Agent 6

Nangarhar Province Rodat District 15 Kilometres South of Jalalabad 3100 Metres above Sea Level

Though Leo had not been executed, he was far from being safe. Coiled on the cave floor, Leo clasped his stomach. The cramps came in waves. His need for opium felt as desperate as being underwater, unable to breathe – how could he deny his body’s impulse to surface? Opium was as natural to him as air to his lungs. His body no longer understood how to function without the drug, physically and psychologically. He’d forgotten how an ordinary person exists hour by hour, how they cope with their frustrations and anxieties. Through narcotics, he’d banished pain and suppressed grief. For seven opium summers he had no needs other than the smoke inhaled into his lungs at the end of every day, achieving a state of numbness, necessary if he was not to attempt something foolhardy. He’d abandoned his grand plans, his journey to America, and put aside the ambition that he might one day find the man who murdered his wife. Though he might not have admitted as much, pretending he was merely delaying the journey, the truth was that he’d dropped the investigation, living solely by the clock of his addiction and the daily routine of oblivion. Without the drug the stark reality of his failure returned. He had not achieved the one thing that mattered most – justice for Raisa – the only thing he could offer her. Instead, he was a grown man who’d made an infant of himself, creating an opium womb.

As Fahad Mohammad had led them out of the valley the withdrawal symptoms had begun, slowly at first, the body’s gentle reminder that he was an addict. When the warnings were ignored the symptoms became far worse. Leo shivered as they walked, his whole body trembling with cold even though they were travelling at great speed. Fahad’s pace was so remarkable, so quick, his legs so long and nimble that from time to time they needed to jog just to keep up. Leo and Nara took turns in carrying the miracle girl, whose name was Zabi. In shock, bewildered, she made no complaints and asked no questions. When Fahad was out of earshot, Nara wanted to talk to Leo but he was in no state to discuss anything. By dusk his condition had worsened dramatically. His whole body shook with each step and it took concentration just to keep on the path, one foot in front of the other, as his skin turned clammy and his brow dripped with sweat. The first air strikes occurred on the cusp of darkness, a burning bright glow and a chemical-fire sunrise. They paused briefly to look back at the fire sweeping the slopes, the bursts of light, at houses obliterated and fields turned to ash, villages scooped up and tossed into the air. Fahad ordered them to run as the strikes drew closer. Aided by the darkness they’d continued their escape into the night. They could hear, feel and smell the bombing, at one point a bomb detonated so close the entire path was covered with smoke. Fighter jets streaked the night sky, targeting the paths they’d only recently crossed, sending vibrations through the landscape as if this war was against the soil and rock of Afghanistan.

Leo begged for a break, stopping by a river, pretending to sip from the water. He took out his wrap of opium and even though his pipe was smashed, he tried to fashion a way to burn it only to have Fahad grab the drug, crush it in his hand and toss the remains into the river. Crazed with anguish, as though he’d lost the love of his life, Leo plunged into the water, blindly scraping the surface for any trace and pitifully crying out.

Sobbing like a child, waist-deep in the river, he’d turned around to see the three of them staring at him. He was too sick to feel humiliation. Fahad moved off without a word, carrying the girl. Nara waited for a few seconds and then followed, leaving Leo alone. Her departure was fortunate since Leo had lost control of his bodily functions, squatting in the river, throwing up at the same time as being struck by diarrhoea. When he eventually left the river he staggered after the others unable to straighten his back, lurching rather than walking, certain with each step that he’d fall to the ground and never stand again.

By the time they were allowed to rest, he was delirious, barely able to comprehend his surroundings, with no idea where they were or in which direction they were travelling. They’d been given shelter in a village, but he hadn’t slept, throwing up at regular intervals until there was nothing in his stomach, coughing up bile and acidic spit, before returning to his foetal position on the jute mattress. At dawn Fahad hurried them on after a breakfast of flat bread and tea. Leo had refused the food, taking only small sips of sweet tea, unable to hold anything else down.

