by Anna Smith
‘He doesn’t have to explain everything he does to the embassy officials. He’s quite senior, so he can take decisions. Call it one of the perks of being a diplomat.’
‘Sounds too good to be true.’ Rosie was relieved.
She’d never been involved in anything like this before. The last time she was being pursued to an airport was in Malaga after Adrian had had to shoot their way out of a jam – leaving their fixer, Javier, in a car park bleeding from gunshot wounds. Diplomatic plates that could take you almost to the departure gate made her feel a lot more comfortable.
‘Do you think Laila will be able to go through with this? What if she bottles it?’ Matt asked.
Everyone looked at Rosie.
‘She won’t. She’s a plucky girl, and angry that she’s where she is. I’d be surprised if she’s not ready and waiting for us right now.’
‘I think so too,’ Ismal said.
They sat quietly for a moment, and Rosie watched Asima clear plates away and work around the kitchen.
‘What about you, Asima? Do you ever worry that someone will inform on you for the work you do to help these girls?’
Asima stood with her back to the sink, drying her hands on a towel.
‘Not really.’ She shook her head. ‘People are very good at keeping secrets in this part of the world. Especially women. We’ve had to. But in recent years, there has been a growing sense of resentment, and even though women don’t dare to voice this in public, we can talk amongst ourselves. That is where our movement found its roots.’ She sighed. ‘We can’t help everyone. The truth is, we help very few – maybe only two girls a year – while hundreds are married off against their will. But it’s a start.’
Rosie said nothing. Asima’s courage, fighting her ground in a hostile country, made her feel a little ashamed of the nerves in her stomach at the prospect of the evening ahead.
Chapter Nineteen
They left Ismal’s home and made their way in the direction of the village where Laila was being held. Asima was in the car in front, driven by a young medic friend of Ismal’s who was trusted enough to be in on the operation. The sun was slowly sinking behind the mountains, bathing the sky and the landscape in the amber glow of early evening. Ismal hung back a little as Asima turned into the village, and Rosie shuddered, recalling her panic and terror while trapped among the Taliban earlier. Now, the village main street that had been bustling with market traders was empty and tranquil. Ismal had chosen this time of the day because almost everyone would be home eating, or would have just finished and be relaxing for the night. They drove down to the foot of the hill and Ismal pulled off the road and up a tight, hidden path where he could watch for Asima approaching.
‘So, now we wait.’ Ismal switched off the engine and sat back.
‘How long do you think you’ll stay in Pakistan, Ismal?’ Rosie asked. ‘Do you want to raise a family here, or will you come back home?’
He let out a weary sigh.
‘In the beginning, I wanted to come back to my roots here, put something back into the country which my parents had left so they could give me a better life. I was full of all these ideals. But, now that I see what is happening, how it’s being ruined, I don’t think Asima and I will stay. Actually, we are looking at possibly working in America. We both have relatives who moved there and settled a few years ago. I had an offer from a hospital a few months ago, but didn’t take it up. Now, I’ve had another offer and I feel differently. I’m going to talk to them next week.’
‘You should leave sooner rather than later,’ Omar said, ruffling his cousin’s hair affectionately. ‘It’s four years since I’ve been here, and it’s no place for people like us to live any more. You should leave them to their own devices. There’s only so much you can do for people. I don’t think it’s safe to have the kind of mentality and beliefs you have here, Ismal. Sooner or later, they will come after you.’
Ismal nodded.
‘I know.’
‘And another thing,’ Omar said. ‘Now, don’t take this the wrong way.’ He spread his hands. ‘You’re a brilliant doctor and a great guy, but tell you what, we’re going to need some crazy driving here in case anything happens, so I think you should move over and let me take the wheel.’ He paused and Ismal looked at him, saying nothing. ‘Trust me.’ Omar grinned. ‘I’m a Paki.’
Ismal smiled back, shaking his head.
‘Okay, big potatoes,’ he said, opening the driver’s door and getting out. ‘But just don’t get us all killed, alright?’
‘No chance.’ Omar jumped across to the driver’s seat.
In the distance, clouds of dust swirled as a bus appeared and they watched as it rolled past them, half empty. The dust settled for a moment, then suddenly more clouds appeared, and Omar sat forward, peering out of the windscreen. He switched on the engine.
