Nagpal drew up outside the Well Diggers compound and waited for the gate guard to open up for them. Ginger couldn’t wait. He jumped out of the Land Rover and slipped through the narrow gap in the opening gate, then ran across the parking area to the house.
Baz appeared at the front door looking dishevelled. She clearly hadn’t had a wink of sleep.
They both spoke at once.
‘Is he back?’
‘You’ve found him?’ Her voice was a mix of hope and desperation.
Ginger looked down, shaking his head. He couldn’t bear to meet her eye. ‘I’m so sorry, Baz.’
Baz pursed her lips and turned her head away. Ginger could tell she was trying not to cry. He followed her inside the house, as Nagpal pulled the Land Rover in to park.
In the kitchen, Baz stood leaning against the table. She’d brought her emotions under control, and now she looked angry and exhausted.
‘I don’t understand what’s going on,’ she said. ‘Fill me in on the details.’
Ginger took the steel saucepan they used in lieu of a kettle off the stove and went to the sink to fill it with water. He’d been up searching the city streets all night and he needed coffee.
‘When we were searching for the gate guard, Mac spotted something and darted off. He was running after someone.’
‘Who?’
Ginger shrugged. ‘No idea – maybe he thought it was the guy we were looking for. They both just disappeared.’
‘And?’
‘We waited for a while by the Land Rover for him to come back, then we went searching for him.’
Baz shook her head, a look of incomprehension on her face. ‘What was he thinking?’
Ginger slammed the saucepan onto the stove, sloshing water over the side of it. ‘I just don’t know. We’ve driven around for hours, through all the villages on that side of Lash. We stopped and asked people if they’d seen him. We kept going back to where we last saw him.’
‘And his phone?’
‘Not answering.’
‘I know,’ said Baz, with a sigh. ‘I’ve been trying to get through to him all night.’ She brought both hands up to her face and rubbed her eyes.
Nagpal came in and sat down at the table without speaking.
‘Where’s Logan?’ said Ginger.
‘Out searching for Mac,’ said Baz.
‘Someone has taken him,’ said Nagpal. He looked across the room at Baz. ‘I’m sorry – but we would have found him or he would have come back here by now. I think we’ve got to face the facts.’
Baz dropped into the chair opposite him. ‘So what can we do? I can’t just sit around waiting for his body to turn up.’ There was a tremor in her voice.
Ginger felt like shit. He was responsible – he’d persuaded Mac to come down here and get involved in the search for Bakker. Now both men were missing, without a single clue as to who had taken them or where they might be. He understood all too clearly why so few of the private contractors he knew were interested in coming to work down here.
The door opened and all eyes turned to see Logan coming in.
‘Nothing?’ said Baz.
‘Nothing, I’m afraid,’ said Logan. ‘Coffee would be good,’ he said, in Ginger’s direction.
Ginger ignored him. ‘I need to call Anholts,’ he said. He went through to the living room, judging it would be a call better made out of Baz’s earshot.
But the entire call turned out to be a waste of breath.
‘That man is not my responsibility,’ said the country manager, when Ginger had filled him in on all that had happened. ‘Bakker, yes, but not your friend.’
‘We need to find both of them,’ said Ginger.
‘And how do you propose to do that?’ said Anholts. His voice seemed devoid of any sympathy.
‘I’ll need to hire a team of militiamen from the governor,’ said Ginger. ‘They can search the villages far more effectively than we can, and they’ll have informants across a far wider network.’
‘And all this is going to cost how much?’
‘As much as it takes. There are two lives at stake here.’ Ginger was finding it hard to keep the anger out of his voice.
Anholts snapped. ‘The contingency fund is already gone – you threw that away rescuing the wrong man. I can take some money from next year’s budget, but that will have to be made up.’ He paused, but Ginger remained silent. ‘This is going to put us out of business.’
‘And that’s more important to you than saving their lives?’
‘Of course not. But the people we’re working for, if we can’t carry on with our work, their livelihoods will suffer. Our demise will drive them into the arms of the narco gangsters, as there will be no legitimate way for them to make a living.’
‘Forgive me, but the threat to Bakker and MacKenzie is more acute. That’s what I’ve got to deal with.’
‘Sure, I get it. Go and ask the governor for help. If he demands money, tell him we’ll pay him when next season’s grants come through.’
Ginger hung up. As if that was going to work. Khaliq financed his operations through his family’s poppy-growing profits. He didn’t give a shit about the lives of two western do-gooders and there was no way he was going to lift a finger without a hefty wad of cash up front. Or…
He went back into the kitchen.
‘Logan, Khaliq owes you a favour or two, right?’
Logan pulled a face that didn’t really answer the question, but Ginger couldn’t blame him for keeping his cards close to his chest.
Baz looked from one to the other of them closely. ‘Jeez, guys, this is Mac. Don’t play games. Logan, if you can call in favours from anyone, anywhere, just do it, okay?’
She rushed out of the kitchen and slammed the door.
Ginger felt helpless.
‘Sure, sure,’ Logan called after her. ‘I’m on it.’
They drove to the governor’s office, only to find that he was receiving visitors at the Bost Hotel – by Afghan standards, a rather luxurious hotel on the banks of the Helmand River. Khaliq had requisitioned the place for his own use after he won control of Lashkar Gah and declared himself governor following the fall of the Taliban.
The hotel was situated approximately half a kilometre from the governor’s office along East Bost Avenue, and the road between the two properties was closed off at either end by militia checkpoints. Logan conferred with the captain at the checkpoint at the office end of the road and then returned to where Baz and Ginger were waiting in the Land Rover.
‘He’s going to call the hotel and check if the governor will see us.’
‘What will you ask him for?’ said Baz, leaning forward from the back seat.