The second day of walking had been worse than the first. Not only did Leo feel sick, he was weak and exhausted. Fahad would not stop and would not slow down, always demanding that they walk faster. The air strikes entered their second campaign but the Soviet bombers were always one mountain range behind. Leo had staggered on without a thought in his mind except for the image of the opium on the surface of the river. Faced with a steep climb up a mountain path he was at the point of collapse. He felt no joy when Fahad had announced that they’d arrived. He merely allowed his legs to give way, falling to the ground at the mouth of the cave.

*

Feverish, huddled on the cold stone floor, Leo slowly realized that there was a hand resting on his shoulder. He rolled over to see that he’d been brought a steel cup of sweet black tea and as he clutched the cup, feeling the heat through the palms of his hands, he saw the woman who’d brought it to him. He sat up, spilling the tea on his fingers, ignoring the pain, astonished as Raisa wiped his brow with a cold rag. He wanted to touch her but feared that she was an apparition and any contact would make her shimmer and vanish. Dumb with joy, he watched her lips as she spoke, each word a miracle. She said:

– Try to drink your tea while it’s hot.

Leo obeyed, sipping the sweet black tea, while never taking his eyes off her, not even for a second.

– I was dreaming about the first time we met. Do you remember?

– When we met?

– I stepped off at the wrong metro stop just to ask your name. You told me it was Lena. For a whole week, I told everyone that I was in love with a beautiful woman called Lena. Then I ran into you again, on the tramcar. I don’t know why I was so determined, when it was obvious you wanted to be left alone. I was sure that if I could just talk to you then you’d like me and if you liked me a little, perhaps, one day, you’d love me. And if that happened, if a person like you could love me, then how could I be a terrible person? When I found out you’d lied about your name I didn’t care. I was so excited to discover your real name. I told everyone that I was in love with a beautiful woman called Raisa. They laughed at me because last week it had been Lena and then this week it was Raisa. But it was always you.

Leo didn’t dare to blink, forcing his eyes to remain open, as if a flutter of his eyelids could wipe her from existence. Clutching the tea tight to prevent him from taking her hands, he said:

– I’m sorry I didn’t make it to New York. I tried. If you’d been by my side I know we would have made that journey. The truth is I’ve never amounted to anything without you. Loving you was the only achievement I’ve ever been proud of. Since you died, I’ve been a distracted father and worst of all, I’ve become an agent once more – doing a job you despise.

As he began to cry, the image of Raisa became blurred. He cried out:

– Wait!

He wiped the tears away only to see that the woman in front of him was no longer his wife but Nara Mir.

Nara sat silent for some time before asking:

– Raisa was the name of your wife?

Leo closed his eyes. Immersed in darkness, he breathed deeply.

– Raisa was the name of my wife.

In all the years of smoking opium he’d never been gifted with a clear vision of his wife, never experienced a hallucination, never seen her before him or felt her near him even for a fleeting moment. Now, without any drug, she’d been by his side. It was wrong to call these withdrawal symptoms – the opposite was true, opium had been a withdrawal from the world. These were the symptoms of a man returning to the world.

He stood up, slowly. With one hand on the cave wall, he found his way outside. It was night. The moon was bright. Before him, the valley dropped down steeply and in the distance mountains rose like the spine of a dormant prehistoric monster. Village fires flickered like disgraced stars tossed down from the sky while those in the heavens sparkled brilliantly, as numerous as he’d ever seen. No longer numb, Leo felt childlike wonder at this view. He was not yet done with this world. Not only did he feel it, he believed it too.

Next Day

Nara sat at the entrance of the cave watching the sunrise. Light sliced by the jagged mountaintops into uneven beams promised a perfect day. The sight of sun gave her no pleasure and no feelings of hope. On the run, chased by the bombs of the Soviet aircraft, exhausted, she had no time or energy to dwell upon her actions. Reaching safety, taking shelter in the cave, she could think only of her decision to call out for Captain Vashchenko. The sound of her words echoed in her head: her voice was awful, full of self-satisfied pride, deluded belief that she was performing a valuable duty to the State. There is something you must see.

She’d beckoned him to an injured girl knowing his intentions exactly. He would shoot the girl as he had shot the boy. She could not claim ignorance as an excuse. She had been prepared to watch the execution of a seven-year-old girl.

