Baz didn’t sleep a wink, and nor would she until she knew Mac was safe. And that might never happen because he might already be dead. Hot tears slid down her cheeks until she swiped them away with the back of her hand. Her eyes stung and her skin felt dry. There was a constant lump in her throat, making it hard to swallow water and virtually impossible to eat.
‘God, you look like death,’ said Ginger, putting a plate of soft naan and a steaming cup of tea in front of her. ‘Get this lot down you or you’ll collapse.’
He meant well, but it didn’t really help. Logan had tried to make her eat the previous evening, but after a few mouthfuls she’d had to run out of the room to vomit. Her gut ached with hunger, but nothing was going to stay down.
‘He’s been gone thirty-six hours now,’ she said. She didn’t need to add what this implied. Ginger would know well enough. Each day, no, even each hour that passed meant a successful outcome was less likely. Successful meaning Mac getting out of this alive. Logan had offered her sedatives to take away the edge and she’d been sorely tempted, but that would feel like deserting Mac when he needed her most – and even if there didn’t seem to be anything she could do for him, just sitting vigil was important.
Ginger sat down opposite her and started scraping Marmite onto his naan. The smell made her want to barf – weird English food that she’d never understand. She took a sip of the milky tea he’d made.
‘So what’s the plan?’ she said, giving him a direct look.
He avoided making eye contact. ‘We wait for intelligence from Khaliq.’
Baz slammed her fist down on the table in frustration, making the cups and plates jump. ‘That’s not a goddamn plan. That’s doing nothing.’
Ginger didn’t have a response, but catching the end of the exchange as he came into the kitchen, Logan did. ‘Come on, Baz. This is how it goes in these situations. You wait and wait and wait. Then word comes in and suddenly you’re off.’
Baz sighed. ‘Sorry, guys. It’s just…’ The words dried up.
Ginger reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
The sound of the outer gates opening and a car driving into the compound caught their attention. Logan went to the window. ‘It’s Nagpal.’
A minute later, he came into the kitchen, starting to talk almost as soon as he was through the door. ‘I asked around about Nazanina, and I got some information.’
‘Nazanina?’ said Baz.
‘She was the housekeeper and cleaner at Vinke’s house. She went missing after the murder.’
‘She’s a suspect?’ Baz’s eyebrows went into vertical lift-off.
Nagpal shook his head. ‘No, no, but she might have seen something.’
‘Then why would she disappear?’
‘She would be frightened,’ said Nagpal. ‘If she told us anything about the killers, they would come after her.’
‘So what information have you got?’ said Logan.
‘Tirich, my driver, told me she’s a member of the Barakzai tribe. Her son and his family live in Gereshk. That’s where she’s most likely to have gone.’
‘Someone needs to go and question her, straight away,’ said Logan.
Nagpal looked at Baz. ‘Will you come with me?’ he said. ‘It will be better if there is a woman present. Her family won’t be happy for her to talk to a man, even someone from the company which employs her.’
Baz shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Nagpal. I can’t. We might get some information on Mac… I should be here.’
Logan frowned. ‘Baz, this might be just the lead we’re waiting for. If she knows anything about who’s holding Bakker or killed Vinke, it might also lead us to Mac. He could have been taken by the same people.’
Baz considered for a minute. If the same people were responsible for both abductions, that was true. But what if Mac was being held by someone different? She hesitated to say yes.
‘Please go with him, Baz,’ said Ginger. ‘It’s got to beat just sitting here doing nothing. And we’ll call you if we hear anything from the governor.’
‘How far is Gereshk?’ she said to Nagpal.
‘About seventy kilometres,’ he said. ‘If we go this morning, we can be back this afternoon.’
‘You promise you’ll call?’ Of course they would.
Tirich drove them, with an armed guard sitting next to him in the front. The road between Lash and Gereshk was notorious for shakedowns and bandits, and Nagpal didn’t want to take any chances. Logan had offered to come with them, but Baz persuaded him to stay behind in case a lead on Mac’s whereabouts came in. They all knew that if this happened, a rescue mission would need to move fast. So Ginger and Logan stayed behind at the Well Diggers compound, gaming out a variety of scenarios while they waited for a call from Khaliq’s number two.
