Every day, Firooz changed the bandages on Daniel’s face, ribs, arms, and legs, chastising him when he split open a wound by doing too much, whether it was trying to work in the woodshed, fixing a leaky faucet, or tending to a flower bed after he heard the gardener had died the day of the revolution. His heart had stopped, Firooz said. Together, they grieved the gardener who had been with the Sajadis since Sayed’s time.
The days passed. Daniel had told Rebecca he only needed a week, but his hopes dwindled. Maybe it was time to leave and forget what he wanted to do.
Then it happened. On the fifth morning, one of the patrons at the Silk Road gave him a note with the details for a meeting in Paghman, one of the loveliest places Daniel knew. He took a few essentials with him, hiding them in a pouch under his piran tomban.
He arrived late, but Taj was nowhere in sight. He sat at the edge of a stream and plunged his blistered feet into the chilly water, surrounded by weeping willows and poplars silhouetted against the fragile sky. It wasn’t a wonder that Paghman was known as the country’s garden capital. Across the rustling brook, a smaller replica of the Arc de Triomphe was edged with manicured hedges and flower beds.
“I suppose you’ve seen the real one,” said a voice behind him. The opium khan joined Daniel on the leaf-strewn ground, leaning back against a trunk. Picking through a mound of pumpkin seeds he held in his palm, he considered Daniel’s disguise with amusement. “Although I hear France doesn’t let in people who are dressed like that.”
“Why did you choose to meet here?” Daniel said. It was an hour from the city, and surely there were back rooms in teahouses that could have served just as well.
“I’m not so at ease in the city just now, you might understand,” Taj said. “And I’ve always liked gardens.”
Daniel nodded. The Arc was beautiful, but it still paled compared to its surroundings. He loved this oasis of lush and fertile green where he had spent childhood summers with his father, Sherzai, and friends from school.
“You look well, Daniel Sajadi. Truly.”
“I wish I could return the compliment,” Daniel said. In the swelling morning light, Taj looked even worse than that night at the Zoroaster. “I’m afraid your criminal life is catching up with you.”
Taj bowed his head. “Your new clothing is excellent. That shade of nonwhite flatters you, by the way. Perfectly colorless.”
“Better than transparent. If you’re going to pick a fake name, you could come up with something less obvious than Taj Maleki.”
“Judging by your costume, I’m not the only one pretending. Has it saved you?”
“So far.”
“I am delighted.” Taj laughed. “I would hate for you to come to any harm. You add a certain vigor and glory to my unremarkable life.” After a pause, he asked, “So, what is it that you want? It’s not every day that one is summoned by a Sajadi.”
“I assume you’ve seen what the new people in power are capable of.”
“I have,” Taj said.
“They’re going to destroy you and everyone like you,” Daniel said.
“You planned to destroy me, too.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Only because you didn’t have the chance,” Taj said.
“This isn’t the same thing. They’re going to take everyone’s land and redistribute it to whomever they want, which means mostly their own friends. They’re already killing people who haven’t done anything wrong. Imagine what they’ll do to you.”
Taj flashed a forced smile. “I’m touched that you’re so concerned about my fate that you galloped to the nearest opium den to warn me.”
Daniel couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Well, I am concerned about fate, although maybe not yours in particular.”
“You believe in fate, Daniel Sajadi? That surprises me.”
“So many surprises lately. They took my father’s company.” A fish flipped over above the water, landing with a splash.
“I know. You’ve made front-page news, and not because of your ridiculous agency this time.”
Daniel told Taj about Khaiyam and the opposition rising in the cities and countryside. He told him they needed money. As much as possible, and soon. Then there would be a way to combat the Communists before they truly took hold and people forgot there’d been a time without them.
Taj shrugged. “So give them money. You have so much of it, Daniel Sajadi, as the son of a great family.”
“I don’t, Taj. The firm is gone, and anything I have is far away in America. I can’t just bring it over.” As Taj considered this, Daniel said, “How much influence do you have with the other khans?”
Taj watched him silently, waiting for more.
“You’ll all either have to find somewhere else to grow your poppies or start growing something that isn’t against the law.”
The Manticore threw his head back and laughed before fixing Daniel with a frank and candid smile. “This is why you wished to meet with me so urgently? To tell me I must finally start growing wheat or corn, just like you’ve always said?” He shook his head. “By the way, I’ve noticed that your people like to describe those crops as golden. ‘Fields of golden wheat.’” His smile vanished. “If you have to pretend it sparkles, it isn’t gold.”
“If I were you, I would choose the first option,” Daniel continued, ignoring the jab. “Find somewhere else to grow your poppies. Much farther from Kabul.”
Taj reached for a branch and plucked a blossom. “How long did you spend at the Silk Road?” he said. “Or have these musings been brought on by alcohol?”
“There’s a way for you to keep growing your poppies, but if I help you, you have to help me do something to weaken these men.” Daniel tried not to think of what his father would say at hearing him propose a deal to an opium khan.
“Men? Is that what you call them?” Taj tossed the blossom into the stream. “I call them pigeons, strutting around with their chests puffed out. Taking people’s crumbs.”
