by R G Ainslee
Lara explained, "People in this region are Tajiks. A more Asiatic appearance than people further south — L'auto — they are here."
A faded yellow Ford Fairlane sedan sat parked alongside a two-story building with a sign: Panjir Palace Hotel. The place looked nondescript, perhaps an Afghan version of a hot sheet motel.
I asked, "Think they're here?"
"Yes, the embassy driver Massoud drove them in his personal auto. He is a former soldier and engineering student from a prominent family. If they are here, we will not risk the drive through the mountains to Bamayin."
"What kind of risk? asked Jack.
"The greatest menace is an accident on the road. Afghan drivers are like you say… drive like the maniac. The travel can be dangerous at this time of the year."
At least Lisette and Rochelle were safe. "Maybe we can hole-up here for a few days. Al least until we need to go back to Kabul."
I pulled up beside the Ford, bailed out, and dashed up the hotel steps, leaving Jack and Lara in my dust. The lobby was empty except for a surprised clerk at the front desk.
"The yellow car — where are the people? The astonished fright on the clerk's face explained when I remembered the pistol stuck in my belt. I slid my palm over the butt, and asked again, "Where are they?"
He threw his hands into the air and shrieked bloody murder. Seconds later, Lara entered and spoke to him. He chattered excitedly, and Lara eyed me with a disgusted look.
"You have frightened him. You must apologize."
I stuck my hand out and he responded with a limp handshake. "Sorry, just looking for my wife. Where are the people from the car?"
He didn't understand. Lara tried again. He spoke a few words and pointed at the stairs.
Lara said, "They are not here. Massoud the driver is upstairs. I will go to him. You return to the auto." She sensed my hesitation. "Please, I will speak with him. Go." She didn't give me a chance to respond and ascended the stairs. I nodded to the clerk and returned to the car.
Jack looked past me to the hotel. "What's up?"
"Dunno, the hotel guy says they're not here. Lara's gone up to speak to the driver."
"If they're not here…"
"I don't know what the hell's going on. You know as much as I do. — Nada."
We sat in silence, observing the local scene. A cavalcade of worst fears dominated my thoughts. — Something happen? … She all right. — Finally, Lara came marching down the steps followed by an Afghan man dressed in western clothes.
"What's the word?" I didn't have a good feeling based on the grim expression on Lara's face and feared the worst.
"They left this morning to the Salang Pass."
"Salang Pass?" I remembered: a high-altitude road tunnel through the Hindu Kush but couldn't fathom why Lisette would go there. "Why?"
"They are going for the ski?"
"What?"
"The ski. Lisette learned they have the ski on Salang Pass and insisted—"
It registered, "You mean to tell me they're skiing. She's pregnant and skiing. — Skiing in Afghanistan? — You've got to be kidding. Is this some sort of joke? Is she upstairs? … Skiing."
"Do not worry. A guide escorts them. He provides equipment and takes them in his van. If you wish, we may wait for them here."
"Hell no, I want to find 'em ASAP." I shot a glance at Jack. He was enjoying my suffering. "Rochelle's up there too."
"Fine, let's go. Maybe this guide has some extra skis. We haven't skied in almost a week. I don't want to let my finely-honed skills get rusty." He asked Lara," You ski?"
"No, of course not. I was born in Algérie. But if you insist on this adventure, I will accompany you."
"Algeria?"
"My father was an officer of the Légion Étranger." The French Foreign Legion. She spoke to Massoud. "We go, wait until we return."
* * *
The highway continued northward along an irrigation aqueduct and through farmland and villages. We passed the turnoff to Bamiyan. High snow-covered mountains hung over Jabal-os-Sarahi, a village at the foot of the valley leading up to Salang Pass. We crossed the river, negotiated our way through town, and started up the twisting road.
I asked Lara, "How far to the pass?"
"Massoud told me the tunnel is one hour from Charikar."
"Why didn't he come along?"
"He insisted to stay. He is fearful of the conditions."
"That bad, huh."
"He said many people are killed every year by the avalanche which brings snow down from the mountains."
