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To gain entry to the primary safe house, Kara used the passageway connecting it to the potting shed. The kids had fun climbing down the ladder. They laughed giddily when Kara turned on the light in the tunnel. She assumed they’d never been in a tunnel, but how many upper-class children had that opportunity? Prior to meeting Kornev, she had never been in an underground passageway either. Raw tunnels are uncommon unless your father or associates made their living participating in terrorist activities.
While the wide-eyed kids took in their new environment, Kara reset the trapdoor’s booby trap. Once the wire had been reattached to the explosives, she walked down the tunnel toward the kids.
The little girl was touching the earthen wall. Kara guessed she was confirming it was real and not made of plastic.
“What’s your name?” Kara asked the girl in English.
“Jawhara,” she said in a tiny voice.
“Doesn’t that mean ‘gem’ in English?” Kara asked.
“Yes, ma'am,” the girl said politely.
As they walked along, Kara turned her attention to the boy running his hand alongside the tunnel. The boy was more aggressive. Small dirt clods fell to the ground as they walked. Every five feet or so, a thick timber that supported the ceiling broke his hand’s connection with the tunnel.
“What is your name?” Kara asked the older boy.
Kara estimated he was probably eight years old.
“I don’t know you,” the boy responded, keeping his eyes forward, purposely avoiding making eye contact.
“My name is Kara,” the CIA agent told the boy. She saw no need to lie to him. Either her mission would work out or it wouldn’t, but either way disclosing her real name to the kids didn’t matter.
Kara decided to let it go. There would be more time to learn the boy’s name. Other than needing to call him to get his attention, in the short term his name really didn’t matter. The boy said nothing. He continued walking while scraping at the side of the tunnel with his fingernails, apparently enjoying watching the dirt fall from the wall.
The trio reached the tunnel’s junction. A wood ladder led up into Safe House One’s closet. Kara asked the children to stand back while she opened the trapdoor. She ascended a few rungs up the short ladder. Using the top of her head, she lifted the door wide enough to snake her arm through the opening. She groped for the string tied to the pin of a hand grenade mounted to the top of the trapdoor. She gently pulled the string, untying a delicate bow that held the string to the grenade’s pin. With the booby trap disabled, she opened the trapdoor fully and asked the kids to follow her.
Kara turned around, expecting to see the kids coming up the ladder, but to her surprise the children had disappeared. Kara called out for them. Nothing. Kara’s heart jumped to her throat as she hustled back down the hole. While deciding which direction to search, she heard the kids first laughing and then running to join her. It appeared they were having fun exploring a new environment.
Kara smiled as the kids ran up to her and put on their brakes to avoid bowling her over.
She suggested, “Try running that way to see who wins. Just run to the end and come back. We’ll make it a race.” It was fortunate Kara didn’t know if you forbid children from doing something, the forbidden might provide too tempting a challenge, and resistance would prove futile. Otherwise she might have brought disaster upon them all by telling them not to climb the ladder at the other end.
Delighted, they darted down the other leg of the dimly lit tunnel. Unlike the straight primary tunnel that led to the backyard, the secondary tunnel, leading to Safe House Two, was a long and curvy tube. Soon the kids were lost to sight. A moment later, they were blasting toward her. The girl was smiling, but the boy had a look of determination on his face, like losing would be worse than dying. Fortunately, the boy won and tragedy was averted.
The kids huffed and puffed but Kara was determined to tire them further. “I will give the next winner 100 rupees.” Kara estimated the prize was the equivalent of one American dollar. But it was Kornev’s money, so who cared if the prize was one dollar or a thousand dollars?
The monetary incentive jazzed up the kids and they continued racing. More prizes and races followed until the children were exhausted.