Grand Trunk Road South-East Of Jalalabad

 

Lat = 34 degrees, 38.8 minutes North

Long = 70 degrees, 53.5 minutes East

 

Meanwhile Max had located the main Kabul to Jalalabad road, known as the Old Grand Trunk Road; five minutes walk from the drop zone, his watch showed him it was Twenty one-twenty three hours local time, he should arrive in Jalalabad in an hour, just the walk I need, to stretch and warm the muscles up he thought.

As Max walked down the road the odd vehicle passed by, no one stopped to offer a lift, not surprising given the location.

Max had never been to Afghanistan before but had a basic knowledge of it’s history often called the crossroads of Central Asia. Ahmad Shah Durrani unified the Pashtun tribes and founded Afghanistan in 1747.

The country served as a buffer between the British and Russian empires until it won independence from notional British control in 1919. A brief experiment in democracy ended in a 1973 coup and a 1978 Communist counter-coup.

The Soviet Union invaded in 1979 to support the tottering Afghan Communist regime, eight years down the road and they were still here taking heavy losses.

Over the last one-hundred and fifty years both Britian and Russia had paid heavy prices in occupying this region all to no avail.

The Grand Trunk road or GT road stretches sixteen hundred miles from Calcutta to the North-west frontier.

Nearly an hour later Max arrived at the outskirts of Jalalabad, Max entered the town; no one seemed to pay him any attention. The town streets were wide, with the buildings mainly two or three storey affairs. Max made his way through the town.

He finally located the building he was looking for, it was the Red Cross and Refugee centre, the lights were still on; he tried the door handle and the door opened.

Max entered and was greeted by a member of staff speaking in Pashtu one of the Afghan dialects, Max had knowledge of Uzbek a Turkic language, and knew this would help him.

“May I see Sami Ramadin; tell him it’s his cousin Akbar.”

luckily the man understood, he smiled and replied in Uzbek. “I will get him for you, take a seat.”

Sami Ramadini worked at the Red Cross and Refugee centre in Jalalabad and was a one of OSC’s world wide intelligence gathering agents.

Five minutes passed, before Sami Ramadin entered the room, he walked over and put his arms around Max.

In Uzbek he said, “Welcome cousin, our uncle said you would be dropping by on your travels.”

“I am weary from my travels have you a bed for the night.”

Sami spoke to the member of staff.

“I have told him to go home and see his family, come on through to my humble office, we can have a hot drink and I will then take you to my home.” Max followed him through to his office.

Sami poured him a coffee; “I’ll be right back after I have locked up.”

Upon his return Max spoke, “A man named Ali Hussein is either in town or will be very shortly, I need to trace him urgently.”

“There’s not a lot we can do tonight Max, Come along its time I went home anyway, I’ll see what I can find out in the morning.”

“Okay,” Max replied.

“On the walk home you can tell me a bit more about this Ali Hussein and why he is here in Jalalabad.”