"That's just great." I wondered what we had gotten ourselves if for.
According to Lara, the almost two-mile-long Salang tunnel, at more than 11,000 feet along the traditional route through the rugged Hindu Kush, is the highest in the world.
"Who's this guide?"
"A man from Suède — Sweden. I have not met him, but my colleagues have spoken of him. He is … what you say… an aventurier. He came to Afghanistan to climb the mountain and remained."
"They sure got enough of them."
"Yes, they dominate the landscape and influence the lives and minds of the people. They are a source many legends in Afghanistan. We arrive in a different world."
The road entered the valley, climbed along riverbanks, and soon turned into a series of switchbacks. Only a few vehicles negotiated the rutted asphalt pavement, mostly rickety trucks and buses.
After we passed the first long switchback, Jack said, "Pull over and let me scope out the situation down the way with the field glasses."
"Think we're being followed?" I thought we were clear for sure. "Haven't seen any suspicious vehicles."
"You want to take a chance?" He was right, the situational awareness thing. My sixth sense was shut-off for a change. Lisette dominated my thoughts.
Jack scanned the road below and then pointed up to a switchback. ""Okay, let's go. — Stop up there, right before the turn, might have a better view."
His caution was contagious. I started to get nervous.
"Where do you think they'll be?" I asked Lara.
"Much higher, the snow is more plentiful up high. We must travel to the tunnel entrance. My colleague skied here last month. He began from a gallery door and skied down to the next road. But I am not sure." The galleries, similar to snow sheds, protected the road from rock and snow slides.
We continued on our way, through the hairpins, climbing ever higher, a few villages hugged the mountainside. Halfway up, snow began to appear beside the road. The temperature got colder, much colder, the higher we climbed. The Fiat's heater wasn't up to the job.
This SOB's colder’n a penguin's butt.
Driving became more hazardous. Patches of snow and ice covered the heavily rutted pavement. Traffic was light, only a bus and two trucks visible up the road. Jack twisted and glanced back, but a haze developed, reducing visibility to a few hundred yards.
At last, the tunnel entrance loomed ahead, a giant concrete mouth about to swallow us into the mountain. Snow everywhere, we searched for signs of ski tracks. The bright white surface remained unblemished except for a few slides.
I pulled over and asked Lara, "What ya think?"
"We go in. They may be on the other side."
Jack had his eyes back down the road leading up to the tunnel. "Hold it, here comes a vehicle."
Moments later a heavily laden truck passed and entered the tunnel, followed by a mud-covered sedan. The occupants, six Afghans, paid us no attention. I pulled out on the roadway and followed at a distance, taillights barely visible.
Jack asked, "Do you think—" I hit a large pothole. "Watch where you're going, this ain't no place to change a flat."
"Do you want to drive? It's darker than a—"
"Look out—" A hard jolt shook the car when I hammered a deep one.
Lara shouted, "Stop talking and pay attention."
We continued along in a tense silence, spectators to a dreamlike world. My full concentration f
ocused on the dim path ahead. I risked a glance to the rearview mirror. The tunnel entrance disappeared from view. The fetid air reeked of exhaust fumes. I'm not claustrophobic by any means, but the effect was eerie. We were in the bowels of hell.
We met a vehicle traveling in the opposite direction. I paid no attention, my eyes focused on the so-called pavement.
Lara called out, "A white van. Did you see?"
"Jack answered, "Yeah. Think it's them?"
"I do not know."
"Can't turn around in here, we gotta go all the way."
"Yes, yes." said Lara. If they are not at the portal, we will turn back. It must be them."
Instinctively, I sped up and hit another pothole. "Slow down. We'll get there, just don't blow a tire," pleaded Jack. I slowed and concentrated on driving.
The truck ahead passed through the entrance and a flash of light reflecting off walls of snow almost blinded me. In a few moments, we broke through to an open area. I slowed to regain my bearings.
Jack yelled, "Tango — Tango. Turn this thing around."
My eyes blinked and re-focused. Parked ahead, at the side of the road, sat a light green Lada covered with mud and slush. Suslov leaned against the passenger-door.