‘I see Asima’s car. Here they come! Game on!’
Rosie strained her eyes as the dust cleared and the car came closer. She could see what looked like two people in the front seats.
‘Can you make out how many are in the car?’
‘I only see two,’ Omar said. ‘But Laila may be lying flat in the back so they can get out unnoticed.’
‘Whatever,’ Ismal said. ‘We’ll know soon enough. Let’s go.’
As Omar drove down the hill, Ismal’s mobile rang, and he pressed it to his ear.
‘Great.’ He looked in his rear-view mirror and Rosie could see the smile on his face.
‘We’re on!’ Ismal said. ‘They got Laila!’ He slid on his seatbelt. ‘Now strap yourselves in, folks, because something tells me this is going to be a bit of a white-knuckle ride. We have to get away from here as fast as possible.’
Omar allowed Asima’s car to speed past them, then followed.
Rosie and Matt bounced in the back seat as the car zipped down the mountain roads. In a couple of minutes they could see the bus beyond Asima’s car. But she sped up and overtook it on a long straight stretch. In seconds they were behind the bus, but on a mountain path, hurtling towards a blind bend with a sheer drop. Suddenly, Omar put his foot down. Rosie glanced at Matt and closed her eyes. The bus honked angrily as Omar overtook on the tightest part of the bend, leaving clouds of dust in his wake.
‘Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that, guys,’ Omar joked. ‘You okay in the back there, Rosie?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Rosie replied. ‘You should have given us blindfolds.’
They picked up speed and sat behind Asima’s car all the way down the mountain and towards the main road. At the foot of the hill, they could see two pickup trucks and men in black turbans.
‘Shit! They’re flagging Asima down,’ Ismal said.
Rosie and Matt exchanged perplexed glances.
‘What do you think, Ismal?’
‘Asima will just play it by ear. My young trainee is good too. As long as these guys don’t want to make trouble, it should be okay.’
‘I hope they’ve had their dinner.’ Matt tried to lighten the tension. ‘Or they’ll be grizzly as fuck.’
Omar chuckled in the front seat, but Rosie sensed it was more from tension than anything else. He drove slowly, hanging back a little as the Taliban soldier leaned in through the passenger window to talk to the medic. Rosie could see the figure in the back seat, covered from head to toe, now. The Taliban soldier went to the back of the car and opened the door. Asima and the medic protested, but he reached in and dragged Laila out. He pushed her to the side and towards the other Taliban soldier, who grabbed hold of her by the hair, her headscarf slipping. Then the other one went to the driver’s door and pulled the medic out. Asima got out of the other side and came around to the front. The first Taliban soldier lined all three of them up, and seemed to speak to the other one, who was on his mobile.
‘Shit,’ Ismal said. ‘This is bad. Someone must have got word to them that Laila’s got out.’
‘Bastards!’ Omar grunted.
‘Maybe we should go
down and see if I can talk to them,’ Ismal said.
‘No way.’ Omar grabbed hold of his arm. ‘Listen, mate. We’re going to have to do something, but these guys don’t negotiate. So . . . just leave it to me.’
‘What do you mean?’ Rosie knew Omar was a Glasgow wide boy, but he was not the type to pick a fight.
‘Don’t worry, Rosie. We need to take a risk here. Just keep calm, whatever happens.’
‘Jesus,’ Rosie muttered to Matt.
Omar said something in Urdu to the security guard in the car with them, and he answered, uttering a few words, then shifted a little in his seat. His hands gripped the rifle and he brought it up, flicking off the safety catch. Rosie looked at Matt, then at Ismal, his face grim as he looked out through the windscreen to see the other Taliban man slapping Asima hard on the face. The medic protested and was hit by the butt of the second soldier’s rifle.
‘Right, troops. Are you strapped in?’