They took the road north-east from Lashkar Gah until it hit the ring road, where they turned west. It was an uneventful journey, and just over an hour after leaving the city, they came to the outskirts of Gereshk – a moderate-sized town that was dominated by the ruins of an ancient Mongolian fort on the banks of the Helmand. As soon as they’d crossed the bridge over the river into the town centre, an argument broke out between Nagpal, Tirich and the guard over which way they should go to find the somewhat vague address Tirich’s contact had given them. Although Baz could understand what they were saying, she chose not to get involved, having not the slightest clue about the geography of the place.
‘We should be taking this main road past the factory and then turn south towards the mosque,’ said Tirich.
The guard shook his head vehemently. ‘No, no. I know the city well. It will be quicker to go south before the factory and then west to the edge of town.’
Nagpal had another opinion, and so it went on. But ultimately, Tirich was driving the Land Rover, so they went by his chosen route and finally reached a scrubby area where the rows of walled compounds started to peter out.
‘This is the place,’ said Tirich, pulling up outside a mud-walled compound that looked identical to the scores of others they’d driven past to reach it.
‘How do you know?’ said Baz.
Tirich looked round with a grin. ‘Miss Basima, you’re just going to have to trust me. I have counted the roads and the houses to bring us to the right place.’
Baz wondered if the Afghans would ever get around to naming their streets and numbering their compounds, but somehow she doubted it. She put on her hijab and took a last swig of water before venturing out of the Land Rover into the fierce midday heat. As Nagpal knocked on the gate of the compound, she wondered if the housekeeper would even be here and whether she’d have anything to tell them. It was probably all a wild goose chase. She checked her sat phone, desperate to hear news from Ginger and Logan, but there was nothing.
A young man opened the gate in the wall and eyed them suspiciously.
Speaking in Pashto, Nagpal introduced himself and Baz, and then stated their business. ‘We are from Well Diggers in Lashkar Gah and we’re looking for Nazanina.’ They only had a first name for her, but this was hardly unusual in Afghanistan where a significant proportion of the population only used a single name.
‘Why are you looking for her?’
‘Is she here?’ said Nagpal.
Baz stepped forward. ‘We are worried for her. She hasn’t come back to work and we’d like to see if she’s all right.’
The man stepped back to allow them to enter the compound.
‘My mother is here,’ he said. ‘She no longer works for Well Diggers, but I will ask her if she’ll speak with you. Please wait.’
He closed the gate and walked across the open space of the compound to a small, single-storey dwelling. Baz looked around. There were a couple of young goats wandering about, stripping the last few leaves from some scrawny shrubs. An ancient scooter was parked by one wall, but there was no other vehicle. They clearly couldn’t afford a car.
After a couple of minutes, the man reappeared and beckoned them into the house.
They were introduced to two more men, cousins apparently, but there was no sign of Nazanina. The men asked them some more questions and Nagpal again repeated what had been said at the gate. Green tea was served, and finally Nazanina’s son said he would bring her in. Her relatives were obviously uncomfortable with the prospect of letting her speak to a man who was a stranger to them, even if Nazanina knew him from her work at Well Diggers. Baz flashed Nagpal a warning look to tell him that she would do the talking when Nazanina arrived, and he gave her a small nod of understanding.
The woman who came into the room was neither as old nor as poorly dressed as Baz had been expecting. She was probably in her mid-forties – old by Afghan standards – but to Baz, she looked strong and fit. Her shalwar kameez was of decent quality, and it made Baz realise how working for a western NGO must have afforded her far more than the rest of her family, up here in rural Gereshk. So why had she run away?
‘Nazanina, my name is Basima Khan. I work at the Well Diggers office in Kabul.’ A white lie, but she needed to reassure the woman.