I braked hard, skidded, swung the steering wheel to the left, and cut ahead of an oncoming truck. The driver slammed on his brakes and swerved off into a snow bank blocking us from Suslov's view. I accelerated, spinning the back wheels, and crabbed through a 180-turn. A wall of ice and rocks loomed ahead. I spun right and gave it the gas.
Shots rang out, bullets struck metal, and a small hole appeared in the windshield.
Jack swung the passenger door open and leaned out, the twelve-gauge in his left hand. A shotgun blast tore through the air. More metallic thumps as we took more hits. We entered the tunnel. Jack pumped the shotgun. Darkness returned followed by another flash from the twelve-gauge. The Fiat roared along with a throaty sound from a damaged muffler.
Lara emitted a deep moan from the back seat.
"You okay?" shouted Jack.
"Je suis blessé."
"Where?"
"Mon dos."
"She's hit in the back. Hang on. — I'm coming over the seat."
"You get Suslov?"
He rolled over to the seat beside Lara, who was propped against the door. "Not sure, didn't get a chance to aim. Just keep driving. We'll deal with him on the other side."
I pressed on, speed my only objective. Every pothole brought a yelp of pain from Lara, but I didn't dare slow down.
"How is she?" I asked, not daring to glance back.
"Looks like a… ahhhg." he yelled when I plowed through a large pothole, briefly lost control, and barely missed a collision with an oncoming truck. "Slow down, we can't afford to stop here."
I let up on the gas and dared a glance to the rearview, the back glass had been shattered, the view obscured. A hard bounce produced a painful bleat from Lara. Time moved in slow motion as we sped through the darkness, and then, at last, a light at the end of the tunnel.
"We're almost there."
We broke through the darkness out into dazzling light. A temporary shock produced an involuntary reflex: I fishtailed the Fiat, scrapped a snow bank, and regained control in the opposite lane. I pressed on, the road ahead clear.
Jack shouted, "Find a place to park. We need a defensive position."
"She okay?"
"Think so. Looks nastier than it really is. The round passed through the trunk and the seat cushion. Not much energy left but may have fragmented. I’ll dig it out when we have a chance." He told Lara, "Let me use your scarf for a compress, need to stop the bleeding."
Lara recoiled. "Do not worry about me … you must defend … oh."
"Don't talk." Jack rolled down the left door window and looked back. "Don't see nothin', maybe you can halt at the first hairpin, I'll have a clear shot."
We rounded a bend and the tunnel entrance disappeared from view. Wind kicked up swirls of snow, but at least I could see to avoid ruts and potholes. The road curved left again and then right. A truck passed going uphill.
Jack glanced back. "A vehicle's rounding the first bend."
"Is it Suslov?"
"Can't tell, keep moving."
We flew around the bend, down a small incline, and curved right. The hairpin lay straight ahead.
"Good grief — Look down there."
A white van sat beside the road on the outside of the hairpin. A man stood at the rear of the vehicle, closing the rear door. Two tracks lead from the roadside, tracing down the mountain. A pair of tiny specs raced along at the far end of the tracks. Someone was skiing down the pass. — Lisette.
I slowed and started to pull up behind the van.
Jack called out from the back seat, "Don't stop."
I hit the brakes anyway. "It's them — down the hill."
"Okay — I see ‘em. Let me out. I'll hold him here when he comes over the rise. You keep goin' and pick them up downhill."
"I can't—"
"Do it — we don't have time." He bailed out, MAT-49 in hand, slapped the fender, and yelled, "Go — get outta here."
I hesitated a moment, shifted into gear, and sped away. Automatic weapon fire reverberated off the mountains as I rounded the next hairpin.
The road curved back right, over the ridge, offering a view up the pass. The van was visible, no one followed. A flash, motion from below, Lisette and Rochelle glided by without looking up. I shot another glance back up to the van. More shots rang out, followed by silence.
Lara passed out and slumped down on the seat. The nauseating metallic smell of blood in the cold confined space heightened my anxiety, I was running full bore on an adrenalin rush.
