Fahad Mohammad would take them to the Pakistani city of Peshawar, where he’d discuss the intelligence proposal with their most important allies, the ISID, the Pakistani intelligence agency with whom they were working closely, receiving arms and devising strategy. If the Pakistanis agreed with the proposal, and their support was crucial, they would contact CIA operatives, none of whom this fiercely nationalistic faction of the mujahedin had ever met or had any dealings with. Forming a bridge to them through Leo’s defection might create a vital connection and the council was keen that their group of fighters be among the first to receive American support, should it ever arrive, appreciating the danger of a rival group being armed while they received nothing. Their eye was not merely on defeating the Soviets, which they believed was inevitable, they were also jockeying for power among themselves, playing a long game that stretched into the aftermath of the occupation’s collapse.
Once they reached Peshawar, Leo would make his case for defection. It would not be easy. As he understood the American position, there was strong domestic resistance to involvement in Afghanistan, particularly after Vietnam, a position exploited by the Soviets, aware that the American public would not tolerate another remote and expensive military campaign. President Carter had issued an ultimatum th would he United States would boycott the Moscow Olympics if Soviet troops didn’t pull out, setting a February deadline. When the deadline passed an official announcement confirmed that no American athletes would take part. Even this symbolic protest had been highly controversial, and if such a passive measure was questioned by the American public, it was hard to imagine them supporting military action. Afghanistan was remote geographically and its strategic importance remote conceptually. It was possible the CIA would show little interest in his defection, or that they’d consider accepting Leo far too politically provocative in the current atmosphere of tension. If the CIA failed to accept the offer, Fahad would surely kill them, a silent threat that hung over the mission. However, that problem was for another day. They were not in Peshawar yet.
To leave Afghanistan they were following the Silk Road, one of the world’s oldest trading routes, fought over for thousands of years. With mountains on either side impassable to any except the most experienced climbers, the Khyber Pass was a strategic gateway for armies, rogues, merchants and exiles. With a young girl among their number the pass was their only option, they could not brave the mountains. There were two roads, one for the traditional caravans and wagons, and another for trucks. Both were in the hands of the Soviet forces and the pass was heavily fortified with patrols and checkpoints. Fahad’s plan was to shadow the road, guiding them through the slopes on either side. In some places the landscape would pose no problem but in others the cliffs were precipitous. Their journey depended upon striking a balance between distance from the Soviet forces and the perils of the landscape. The further away from the pass the more treacherous the climb. The closer to the pass the more likely they would be discovered.
There was no moonlight, no stars – the night sky was obscured by a violent storm that had swept in unexpectedly, angry clouds twisted and coiled not far above them, moving at speed. Flashes of lightning were the only moments of brightness, like sparks from a flint failing to catch. The wind was cold and strong, opposing their journey, and they walked bent against its force. Progress was slow. Close to the Soviet positions, they had to make the journey by the cover of darkness. Attack helicopters had been circling the mountain paths during the day, firing bursts from their machine-guns at men on the trails. Fahad claimed that not since the early days of the invasion had he seen so many Soviet forces preoccupied with the border. Leo wondered if the helicopters were hunting for them. Captain Vashchenko might have guessed their intention. With such intense military pressure it was essential they make the crossing before daylight.
After several hours of walking and climbing, scrambling on their hands and knees, they were crossing a flat hilltop spotted with thin scrub. To the right the landscape dropped sharply, falling down to the Soviet-controlled road, and they could see the lights of troops. Fortunately the wind concealed any noise they made. But for fear of being seen they could not use a torch – even the flame of a match would be visible. Fahad was in front, seeming to sense the path instinctively, and they were entirely dependent on his knowledge of the terrain. Abruptly he stopped walking, looking up at the unsettled sky.
– The storm is getting worse.
Leo asked:
– Do we have enough time to reach shelter?
– There is no shelter until we’re inside Pakistan.
– Should we go bak?