Her identity had changed and there was no undoing the transformation. Even when her family had plotted her death, observing the hatred in her father’s eyes she had never doubted the nature of her character. She was a good person. She had been wronged and misunderstood. Her intentions were noble. She was not like the men who attacked her: she was not like her father planning her death or her mother silently standing by. She would not be defined by rage and anger. She would be motivated by hope, idealism, and she was not afraid to make a stand. Yes, the repercussions were that she was alone and unloved. Better to be isolated than to compromise her beliefs, striving for acceptance from those she did not respect. There was no value in love that was dependent upon pretence. For as long as she could remember she’d been someone who did the right thing, no matter how difficult that made her life. That was no longer true.

The conclusion was inescapable. Having lost one family, she was not prepared to lose another – the State. She was a coward. It begged the question of whether her values had been nothing more than personal ambition reconfigured as ideology. Just as she’d been unable to resist the captain’s decision, she’d been unable to support Leo’s resistance, standing on the side, incapable of making a stand. She was a traitor in the eyes of the Communist state and a traitor in the eyes of the Afghan people. To Leo, she was morally weak. Had she worked so hard at her education in order that she might manufacture justifications for the murder of a young girl? Was this why she’d read so many books? Her sense of shame was intense. The feeling was akin to grief, as though her identity had died. The prospect of young Zabi waking up and asking for breakfast, unaware of the fact that Nara had called out for her execution, made it difficult to breathe. She sat, snatching gulps of air.

Nara stood up, leaving the cave and moving down the path. They’d not been guarded since any attempt to run was futile, even with several hours’ head start there was nowhere to hide. They would be tracked down and killed. Only a few paces away the narrow mountain trail narrowed, with a sheer vertical drop of some thirty or so metres to one side. Arriving at the drop Nara looked down. Without any sense of self-pity she accepted it was the only option remaining. She no longer knew how to live. She no longer knew her place in this world. She could neither go back to the Communist regime, nor could she go back to the little girl. She closed her eyes, ready to step out, falling to her death.

– What are you doing?

Startled, Nara turned around. Zabi was standing close by. Responding in an uncertain voice, Nara said:

– I thought you were asleep?

Zabi raised her arms, displaying the burns.

– My skin hurts.

The pale ointment that had been used to treat the burns had rubbed off. The brittle scabs and damaged skin were exposed. There were raw patches of red. Nara ushered her back, shooing her away.

– Go to the cave. Please, go back.

– But I can’t sleep.

– Go to the cave!

At the sound of Nara raising her voice, Zabi slowly turned around.

Alone again, Nara looked down at the drop. Instead of death, her mind was full of thoughts of how to make a new ointment. Without one, Zabi would scratch the scabs and the wounds could become infected. Nara knew a little about the natural properties of mountainside vegetation, taught to her by her grandfather when she was a young girl. She’d cherished those lessons. He knew every plant that grew on the Afghan mountains; during his years as a smuggler he’d been forced to survive off the vegetation on several occasions. Instead of thoughts of suicide, she recalled that juniper berries could be used to create a soothing balm, particularly when mixed with natural oil, such as that pressed from nuts or seeds.

She turned her back on the drop, and ran to catch up with the tiny figure of Zabi. Nara called out to her:

– Wait!

Zabi stopped walking. Nara bent down, examining the girl’s skin.

– It’s important you don’t scratch.

Zabi whimpered.

– It itches.

Hearing the girl’s distress, Nara began to cry, unable to stop.

– I’ll make you a new ointment. And then it won’t itch any more, I promise.

Confused by Nara’s tears, Zabi stopped crying.

– Why are you crying?

Nara couldn’t answer. Zabi asked:

– Does your skin hurt too?

Nara wiped away her tears.

Having slept for the first time in three days, Leo sat up awkwardly, his muscles aching. The cramps were still painful. His hands trembled from dehydration, lack of food, exhaustion. His lips were cracked, his skin broken. His nails were black with dirt. His hair was wild. Without the aid of a mirror, he began to tidy himself up. He used a splintered match to scrape the dirt from his nails, one by one, a thick line of grime accumulating on the match, wiped on the ground. Using a cup of cold water he made an attempt at washing his face, picking the patches of dry skin from his lips and straightening his hair.

