Agent 6

  — The khareji have spent three days bombing the valley and shooting at anyone who walks on the paths. They have sent many hundreds of soldiers to look for you. You are of value to them. Explain this.

  Khareji was a name for a foreigner and was spoken with contempt. Leo couldn’t be sure why the Soviets had sent so many troops into the valley but considering the circumstances it made sense to emphasize his importance. He answered:

  — I am not a soldier. I have never fired a weapon in this country. I am an adviser. I have lived in Afghanistan for many years, longer than any other adviser. I know more about Soviet interests in this country than anyone else. I have been writing reports for the Kremlin—

  One man stopped him.

  — What did you say in your reports?

  — I advised on many different matters, including a recommendation that they should not invade this country.

  — Your advice was ignored. You cannot be important.

  — Some of my reports were listened to. Many were ignored.

  There was hushed discussion among the council. Finally, the leader spoke again.

  — It is as we thought. You will make a valuable hostage. Fahad Mohammad was correct to keep you alive.

  He waved Leo aside and gestured at Zabi.

  — It has been decided. A boy will pretend to be the only survivor from the village of Sokh Rot. The miracle of your survival is of use to us. We are informed that the story has become a powerful inspiration. You will be sent far away. A new home will be found for you. You will be kept safe from the Soviets.

  He then gestured at Nara.

  — Finally, we come to the woman. She is a traitor. She is worse than a khareji. She is an Afghan, but a slave of the occupation, a murderer. She will be executed. The sentence will be carried out immediately.

  Same Day

  There was no discussion. The judgements had been given and before Leo had a chance to protShe the council was on its feet. Soldiers dragged Nara away. Leo tried to move after them but a young man, his face almost completely concealed, stepped in front of him, blocking the path. Nara and Zabi were taken out of the cave. Helpless, Leo watched as the members of the council climbed the steps. He called after them:

  — Wait!

  They ignored him, one by one leaving the chamber. Leo cried out again:

  — She could be valuable to you!

  The last member of the council paused.

  — She is of value to us. She is of value dead, as a symbol of what happens to Afghans who betray their country.

  The council member gestured at the guard.

  — Bring him. He can watch.

  The soldier waited until everyone else had left the chamber before allowing Leo to the steps. Trapped at the back of the group, he tried to hurry forward but the men in front of him would not be rushed.

  The last to arrive at the mouth of the cave, Leo caught sight of the final preparations. Nara’s hands and feet were lashed together. A rope was tied to her wrists, harnessed to the back of the ragged pony he’d seen earlier. The pony hadn’t been delivering supplies, as he had presumed, it had been sent as a means of execution. It stood at the mouth of the cave, unsettled by the commotion, kicking at the dusty path and snorting. Nara would be dragged to her death.

  Zabi was at the front of the crowd, either by accident or design. She would be made to watch, along with the other soldiers, some fifty or so, gathered for this spectacle. Leo pushed forward. A gun was pointed at him, cautioning him to remain back. He called out in the direction of the council members.

  — I have a proposal!

  The leader shook his head.

  — You think us cruel? How do the Communists deal with their enemies? They torture them. They shoot them. Many thousands of Afghans have died. Many thousands will die. Your soldiers kill innocent families in the hope of killing one fighter. There is nothing you can say in her defence. There is no defence. She is a traitor. There is no deal to be made. You have no proposal that will interest us.

  One of the elders slapped the pony and it began to move. Nara was pulled off her feet, falling to the ground, her face cut open on the cave floor, unable to scream, her mouth gagged. Leo cried out, as loud as he could manage:

  — How many guns would buy her life?

  The pony was walking faster, whipped on by the others. Nara was dragged out of the cave, pulled down the rough grit path, her nose filling with dirt. No one had heard Leo, or paid him any attention. He cried out again:

  — How many guns would buy her life?

  The council leader laughed at Leo.

  — For ten thousand machine guns and one thousand mortars you can have the woman.

  The elders laughed. Leo replied:

  — We have a deal. If you call an end to this!

  The elders stopped ghing, looking at Leo, trying to figure out if he was serious. Leo added:

  — Ten thousand guns, more perhaps.

  The leader raised his arm.

  — I wish to hear what he has to say.

  With the command from the council, the pony was stopped. Nara had been dragged at least twenty metres. She was not moving. Zabi had squeezed both hands into fists, positioned over her eyes. The leader walked up to Leo. He smelt of tobacco. Up close, Leo realized he was much younger than he appeared, his skin cracked, his beard grey, but he was younger than Leo.

  — You are only delaying her death by a matter of seconds if what you say has no interest to us.

  It was Leo’s last chance.

  — You have said that the Soviet Union wants me dead. That is true. You admit I’m a valuable hostage. I agree. Ask yourself what would be the worst thing that could happen in their eyes?

  The leader of the council shrugged.

  — The worst has already happened. We have captured you alive. You will tell us the things you know.