Accustomed to the mujahedin’s stoicism, Leo expected the idea to be rebuffed immediately. Yet Fahad gave the idea serious thought:
– We have travelled too far. It is as difficult to go back as to go forward.
– Then we continue.
About to step forward, Leo felt a tug on his hand. It was Zabi. In the darkness he couldn’t see her, able only to hear her say:
– Listen.
He could hear the storm. Then, among the noise, was a mechanical sound – jet engines. Though it was pitch-black Leo stared up at the sky in the direction of the plane, hoping the lightning would illuminate the enemy. The edges of the Khyber Pass were an obvious bombing target: the terrain was always a likely concentration of weapons and narcotic smugglers, or in their case, political refugees.
– We should run!
Leo’s cry disappeared into the storm. There was nowhere for them to run to, no cover on the plateau. The sound of the engines grew louder. Leo crouched down, covering Zabi as the plane passed directly overhead.
The noise of the jet engines peaked and then dissolved, swallowed up by the storm. There were no bombs, no explosions. It must have been a transport plane. Relieved, Leo stood up, looking at the black sky. Lightning flashed through the clouds and he caught a split-second glimpse of hundreds of black specks, a snowstorm – flakes falling towards them. The light disappeared and in the darkness Leo remained staring, waiting for another flash. When it finally came, the snowflakes were only metres above them, revealing themselves not as snow but fist-sized objects twirling through the sky, spinning towards them. Fahad called out:
– Don’t move!
The first butterfly mine landed nearby, Leo didn’t see it but he heard it, a thud on the dust, then another and another, some close, some far away. They weren’t exploding, but resting on the surface and surrounding them. Lightning flashed and Leo saw a mine swerving in the sky directly above him, on course for his head. He took a step back, pushing Zabi with him as the mine passed in front of his face, almost brushing his nose, and settled directly on the ground in between his position and Fahad’s – at the exact point where he was about to step.
In a matter of seconds the entire plateau had been rendered impassable. They couldn’t go forward. They couldn’t go back.
Same Day
They were trapped. Even by daylight their progress would be slow, having to tread a careful path around the mines, whose plastic shells would be coloured to match the orange and red hues of the terrain. Nara said:
– In the morning there’ll be enough light to find a way around them.
The lack of conviction in her voice was damning. Leo muttered:
– We’re only metres from the Soviet border patrols.
– We might have enough time.
– At sunrise this is the first place they’ll search.
Fahad called out, cutting short the discussion:
– We must wait till first light. We have no other choice. Be careful not to shuffle your feet, or fall asleep, the only safe ground is the ground you’re standing on. We will need to move very fast in the morning, as soon as there’s light. Rest now.
Leo crouched down, rotating, careful not to move his feet. He wrapped his arms around Zabi, keeping her warm. On the other side Nara did the same. Their hands met on Zabi’s back, fingers overlapping. The thought occurr
ed to him to move his hand away but he dismissed the idea, instead taking hold of her hand. Huddled together, they waited for the morning.
*
It was difficult to estimate how much time had passed. In the darkness, exhausted, near delirious with cold, time became hard to quantify. The wind picked up, swirling furiously around them, as if trying to force them into the minefield. Even though they were at rest, they were being sapped by the cold. In all likelihood they might be granted a few minutes at dawn before the attack helicopters arrived but it was equally likely that the slim advantage would not be enough. Drained by the savage night, they would struggle to find the energy and pace needed to reach cover.
Something wet hit the back of Leo’s neck. He touched his skin, feeling a trace of ice. He tilted his head up towards the sky. Another lump landed on his eyelashes, another spotted his forehead. Out of the darkness the rhythm of the rain increased: they’d be soaked through in seconds. As he thought upon the now impossible challenge of keeping warm until morning the rain morphed into hail, pellets of ice crashing down with such velocity that they stung his skin. Leo felt Nara’s hands grip tight around his own, an expression of despair. Their journey was over.
Suddenly, to the side, no more than a few paces away, an explosion – it was small, like a flash grenade. Leo called out:
– What was that?
Fahad replied:
– A mine!