The voice inside him demanding opium was a constant nagging rather than a deafening demand, now quieter – more like a distant whisper. He felt strong enough to ignore it. Another voice had returned, his own, and it demanded he concentrate on the matter at hand, escape, not into an opium seclusion, but escape from their predicament. First, he needed to assess his situation: he was not sure how many soldiers there were in this base. He was not even sure where they were located.

As his thoughts turned to the possibility of escape a question arose: to where and to what end? For so many years his life had been directionless, it was hard to remember a time when he was driven by dreams and ambitions of his own. He could no longer drift through days and weeks, in a haze of opium smoke. There were decisions to be made. He had a new family to look after. The plans of the Soviet defector returned to his thoughts, the aspiration of crossing the border into Pakistan and taking asylum with the Americans, seeking their protection in exchange for the information he had about the occupation of Afghanistan. It would serve two ends: survival and an opportunity to reach New York. Yet while that option would protect Nara and Zabi, there would be grave risks to his daughters in Moscow if he defected. His mind had grown slack with opiate-laziness and was unaccustomed to such dilemmas. Sensing the enormity of the journey ahead, Leo felt hungry, a sensation one that yesterday he would’ve sworn he’d never experience again.

Nara and Zabi were sitting at the mouth of the cave. He joined them, discreetly noting his surroundings and the number of soldiers. The girls were eating shlombeh, milk curd with flat bread studded with spices. Though he felt better, he decided against milk curd, instead ripping pieces of the warm flat bread. He ate slowly, chewing carefully. The dough was dense and pungently seasoned with crushed cardamom seeds. He ripped another fragment, the oil turning his fingertips yellow. Watching him eat, the young girl said:

– Are you better now?

Leo finished chewing before replying.

– Much better.

– What was wrong with you?

– I was sick.

Nara said to Zabi:

– Let him eat.

But Zabi continued her questioning.

– What were you sick with?

– Sometimes a person can become sick from giving up. They’re not suffering from a disease. They have no sense of purpose, or direction, despair can make a person sick.

Zabi concentrated on everything he said as carefully as if it was the wisdom of an ancient professor. She noted:

– You speak my language very well for an invader.

Zabi was forthright, blunt in her observations and fearless for a girl without a family, so far from home, a home that she’d witnessed being destroyed. Leo answered:

– When I arrived in this country I was a guest. There was no Soviet army. No military garrisons. And I set about learning your language. But you are right. Now that my country has invaded, I am no longer a guest.

– Is Len-In your god?

Leo smiled at the way in which she pronounced the name. He gently shook his head.

– No, Lenin is not my god. How did you know that name?

Zabi took another spoonful of the milk curd.

– A friend told me. He was going to compose a poem. He’s dead now. He died in the attack. My family is dead too.

– I know.

Zabi made no more mention of her family or the attack that had killed them. She ate the milk curd without any showing any outward display of grief. She possessed a degree of introspection unusual in a young child, perhaps a form of retreat from the horror of the events she’d witnessed. She would need help. She was in shock. At the moment, she was behaving as though events unfolding were quite normal. Unsure what to say to her, he noted the burns on Zabi’s hands and arms and head – they’d been freshly covered with an ointment. He asked:

– May I?

He took her arm and smelled the ointment.

– What is it?

Zabi said:

– It stops the burns from itching. So I don’t scratch them and they can heal, that’s what Nara says.

– Where did you find the ointment? Did the soldiers give it to you?

Nara answered:

– We made it, while you were sleeping. From almond oil, boiled juniper berries and some flowers we found outside. The soldiers gave us the oil. We found the rest of the ingredients. Zabi insisted on the flowers.

Zabi added:

– We didn’t know what kind of flowers they were. I’ve never seen them before. I’ve never been this high up before. This is the first mountain I’ve climbed.

Nara stroked back Zabi’s hair.

– I tried to explain that just because something is pretty, it doesn’t make it harmless.

Zabi replied:

– Before I could use it in the medicine, she ate a flower, just to test to see if it was harmful. I watched her put it on her tongue and then swallow it. The petals were blue.

Zabi paused, looking at her fingers.