  — I could tell you the specifications of the machine guns on the Hind helicopters. I could mark troop movements on maps. I could give you most of this information in a matter of hours. But that will not give you weapons or mortars, or the ammunition you need. However, consider this. What would happen if the Soviet Union’s pre-eminent adviser defected to the United States, if you took me across the border to Pakistan?

  The man shook his head.

  — This is a trick.

  — No, it is a genuine proposal. Imagine what would happen if I convinced the Americans to support your fight.

  — How would you do that?

  — By telling them the truth about the war. By explaining what is at stake for the Soviet Union, their main adversary.

  — What is at stake?

  — They have a chance here, in Afghanistan, to deal a blow to the Soviet military machine without provoking a nuclear war. The Soviet military authorities know this to be true. Nothing scares them more. They are counting on American indifference to a country so far away from them. They are hoping that the experience of Vietnam will make them too cautious to realize the potential of this conflict. I will make the Americans understand that this is an opportunity they cannot afford to miss.

  Leo had been a war hero, risking his life countless times to defend the Soviet Union against the advance of Fascist troops. Now he was betraying that homeland, putting Soviet troops in danger, but he had not fought in order that his country might bomb villages and burn farmland.

  The council members came together, discussing the idea, murmurs of their conversation echoing around the cave. The other young soldiers remained silent, neutral, as they had been throughout the process, never expressing an opinion. Leo could not look at Nara. She was face down, her clothes ripped. There were cuts on her legs. He was not sure if she was conscious. Finally the council returned their attention to Leo, trying to understandefection ideologically.

  — We find the idea hard to understand. Why would you bring shame upon yourself? You would be a traitor.

  — My motivation is no concern to you.

  — We must believe that you a
re sincere.

  — Ask Fahad Mohammad. He saw me attack my superior officer with a knife. I wounded him. I am already a traitor.

  — That could be a trick.

  — To what end? Ask the man who saw what happened if he thinks my actions were trickery.

  The council turned to Fahad Mohammad.

  — What do you think?

  — If it is a trick, I do not understand it.

  A careful reply, but not an endorsement, and Leo needed to work harder to convince his audience.

  — I will do what I promise. I will defect. Tell me what you think of my proposal.

  — It interests us.

  Leo pressed his case.

  — You need American support. You need their weapons, new guns, not the ancient rifles that can’t fire straight. Not the rusty pistols you carry on your belts. You need missiles. You need a way of damaging the helicopters and jets.

  The elder nodded, musing on the idea.

  — How would you achieve this? The Americans will not trust you.

  — Take us across the border, into Pakistan. I know that you are receiving support from the Pakistani secret police. They must have contacts within the CIA.

  — They might.

  — Then you have the means to contact the CIA. You can use the Pakistanis to set up a meeting.

  — And then what? How can we trust the word of a traitor?

  — You don’t have to trust me. The CIA would not protect me unless I was valuable to them. I will tell them everything, or they will turn me loose.

  The elder asked:

  — What is it you want in return?

  — Nara Mir and the girl would come with me.

  The suggestion caused outrage. Before they could argue, Leo continued:

  — My suggestion offends your sense of what is right and wrong. Yet I know that your decision will be pragmatic. Many of you abhor drugs, yet you trade them for weapons. You abhor the notion of American support to defeat your enemies, yet you know without their support this war will be far harder to win. Not only will my defection to the United States be a psychological blow to the Soviet Union, a propaganda coup for you, I will tell the United States what they need to hear. This is their only opportunity to fight without sending a single soldier. They can cause great problems for the Soviet Union while appearing to be neutral. Would they believe you if you said the same thing? They know you want money and weapons. Would they believe me? I want nothing.

  — Everyone wants something. And you want her. Foreigners come here and collect our women, that is how it works, is it not? You wish her as your wife?

  — My wife is dead.

  — Then you wish to take another? You want her?

  — She is my friend.

  — A friend?

  The council laughed at this.

  — We all need friends.

  The leader stopped laughing, sinking into serious consideration.

  — We will vote.

  Hindu Kush Mountain Range

  Afghanistan–Pakistan Border

  The Khyber Pass

  1000 Metres above Sea Level

  180 Kilometres South-East of Kabul

  30 Kilometres North-West of Peshawar

  Next Day

  They were to cross the border at night. Fahad Mohammad had volunteered to escort them to Pakistan, adamant that he should be the one to take them. His involvement surprised Leo. The hostility he’d showed towards them was intense – he made no secret of his hatred for them and appeared quite content to watch Nara die. He’d lost three brothers to Soviet operations in three days. Though he was unaware of the precise intimacy with which Leo and Nara were involved in the capture and death of his eldest brother in Kabul, Dost Mohammad, they were agents of a murderous infidel occupation and he hated them as deeply as the helicopter pilots who’d incinerated his village, killing women, children and the elderly. Despite this hatred, he’d put himself forward for the mission after the council of elders ruled in favour of Leo’s proposal. The council was divided: a slim majority believed American support could influence the future of the war, the others considered it an insult to ask for help. However, they abided by the vote and insisted upon sending one of their best soldiers, appropriate for a mission of this importance.

