There was a small sound behind him, then the pressure of something against his back. He did not have to turn; he knew it was the muzzle of a rifle. He looked up and saw the woman standing at the top of the staircase, looking startled.
“What is the problem, Baba,” he said lightly, standing very still.
“Who are you?” said a voice behind him.
Adeel swivelled on his heel, letting the chapattis slide to the ground. Their host stood between the two men, pointing the rifle at Adeel.
“I am taking some provisions, blankets to my wife’s family,” Adeel said, casually brushing the rifle away.
“There are many people looking for you,” said a tall man standing behind their elderly host.
“We do not talk in front of women,” Adeel responded, glancing up at the top of the staircase.
She had disappeared. Adeel bent down and picked up the chapatti bundle.
“Let me go up and give her these. We have had a long journey and she needs to eat.”
One of the men blocking the staircase moved aside. Adeel darted up the stairs. She was crouched just behind the door.
“There is no time to explain. You eat first. I have to go down and settle something.”
“What do these men want?” she asked, ignoring the bundle he pressed toward her.
“Do not come downstairs. Stay here. Nothing will happen.” He turned away.
Six men crowded into the small room. The old man sat on his bed. The four motorcyclists lounged against the walls. Adeel stood with his back to the door. He knew exactly who the men were, and he had no option but to do what they wanted until he could escape.
“There is news from Peshawar that a man just like you is being looked for,” said the old man.
“It is a mistake. I am not from Peshawar,” replied Adeel.
The men were silent. Then one moved closer to Adeel.
“Is the truck yours?”
“No, it belongs to my family. My brother lent it to me,” Adeel replied.
“We need it,” came the startling reply.
“What do you need it for? How can I help you?” Adeel asked.
“We will put something in it and you just need to deliver it.”
“How far do I have to go?” Adeel asked, to keep the conversation going.
“There is only one army checkpoint in the area,” the tall man said, smiling at him.
Adeel faced the man steadily. He knew he was in the presence of the Taliban, and that these men wanted him to detonate explosives at the checkpoint.
“You should be a comrade. If you help us, no one will know that we have found you,” the leader of the group offered.
Adeel moved closer to the bed and sat on the edge.
“I am your comrade. I have been trained in this work. Tell me the plan.”
They studied him carefully while he wondered where in the house the explosives were stored. He already knew that a mobile phone with a timer would activate the device. These men were typical of their type: all in their late thirties, and all steeped in the traditions of sectarian warfare, completely deluded by the men who controlled them. Adeel was not surprised that his host was involved with them. He also knew that the sculpture had to be removed from the truck and hidden.
“You may have something to hide from us,” said the leader, “but we have nothing to hide from you. Just follow our instructions and leave.”
“I understand. I believe in your cause. But I must take my wife away from here first. Then I will be free to help you.”
“She is safe here. When you complete the task for us, you can come back for her,” replied the host quickly.
“No, I will take her with me,” Adeel said firmly.
“She is a woman,” replied the tall man.
“She is a jihadi like me,” replied Adeel.
“If you take her, the bomb will sit at her feet,” the tall man said.
“She is very brave. She has been trained,” Adeel said, staring down the man.
The next half hour was spent going over the details of the plan. The target was the army checkpoint around the area where the two mosques had been cordoned off. The explosive device would be in a bag that would have to be taken beyond the wooden barrier. It would be detonated by the two men on motorcycles, who would follow Adeel. The mission was to kill as many soldiers as they could, so they would wait until the morning when the checkpoint was fully manned.
Adeel took over the planning. He asked questions, voiced concerns, and quickly came up with solutions. He also noticed that two of the men had left the room.
“You should go to Waziristan; they need people like you,” the tall man said, admiring Adeel’s input.
“Yes, but do they pay you good money?” Adeel asked. He knew it wouldn’t hurt for them to think he was a mercenary.
“More than you can imagine!” The host threw back his head and laughed.
“You can work for both sides: the Americans pay for information and the Saudis send gold in bags.” The tall man smiled at him.
“This country is covered in filth. It must be cleansed. You understand, brother, the Holy Prophet guides us,” the host proclaimed.
“We have four hours to sleep. I will come down then,” Adeel said and got up.
“It will be cold on the roof. Bring your wife and come sleep in the room.”
Adeel climbed the short staircase and found her sitting on the floor against the wall. He pressed a finger against his lips and crouched down next to her.
“There is trouble. But I will handle it. You have to do exactly as I say,” he whispered to her.
She looked up at him fearfully.
“Let us leave now while they sleep.”
“No. We cannot. It is a short wait. Have you eaten?”
“I was waiting for you,” she said and turned to the pot.
They shared the pan of stringy chicken with the cold chapattis. He found her cooking almost inedible and was surprised that she did not know how to cook. She glanced at him, sensing his lack of enthusiasm for the meal.
“The chicken was tough. It was old and hard to cook,” she said defensively.
“This is fuel. Not food. It’s all right,” he said gruffly.