– Did you know that the colour red tastes bitter?

Without any preamble, apparently for no reason at all, she began to cry, unable to stop. Nara put an arm around her, careful to avoid her burns. Whatever Leo planned to do, he would have to do it with them. They would come with him. He would not leave them behind.

After breakfast, Leo waited for a chance to speak to Nara alone. While Zabi reapplied the ointment, he took his opportunity.

– Walk with me.

They left the cave, following the path down the mountainside, reaching the steep drop. Despite Leo’s urgency, Nara seemed distracted. He touched her arm, trying to get her to focus, unsure how long they had.

– Nara?

She looked up, saying:

– You find it hypocritical of me to look after Zabi as if nothing was wrong. I tried to have her killed and now I tend to her wounds? Tell me, how should I behave?

– Nara, you made a terrible mistake. I have been in the same position as you. I have made similar mistakes believing that I was serving a greater good. However, the people who I wronged did not survive. You have an opportunity. Perhaps she is a miracle – she survived.

– I will always know what I did, even if she doesn’t.

– That is true. You must find a way to live with that. It is possible, difficult, but she will need someone to look after her. She is alone. You could love herif she will let you.

No guards had come after them and Leo was pleased that security seemed relaxed. While Nara was still brooding over her decision, he changed the subject to the prospect of escape.

– What are the soldiers planning to do with us? Have they said anything?

Nara shook her head.

– They’ve said very little. They’ve treated us well enough. They’ve fed us. They gave us the almond oil we used for the ointment.

– And Fahad Mohammad?

– He’s here. They haven’t allowed us further inside. When we arrived they provided us with a blanket and told us not to light a fire. They were worried it might be seen.

– And Zabi? How is she?

– She’s upset…

Leo interrupted:

– I mean, is she strong enough to run?

He peered down the path, assessing their position and altitude. A man leading a mountain pony was climbing the trail towards them, the pony sighing from the exertion, laden with supplies. Nara was perplexed by his question.

– Run where?

– We can’t stay here.

– To escape?

– Yes.

– How far do you think we’d get? They know these trails. They know every village from here to Pakistan. We wouldn’t stand a chance. Why do you think they haven’t bothered to guard us? Or tie us up?

– I’ve made difficult journeys before. But I won’t do it without you.

– I don’t know what you’ve done in the past. This is my country. You must listen to me. I am not afraid of dying. But what you suggest is impossible.

Before Leo could press his case, a group of mujahedin emerged from the caves. The tall figure of Fahad Mohammad was among them. He did not seem concerned that they were outside the cave.

– A jirga has convened.

A jirga was a council, a decision-making body composed of elders. Leo asked:

– You wish me to stand before it?

– The three of you will stand before it. Follow me.

Entering the depths of the cave network for the first time, Leo was impressed by the degree of sophistication in its development. Further inside there were timber steps, a drop of at least ten metres to an uneven passageway – a narrow man-made corridor, blasted with dynamite and supported with scaffolding. There were extensive munitions and food stocks in several uneven-sized stores on either side. At the end of the passageway there were further steps down, leading into a natural chamber, a giant dome, as if a massive air bubble had been trapped in the rock when the mountains were created. There was running water, a mountain stream. The air was cool and damp. There had to be a natural ventilation source for they were too deep ino the mountain for air from the entrance to offer enough circulation. The base was an ingenious fusion of the natural environment and the man-made, enabling this central chamber to be inhabited deep inside the mountain with a thousand metres of rock and snow above them as protection.

Leo counted six men. Like elders in a village, they wore no uniforms, with mismatched weapons by their sides, some with pistols so ancient it was hard to consider them anything other than symbols of war, others with rifles, all crouched in a typical stance, legs tucked under them, bodies hidden beneath thick pattu, blankets wrapped around them like seed pods. The lighting in the cave was electric so as not to foul the air with burning torches. A system of wires ran along the floor connecting batteries – it was a dim, bat-like existence, and Leo took a moment to adjust, before being able to observe their faces. He was presented first while Nara and Zabi were held back at the entrance of the domed chamber. The man in the middle of the council, apparently the leader, stood up:

– 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 are 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.