guy. I need to get the hell out!” I said forcibly.
“Of course,” he said assuming a more sober demeanour, “Let’s take advantage of their confusion,” he nodded, referring to the Persians below us. And with that we commenced our descent down to the valley floor from whence we had come.
“What was your original escape plan?” asked Guy as we negotiated our descent.
I explained that the plan was to go into Iran from where we would make our own way home - the rational being that they wouldn’t look for us there.
“Yes, sounds sensible, especially as the border is close by,” he said condescendingly.
Just before we reached the bottom Guy gave me a cloth which he instructed me to use to cover my head in the style of a native. We could hear shouting from the base as we reached the valley floor and turned right to go in the opposite direction. Dawn had arrived as we moved like shadows. A couple of oncoming Persians ran past us, shouting to each other, barely giving us a second glance. I recognised after a moment that the path we were taking was the one I took with Pahlavi after my arrest the previous night. After a moment several parked vehicles came into view a little way ahead. I could see no one around us. We noticed that the driver’s door to a 4WD, parked four vehicles along from the one closest to us was open. Emanating from this door was cigarette smoke and an electronic hiss and crackle, as if from a headphone. Guy turned in my direction and put his finger to his lips. The vehicles were parked side on to each other to our right. Guy moved ahead of me as we passed the first of the vehicles, he then turned right so that he came upon the open driver’s door. Had this man not heard the blast? Or had he lapsed into a stupor of indifference. Guy moved stealth like as he closed with his quarry. I got out my knife. The man had his eyes closed and was listening to some loud music via earphones as he sat in the car, deaf to the world. His left arm was held listlessly down by his side, in which hand was held his cigarette. Brandishing his knife Guy then pounced....
CHAPTER 28 – DESTRUCTION AND DEATH.
When Guy was within a metre of the man he sprang like a coiled python. Acting in one movement he placed his right arm around his victim’s neck and with his left arm held the knife to his face as he used his own body weight to force his prey to lie down across the front passenger seat pinning him down. His earphones fell away. I then ran around to the other side and opened the front passenger door. Guy was speaking Farsi softly but malevolently into the ear of the man, who was clearly petrified. The Persian just shook his head vigorously in agreement, as he perspired, terror written on his face.
Guy then looked up to me as he lay prostrate holding down his prey, “Cover him with your knife and then get in,” he instructed.
Guy released his quarry and quickly got in the back seat, directly behind the driver’s; whilst my knife was poised, ready to terminate the Persian at any hint of disobedience. The Persian sat upright in the driver’s seat. Guy tapped the Persian’s upper arm from his position behind him and told him abruptly to keep his hands where he could see them and to fasten his seat belt. The man fumbled around and started the engine in a rather leisurely fashion. Guy was not impressed; for he leaned forward and placed one hand on the man’s shoulder and with the other he held a knife against the man’s throat forcing him to tilt his head upwards to relieve the pressure of the blade. Guy whispered very deliberately and icily; his mouth right up against the man’s ear; to leave him in no doubt that Guy was not to be trifled with. I watched the knife and was convinced that if any more pressure were applied it would break the skin and draw blood. Guy’s bloodcurdling threats and promises of violence in Farsi, sounded terrifying enough to me, combined with the knife to his throat the Persian’s spirit of defiance withered away.
The 4WD swung around and headed towards the North West Pass, tracing the path that I had taken the night before. We both kept our eyes on our reluctant driver, constantly alert should something go awry.
“I believe having him at the wheel will arouse less suspicion, that’s why he’s still alive. When he’s no longer useful we’ll get rid of him,” Guy explained.
I was nevertheless still uneasy about having such a reluctant passenger and told Guy so. As we followed the North West Pass out of the Bactria Valley, up ahead I saw to my disbelief a couple of 4WD vehicles parked by the side of the road, with members of the IRG carrying machine guns. We slowed down. There was an oil drum in the middle of the road – an impromptu road check. Now I understood why Guy had coerced this man to be our driver. On seeing this Guy suddenly started bawling in Farsi, what I presumed were terrible threats to our driver; who nodded, fear clearly audible in his voice and visi
ble in his eyes. Guy then sank down to conceal himself in the back seat as we passed this checkpoint; whilst I just looked on, almost frozen in fear. They began moving the oil drum out of the road when they saw what must have been a familiar vehicle approaching. We were waived through and our driver raised his hand to acknowledge them, feigning a smile. After a few seconds I looked back to check we were not being pursued – the road was empty.
