— Finding nothing can be a useful discovery. We know this much. It wasn’t a spontaneous or impulsive decision to run. He’s thought about it carefully. He tidied the room. He expected us to search it.
Leo opened the drawer, surprised to see his own reflection staring back up at him. It was an ornate mirror, larger than the portrait of Lenin, a wall mirror. He held it up, examining it. The mirror was heavy, an antique, backed with silver, a pattern engraved around the edge. He looked around the room.
— Where did this come from?
Nara pointed to the image of Lenin:
— Hasn’t he swapped the mirror for Lenin?
— No, this is much smaller than the picture that previously hung here.
Leo peered at the surface: the edges were covered with fingerprints.
— The mirror has been handled a lot.
Switching into Russian, he addressed the guard standing at the door.
— Do you know where this mirror came from?
The guard shook his head. Leo asked:
— Where’s the bathroom?
Carrying the mirror under his arm, Leo and Nara followed the guard to the bathroom, a gloomy room badly damaged by fighting: the windows were broken, and replaced with temporary boards. The mirrors had been shattered.
— There’s no mirror here.
Leo addressed the guard again.
— How do you shave?
— I don’t live here.
Leo hurried out of the room, back into the hall, examining the different shadows on the walls. He found a likely one. He hung the mirror: it was the same size, returned to its original place. He glanced at Nara.
— He took one of the few undamaged mirrors in the building and kept it in his room.
Nara moved closer, slowly understanding the process she was witnessing, excited by the significance of the discovery.
— The officer was concerned about his appearance?
— And what does that mean?
— He was vain?
— He met a woman.
Greater Province of Kabul
Murad Khani District
Same Day
Nara proved invaluable in assessing the lists of women that the deserting officer had come into contact with. She knew most of the names either personally or by reputation and was quick to rule out those who would never have allowed themselves to become embroiled in the scandal of a romance. Leo was not convinced that his young protégée understood that love could make even the most reliable of characters behave unpredictably, doubting that Nara had ever fallen in love. But he decided to go along with her initial observations, having very little knowledge of the women on the list himself.
Despite Fyodor Mazurov having spent three months in the country very few opportunities for romance would have presented themselves. Unlike many war zones and capital cities, there were no brothels in Kabul, though Leo had heard mention from several senior military figures of a desire to create one for the influx of soldiers. The women would be brought in from abroad, from Communist allies in the east perhaps, flown in like crates of bullets or artillery shells with the brothels run not as a commercial venture but as part of the military infrastructure, kept secret to ensure that the pious sensibilities of the local population were not offended. This project, no doubt appointed a lewd code name of some sort, had not yet been implemented and so the young officer must have fallen in love with an Afghan woman. The status of women in the country meant that there were no female shopkeepers, no women at leisure in the teashops, and little likelihood of chance encounters on the street. Nara was adamant that the woman would have come from the upper classes, the only area of society where there was a degree of gender integration. Going through the officer’s list of meetings and duties, one woman stood out. He had regular meetings with an Afghan minister, a member of the new government, a man with a daughter in her mid-twenties, university educated, fluent in Russian and employed as the minister’s translator.
The address led them to a house built in the traditional style, with mud walls and decorative flourishes, hundreds of years old. Many similar houses had been destroyed and this craftsmanship no longer defined entire districts, existing instead as isolated examples, lonely remnants. Positioned on a narrow and ancient street, the colours rich red and brown, Leo thought it appropriate that romance had taken refuge in one of the few beautiful architectural areas that remained standing. Once a comparatively wealthy district, catering to the upper classes, it was difficult to view any part of the city as privileged. Nowhere was safe, nowhere was protected from outbreaks of violence.
Leo didn’t knock, but picked the heavy iron lock. It was an old design. The decorative engravings were mirrored by the craftsmanship of the mechanics – making it harder to open than many modern locks. Nara became nervous.
— What if I’m wrong? This man is a minister.
Leo nodded.
— We’ll be in a lot of trouble. But if we try and obtain permission we’ll offend the minister and give the suspect enough time to flee. So, the trick is . . .
Leo raised a finger to his mouth, indicating thith mudara remain silent. If they were wrong, they would sneak out without leaving any trace of their search. Eventually hearing the click of the heavy latch, Leo pushed the door.
Were their assumptions to prove correct he thought it unlikely that the minister was personally involved or even aware of his daughter’s situation. The risk to the minister was too great and judging from his record he was too canny a politician not to realize the extent of the repercussions, not with his Soviet allies, but with his Afghan colleagues. It was one thing to work with the Soviets, it was quite another to marry a daughter to a Soviet soldier. Leo doubted that the couple had fled the city already, although, privately, he hoped that was exactly what they’d done. His loyalties were not divided: they were firmly on the side of the couple. The daughter, whose name was Ara, was almost certainly sheltering her lover and planning their next move, believing they could wait out the first wave of searches and make their journey when attention was directed elsewhere.
