‘Jesus, Mac!’ Baz came after him. She was furious, but not as furious as he was.
Ginger hustled Logan away to the kitchen, taking on the role of peacekeeper.
Mac went into the living room – somewhat dazed by the sudden arrival, and still seething. ‘Are you telling me that you and Logan just drove through the night from Kandahar to here?’
‘No, we freaking teleported! Of course we drove. It’s not like there are any flights.’ Baz’s eyes flashed and she stepped up to Mac’s chest, her fists clenched by her side.
‘Don’t you have any clue how dangerous that could have been?’
‘We got here.’
Mac put a hand over his eyes and sighed. Then he pointed towards where Logan had disappeared through the kitchen door. ‘Well, he sure as hell knew how dangerous it was. What an idiot.’ He turned his back on Baz and stormed through to the kitchen.
Logan turned towards him, his hands raised in supplication. ‘Whoa! I get it, Mac, but give us both some credit. We’ve been out here long enough to know what we were doing.’
Mac didn’t respond.
Baz came in. ‘You know, you don’t own me, Mac,’ she said. ‘I can think for myself and make my own decisions.’
Mac shook his head. He was starting to feel calmer, but he still didn’t like it. ‘Okay, but you could have let us know you were coming. Just in case anything happened…’
‘Beer anyone?’ Ginger was holding a couple of bottles out, but the atmosphere was still tense.
‘Mac, I’m sorry. But when you asked for my help, I knew I had to get here. And I wasn’t going to leave Baz on her own in Kandahar.’
Mac blinked at him. ‘You drove at night.’
‘Yeah, in the small hours. We kept our lights off and we didn’t see another vehicle.’
‘But if you had…’
‘But we didn’t,’ cut in Baz. ‘We’re here now, okay? Just get over it.’
Dawn was breaking, and somewhere in the distance Mac heard the cry of a lone muezzin calling the faithful to their first prayers of the day. There was no point trying to get some sleep now – they might as well get on with everything that needed doing.
‘I’m going for a shower,’ he said, intentionally not catching Baz’s eye as he left the room. But he was secretly pleased when she followed him up the stairs.
Logan had brought ground coffee. It wasn’t quite enough to appease Mac’s anger but, accompanied by an apology, it went part way. The jolt of caffeine banished the hangover left by a night of very little sleep, and Mac was starting to feel semi-human again as he sat at the kitchen table making a list of kit they’d need for any rescue mission.
Logan was on the phone to someone, speaking Pashto with loud enthusiasm.
‘Come on, bro,’ he said to Mac, clipping his phone back onto his belt where he habitually wore it.
‘Where to?’
‘You’ll see.’ He led the way out to his Surf.
‘No driver? No terp?’ said Mac, climbing into the passenger seat.
‘Not needed. I know where I’m going. You forget, I’ve been here before.’
Ten minutes later, they pulled up at the gate to the governor’s office.
Logan opened his side window, and shouted something in Pashto to the nearest guard. Mac fully expected a rebuff or at least a lengthy argument, but the man saluted and then grinned. As if by magic, the gate opened, and they rolled into the building’s forecourt. Logan parked up, got out and bounded up the steps. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. Mac followed, dumbfounded.
At the top, two guards pulled open the heavy, carved wooden doors, but before Mac and Logan could enter, Governor Wadaan Khaliq stepped out.
‘Logan-jan, my brother, my brother,’ he called with his arms outstretched. It was the first time Mac had heard the governor speak English. When he and Ginger had been here, he’d only spoken in Pashto and Nagpal had translated.
Logan stepped forward into the governor’s embrace, patting him on the back, and then the two men kissed each other’s cheeks, once, twice, three times.
‘Salaam alaikum,’ said Logan, finally free of the embrace.
‘Wa’alaikum salaam,’ said Khaliq.
‘Wadaan-jan, it is an honour for me to come to your office once more,’ said Logan. ‘You and your family are in good health?’
Khaliq pressed his hands together, beaming. ‘We are, thank you, Logan-jan. And can I ask about your family? Are your parents well?’
‘They are very well indeed, thank you.’
‘May the eye of God stay on all those that you hold close to your heart.’
‘Thank you.’ Logan made a small bow. He turned towards Mac. ‘Wadaan-jan, I believe you have already met my close friend Mac MacKenzie.’