“What did you say to him?” I asked Guy as he resumed his seat.
“That if he gave us up, I would slit his throat with such force that I would practically decapitate him and I didn’t care if they killed me.”
That such a threat should induce compliance in the Persian was understandable. I breathed a sigh of relief for our close escape and longed for a life of pleasure in England. We’d now left the Bactria Valley; and I fervently hoped that I would never return, intentionally or otherwise to see it again.
“Ask him if there’s anything to eat or drink?” I requested of Guy.
There was just a can of Cola which I drank voraciously.
“I’m afraid I forget to tell you earlier, that some of our party were tasked with the job of dynamiting the Haidar Gorge. If they’ve succeeded our path will be blocked,” I explained belatedly between gulps.
“I see,” said Guy phlegmatically, “in that case let us hope for failure on this occasion, for there’s no other way to the border.”
Realising the opportunity to gather intelligence from our driver I asked Guy to question him about the meeting at Iskandar’s Mouth I had seen yesterday. Guy had no knowledge of this meeting judging by his astounded expression. The two of them then had an earnest dialogue. Eventually Guy concluded and turned to me and explained that the meeting which the Major and I had witnessed was a precursor to a ceremony to be held today, for the reactor’s inauguration; although it was not due to start reprocessing for at least another week. Additionally, the missile launch facility was now ready to receive its first nuclear warhead. I breathed out slowly; both in awe of the accomplishments of our enemy and gratitude that we had struck just in the nick of time. Things began to make sense - that’s why they had their meeting yesterday, why Zhukov was still here and why the Iranian Guard were whoring in celebration.
We were approaching the Haidar gorge, where the North West Pass was long and narrow and the scenery dramatically changed. Before I could think of another question we abruptly slowed down; thinking that the Persian was up to no good I immediately looked toward him and saw a face of anxiety. I then looked ahead – and immediately saw the reason for his consternation. The road was impassable! For it was covered with debris. We stopped.
Large pieces of the cliff face, many sharp and jagged were littered about the road – in some places a few feet high. I got out and walked several metres ahead and then looked up at the brilliant red Sandstone cliff faces on either side; and saw the newly exposed surfaces by their lighter colour, where Mueller’s C4 had wrought its destructive power. There was the distinct smell of cordite in the air. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! I should now be safely ensconced in Iran – not impeded by our own machinations. I was tempted to curse Mueller, but stopped myself in the realisation that he only did his duty. The fact that no other vehicle had come along from the Bactria Valley since the explosion spoke of the paucity of traffic.
“Alas success,” observed Guy poking his head out of the window.
“Yes, so it seems,” I replied dejectedly, “the only way through this is by foot,” I yelled back.
“And how much of this is there?” Guy hollered.
“I don’t know,” I said. The irritation with his question audible in my answer, “But how ever much there is we need to negotiate it quickly, before another vehicle comes up behind us. The Persians are bound to be looking for us already,” and turning to look at our driver I continued, “We need to get rid of him!”
This Persian, whose name we had not even troubled ourselves to discover, had enabled us to get through the checkpoint and had provided valuable intelligence – albeit unwillingly. I only hoped that we would treat him decently. I knew that the natives in most of Central Asia were renowned for their barbarism and blood feuds. Cruelty was almost de rigueur in these parts. However cruelty rarely becomes an Englishman. I walked back and stuck my head through the window, “Let’s deal with him compassionately,” I said to Guy.
I then went around to the driver’s seat and opened the door and gestured for our captive to get out. Guy also got out and instructed him to take off his belt and to place his hands in front of him at which point Guy began tying his wrists tightly with a piece of cloth.
“You’ve changed your tune Tarquin; I was under the impression you wanted me to kill him back there,” challenged Guy.
I felt rather contrite. “Yes, I did,” said I haltingly, “there’s been a lot of killing one way or another and quite frankly I’ve had my fill of it; especially when it’s not strictly necessary.”
“Spoken like a gentleman,” he declared with alacrity.