A second mine detonated, also close by. Leo smelt smoke and felt the blast of air. Another mine, this time the explosion was several hundred metres away. The hail on the pressure sensors was setting them off. Within moments, the plateau was alive with bursts of light and puffs of smoke. As the hailstorm intensified so did the pace of the explosions, now so numerous it was as if they were coming under mortar fire. Zabi cried out, terrified by the noise.
Remembering the mine directly in front of him, Leo let go of Zabi and Nara, turning hastily, once again forced to keep his feet on the same spot. If the mine exploded at this range the blast would injure the three of them. He reached out, trying to guess where it was, shielding it from the hail. His hands were lashed with falling ice. Within seconds he could no longer feel them, numb from the elbow down. The hail continued, the storm interspersed with detonations ringing across the landscape. Leo’s arms were shaking. He couldn’t remain in this position for long, protecting the very device that had been dropped to kill him.
The hail began to weaken, changing back into icy rain. The rate of explosions slowed down until then finally there no more detonations. Unable to keep his arms out in front of him any longer Leo lowered them. He slaed his hands together, like two slabs of dead meat, trying to restore circulation, his fingers not responding. He was too cold to think about the consequences of the hailstorm, and it was Fahad who called out from the front:
– The path will be clear.
Was it possible that all the mines had been destroyed, or had the detonations merely stopped when the hailstorm passed? Beginning to move his fingers again, Leo called out to Fahad:
– How can we be sure?
Fahad called back:
– This mission is blessed.
Though the notion carried no weight in Leo’s mind the indisputable truth was that they would die if they remained here, freezing cold, waiting for dawn. Leo said:
– We must take the chance.
Nara was more cautious.
– We don’t know that the path is clear. Some mines have been destroyed, surely not all of them, maybe not even the majority of them.
Fahad shouted back angrily:
– You are a non-believer! You wouldn’t understand the significance of this event!
Furious, Nara replied:
– My faith doesn’t make me stupid. I don’t believe I’m invulnerable.
Leo interrupted:
– It is irrelevant what we believe. We cannot stay here! By tomorrow morning we will be too weak to run, too weak to escape. We must press ahead. It is a calculated risk. I will go first.
Fahad replied:
– You are the reason for this mission. You are the person the CIA wants. If you die the mission has failed. The girl should go first.
Nara said:
– I agree. I will go first.
Fahad contradicted her:
– Not you. The girl, the miracle girl, she will find a path. It is no coincidence that she is with us when this happened. We must trust in her.
Aside from the patter of rain, there was silence as Leo tried to unpick Fahad’s suggestion. The man was sincere in his belief that Zabi was divinely protected. It was not cowardice that underpinned his suggestion that a young girl should walk first, leading them through the minefield, but piety. Leo was quite sure Fahad’s acute sense of pride meant that he would rather lose his own life than appear to be hiding behind a girl. To Fahad it was an insult to God for any other decision to be taken. Nara spoke first, her careful response displaying diplomatic sensitivity:
– I will go first. I will lead. If this displeases Allah I will die, if not, then we need not discuss the matter further. But there is no chance, Fahad, no chance at all, that Zabi will walk first. Not while I am alive.
As expected, Fahad was insulted.
– This has nothing to do with bravery. I would gladly walk first Nara didnck Fahad amp;rlet him finish.
– Without you, we’re all dead. Without Leo, the mission has failed. I am the only person who we can risk. This isn’t theology or bravery. It’s common sense. I will walk first. You will follow me.
Leo protested:
– No, Nara, you must carry Zabi. I will walk first. Nara rejected this idea.
– The CIA is not going to be interested in me. Without Fahad as our guide, we’ll be lost. It has to be me. It is absurd to discuss this further. You must carry Zabi.
Without waiting for his reply, Nara manoeuvred around him, hands on his waist, until she was about to step forward. Leo cried out:
– Wait!
He remembered the mine that had landed directly in front. He waited, rain streaming down his face, until lightning flashed in the clouds. The mine was still there, unexploded. Nara had seen it too. She let go of his waist, stepping around the mine and moving to the front, overtaking Fahad.