Encouraged, Daniel continued trying to convince him of the harm the new regime would do. He described the wrecked farms in Communist Russia, the seizures of land, and the concrete blocks where they forced the undesirables, street children, and anyone they labeled a criminal.
“Your people already made sure our trade would die,” Taj replied. “The new government is not a problem. The world is full of people chasing after other people’s crumbs.”
“If you and the others make a single new land purchase, that money could be put to good use. Toward something that can help you,” Daniel said.
It took a moment for Taj to respond. He was watching the fleeing stream. “It’s warmer than I expected,” he said. He loosened and removed his turban, long hair falling down his back. A flicker of sun fell on the glass-cut onyx. He polished the stone, which glittered in the sun.
“Where else would I grow my poppies?”
Daniel spoke as the minutes ticked away. The frogs and the birds chimed in, seeming to debate the merits of his plan. There was nothing remarkable about the land in Fever Valley, Daniel said. It wasn’t like the lush fields of the northeast, where acres of poppies had grown until the government banned them. Fever Valley had come up spontaneously, reaching its status by chance, word of mouth, and tribal clusters who knew little of the rest of the country. It had never possessed great advantages, and now had none at all.
“It’s close to the Pakistani border,” Taj countered.
“So is the land I have in mind.”
The opium khan picked up a beetle and studied it carefully before releasing it. He turned his attention to his nails, which he cleaned with a twig he sharpened into a pick with his knife. “I am not interested in politics,” he said, “but if the pigeons are the future, we can deal with them. By sharing what we grow with them, for instance.”
“You’re going to give them half
your poppies?”
Taj threw the pick into the water. “They won’t ask for half. Just a little. That will be enough.”
“Like it was for me and my agency when your people came to bribe us?”
“It used to work, before any of you came. We’ve had an unusual run of shortsighted people recently.”
“Shortsighted or just honorable?”
“So the plan you’re suggesting is honorable? Or did they beat that honor out of you?” Taj pointed to the bruises Daniel had done his best to cover. “I must say, you are splendidly accident-prone. Every time I see you, you’ve been injured somehow. In any case, honor fatigues, Daniel Sajadi. One cannot blame it for falling asleep and not waking up.”
Daniel told Taj that he and his fellow khans might be able to bribe some of the new leaders, but they couldn’t bribe all of them, and certainly not enough to subdue the most fervent of the ideologues.
“Yes, they can be quite dangerous,” Taj said. “Luckily, it turned out you weren’t quite as fervent as we might have feared.” He went on, and it became clear to Daniel that for all his talk, Taj only understood the old, local way of doing things. He didn’t know what the people who had just seized power were capable of.
The water seemed to rush faster as the day wore on, and the imitation Arc de Triomphe loomed larger. Daniel felt something land on his foot and gently kicked off a frog. “I have a proposal. How much opium do you have in reserve?” he said.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear, but my last harvest was unexpectedly poor. My crew and my poppies were massacred, you see.”
Daniel asked again, and if Taj was telling the truth, he had more in reserve than USADE had thought. He explained that he and the other khans kept a supply in case they needed to flood the market and drive prices down to punish foreign competitors.
“Like OPEC,” Daniel said.
“Who’s that?”
“Never mind, it’s not important. Are you paid in dollars or diamonds?”
Taj confirmed what Daniel had long suspected: that the ISI, the Pakistani intelligence agency, paid in diamonds, while organized crime in Iran paid in dollars. When Daniel finished his proposition, Taj shook his head.
“I find it hard to believe that you know of some secret land you’ll simply hand over to us.”
“It’s not a secret. Just difficult to get to.”
When Taj reminded Daniel that he had no reason to trust him, Daniel told him that he’d been there as a child and offered to take him there himself.
“As I explained, my concern is you, not the location of this place,” Taj replied.
“I’m here because I have no choice,” Daniel said. “Some enemies are worse than others. I can’t sit here and do nothing while these traitors massacre people and offer my country to the Russians.”
You’re the traitor, Telaya hissed. Daniel kept his eyes on Taj, refusing to blink.
Taj retrieved a chocolate bar from his pocket and peeled off the wrapper. “Things may have changed since you were a child. Maybe the path you knew doesn’t exist anymore.”
“If not, I’ll find another way in.”
“Even if you do obtain the resources you need, how does one bring down an enemy of this scale?”
Daniel told him what he’d learned from Sayed about war. That the way to weaken an enemy was not to pour everything into a single attack that determined everything, but to draw him into a long struggle where he spent all his energy trying to hold on and control you, never knowing where you might be hiding or when you might appear.
“Does it make life easier or harder?” Taj asked. “To imagine that you can simply remove whoever displeases you.”
“It’s not about removal, not yet. The land I’m talking about is far south. You know how the governors are down there.”
“Why would I?”
Daniel explained they did not like state interference, and that the new regime would be reluctant to face off with them.
“This plan sounds like a trick,” Taj said.
“If I wanted to destroy you, I would stand back and let the new government do it.”
“You might deceive me for the sake of revenge.”
