There was no way Mac could go back to sleep. The adrenalin that had flooded his body as he’d stared down the barrel of the gate guard’s Makarov had made him hyper-alert. Pulling the trigger of his own pistol to take the man’s life had left his hands shaking and his stomach roiling. Sure, he’d fired at people before, even hit them, but never at such close range, with the sole intent of killing. But it had been the guard’s life or his own. No decision to be made – and he was relieved he’d been able to act in the moment. A second’s hesitation would have been his last.
After a while, Obaid’s wife came outside and brought him some food – rice and vegetables and naan again. He had no appetite, but he forced himself to eat it. He didn’t want to be rude to these people. They’d defended him against Jamali’s men, saving his life for a second time, and he had no idea how to express his huge gratitude to them.
He gave some of the rice to an appreciative Mantoo, wondering how long it would be before Baz, Ginger and Logan would arrive, and hoping they didn’t run into Jamali’s goons on the road.
Obaid came out of the house with the young man and started a temporary fix on the compound gate. Mac stood up and held out the Tokarev that Obaid had given him at the beginning of the raid. Obaid took it with a nod of thanks. Mac also had the weapon he’d taken off the gate guard, but Obaid and his assistant didn’t need to know about that. He indicated that he wanted to help them, but Obaid pointed at his sling with a weary smile. It seemed there was nothing he could do, but he stayed with them, watching them work, passing pieces of wood to them when he got the chance, just to show willing.
He wished he had access to the satphone again, so he could warn Logan and Ginger about what had happened. He had no doubt that Jamali’s men would still be in the area. They could bide their time, because it was obvious he couldn’t shelter in Obaid’s house forever. He wondered how long had passed since he’d spoken to Baz. Neither Obaid nor the young man were wearing a watch and he had no idea how to ask the time in Pashto.
When the gate was secure, Obaid called into the house for tea, and the three men sat in the lean-to drinking it in companionable silence. Mac felt bad for the chaos he’d rained down on them, and he’d make sure to let them know as soon as Baz was here to translate.
It was almost dawn when they heard the rumble of approaching vehicles in the distance. Obaid jumped to his feet and shouted instructions. The young man ran into the house, and moments later appeared on the rooftop, clutching an old pair of Soviet binoculars. Everything the Kuchis had appeared to be begged, borrowed or stolen. Meanwhile, Obaid gestured to Mac to hide in the shadows. The flurry of activity woke Mantoo, who set up barking again, no doubt waking the rest of the household and the whole village to boot.
Mac crouched in the darkness, trying to assess how many vehicles he could hear. Was it Jamali returning with reinforcements? It was certainly more than just Logan’s Surf or one of the Well Diggers Land Rovers.
The man on the roof shouted something down to Obaid, then disappeared, and Mac watched as his host started to dismantle the barricaded door. That meant one thing. It had to be Baz and Logan. Mac ran over and started to help him as best he could with one arm. It only took a minute, and Mac was first out of the gate.
Logan’s Surf was bumping down the track towards them, and behind him were two Toyota SUVs, bristling with armed men at every window, and a technical with a Dushka mounted on the back. Mac recognised them as the governor’s men, and he blessed Logan for whatever he’d done for Khaliq that had made the man putty in his hands.
The Surf had barely pulled up in front of Obaid’s compound when Baz was in his arms.
‘Mac, oh Mac…’ Whatever else she might have said was smothered in a kiss, Mac suddenly aware that he hadn’t cleaned his teeth for days. But if it didn’t bother her, it didn’t bother him.
Logan slapped him hard on the back, nearly knocking them both over, but Baz wasn’t letting go of him any time soon.
‘Christ, mate, am I glad to see you,’ said Ginger. Then he shook his head. ‘This is all my fault, I’m so sorry…’
Mac pulled back from Baz’s embrace slightly to talk to Ginger, who looked like he might cry. ‘Fuck’s sake, man, pull yourself together,’ he said with a grin. ‘I knew what I was getting into.’ That wasn’t strictly true, but there was no point in letting Ginger feel bad on his account.
The governor’s men poured out of their vehicles and, under instructions from their captain, started setting up a protective ring around the property.
Logan and Obaid were deep in conversation, and Baz reluctantly let go of Mac to go and join them. Still talking, Obaid beckoned them into the compound, where Mantoo was loudly making his presence felt. Baz glanced over at the dog.
‘Meet Mantoo,’ said Mac, giving the Kuchi hound a chuck under the chin.
Baz burst out laughing.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Mantoo,’ she said, ‘you know what that means?’
Mac shook his head.
‘Dumpling. The largest dumpling I ever saw.’ Then she was laughing and crying at the same time, completely overwhelmed by emotion, and Mac gave her another hug.
‘Sorry,’ she sniffed. ‘I’m just so relieved to see you.’
‘Likewise, times ten,’ said Mac.
Baz turned back to listen to Obaid and Logan.
‘I don’t understand what happened,’ said Mac in her ear. ‘Jamali’s men raided the house and were about to take me. Then Obaid’s old man intervened, and they left empty-handed.’
Baz’s eyes widened, then she nodded her understanding. ‘Melmestia.’
‘What?’
‘It’s the Pashtunwali code of hospitality. If you enter their house unarmed, they’ll protect you with their lives. They won’t break the code, and Jamali’s men obviously realised that. They were willing to give their lives, and that’s what saved your life.’
‘Too bloody right it did.’ That, and the fact that he’d lost Pistol Boy’s weapon somewhere in the night.
Logan turned to face Mac. ‘Jeez, you’re a lucky guy, Mac. Obaid here says he found you inside a goat pen sprawled on the ground like a halfwit. And he had a lot of other, unrepeatable things to say about you too – but we’ll let him off that.’
‘Not quite such a halfwit. I bloody escaped from Jamali’s compound, didn’t I?’ He looked at Obaid. ‘Will you tell him that I thank him from the bottom of my heart, and that I owe my life to him?’
Baz translated and Obaid grinned and said something.
‘He says you now have an honour debt to him that you can never forget.’
‘Believe me, I won’t forget any of this in a hurry.’
Logan was digging a hand into his pocket. He retrieved something and held it out to Obaid. Mac saw silver glinting in his palm and there was a jingle of coins.
Obaid gave a shallow bow and took what was offered. He held one of the coins up to the light.
‘Christ,’ said Ginger. ‘Are those what I think they are?’
‘Yup, sure are,’ said Logan. ‘Genuine Maria Theresa Thalers.’ Mac had seen them before – Austrian silver dollars, used in trouble spots all over the world since the 1700s. ‘Each one is worth about thirty bucks – I’ve given him nearly two hundred dollars’ worth.’
‘That’s a fortune for him,’ said Baz. She looked back at Mac. ‘But I suppose you’re worth it.’
‘Some people seem to think I’m worth a million dollars,’ said Mac.
Logan and Obaid were still talking in Pashto. Suddenly the smile fell away from Baz’s face, and she was all ears.
‘What?’ said Mac.
She held up hand for him to be quiet while she carried on listening for another minute.
‘Wow – Obaid knows where Bakker is. Apparently it’s common knowledge that Jamali is holding another westerner.’
‘Did he say where?’
‘Bahram Chah.’
Mac looked at her, eyebrows raised. The name meant nothing to him.
‘The opium bazaar, down on the border of Pakistan. Jamali’s HQ. It’s the seventh circle of hell compared to here.’