The Persian made a whimpering sound and we looked towards his face. His lip was quivering, for he had gone pale with fright; and was manfully attempting to control his emotions. It was only now that I studied him closely that I realised how young he was – no more than about 24. He probably believed, not unreasonably, that he was about to be executed. Guy spoke to him in Farsi to reassure him that we would not harm him. We took him to the rear of the 4WD where we opened the tailgate and told him to get in. When he had, Guy using the Persian’s own belt bound his legs, gagged his mouth with a piece of cloth and then pushed him inside; at which point I closed the tailgate and ran around to the driver’s seat. I turned the 4WD around, and then accelerated out of the Gorge at speed; the wheels screeching. Where the road got wider we were out of the Haidar Gorge; heralded by the abundance of desolate, arid semi desert on either side. I turned the steering wheel and took us off the road a short distance, to where the 4WD would not be immediately obvious, but clearly visible to anyone looking in its direction from the road. I switched the engine off and got out and shut the door. I peered into the rear window to see our captive and heard his muffled sounds through his gag. He’d be discovered later this morning - unharmed.
Divested of our Persian and his 4WD, Guy and I started negotiating our way over and around the assorted debris; and as I did so I gazed up at the Sandstone peaks either side of us, which had now been so cruelly defaced. Turning back to the road, some of the pieces I judged were at least a ton in weight – the road was so badly damaged it would have to be resurfaced. In parts it was little different from some of the arduous climbing I had undertaken in the last few days; except now I also had to contend with the hazard of the fine dust generated by the explosion. As we progressed, the sound of running water gradually permeated my ears; and I recalled the river that I had momentarily glimpsed last night when driven through here as a captive. I looked to my left, and after passing another piece of debris I saw it, just a couple of metres from the road - it was only about three metres wide. I moved toward it to get a better view and Guy followed.
“Look at the watermark there,” Guy advised, “The water should be much higher at this time of year, with the snow melting on the peaks.”
“This must be the source of water for the reactor!” I said thinking aloud. Guy agreed.
This river was only visible for a short distance before it vanished from view under rocks and resumed its underground course. We walked on. Once we had passed the river I looked ahead, in a slightly elevated position standing on some of the rubble and saw ahead - nothing but more debris. I was pleased to see that Guy had remained utterly stoical as he clambered over the rocks - gathering up his outfit between his legs so that he might better negotiate the obstacles.
“It will take days to clear this,” he said cheerfully, “A job well done.”
He was right. What was a minor inconvenience to us was an infuriating logistical headache for the Persians. They would
be furious; so if they should get hold of me, there’s no telling what agonies they would have me endure - before executing me.
Abruptly, the silence of the place was broken by the slamming of car doors and voices ahead of us. At that moment we could neither see the vehicle or the owners of the voices. I turned to Guy who caught up with me. We looked at each other anxiously - not uttering a word. He went ahead of me. There was a particularly large pile of debris just a little ahead on the left of the road, on the right of which there was hardly any debris; Guy took this route past the pile. I followed a few metres behind cautiously. I looked down momentarily to check my footing around some rocks and then looked up – Guy had vanished. He had gone ahead without telling me his intentions! Did he think me a mind reader? I cursed furiously under my breath. I ran up to the pile of debris and placed myself up against it and then peered around it cautiously - the hairs on my neck standing on end. I could hear faint voices. A 4WD was parked its doors open and there were three Iranians – undoubtedly Revolutionary Guard. They were shouting and clearly angry; as well they might be. Guy had assumed his persona of the Hermit and was seeking alms by begging. My view of one of the Persians was obscured by Guy; who at that instant outstretched his arms, with hands cupped in beggary as he moved closer to one of the other men. As he did so, my view of this man was revealed. There was a knot in my stomach and my knees nearly gave way – for it was Mehrab Rostami. “Fuck and damnation,” were two of the expletives that came to mind. If he saw me first it would be curtains. I got out my “old friend” and checked it. In observing these men, not one of them had a machine gun on their person, although they may have had a pistol concealed about them. I had the element of surprise. We’d spared the young Persian moments earlier – but there was no sparing these chaps. Kill or be killed - I knew which I preferred! With my Glock in both hands down by my side I composed myself, breathed calmly and decided I had nothing to lose.