Nazanina nodded but avoided eye contact. She didn’t seem comfortable, so Baz knew she had to be careful if she was going to elicit any useful information.
‘You worked for Lars Vinke and Tomas Bakker, and I know you had a message not to clean their house, but you haven’t been in to clean the other houses for several days either. Are you sick?’
The woman shook her head, then glanced sideways at her son.
‘Talk to them,’ he said quietly.
‘I’m not sick,’ said Nazanina.
‘Can you tell me why you haven’t come to work?’ said Baz. ‘Did something happen?’
Nazanina looked down into her lap where her hands were twisting nervously together.
‘Please tell me if you saw something.’
Nazanina pursed her lips and nodded her head. Then she found her voice. ‘It was the last night I was working at Mr Vinke’s house. I had finished cleaning the kitchen and I was getting ready for sleep.’ Nagpal had told Baz about the small sleeping alcove just off the kitchen.
‘Where were Mr Vinke and Mr Bakker?’
‘Mr Vinke was in the living room. He would read every evening after his meal, late into the night.’
‘And Mr Bakker?’
‘He was out, but as I was sweeping up, he arrived back.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘I think Mr Bakker was drunk.’ She looked apologetically at her brother, as if it had been her fault. He frowned.
‘Do you know where he had been?’ said Baz.
Nazanina shook her head. ‘It happened once before, but I don’t know where he went. He entered the living room, and I heard them arguing. They were speaking in Dutch so I couldn’t know what they were saying.’
‘Did someone else come to the house?’ said Baz. She needed to know if Nazanina had seen the attackers.
Nazanina looked surprised by the question. ‘No. I don’t know. The argument got louder. Mr Vinke was shouting more and more. Mr Bakker went to the front door and went out and Mr Vinke followed him out.’
‘You were watching?’
‘I heard it – the voices, the door opening. They argued and I heard another voice join them, and more arguing. I could hear the sounds of a fight coming from outside, so I hid in my sleeping place.’
‘Did you recognise the other voice?’ said Baz.
Nazanina shook her head.
Nagpal showed her the sneaker in the plastic bag. ‘Have you ever seen this before?’
The woman shook her head again.
Baz wanted to clarify what she’d said. ‘Bakker and Vinke were fighting outside the house? Are you sure of this?’
‘I don’t know who was fighting. There was another person there.’
Baz looked at Nagpal. What she was saying didn’t seem to tally with what they thought had happened.
‘The other voice – was it a man?’ said Nagpal.
‘I went to hide in the place where I sleep. I didn’t hear any more.’
‘What about in the morning?’ said Baz.
‘When I got up, the house was quiet, but the front door was still open.’ She covered her face with her hands, unable to speak.
‘And?’ Baz felt bad for prompting her when she knew what Nazanina must have found outside.
‘I went out. Mr Vinke was lying on the ground. He was dead.’
‘You’re sure he was dead?’ said Nagpal.
Nazanina gave him a withering look. ‘I am sure.’
‘And what about Mr Bakker?’ said Baz.
‘He was gone. I checked inside the house, but I knew. It was so silent. Like a grave.’
Things didn’t seem any clearer, and Baz felt frustrated. Nagpal looked at her as if he wasn’t sure what to do next.
‘You’re sure you didn’t know the other person who was there?’ said Baz.
‘You can believe what my mother says. She doesn’t lie.’ Nazanina’s son clearly thought the conversation had gone far enough. He turned to Nagpal. ‘She will not be working for your organisation any more, but you still owe her last week’s wages.’
‘Of course,’ said Nagpal. He drew his wallet out of a pocket and counted out several twenty-dollar bills. ‘Here’s her wages, and also some extra.’ He handed them to the brother who pocketed the money. Baz wondered if Nazanina would see any of what was rightfully hers, but now wasn’t the moment to intervene.
They were shown out and as they walked across the compound to the gate, Baz voiced what they were both struggling to believe.
‘What do you think, Nagpal? Do you think she didn’t know or see the third person? Or could she be trying to protect someone?’
Nagpal didn’t have an answer.