An unusually large house, the ground floor was deserted. Like burglars, Leo and Nara stealthily climbed the stairs. Nara was so young and inexperienced that there was a peculiar sense of playacting about the moment, as if this were an exercise in agenting rather than the real thing. They arrived at a closed door. Leo pushed it open. Ara was seated at a writing table, papers spread before her, with her back to them. She heard their entrance, stood up and turned around, startled and afraid. There was no longer any option but to commit to the search. Taking a moment to recover her composure, she said, in Russian:
— Who are you? What are you doing in my house?
She was remarkably beautiful, with poise and grandeur, typically associated with privilege and education. Her shock was genuine. However, her indignation was forced, her voice trembling not with anger but with nervousness, a quite different tone. The deserter was here, Leo was sure of it.
Leo’s eyes darted around the room. There was no obvious hiding place. He spoke to Ara in Dari.
— My name is Leo Demidov. I’m special adviser to the secret police. Where is he?
— Who?
— Listen to me carefully, Ara: there is a way for this to end well. Fyodor Mazurov could return to his duties, he could claim he was drunk, or he was homesick, or he thought it was a day off. It doesn’t matter what the excuse is. Some lie could be manufactured. He’s only been missing for eighteen hours. He has an unblemished military record. This is his first time abroad. Furthermore, your father is a minister. No one wants an embarrassment or a scandal, the Soviets would be as glad to conceal this as they would be to apprehend him. We can fix this if we work together. I need you to help me. Where is he?
Despite being ready to lie, Ara was tempted by this offer. Leo stepped forward, moving closer, trying to show to her that this was not a trap.
— We don’t have much time. If you lie to me, and the others fi
nd him without a deal being brokered, they may not make you the same offer. And they will find you, within a matter of hours. We’re not the only people searching for him. We’re not the only people who can draw the conclusions that brought us here.
Ara looked at Leo, then at Nara, evaluating the situation.
— I don’t know what yoursquo;re talking about.
Her voice was weak, barely able to finish the denial, the words crumbling away. Leo sighed.
— Then should I call for the military to search the house? They would be here within minutes. They will rip down walls and smash every piece of furniture.
Faced with this possibility, Ara abandoned the pretence, lowering her head. She walked to the door, turning back to Leo, imploring him:
— You promise to help us?
— I promise.
She studied his expression, trying to read into it some sign that he was a good man. It was hard to know what interpretation she drew. More likely, she accepted that she had no choice and led them downstairs, unlocking a door, taking them into a cellar.
The cellar served as a storeroom with low curved ceilings exploiting the naturally cooler air. Ara lit a candle, revealing Fyodor Mazurov in the corner, stunned by the sight of her with two secret police agents. Leo said, in Russian:
— Stay calm. I can help you. But you must do exactly as I say.
Mazurov remained silent. Leo noticed that his fists were clenched. He was almost certainly armed. He was ready to die for the woman he loved. With genuine curiosity rather than mocking cynicism, Leo asked:
— Tell me, what were you planning on doing? Running away together?
Ara took her lover’s hand. It was an audacious display of affection for an Afghan woman and Nara visibly reacted to the gesture. Mazurov replied:
— We were going to make our way to Pakistan.
He spoke without conviction. It was a foolhardy mission. They would have to navigate not only Soviet checkpoints but also the insurgents’ stronghold on the border. Yet Leo was in no position to criticize outlandish ventures. Feeling a strong sense of empathy towards them, he realized it was more than mere understanding or compassion – it was a desire to go with them. Their plans reminded him of his own attempt to reach New York, brave and stupid in equal measure. He asked:
— You planned to live there, happily in Pakistan?
Fyodor was about to contradict this notion when he stopped himself, swallowing the words. Leo guessed what their true aim had been.
— You were going to seek asylum? From who? The Americans? You wanted them to protect you?
This fact would guarantee his execution. For Leo to strike a deal and save Fyodor’s life, it was essential that they didn’t reveal this aspect of the plan. They would have to depict the eighteen-hour absence as a temporary loss of confidence, a night of sexual pleasure. Judging from the preoccupation his military superiors showed towards creating brothels, this excuse might find some sympathy.
Everyone was waiting for Leo to speak, as he assessed what course to take.
— First, you have to assure me that you’ll go along with everything I tell you to do. You must forget this plan to go to Pakistan. It’s crazy in any case. If the Soviets didn’t kill you, the mujahedin would. Next, you must return to your post and promiseloyalty to the army. Reassure them that this will never happen again.
Details of his improvised plan were interrupted by a noise above them. There was someone at the door. Leo looked up the stairs, hearing voices, addressing Ara.
— Your father?
Ara shook her head. There were many footsteps. Suddenly several Soviet soldiers entered the cellar. Mazurov reached for his weapon. The Soviets raised their weapons targeting Ara as well as him. Trapped, surrounded, the young officer tossed his gun to the floor, raising his hands above his head.
Ara looked at Leo, venomous in her reproach.
— You promised!
Leo didn’t understand where they’d come from. He hadn’t shared his plans: he hadn’t told anyone where they were going.
Slowly he turned to Nara. She was standing just behind him, her arms behind her back. Under his stare she said:
— The captain asked me to keep him informed of our movements.