  Fahad Mohammad would take them to the Pakistani city of Peshawar, where he’d discuss the intelligence proposal with their most important allies, the ISID, the Pakistani intelligence agency with whom they were working closely, receiving arms and devising strategy. If the Pakistanis agreed with the proposal, and their support was crucial, they would contact CIA operatives, none of whom this fiercely nationalistic faction of the mujahedin had ever met or had any dealings with. Forming a bridge to them through Leo’s defection might create a vital connection and the council was keen that their group of fighters be among the first to receive American support, should it ever arrive, appreciating the danger of a rival group being armed while they received nothing. Their eye was not merely on defeating the Soviets, which they believed was inevitable, they were also jockeying for power among themselves, playing a long game that stretched into the aftermath of the occupation’s collapse.

  Once they reached Peshawar, Leo would make his case for defection. It would not be easy. As he understood the American position, there was strong domestic resistance to involvement in Afghanistan, particularly after Vietnam, a position exploited by the Soviets, aware that the American public would not tolerate another remote and expensive military campaign. President Carter had issued an ultimatum th would he United States would boycott the Moscow Olympics if Soviet troops didn’t pull out, setting a February deadline. When the deadline passed an official announcement confirmed that no American athletes would take part. Even this symbolic protest had been highly controversial, and if such a passive measure was questioned by the American public, it was hard to imagine them supporting military action. Afghanistan was remote geographically and its strategic importance remote conceptually. It was possible the CIA would show little interest in his defection, or that they’d consider accepting Leo far too politically provocative in the current atmosphere of tension. If the CIA failed to accept the offer, Fahad would surely kill them, a silent threat that hung over the mission. However, that problem was for another day. They were not in Peshawar yet.

  To leave Afghanistan they were following the Silk Road, one of the world’s oldest trading routes, fought over for thousands of years. With mountains on either side impassable to any except the most experienced climbers, the Khyber Pass was a strategic gateway for armies, rogues, merchants and exiles. With a young girl among their number the pass was their only option, they could not brave the mountains. There were two roads, one for the traditional caravans and wagons, and another for trucks. Both were in the hands of the Soviet forces and the pass was heavily fortified with patrols and checkpoints. Fahad’s plan was to shadow the road, guiding them through the slopes on either side. In some places the landscape would pose no problem but in others the cliffs were precipitous. Their journey depended upon striking a balance between distance from the Soviet forces and the perils of the landscape. The further away from the pass the more treacherous the climb. The closer to the pass the more likely they would be discovered.

  There was no moonlight, no stars – the night sky was obscured by a violent storm that had swept in unexpectedly, angry clouds twisted and coiled not far above them, moving at speed. Flashes of lightning were the only moments of brightness, like sparks from a flint failing to catch. The wind was cold and strong, opposing their journey, and they walked bent against its force. Progress was slow. Close to the Soviet positions, they had to make the journey by the cover of darkness. Attack helicopters had been circling the mountain paths during the day, firing bursts from their machine-guns at men on the trails. Fahad claimed that not since the early days of the invasion had he seen so many Soviet forces preoccupied with the border. Leo wondered if the helicopters were hunting for them. Captain Vashchenko might ha
ve guessed their intention. With such intense military pressure it was essential they make the crossing before daylight.

  After several hours of walking and climbing, scrambling on their hands and knees, they were crossing a flat hilltop spotted with thin scrub. To the right the landscape dropped sharply, falling down to the Soviet-controlled road, and they could see the lights of troops. Fortunately the wind concealed any noise they made. But for fear of being seen they could not use a torch – even the flame of a match would be visible. Fahad was in front, seeming to sense the path instinctively, and they were entirely dependent on his knowledge of the terrain. Abruptly he stopped walking, looking up at the unsettled sky.

  — The storm is getting worse.

  Leo asked:

  — Do we have enough time to reach shelter?

  — There is no shelter until we’re inside Pakistan.

  — Should we go bak?

  Accustomed to the mujahedin’s stoicism, Leo expected the idea to be rebuffed immediately. Yet Fahad gave the idea serious thought:

  — We have travelled too far. It is as difficult to go back as to go forward .

  — Then we continue.

  About to step forward, Leo felt a tug on his hand. It was Zabi. In the darkness he couldn’t see her, able only to hear her say:

  — Listen.

  He could hear the storm. Then, among the noise, was a mechanical sound – jet engines. Though it was pitch-black Leo stared up at the sky in the direction of the plane, hoping the lightning would illuminate the enemy. The edges of the Khyber Pass were an obvious bombing target: the terrain was always a likely concentration of weapons and narcotic smugglers, or in their case, political refugees.