After crossing the valley, and negotiating two more hairpin turns, we arrived at an open stretch of road. Ski tracks streaked down the hill, headed for a spot directly ahead.
I skidded to a halt, grabbed Lara's binoculars, and scanned back up the pass. The white van became visible up the valley. Searched the road up the far side, no one followed, swung the glasses back down the slope, Lisette and Rochelle came into focus. They had reached the gorge and were climbing up towards the road.
Lara groaned. She was still out. I hustled over to the drop-off. They were halfway up.
"Lisette, hurry."
She halted in her tracks and screamed, "Ross," followed by an excited torrent of French and English. Rochelle jostled her to move along.
They arrived at the same moment as the van. Lisette gave her poles one last thrust, sending her straight into me. We fell in a jumble. Jack sprang from the vehicle and scurried over to Rochelle. They embraced.
"Comment… how did you find me?" asked Lisette.
"Lara," yelled Jack, "How is she?"
I got up and helped Lisette to her feet. "She's out. Better check on her, looks bad."
"Lara ici?" asked Lisette.
"Lara’s wounded. She was shot by the Russian."
Rochelle questioned Jack in French, he answered. Lisette gasped, held a hand over her mouth, and glared at me in disbelief. A helpless moment, what should have been a joyous occasion was on the verge of tragedy. Rochelle broke free and rushed to the car. Lisette followed.
"What happened up there?" I asked.
Jack glanced back up the road. "Got lucky. The Lada came around the blind curve and I gave him a burst right through the windshield and radiator. The driver panicked and swerved off the road down an incline. Wasn't sure if I got him and ran over to the edge to make sure. He was out of the car and fired off one wild shot. Then I hosed the car again."
"Is he dead?"
"Not sure, too risky to go down and check with an empty magazine. Figured it was time to scram." He gestured towards the van. "Told Lars to put the pedal to the metal, and he did."
"Looks like he took it well." Lars had followed the girls over to the car. At about six foot, with blonde hair flowing out from a pullover cap, and with a heavy beard, he indeed looke
d Swedish.
"Lars is a tough guy." Jack shot a look towards the Fiat. Rochelle and Lisette were busy tending to Lara. "Rochelle's a trained nurse. She'll know what to do."
"Yeah, and Lisette worked with her uncle who's a doctor. Let's check on Lara and figure out what to do next."
"When they're ready, you go ahead, and I'll ride with Lars. The MAT-49 is out of ammo, used it all up on Suslov. Let me have your pistol and the extra magazine. We'll hang back, just in case."
34 ~ Charikar
Friday, 16 February: Charikar
The trip from Salang Pass to Charikar took less than an hour, despite the right front suspension surrendering to its fate. Clearly, Lisette was upset and confused. I made a weak attempt to explain, but she shook her head and refused to respond. The adrenalin surge had long worn off, replaced by an all-encompassing veil of despair.
Rochelle insisted we stop at Lars' place in Charikar. Lara needed attention before we continued to Kabul. We waited for the van on the outskirts and followed Lars to his house near the hotel. Discreetly located on a side street behind a mud wall with an iron gate, the compound offered a secure refuge.
We carried Lara into the bedroom and placed her on the bed. Lars produced a comprehensive first aid kit, a necessity for wilderness skiers. Rochelle shooed the guys away and shut the door.
Out in the main room, I asked no one in particular, "What about the Fiat? Bullet holes in the trunk and glass will stick out like a sore thumb, even in Afghanistan." I didn't want to draw the attention of the authorities. We were running low on baksheesh money.
"Got ya covered Mate." Lars opened a drawer and pulled out a roll of duct tape. "Look here, place patches of this tape over the holes. It's a common glass repair in this part of the world. No one will notice. On the metal, rub mud over the tape and no one will know."
He spoke English with a curious accent for a Swede. Later, he told Jack he had lived in Australia for three years.
I told Jack, "I'll head over to the hotel and tell Massoud what's happened. How long you think we'll be here?"
"Rochelle says Lara isn't in real danger but wants her to rest before traveling. She'll know more in an hour or so. Want me to go with you?"
