MAIN STREET, TARIN KOWT
‘I know she tells you things, Faisal, but she’s also been asking lots of questions of other people; I think she may start to figure things out.’ Ahmed Defari picked up a handful of dates and shoved them into the small plastic bag being held open by the elderly shopkeeper.
‘It’s not just that she tells me things; it’s what she tells me, Ahmed. She lets me know whenever the devils are moving, reveals details of their plans that we wouldn’t otherwise know.’ Faisal pulled out a plastic bag from his pocket and emptied out old orange peel onto the ground. He picked a pomegranate out of a small bucket on the stall and placed it in the bag then handed the old shopkeeper a handful of coins.
‘Faisal, this foreigner has become a problem – you must see that. There is nothing she tells us that we couldn’t find out from our own people. They see everything; when a plane lands or takes off, when a gate opens or closes, vehicles coming and going. We have eyes everywhere, Faisal, even in their camps and even working for the infidel. We don’t need her anymore.’
‘Ahmed, I know this – but to kill her might deprive us of a useful source of important information.’ He picked up a bag of goat hoofs and leg flesh and presented it to the shopkeeper. ‘How much?’
‘Two hundred and fifty-six Afghani,’ said the old man with a toothless smile. The deep lines on his face gave away his advancing years. ‘Did you men hear that the foreigners lost another tank a few nights ago?’ the shopkeeper asked, thankful to have someone to gossip with.
Ahmed looked at the old man, weighing him up. ‘No, I didn’t hear that,’ he lied. ‘What can you tell me about it?’
The old man cleared his throat, seeming excited to have an audience. ‘Many young infidel killed – burned alive in their war machine. Just like we used to kill the Russians when I was young.’ He blew his nose into his hands then wiped the mucus down the front of his trousers. Receiving the money from Faisal, he continued, ‘It was a buried bomb and it must have been big, because it picked up the tank and spun it around like a child’s toy.’
‘Do you know who was responsible, grandfather?’ Ahmed picked up a small cucumber and bit the top off it, watching the old man as he chewed.
‘It’s said there is a new shadow governor – that he has taken over from Mullah Ghal. The tribes are coming together for him and many of Ghal’s men have moved across to this younger warrior.’ The old man placed a small twig in his mouth and swirled it around with his tongue while he watched the reaction of Ahmed and Faisal.
‘I see. This is good news then.’ Ahmed paid the old man for his bag of food, giving him a little extra for his performance, and the two Taliban walked off into the busy street.
The morning was already hot and locals moved up and down the dusty main thoroughfare shopping for bits and pieces of food. Some were conducting business over sweet glasses of chai or black coffee at one of the many makeshift coffee shops on the porches of the houses lining the street. Old chairs and tables adorned with plastic tablecloths hinted that the black-market economy was flourishing.
Ahmed adjusted the small Makarov pistol in the belt of his trousers.
‘We will receive the new weapons soon, Faisal. Abdul will hide them and then we will carry out our plan. It is going to be expensive, but I have already organised the finance from last year’s crops. Men came from the north and paid for the resin blocks like you said they would and they also delivered new seeds. We have lived in poverty to be able to inflict this pain on the infidel.’
‘That is good news, Ahmed – you must be pleased.’
‘I tried to explain to my brother Omar that there is no money in pomegranates. As you said, opium is how we are going to win this war and regain control of our lands. I don’t like that it is such a vile poison, but these are desperate times.’ Ahmed stroked his black beard. ‘The men who are going to wear the uniforms are nearly all in place. Once we have the weapons we need to make sure they get to these men and that they understand how they are to be used. Then they must study their targets and learn the plan. They must all strike around the same time to make sure we have the biggest effect.’
‘I understand, Ahmed. God willing this will break the puppet government and we will take back our homes.’
‘This is why we must kill the American girl. We must leave nothing to chance. There are other infidel you can play with, Faisal. This one has asked too many questions of you. She has asked about me and that is worrying; she mustn’t find out who I am or where I am from. Send her off to be judged by Allah, Faisal, so that she knows once and for all that her God never existed.’
Ahmed passed his bag of food to Faisal. ‘Here, hold this and meet me around the back of this shop.’
Faisal watched Ahmed slowly climb the steps of the small electronics shop. A flashing sign indicated that they sold Nokias and repaired phones. Making his way around to the back of the shop, Faisal could hear two men yelling inside. The exchange was becoming heated.
What’s going on here? Faisal wondered. The yelling got louder and then there was a woman’s scream, followed by a single gunshot.
Faisal ran to open the back door, but before he could get a hand to it, Ahmed calmly walked out, wiping blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. He placed the Makarov back into his belt.
‘Let’s go, Faisal.’ As they walked away, Faisal could hear a woman sobbing and praying to Allah for mercy.
‘What happened, Ahmed? Whose blood is that?’
Ahmed said nothing for a brief moment, just put his hand out for the plastic bag. When Faisal handed it to him he pulled out another cucumber. ‘A few nights ago Dahwood’s home was raided by the infidel and his son was taken away. He was returned the very next day, not a mark on him.’
The two men walked a while longer in silence, past a group of skinny young men loitering around their motorbikes. They were gathered around a street vendor’s stall laden with bottles of all sizes; each bottle was filled with petrol.
‘And since that time, Faisal, that son has spent money on a new bike and it was rumoured he loaned a friend money to buy a gun.’ Ahmed bit into the cucumber.
‘Who did you just kill, Ahmed?’ Faisal asked, concerned but already knowing the answer.
‘Dahwood’s son – just like I would have killed any of my own sons if I discovered they were providing information to the foreigners. We are at war, brother, and only the strong will survive this.’ Ahmed grasped Faisal’s elbow as they continued walking. ‘My brother Omar, he’s old now, troublesome. He himself would die if he thought that he could make a real difference, avenge our father, but instead he sends these Pakistanis.’
‘I see,’ said Faisal.
‘Convince him that he can make a difference, Faisal. If he was to go and talk to the American girl . . .’ Ahmed’s voice trailed off. ‘I think that you could persuade him to give himself to a greater cause, Faisal.’
‘I understand, Ahmed.’ Faisal could feel his own heart grow heavy at this request.
‘Make the preparations, Faisal: talk to the Egyptian, too. We will need to buy someone’s help on the inside, not one of the Pakistanis that we already have, but someone who is already in uniform. Kill the American girl, Faisal.’