Leo had made an amateur’s mistake. He’d believed Nara had been partnered with him to learn. She’d been partnered with him as a spy. Considering his own record, it was only logical that the captain should take such a precaution when dealing with a defector.
Fyodor Mazurov was led out under armed guard. Watching him, Ara remained silent, sensing that any display of affection might provoke the Afghan soldiers. She was not arrested: such an event would disgrace the minister. Her punishment would be decided by and carried out by her father. If she were shrewd she would deny that she loved him and put the blame entirely on his shoulders, claiming he was besotted with her. But she was in love and Leo thought it unlikely she’d deny the fact even though it was sure to bring her much hardship and disgrace.
As the last to leave the cellar, Leo said to his trainee, Nara Mir:
— You have the makings of an excellent agent.
She took the remark at face value, not understanding its implications. She smiled.
— Thank you.
Greater Province of Kabul
City of Kabul
Murrad Khani District
Same Day
The electricity was out across the neighbourhood and Nara was forced to finish her night-time prayers by the flame of a sooty gas lamp. In her thoughts were the lives of the deserter, Officer Fyodor Mazurov, and his lover, Ara, a woman Nara had previously admired as a progressive figure in their neighbourhood. Educated, employed, and intelligent, Ara had been a role model. Though she had behaved according to her duties, she wondered if she’d been right to inform Captain Vashchenko that Ara was their prime suspect. Had she not, Leo might have been able to save both of them. Yet their predicament could hardly be seen as Nara’s fault. She’d merely reported on their actions. They must carry responsibility. Not convinced by her own rationale, her prayers were interrupted by doubts. Ara would suffer shame and possibly physical violence. No matter how liberal her father might appear as a Communist minister, sexual politics were separate from mainstream politics and his attitudeowards this romance would be conservative. Fyodor would be tried by a military court. Ara would be judged and sentenced by her father.
Breathing deeply, without a sense of composure and balance she normally hoped to achieve through her prayers, she rolled up her mat. It was not expected for a woman to pray in congregation, the emphasis was upon private worship. Though there were no theological reasons why she should be prevented from praying in mosques, the conditions placed upon her attendance were so strict it made public worship onerous. At her last visit she had been accused of wearing perfume, eventually conceding that she’d used soap to wash her hands and that the soap may have been fragranced. After the humiliation of being sniffed by a jury of men, she now prayed in private.
Glancing around her room, at the prayer mat, the clothes, wardrobe, chair, lamp, she thought upon Comrade’s Demidov’s lesson. If an agent were to search her room the only possessions that revealed something distinct and controversial about her were those given to her by the Soviets – an exercise book and a cheap pen. Normally when she wanted to study she was forced to smuggle her textbooks into her bedroom. The books were stashed outside, sealed in plastic against weather and dirt, in a crevice in the broken mud-brickwork of the narrow side street. It was laborious to remove them without being seen by the neighbours or the boys who played in the alley and she often wondered if she was being excessively cautious, whether her training had altered her judgement. Caution made sense as a tactic: if her parents had reacted coolly to her enrolling in university it was troubling to conceive of their anger at her new occupation, working for the Afghan secret police.
Nara’s father, Memar, was one of the country’s leading architects. Appointed leader of his gui
ld, he’d been elected as a liaison to the State functionaries, making him one of the most influential voices when it came to any major construction project in Kabul. A veteran of his craft, known as a master, ustad, he ran a programme for apprentices, including Nara’s older brother. Her brother had squandered the advantages handed to him. He was lazy, spending most of his time racing through the streets of Kabul on a customized, imported motorbike, impressing his friends. Handsome and popular, he was more interested in socializing than study. Nara had never been asked if she wanted to enrol in the programme, nor had she visited one of her father’s construction sites. The possibility of following his career had not only been denied to her, it had never even been imagined. He did not and would not discuss his affairs directly with her. In order to know anything about him she’d been forced to do her own investigations, listening to private conversations, reading his letters – a precursor to the profession she’d chosen.
She’d been able to discover that he had moved to Kabul from the countryside as a young man, funded by his own father, who’d made money smuggling animal skins and karakul fleeces across the Afghanistan–China border. He’d arrived intending to support his family back home, a village suffering from poor harvests in one of the worst droughts the country had ever seen. Keen to fit in with the established middle classes, he was worried that religious conservatism would make him appear provincial. Wealthy and devout, the driving forces of his life were religion and commerce, two energies that did not always harmonize. His business acumen allowed him to compromise. Nara attended school because so did the daughters of his clients. He tolerated her decision not to wear the chador only because his clients did not make their daughters wear it. For a daughter not to wear a veil was a powerfr harvestocial signal, one dating back to 1959 when women from bourgeoisie families appeared without their veils during the Anniversary of Independence Day in Kabul. But Nara was under no illusion that her father’s tolerance was anything more than a commercial strategy. At heart he was strict and pious, and her education vexed him greatly. In business he’d achieved everything he’d set out to accomplish. With regards to his family, he had not. His children consisted of a simpleton son and an unmarried daughter.