They finished quickly and rinsed the cooking pot. Adeel then casually unbuttoned his woollen waistcoat, drawing the automatic pistol out of its holster. She muffled a scream and pressed herself against the wall. Stifling his laughter, he quickly placed the weapon on the ground between them.
“I am going to show you how to use this,” he said softly.
She watched him silently as he loaded the chamber with bullets and explained the parts of the gun. Then he extended it toward her.
“Hold it. Then you can point it and shoot at anything you want.”
“It is this easy to kill?” she asked, pressing her hand directly over the muzzle.
“No!” He jerked the pistol away. “Like this.” He wrapped her fingers around the stock and held her hand in place with his own.
“Why do I need to know how to use this?” she asked, looking at him reproachfully.
“We are in the company of killers and we may need to defend ourselves.”
She shrugged his hand away, lifted the revolver, and slowly aimed it at his head. He did not move; he only turned his face away.
“Is this the way?”
“Yes, but you will never get that close. You will have to calculate where the head or the heart is and then fire.”
He held his hand out and said, “Give it back to me. We have to go down.”
ADEEL DID NOT sleep. He watched the woman, curled up in her shawl and fast asleep. The small room was cold despite the number of bodies inside. Adeel listened to the even breathing of sleeping people and went over his plan. He had decided that they would bury
the sculpture. He calculated how much force it would take to drag it to a safe site. He had ropes in the truck and a harness, but he would need her help as well. Then he calculated the time it would take to dig a large enough hole. He had seen a shovel by the side of the house when the chicken was being slaughtered. He got up quietly and walked to the door, where two of the Taliban were lightly snoring in their sleep. He swung his leg over the first man. For a minute, he straddled him without contact. Then he swung his other leg over. Thankfully, there was enough space between the two men for him to clear both. He walked to the back entrance and stepped out quietly. He grabbed the shovel from the side of the house and quickly made his way to the truck. As he pulled the keys from his pocket, they slipped through his fingers. He knelt down to pick them up and noticed a wire dangling under the truck.
He set the keys on the dirt and crawled under the truck for a closer look, but it was too dark to see where the wire led. He pulled out his mobile phone and turned the flashlight function on. The wire led to a package that was securely taped to the underside of the truck. The thin film of plastic covering it could not hide the fact that it was an explosive. Adeel knew that the lethal package had the ability to reduce the truck and everything around it to nothing more than mangled iron and torn flesh. He also knew he could easily disconnect the wire leading to the timer, but he didn’t touch anything. He crawled out, opened the padlock, and carefully hid the shovel under a pile of blankets next to the sculpture.
He spent another half hour sliding the leather harness over the wrapped sculpture and attaching the ropes. He tested the device by pulling the weight — which he estimated to be close to seventy kilograms — toward the edge of the truck. The progress was slow, but it worked. He climbed into the truck, reversed the straps of the harness, and pulled the sculpture back to its original resting place. He shut the padlock and returned inside, once again stepping over the sleeping men.
Just before dawn, Adeel woke the woman up, and their movements woke the sleeping men. When they walked outside together they saw only one motorcycle and two men standing by the truck. On the ground next to them rested a small straw basket. A paper cover concealed the contents. The men watched Adeel and the woman get into the truck, and then they placed the basket at her feet.
“Follow us. We will stop one kilometre before the checkpoint. You drive right up to it and tell the soldier this is fruit for the officer inside. Then call on this phone and tell us you have made the delivery.” He held out a small mobile phone to Adeel.
Adeel faced his would-be executioners squarely and took the phone. “God will protect us,” he said over his shoulder and started the truck.
Adeel followed the motorcycle. It headed toward the main road, keeping a safe a distance from them. The woman sat by his side, calm and wide awake. Adeel wondered when she would leave.
Soon, the moment he had been waiting for presented itself. A small road veered off to the left, heading to the mountains. He slowed down, watching the motorcycle disappear around a bend ahead. He swung the wheel and shifted gears, accelerating up an unpaved road. He knew it would take a couple of minutes for the men on the motorcycle to realize that the truck was no longer following them. Within seconds, a copse of trees appeared at the side of the road. He continued driving until he reached a heavily forested area and slammed on the brakes.
“Come, I need your help.” He jumped out of the driver’s seat and raced to the back of the truck.
Quickly, he grabbed hold of the two ropes attached to the harness and pulled the sculpture to the edge. When the woman appeared behind him, he told her to hold one of the ropes. Together, they eased the sculpture over the edge of the truck and allowed it to slide onto the ground. They dragged the sculpture toward the coniferous undergrowth at the side of the road. The ground was soft and covered with vegetation he did not recognize. He raced back to the truck for the shovel. They took turns digging, and within a very short time, the sculpture was buried and covered with earth and layers of branches. Adeel was astounded by how quickly the task had been accomplished, and how effectively she had helped. Not a single word was exchanged between them, even after they raced back to the truck and Adeel reversed down the path to the main road. The truck and the motorcycle reached the turnoff from the main road at the same time. The driver waved furiously. Adeel drove up to him.