Before they had the chance to answer, the wheels span, and the 4x4 took off down the hill and swerved onto the road, picking up speed as they approached. He’ll slam on the brakes now, Rosie thought. Any minute. He has to. Instead, Omar picked up speed and the truck got closer and closer. Christ! He was going to ram them. Hearing the engine, the Taliban soldier turned in disbelief as Omar drove straight at him. But before he could move, Omar had driven into him and rammed him up against the truck, his body buckling. Asima had jumped away and the medic threw her to the ground, diving on top of her to protect her. In the confusion, Laila broke free as the other Taliban soldier aimed his rifle at Omar’s windscreen. Then the gunshot. Rosie wondered why their windscreen hadn’t shattered, then she saw the Taliban soldier drop to the ground. Ismal jumped out and grabbed Asima. The medic got hold of Laila, and they all piled quickly into the car.
‘Let’s go!’ Omar was looking in the rear-view mirror. ‘I can see the other one getting up. I thought I’d done him in, but the bastard’s on his feet, limping.’
From nowhere another Taliban soldier came up, pulled the shot man to his feet and pushed him into the pickup, along with the other one.
‘They’re behind us, Omar. And they’re catching up,’ Ismal said.
‘Fuck!’ Omar pushed his foot to the floor.
In the back, everyone was almost on top of each other. Asima’s cheek was red and swollen from the slap. Laila lay on Matt’s shoulder, whimpering. The guard wound down the window and leaned out, firing off a couple of shots at the truck. They could hear glass shattering, then more gunshots and a thud. The guard slumped back, blood pouring out of his shoulder.
‘Oh Jesus, Omar! He’s been shot,’ Rosie said.
Omar said something in Urdu, and the guard grimaced and touched the wound, his hand covered in blood. Then he pulled himself up and leaned out of the window again. Omar sped around the last of the mountain path, the car skidding, and Rosie eyed the drop, wondering if it was better to get shot or captured, or just go over the cliff. If it’s going to happen, make it quick. She turned in time to see the security guard let off one more shot, and the Taliban truck swerve wildly all over the road. It was out of control, and she watched as it skidded over the cliff, soaring through the air, its wheels still spinning.
‘Bullseye!’ Omar said, keeping his boot down.
‘Fucking beauty!’ Matt said, as the guard came back in and almost passed out on his shoulder.
Asima climbed across.
‘Let me have a look.’ She tore at the guard’s tunic and opened it up to see the hole in his shoulder gushing with blood. Then she pulled off her headscarf and told Matt to press it hard against the wound. ‘He’s bleeding badly, Ismal. We have to get somewhere fast.’
‘It’s less than two hours to Islamabad. We need to keep going. Look in the back there. My bag. Get something we can use to stop the blood and see if you can fix him up.’
Rosie watched, squeezed up against the door, as Asima rummaged in the bag, then expertly wrapped a bandage around the guard’s wound, taping it to his chest.
‘Will he make it?’ Rosie asked.
‘I hope so. I can’t do anything more now.’
‘He’ll be fine. He’s a tough guy,’ Omar said. ‘Hasn’t spoken a word all week, but when the chips were down, he was there. He saved us. I won’t let him die. Once we get out of this valley and onto the main road, we can drive like the wind.’
Rosie sat back and breathed let out a long sigh. She suddenly felt Laila’s hand reach out and clasp hers tight.
‘You’re okay, Laila. It’s going to be fine. It’s over now,’ she whispered.
Rosie’s mobile rang and she saw McGuire’s name come up. She flashed it towards Matt, who snorted.
‘Good luck with that one,’ he said.
‘Hi, Mick.’
‘Fuck’s sake, Gilmour! I said to call me at least a couple of times a day – you’re there two days and I haven’t heard a cheep. What’s going on?’
‘Oh, I know, Mick. Sorry. I was going to call you last night, but there was no signal . . . You see, I’m up in the mountains here, in Swat Valley. Hellish place.’
‘I can smell bullshit,’ McGuire barked.
‘Well, it might not actually be bullshit,’ Rosie joked. ‘Listen, Mick. Everything’s okay.’
‘What do you mean okay? What about the girl?’
‘We got her.’
‘You did? Brilliant! Is she alright? Are you alright? Are you in any danger? Listen, Gilmour, I want you out of there pronto if you’ve got the girl. Like tonight if possible, or tomorrow at the latest.’
‘We’re flying tomorrow, Mick. With Laila. We’re just on our way down to Islamabad now. I’m going to phone Marion when I get there.’