The governor nodded. ‘Yes, yes. Mr Mac, you are well?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ said Mac. ‘And you?’
‘Yes, thank you. Now, come in. We have much talking to do.’
As they followed him into the building, Mac nudged Logan in the ribs. ‘I see you two know each other.’
Logan laughed. ‘Like I said, I’ve been here before.’
Khaliq turned back to them as they walked through the vast entrance hall and said something to Logan in Pashto. He led them through another door into a medium-sized room that appeared part office, part sitting room. It was more lavishly furnished than the meeting room Mac had been in on his previous visit, and glass doors on the opposite side overlooked a courtyard garden with a fountain in the centre.
‘Please to sit down,’ said Khaliq, pointing them to a pair of wooden-framed sofas piled high with kilim and Ersari cushions. ‘I will order tea.’
A servant was hovering in the doorway, and Khaliq barked an order at him before sitting on one of the sofas. Mac and Logan took the other one.
‘My brother, I’m so pleased to see you again,’ said Khaliq. He turned towards Mac. ‘You must know that Logan-jan and I have had many adventures together.’
Mac could only guess.
‘I came down here with Wadaan-jan from Nad-e Ali in 2001, when he overthrew the Taliban who were holding the city and became the Governor of Helmand,’ said Logan by way of explanation. He made it sound like nothing more than a walk in the park, but Mac knew there had been ferocious fighting and copious bloodshed before the transfer of power had been effected. He couldn’t help but wonder exactly what part Logan had played in it.
The servant came back with a tray of tea – the usual green and bitter concoction, but now Mac knew the trick of sucking it in through a sugar cube, which at least made it bearable if not quite palatable. The conversation turned to the business of the day and for that the governor elected to speak Pashto. Mac couldn’t follow what was being said, but there seemed to be plenty of agreement between the former brothers in arms, and Khaliq nodded more often than he shook his head, which had to be a good sign.
There was a pause as Khaliq momentarily ran out of steam. Logan turned to Mac.
‘The governor has heard reports that a western man is being held in the village of Najibullahkhan Kalay.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘About seventy klicks south, on the Helmand River.’
‘Does he know who’s holding him?’
‘A breakaway Taliban cell – scoundrels who don’t know what they’re doing.’
Khaliq added emphasis with what Mac thought was probably a string of curse words.
‘They’re idiots and they are making everyone look bad,’ he said in his stilted English.
There was more discussion. Mac sipped his tea and tried not to grimace.
‘Right,’ said Logan. ‘My brother Wadaan is happy to help us retrieve the westerner with militia and vehicles.’
Khaliq grinned, nodding his head as Logan spoke. ‘It is important for me to show these Talibs who holds the power in Helmand Province. My men will aid your mission and crush your enemies.’
It was weird – the governor seemed a completely different man from the one he and Ginger had their audience with. Then he’d been stern and disinterested in their problem. Now, under the extraordinary influence of Logan, it seemed he couldn’t do enough for them.
‘Thank you,’ said Mac, bowing his head. ‘Your contribution will ensure our mission is a successful one.’
‘I will be sending with you my best men,’ said Khaliq. ‘I will also provide a guide who knows the area well and who will be able to direct you to where your man is being held. Pasoon will be waiting for you at Bost and will guide you from there. When do you want to leave?’
‘As soon as possible,’ said Mac. The longer Bakker was in captivity, the less likely he was to emerge alive.
Khaliq stood up, so Mac and Logan followed suit.
‘My men will be ready at noon.’
‘We’ll rendezvous with them at Bost, at the shrine of the glass coffin, at 1230 hours,’ said Logan.
‘Good, they will be there.’
Mac glanced at his watch. It was gone ten already. He and Logan needed to get a plan in place, sort out their own weapons and inform Ginger’s country manager in Kabul what they were doing.
‘Manana, Wadaan-jan,’ said Logan, once more embracing the governor as he thanked him. ‘Daera manana. Jor’ aw Rogh Ose.’
‘And good health to you too, my friend. When you return, we’ll share some stories of the old days, yes?’
‘You betcha,’ said Logan. ‘It’s a date.’
And then, to Mac’s utter amazement, they bumped fists.