There was indeed something of a trick in Daniel’s plan. It seemed right that he should still be fighting to stop the poppy trade, even in the small way he pictured now. “That’s your sort of thing, not mine,” he said.
“And on top of everything, you insult me. You’re a terrible salesman.”
“And you’re a terrible businessman, or you would see an opportunity here. No one else is using that land—barely anyone knows about it.” With that, Daniel pulled a small silk pouch from underneath his shirt.
Taj’s eyes widened. The contents of the bag looked like ordinary poppy seeds, something you might see on a bagel in America. But they were seed samples Daniel had kept in a box in his home office. Taj put his chocolate down.
“They’re a gift,” Daniel said. “I have a larger bag for you, if you want it.”
Taj examined the seeds. “These are high quality.”
“Confiscated from local harvests. These were the highest grade. Some people might give cigarettes or figs, but I thought you might prefer this.”
“Thank you,” said the opium khan, bowing his head. “This doesn’t make me trust you, but I’ll call the khans for a meeting. You may show us the land.”
“I can arrange for it today.”
“Are you out of your noble mind? It will take more time than that to convince them.”
But Daniel was out of time. He proposed a meeting in three days at a place that was easy to find, a landmark near the northern edge of Helmand Province. Taj promised to be there.
“This insurrection you speak of,” he said. “Do you believe they can win?”
“They only need a few victories.” Daniel reminded him of how the Communists had come to power. It was a three-part formula: they’d had greater numbers than people realized, a store of weapons, and the element of surprise. He told Taj that Khaiyam and other men of his position had thousands of followers, and those numbers were swelling. Given weapons and a plan of attack, they could be a formidable force.
“These clerics, you think they have better ideas than the Communists?”
“They won’t be lackeys to the Russians. And anything is better than a puppet government.” Daniel thought of Khaiyam, whose compassion and peaceful aura were shared by every cleric Daniel had ever encountered. Of the exiled mullahs, in hiding but bravely cutting into radio frequencies. Of Keshmesh, who was at the age where a single event could change who you became. And of Elias, who saw opposition to power as romantic just because he needed a fight to win. Daniel tried not to think of Sayed, and what he would have said at this moment. He took his feet out of the water. They were blissfully numb.
35
At home, Sayed’s eyes again followed Daniel through the house, his portrait looming larger than ever. Peter, Firooz, and Daniel talked, played, and drank tea, and Daniel found himself laughing at their jokes, everything growing lighter for a while. The night came quickly, painting the windows black, the feeble lamps a poor match for the encroaching darkness. Daniel wondered when he would fly home, and whether Sutherland could arrange a ticket or if he would have to find a way to Pakistan to catch a plane there. He turned on the radio at eleven. A nasal voice rattled off the arrest report. The list was long. Daniel listened for friends, acquaintances, and old classmates and heard one: “Laila Sharifi.”
Peter rose, his cup dropping to the floor. Dr. Sharifi had been caught buying a large quantity of illicit opium, the voice said, and unlike the king or Daoud, the Party made no exceptions for its own. The rule of law was absolute, principles unbendable to personal favor. The voice went on to read more names. Daniel wondered how many nameless people had been killed, too. He kept Peter as calm as he could, hiding his own d
istress, but the professor was inconsolably shaken.
“I’ll go see Sherzai in the morning,” Daniel said. “He might be able to get her out.”
“Maybe I should come.” Peter wrung his hands like an old woman.
“I think I have a better chance.”
Waiting for daylight, Daniel felt no pain, his wounds soothed by the bitter rain of what he had to do. He felt strangely empty, as if he’d been reduced to some essential element, a single atom, with a great force threatening to split him in two. In the morning, Peter set off for Laila’s apartment, insisting he would wait for her there. It was closer to downtown, and Daniel was to get her out and bring her straight there.
When Daniel appeared at the Ministry of Planning an hour later, he introduced himself to the clerk as Abdullah, one of Mr. Sherzai’s servants. She scanned him head to toe. “You’re here to see the minister?” She leaned her chin in her hand. “Maybe you can wait until he returns home.”
He told her it was urgent. She slowly dialed Sherzai’s extension. He was in a meeting. Daniel waited on an uncomfortable couch, flipping through a magazine about architecture. He asked her to try again after twenty minutes. Sherzai sent down his secretary, a pretty woman in high heels and a formfitting suit. She wore a crystal brooch, a butterfly that caught the light as she led Daniel upstairs. Sherzai did not ask Daniel about his disguise.
In a large but utilitarian office, they stood appraising each other before Sherzai quietly left to fetch tea. Daniel was grateful for the moment alone. The newly minted Minister of Planning brought a pot from his secretary’s desk and poured two glasses. He closed the door. He wanted to know about Rebecca’s health, but Daniel wasn’t here to talk about that. He pilfered a cigarette and lit it with unsteady hands. Without preamble, because he could think of none that wasn’t absurd, he said, “They took Laila. Laila’s in prison.”
Sherzai was about to say something but stopped himself. He leaned back in his leather chair. “Laila is a fine girl,” he said. “An excellent doctor.”
The Opium Prince Page 27