‘Great. I can breathe easily. So was there any trouble?’
Rosie let it hang two beats.
‘A bit. But hey, we’re just about there. So we got away with it.’
‘That sounds suspiciously like a body count. Are you sure that big Bosnian isn’t with you?’
‘No,’ Rosie smiled at the sudden thought of Adrian. ‘No. He’s not here. There was a bit of aggro though, but I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Have to go now.’
‘Right. Okay. But I’m planning to make a real issue of this kid and the forced marriage story. So I hope she’s all singing, all dancing.’
‘Er . . . Yeah . . . I’m sure we’ll be alright. Have to go.’ Rosie hung up.
She hadn’t even spoken to Laila about going public with the story yet. They were too busy trying to stay alive. She would have Laila all sewn up before she got home, because as soon as it hit the Post, the media, and not just in Scotland, would be all over it.
‘Is that your editor?’ Laila asked.
‘Yeah. He’s a bit of a livewire.’ Rosie looked at her. ‘We’ll have a talk between tonight and tomorrow to plan what we do.’
‘I overheard what he said.’
Rosie gave her a guilty look.
‘I want to tell my story,’ Laila said, a determined look in her eye.
‘We will,’ Rosie was relieved. Music to her ears. ‘Look,’ she nudged Omar. ‘A sign for Islamabad. And the road ahead is getting more populated.’
‘Halle-fucking-lujah!’ Matt rested his head back and closed his eyes.
*
On the outskirts of Islamabad, the tall buildings and monuments cast shadows in the setting sun. Rosie was delighted to see traffic lights and normality – just the sense that they were in any big capital in the world, where there was some kind of order, as opposed to the lawless area they’d escaped from. They dropped the medic off at his mother’s home in the city. He wasn’t planning to go back to Swat any time in the future. Omar drove past houses and along tree-lined avenues, past houses and gated compounds. The remnants of British colonial rule, where houses would have been owned by merchants or diplomats, had left their marks. Signs in English for tennis clubs, private schools, Catholic and Episcopalian churches.
Ismal punched in a num
ber to his phone and spoke.
‘We are ten minutes away, Gerry. So far, so good. But there was trouble. Our armed guard has a gunshot wound. I should be able to treat him once I get a good look. Sure. Thanks.’
Along the avenue where the British Embassy was, they drove towards a gated complex. A security guard approached and Omar wound down his window. Ismal leaned across and spoke, and the guard walked across and pulled open the tall iron gates. Rosie rolled down her window, taking in the scene – lush green gardens and a few villas dotted along the avenue. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the thwack of what sounded like a tennis ball striking a racket. Behind the tall trees she glimpsed a green wooden clubhouse and people sitting in the garden sipping tall drinks. In one of the trees, two exotic red-and-yellow birds squawked as they took off into the evening sky. It was mesmerising, given where they’d been.
‘God almighty! It’s like something out of that movie, White Mischief. What’s going on?’ Rosie asked.
‘That’s the tennis club in the embassy grounds,’ Ismal said. ‘Only for diplomats and invited guests, such as businessmen who are working out here. It’s where people can get out of the dust of Pakistan and feel very British. All rather old Raj.’
‘Yeah,’ Matt said. ‘To hell with all that Taliban shite up the road, I was made for places like this.’
‘Sure.’ Rosie smiled, feeling the tension evaporate from her body. ‘You could fit into this very well.’
They pulled the car up on a red-brick driveway and the front door opened. A silver-haired man dressed in white linen shorts and a polo shirt stood there, bronzed and handsome. Behind him was an attractive blonde woman. Everyone got out of the car and Laila suddenly threw her arms around Rosie.
‘Oh, Rosie, how can I ever thank you?’ She broke down.
‘Not me,’ Rosie choked. ‘Thank Asima here, and Ismal. They’re the guys with all the courage. And of course, Omar – not forgetting poor Hasan, our guard.’
‘Hello, Rosie Gilmour.’ The tall silver-haired man approached with his hand stretched out. ‘Welcome. I’ve heard a lot about you. Gerry Owens, and my wife, Deirdre.’ He swept his hand across his clothes. ‘Forgive our casual clothes – we had a mixed doubles match and couldn’t get out of it.’
