Kim glanced around their holding cell, which was actually a storeroom for an industrial kitchen. It was filled to the brim with enough canned vegetables and freeze-dried meals to comfortably feed a small army. A bullet to the head might be her fate, but she’d at least not die on an empty stomach. She took a stab at a little gallows humor to lighten the mood.
“Think we’ll get a last meal?” Kim lifted a tin of fish in tomato sauce off the bottom shelf and stared at the label. “If we do, please God, don’t let it be this.”
She got a modest grin in return from Bayat, who took a seat, hung his head, and closed his eyes. He’d been dragging before their escape, but now he was completely wiped-out, on top of being injured. Faraz, conversely, wasn’t amused by the joke at all. He leaned against a wall, slid down, and stared blankly at nothing ahead. His limbs were splayed like a dead man as he spoke.
“So . . . I never thanked you for rescuing me.”
Kim didn’t know if he was joking or if it was just a plain old sarcastic remark, but she laughed anyhow. She moved to him, sat down in front of his gaze, and leaned against a crate of canned chickpeas. For a fighting chance she needed an ally, which meant offering hope.
She locked eyes with Faraz. “Don’t give up on me, okay. I know this looks bleak, but we have cards to play here. As I told you before, Bayat and I are worth a lot, which means you’re worth a lot. I promise I won’t make any deal for our freedom that doesn’t include you.”
“Deal?” A slow smile crept up on Faraz’s face. “There is no deal.”
“These guys aren’t religious fanatics,” Kim explained. “They’re just criminals. A bunch of money-grubbing thugs. Someone is going to realize how much they can make off of us and we’ll be handed over to Kabul soon. Mark my words they’re going to play ball.”
“You speak Dari?” Before she could answer, Faraz continued, “Because I do. And I know what they said about us.”
Kim leaned forward even more and lowered her voice, partially in case there was a guard outside their door who spoke English. “Well, what’s going on?”
Faraz brought his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them. His words were muffled but clear. “Said we were worth more to the Taliban dead than we were alive.”
“You must’ve heard incorrectly. The U.S. will pay nothing for dead bodies.”
Faraz looked up at her and smirked. “That’s why you Americans lost over here. You had no understanding of the people you were fighting.”
Kim’s immediate response was to argue, but she wanted to dig deeper into what Faraz meant. “Can’t say that I didn’t try. But in the end, it wasn’t enough. Did my best to help the people who actually wanted to make this a better place.”
“With money?” Faraz asked.
“Sometimes money was the answer.”
“It was never the answer.”
“Then what was?” Kim asked. “What did you hear these guys say?”
“They said they worked for you.”
Kim thought about Ozzy and his shield tattoo. “Look, I remember the name and face of every person I ran over here. Either you’re wrong or they are. I’ve never seen these men in my life.”
“Maybe it wasn’t you personally. But they worked for the American spies. Maybe Green Berets?” Faraz shrugged. “Somebody recruited them. Trained them. And then abandoned them.”
It was at that moment Kim realized why the tattoo she’d seen earlier was so significant. The sword and shield of Afghanistan were the elite units that worked with American intelligence and special operations. Garrett had become close friends with a few of these men, who had acted as scouts. Most of the soldiers in these elite Afghan attachments had been evacuated. But there were some, including their families, who were tragically left behind.
Kim had heard that those who weren’t executed by the Taliban had had to swear allegiance or else risk reprisal on their families. Now many of the former soldiers were even on high-level security details for political leadership in Kabul. Others were plying their skills in the opium trade. It was a horrible fate for those who had dedicated their lives to improving the country.
Kim didn’t have to ask because she already knew that they’d be turned over to the Taliban after being executed. “In terms of life and death, allegiance means more than money here.”
“Now . . . you’re getting it.” Faraz smiled again. “Our beliefs may be backward and barbaric to you, but they mean something to us. Your dollars will someday be worth nothing, but our traditions and our culture will go on forever.”
Kim was not only tempted to argue but to burst into laughter. Loyalties in Afghanistan switched on a dime. In fact, she’d probably seen warlords shift allegiances for even less. But that was neither here nor there. The men in this compound were trying to win back their lives. And the best way for them to do that was by showing that they were philosophically aligned. What better demonstration of that than to offer up the heads of some Americans on a silver platter?
“Okay, Faraz, we have no one willing to barter here. Means we’ll have to save ourselves.”
He raised his hands, palms up. “And how do we do that?”
“First.” Kim held up a finger. “We’ll need weapons.”
Faraz picked up a can of evaporated milk off the floor. “This what you had in mind?”
Kim shook her head. “No, we’ll need guns.”
“Great.” Faraz made a show of looking around. “You have any I don’t know about?”
“Saw two Kalashnikovs and an M4 in the kitchen. Leaning against cabinets near the stove.”
“Want me to call the guard?” Faraz tiled his head at the door. “Tell him to open up and hand them over. Maybe give us any extra grenades they have lying around.”
Sick of wasting time with more tired jokes, Kim stanched his next quip with an obvious fake laugh. “Are you done? Because if what you’re saying is true, then we might need to hurry.”
Faraz lost the smile he’d worn while teasing and looked a little sick. “Yeah, I’m done.”
“Good.” Kim pointed up to a small window above the top shelves. “Think we can fit?”
A once-sluggish Faraz focused on the opening to the outside and sprang to his feet. He climbed the shelves, reached the window, and pushed it open. “Leads to the roof.”
“Careful no one sees you,” Kim warned.
Faraz turned back and looked down, his face lit up with excitement. “It’s like a large balcony or something but nobody’s around.”
Kim’s heart leapt, both by the fact that there was a route for escape, and because Faraz was in good spirits and focused. “Can we make it out?”
He gave the window another shove, allowing another inch or two. “Tight but we can fit.”
Simultaneously they looked at Bayat, then back to one another. There was a mutual recognition that he would not make the climb. And he was too heavy to lift. Faraz turned back and pushed a couple of boxes aside to give them more room to maneuver around on the top shelf.
Kim rose and moved to the poor guy, whose eyes were barely open. “We’re going to go through the window. But we’ll return shortly. I promise.” She looked up to Faraz. “Right?”
Faraz didn’t answer, just turned to the window. His nonresponse didn’t sit well. But that was a problem for later. For now, they needed weapons and transport. Whether she could depend on her partner to stick around was up in the air. With or without him she was coming back.