Leo picked Zabi up:
– Hold on to my neck.
Weakened by the hail, he could feel his muscles struggling even though the girl was light. He stepped around the mine, his legs shaking with fatigue. Nara was out of sight, lost in the darkness, now at the front. He heard her voice.
– Fahad, follow my footsteps exactly. Put your hands on my waist. That is the only way you can do it! That is the only way we’re going to survive.
Leo wondered if he was going to refuse. Fahad called back to Leo:
– You must also do the same.
Leo placed one hand on Fahad’s waist, keeping the other supporting Zabi.
Forming an awkward human train they set off, shuffling forward blindly, guided only by the infrequent flashes of lightning. The storm had passed, moving over the mountains of Pakistan. Leo could hear Fahad’s heavy breathing. He could hear their shoes on the ground. Each footstep that sank into the damp soil brought a sensation of relief. Leo felt Zabi squeeze his neck in fear. It was the closest he had ever come to praying.
Pakistan North-West Frontier Province Peshawar 43 Kilometres South-East of the Afghan Border
Two Days Later
The truck shuddered over a pothole – one of many in the stricken road – and Leo woke, having dozed on the world’s most expensive bed, several million dollars’ worth of heroin concealed in flour bags branded with the emblem of a Western aid charity. The voice of his addiction was still demanding that he smoke but it was growing fainter by the day. Though it was a cruel test of his determination, surrounding him with drugs, opium had only ever been a way of suppressing his desire to desert his post, to nullify his restlessness and his impossible hopes of an investigation into the murder of his wi
fe. What had once been unachievable was within his grasp: passage to America and a path to New York.
They’d crossed into Pakistan shortly after clearing the minefield. Since they’d walked in almos complete darkness they were unable to ascertain if all the mines had been detonated. The question of whether they were blessed or whether it was chance remained unanswered. Leo didn’t spend too long dwelling on the matter. As a soldier in the Great Patriotic War, he’d seen examples of his friends believing they were saved by a miracle, a bullet lodged in a religious trinket, devoting themselves to understanding the meaning of this only to be killed a few weeks later. Despite his scepticism, he was pleased that their guide’s hostility had softened. As the sun rose, brushing away the last of the storm, the four of them had stopped on the crest of a Pakistani hill and looked back to see Soviet attack helicopters in the distance circling the Khyber Pass. Had they waited for daylight they would have been caught. Whatever the truth of the matter, it certainly felt like a miracle.
Cold, filthy and exhausted, they’d reached Dara, a small town in the northern tribal region of Pakistan that existed like the capital city of an unofficial nation. Misunderstood as a lawless buffer state, it was instead governed by the laws of survival and commerce. While Leo had expected the sight of a Soviet civilian, a woman, a badly burnt young girl and a mujahedin fighter to attract attention, this was a town entirely without convention, dominated not by religious stricture or government policy but by brazen material needs – a trading bazaar for three of the world’s top commodities: drugs, weapons and information. They were concerned with the questions of what you wanted to buy and what you wanted to sell. There were cottage heroin factories dotted through the town like teashops, bags of unprocessed opium sold for dollars, packed on the backs of mules. Weapons were tested and inspected, taken out of town and fired at tree stumps. Crates of bullets were examined as if they were treasure chests of rubies and emeralds. War funds were raised. War funds were stolen. Allegiances were bought and broken. Intelligence was sold. Victories were invented and defeats denied. From the north there was an influx of Afghan refugees, many with terrible injuries, legs sliced with shrapnel, fleeing the conflict. From the south came a trickle of Western journalists and travellers, some dressed in traditional loose-fitting clothes, others in designer khaki trousers, with sophisticated gadgets. Judging from the small number of journalists, even though this was the closest point of access to Afghanistan, Leo surmised that the war had so far failed to capture the West’s imagination. Such an absence of interest did not bode well for his defection.
Agent 6 ld-3 Page 33