‘Intelligence, primarily,’ said Logan. ‘Men, if we need them.’
‘Of course we need them,’ said Baz. ‘We need boots on the ground, searching.’ There was an edge of hysteria to her voice.
‘Which will be more effective if we can get some intel first,’ said Ginger.
‘Listen,’ said Logan, ‘nothing goes on in Lash without Khaliq or his cousin having a finger in the pie. I’m confident he’ll know something.’
Baz sat back in her seat. Ginger could feel the strength of her glare via the rear-view mirror.
The captain raised the barrier and waved them through, speaking briefly with Logan through the vehicle’s open window as they passed.
‘Good,’ said Logan. ‘We’re on.’
Three minutes later they parked up in front of a sprawling two-storey building on the riverfront. Built by the Americans in the 1950s as a club house for a legion of expat engineers and their families, the Bost Hotel may have seen better days but it could still be seen as the standard bearer for the dreams of Lash becoming a modern garden city. Beds of gold- and rust-coloured chrysanthemums bordered the parking area and uniformed guards stood to attention as they walked through the wide double doors into the bullet-pocked lobby. Every seat was occupied by bored-looking men, either alone or whispering together in groups, and Ginger guessed this was the queue for an audience with Wadaan Khaliq – who alone had the power to settle scores, grant permits or give his blessing to whatever venture they were here to talk about.
An officious Pashtun with a red hennaed beard came out from behind the reception desk to ascertain who they were, as if it wasn’t obvious given that there were no other westerners in the place.
‘Come, come,’ he said to Logan, pointedly ignoring Baz, who’d put on a hijab as soon as they’d drawn up outside.
They were shown into the hotel dining room – a cavernous salon with bow windows overlooking the hotel’s swimming pool and the river beyond. There was no one swimming or sunbathing by the pool, which on closer inspection Ginger realised was empty. A set of cricket stumps painted onto the broken tiles at each end indicated its more recent function. Still, the room they were in was well-furnished with rugs, heavy pleated curtains pulled back from the windows, solid wooden furniture and garish chandeliers, probably imported from Dubai.
‘Logan-jan, my brother!’ Wadaan Khaliq came towards them with arms outstretched.
‘Salaam alaikum, Wadaan-jan,’ said Logan. He dipped his head in respect, then stepped forward to shake the governor’s hand, and was finally swept into a back-slapping embrace.
‘Salaam alaikum, chutor asti?’ said the governor as they broke away from each other. He glanced at Ginger, and switched into English. ‘I hope you and your family are well and thriving?’
Ginger realised this was a huge sign of respect and he had to wonder again exactly what had transpired to put Logan in such a venerated position.
‘Alaikum a’salaam. We are all blessed, thank you,’ said Logan. ‘And may I ask after your family and your beautiful children? They’re well too?’
‘Insha’Allah. Allah is watching over us always with his beneficence.’ He turned to Ginger and held out a hand. ‘It is good to see you again, Mr Ginger-jan.’
‘Salaam alaikum,’ said Ginger. ‘I hope that you are well and that your family is all good.’ He knew what was expected of him.
‘Indeed, indeed,’ said the governor. He turned to Baz and spoke in Pashto, though he didn’t extend a hand to her.
She smiled and answered him, but Ginger could see that the extended round of niceties was taking a toll on her. Every minute was valuable, but they couldn’t risk upsetting the governor by cutting short the formalities.
‘Come, sit,’ said Khaliq, leading them to a grouping of low, cushioned chairs by one of the curved windows. ‘Tell me how I can be of service to you, my friends.’
Now they were getting down to business, the conversation switched back into Pashto. Ginger listened without understanding, but he heard Logan mention both Bakker and Mac, gesturing with his hands to get his points across. The governor listened without interrupting, then spoke in return for several minutes. Baz was biting her lip, as if she wanted to say something but was holding back. Certainly, it would be better to leave matters to Logan – he had the governor’s ear, and expecting Khaliq to conduct business with a woman would be out of line. In fact, they were stretching that line to breaking point by even bringing Baz with them – but she’d been absolutely insistent on coming.
Finally, after more discussion, during which Ginger had to keep dragging his eyes away from the view of the river to try and look attentive, some agreement appeared to have been reached. He would have to wait until they were back in the Land Rover before Logan and Baz could reveal what had been said, but he gathered by the tension still showing in Baz’s jaw that she wasn’t particularly happy.
They shook hands again, bowed some more and Logan and Khaliq engaged in their usual round of brotherly love. Finally, Khaliq led them out into the lobby, where he made another effusive show of leave-taking. The same groups of men were still waiting to see him, and they looked on impressed. It was rare for a high-ranking Afghan official to show such respect to westerners. What had Logan done for him?
Back in the car, Baz was spitting nails. ‘I call BS,’ she hissed, as Logan reversed them out of their parking spot.
‘Chill, Baz,’ said Logan. ‘He’s good for his word.’
‘Like to fill me in?’ said Ginger.
Logan outlined the conversation as they drove. Khaliq had apparently promised them unreserved help – he would put his most reliable intelligence officer in charge of finding out who was holding the two men, and once they had that information, his forces would be at their disposal.
‘For sure,’ said Baz. ‘That’s when we never hear anything from him again. I know his type. Promise the world with no intention of delivering.’
‘Drop it, Baz,’ snapped Logan. ‘Wadaan Khaliq and I go back a long way. And him walking us out in front of so many people means he has to come good on his promise. If he’d stayed in the dining room when we left, then I’d know nothing was going to happen in spite of what he said. I trust the guy.’
‘Good for you.’
Silence reigned for the rest of the drive back to the Well Diggers compound. Ginger chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering which of them was right.
Only time would tell. And that was the one thing they were rapidly running short of.