“You were supposed to follow us,” he shouted.
“My wife had to go to the toilet so I needed a less public place,” Adeel replied.
“You bloody fool! This is a mission! If you do this again we will shoot you.”
Their journey resumed and Adeel focused on the next part of his plan.
“We must let this truck go,” he explained to the woman. “It has become very dangerous. A time will come when I will slow it down so you can jump out. I will tell you when to jump. Can you do this?” he asked, looking at her.
“Jump where?” she asked, confused.
“If you don’t jump, you will die.”
“And you? Where will you go?”
“I will also leave the truck. Don’t worry, I will find you,” he said softly.
“I will jump,” she said gravely.
Twenty minutes later, the motorcycle ahead slowed down and then stopped. Adeel brought the truck up beside it.
“The checkpoint is the next thing you will see on the road. You must make the call on the phone. That is the most important thing,” said the driver, whose face was now completely concealed by a black scarf.
Adeel lifted his hand to indicate that he understood. When he cleared the motorcycle he noticed that the man riding pillion had also concealed his face. He kept his speed low until he saw the wooden barrier and small adobe structure ahead. He could see three military men standing around the barrier. He geared down, slowing the truck.
“Now! Jump!” he shouted to the woman.
She gave him a terrified look, opened the door, and jumped. He had no time to see where she had landed. He kept his eyes on the road ahead as the truck moved closer to the checkpoint.
He stopped at the barrier and handed over his driver’s licence and registration. The soldier nodded, lifted the barrier, and allowed him to proceed. Adeel drove through, accelerating until he was almost five hundred feet away from the checkpoint. He moved toward the side of the road and stopped the truck. There was no one on the road behind him. On one side of the road was a sharp drop into the valley, and on the other the ridge of a low hill. Adeel stepped out of the truck, crossed the road, and ran up the hill as fast as he could. Finally, he dropped down flat on the ground. He had a safe, bird’s-eye view of both the parked truck and the army checkpoint. He punched out the number he’d been given on the cellphone.
“I have done the job,” he said.
Five seconds later, a deafening explosion rent the air. It was quickly followed by another. For a few moments, billowing dirt, flames, and ricocheting metal eclipsed his vision. Then he heard the welcome sound of voices; he knew he had saved lives. The motorcycle riders would be halfway back to the village of Chilas by now, where they would report his death. It was a perfect solution to Adeel’s predicament.
When the air finally settled he could see people standing around the shell of the truck. A military Jeep raced up to the site, then turned around and sped off in the opposite direction. As he followed the truck’s progress, he noticed a slight, bundled-up figure in the distance. He saw her stumble as a soldier pushed her away from the scene. The blood pounded in his head as he slid down the hill and raced toward her. Chunks of tire rubber and strips of metal littered the road. He ran through them, removing his wool cap and dark glasses and pushing them into his waistcoat pocket. He did not want to be recognized by the soldiers who had checked his licence only a few moments ago. All he wanted to do was reach her so she could see that he was alive.
“Halt!” A barrier guard stepped in front of him. It was not th
e one who had checked his licence.
“My wife and I were waiting by the road for the bus. Then this explosion! I had just walked ahead of her,” he said, pointing to the woman.
“Leave this area at once! Go back! The road will not be open for a while.”
“Yes, sir,” Adeel said, stepping aside and heading toward her.
She moved slowly. Her arms were folded across her chest; he knew she had been hurt from her fall. He closed the few feet that separated them, resisting his desire to scoop her into his arms. When she saw him, she collapsed on his chest and burst into tears. He placed both his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
“I don’t know your name.” These were the first words that came out of his mouth.
“Norbu,” she sobbed.
“Norbu? What kind of name is that?”
Her demeanour changed instantly. She drew herself up stiffly.
“It is an old name from my grandmother’s family,” she replied.
“A Tibetan name?” he said, amazed.
“My family is from the time before. When people were Buddhist and not Muslim.”
“Are you all right? We have to walk now.” For the first time since they’d left the house, he was nervous.
“When I jumped I thought I had died. When the bomb exploded I thought you had died. I came to look for your body.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
They began to walk back to the spot where the dirt road led up the hill. She moved so slowly, slower than Adeel had expected. He knew she had been badly bruised; now he just prayed that she had not sustained a fracture. When he asked her to let him check for broken bones, she refused, drawing her two woollen shawls tighter around herself.
Adeel struggled to hold off a creeping exhaustion. It had been three days since he’d left Barako to execute his assignment, and he had not had much sleep. He needed a new plan, but he also needed to rest. When they finally reached the path and saw the trees, her pace quickened, and he followed her to the spot where the statue was buried.
It took them ten minutes to erect a small tent. Three branches pressed into the soft earth became the support for a canopy made of her two woollen shawls. He lay down, removed the pistol from its holster, and placed it to one side. There was enough space for Norbu to rest as well, but the last thing Adeel saw as he turned on his side and fell into an exhausted sleep was her hunched form, standing next to the spot where the sculpture was buried.
The Place of Shining Light Page 12