SIKES Pasha and Malyar Lodhi presented themselves at the entrance of Khadid's cave after an entire morning of inspections, observations, and interviewing among the Pashtun mujahideen. The Iranian SF officer had been waiting for their arrival, and his young wife Mahzala had prepared refreshments for the meeting.
When the two visitors entered the dwelling, they noted the large Iranian flag mounted on the wall. Western- style tables and chairs for dining augmented the traditional Pashtun pillows and landi mez tables where one sat on the floor for snacks and coffee. Khadid's wife had set one with samosas and puri, a fried bread. She had also included small bags of potato chips and cans of Pepsi.
Sikes thought the choice of food slightly irregular, but the chips intrigued him. Where'd you get them crisps then?
The same place I obtained the Pepsi, Khadid said. Well, let's settle down and discuss the findings from your tour.
After seating himself on a pillow, Sikes wasted no time in grabbing a bag of potato chips. He ripped it open and reached in to grab a handful. Malyar snapped open a can of Pepsi. Khadid had already eaten, and he waited as his guests took their first bites.
Sikes took a sip of the soda. It's a bluddy shame we got no ice, hey? Oh, well, there you are then.
Malyar, who had gotten used to cold drinks while at the boarding school, observed Pashtun decorum by making no mention of the warm Pepsi. Sikes set the can down. The field fortifications here are up to snuff. These Pashtos is real good at setting up a defense.
They learned well during their war with the Soviets, Khadid remarked.
And well they should, Sikes said. And they're right soldierlike with them AK-47s. Got 'em clean as a whistle and shiny as a new penny, yeah? I noticed there's lots o' ammo for 'em and that's good. But I think we should see that all the lads has got pistols. Something like Beretta autos, know what I mean? Nine-millimeter.
Mmm, Khadid said, nodding.
But there ain't no bleeding fire support around here, Sikes complained. I mean, they got machine guns and mortars, but there's too many different types. And there ain't as much as a single bluddy round for any of 'em. Nobody tole me one fucking thing about that.
Mmm, Khadid said again.
And there ain't nearly enough Stingers, Sikes continued. If we go up against the Yanks and we most certainly will one day we're gonna need antiaircraft. O'course, there's that great bloody Russian double-barrel job, but that can't be lugged around these mountains, can it?
It is actually a trophy from a raid on a Soviet advanced post, Khadid said. There is quite a story of how they struggled with it up and down mountain ridges before getting it back here.
Wot a waste o' manpower, Sikes said. He bit into a samosa. Right then. So now we got to get the ol' ball rolling. The first thing is to decide what sort of mortars and machine guns we're gonna have, then get plenty of ammo for 'em, yeah?
Khadid shook his head. We are not anywhere near ready to be worrying about such things.
Sikes's temper snapped. Shit! How the hell are we supposed to carry on a decent war without the proper tools? You explain that to me, hey?
We are not going to conduct a 'war,' Khadid said. We are going to continue our present activities until further notice.
I ain't seen no bluddy activities except when we sprung that ambush and hit that village!
We are escorting caravans through the Afghanistan mountains and across Iran into Turkey, Khadid explained calmly. As a matter of fact, they provide the contacts where we get such luxury items as potato chips and Pepsi.
What are them blokes lugging around?
The cargo is the dried powder made from opium poppies.
So you're telling me we're running drugs, Sikes said.
Yes, Khadid replied. And for a very good reason. We are making plenty of money with this activity. The funds are going to be used to buy those weapons we need from your compatriot Harry Turpin. A large down payment has been made to him and he is busy arranging for the weaponry.
What sort o' weaponry?
Let me think, Khadid said. He was pensive for a moment before continuing. French FA-MAS five-point-six millimeter bullpup rifles...Russian seven-point-six-two PK machine guns...Spanish sixty-millimeter Model L mortars... American Stinger antiaircraft missiles...and that is the lot.
Not bad a'tall, Sikes said. But how'd you get the Yanks to part with them Stingers?
They were left behind in Afghanistan by the American CIA, Khadid explained. Evidently, the Taliban were short of cash and made arrangements for them to be sold to Mr. Harry Turpin.
Sikes laughed. That sly old bastard! Now he's delivered 'em back to Afghanistan and made a bluddy big profit on 'em too.
I wouldn't be surprised, Khadid said. So you can forget any active warfare now, Sikes Pasha. You shall escort opium caravans instead.
Gawd! You mean with bleeding camels?
Khadid shook his head. I believe the smugglers prefer modern transport trucks. They also use machine-gun- mounted Toyota pickup trucks for protection.
Alright then, I'll bide me time, Sikes said. Say! Could I have another bag o' them crisps?
Chapter 16
PASHTUN STRONGHOLD
HOUSE OF GHAZAN BARAKZAI
2 MAY
1500 HOURS
ARCHIE Sikes sat cross-legged on the thick carpet with three other men: Captain Naser Khadid, Jandol Kakar, and Ghazan Barakzai. The boy Malyar Lodhi knelt on his knees behind Sikes, acting as translator. Off in one corner, with their parunay head scarves held demurely across the lower parts of their faces, were Barakzai's wife and his thirteen-year-old daughter Banafsha, who was the subject of the conversation among the males.
Kakar had been appointed Sikes' personal aide only the day before by the Pashtun leader, Orakzai. He was a thirty-year-old mujahideen whose natural leadership had put him in several positions of authority and responsibility over the years. Sikes had pondered the problem of a title for Kakar. Such things were important to the young Brit in his combination fantasy/pragmatic life. At first, he was going to make him a sergeant major, except he already had one. After turning the matter over in his mind, Sikes decided that, as a pasha, what he needed was an adjutant. And that was the title he bestowed on the young mujahideen.
Now, as the closest thing Sikes had for a Pashtun relative, Jandol Kakar was representing him that day in the negotiations for the Englishman's marriage to Banafsha. She had been picked out by Orakzai and literally assigned as his future bride, depending on what sort of deal could be successfully bartered with her father. At that particular moment, the men were sipping hot tea after munching on kofte meatballs.
Sikes, well aware of certain customs regarding women, hadn't given Banafsha a close scrutiny, but the first quick sight of the girl showed a slightly plump youngster with whatever female qualities she had well hidden under her long dress. The glimpse at her face from the side did not give him a complete picture of her features. She looked like one of the many Pakistani schoolgirls in the UK.
As Sikes sat with the men, he noted that his prospective father-in-law, Barakzai, appeared to be in his seventies or eighties, with a snow-white beard and an extremely wrinkled face. Sikes was surprised to learn that the old mujahideen had fought against the Soviets and in reality was only sixty-six years of age. If the marriage in question was a regular one instead of a muta the temporary marriage allowed in Islam the Brit would have been concerned about the very real possibility that his bride would be an old hag by thirty-five.
Now Malyar whispered his translations into Sikes' ear as the talks between Kakar and Barakzai continued. Mr. Barakzai says his daughter is young and pretty...a virgin... if she enters into a muta with you, you will leave her someday... that will make her less desirable to other men and he will have much difficulty to marry her off again, especially if she is left with children... thus, he expects you to pay a generous bridal gift now.
Sikes liked the idea of muta mostly because it meant he would have a handy bit of tail, yet be able to end the
