back in his bed with a contented smile playing on the corners of his lips.
Marcus gave the taxi driver the name of the hotel and sat back in the battered Toyota with Susan and tried to relax for a while. They had travelled with minimum luggage because Cavendish had supplied them with travellers’ cheques and cash in Afghanis, and they planned to spend her first day doing some shopping. Marcus hoped this would go some way to breaking the tension Susan was feeling.
Cavendish had also given Susan a mobile phone for Afghanistan. He told her it was expensive and would allow her to phone UK all expenses paid. It was a useful gift, one which Susan was determined to use as often as she liked.
Cavendish had given them a copy of Nancy Hatch Dupree’s pocket guidebook, first published in 1965 together with a list of does and don’ts, plus a reminder that Kabul was the most mined city in the world. To wander off the beaten track could mean being blown up. Neither of them had any reason to suspect they might want to walk in unseen places. All Susan wanted to do was talk to people in positions of power and influence and begin her search for David.
Susan’s immediate priority, once she had enjoyed a good night’s sleep, was to make her way over to the British Embassy and arrange an appointment with the Ambassador. She believed that the mention of her brother’s name would be enough to interest the Ambassador to agree to see her. Marcus had agreed to let Susan do the talking and searching, while he kept a low profile.
Susan was disappointed that she was only granted an interview with a diplomatic aide. She explained that she had come over to Kabul to begin searching for her brother. The idea was met with a great deal of condescension, which infuriated Susan but also let her know the kind of obdurate obstacles she was likely to encounter.
Once she had left the embassy, Susan met Marcus in an internet cafe they had picked out earlier in the day. Together they looked up the addresses of the local, Kabul newspapers. There were many listed, but plenty who published in the English language. Susan made a note of those she believed would be willing to listen to her and perhaps give her some column inches to tell her story.
They agreed on the Cheragh Daily first, and phoned the editor who turned out to be a woman. Susan believed a female would listen with sympathy and understanding and probably include something in the paper.
Following that, Susan contacted the editor of the Daily Outlook Afghanistan and enjoyed the same, warm reception and the promise of an interview.
Her third choice was the Kabul Weekly, a magazine that, like the other newspapers also published in English.
All Susan’s appointments were lined up for the following day, so the two of them took the opportunity to explore Kabul with a guide recommended by her hotel, and it was during a lunch stop that the two of them learned the bare truth about Kabul and the chances of ever finding her brother alive.
Their guide was called Ali Seema. He spoke excellent English and proved to be a valuable guide. It was Ali’s accommodating way that relaxed Susan and encouraged her to ask many questions about the chances of ever seeing her brother alive. His reply was disappointing.
‘You will not have noticed how many extra police there are in Kabul because you have just arrived,’ he told her. ‘But in the last month they have moved seven thousand policemen into the city because of the infiltration of Taliban spies and suicide bombers. Although our President denies it, we know that the Taliban are taking up positions just a few miles outside the city; just like they did twenty years ago after the Russians left.’ He looked around with an expression on his face that seemed to be looking ahead to the terror to come and the past they would have to say goodbye to.
‘The Taliban cannot be beaten. They will have a complete stranglehold on the city within six months. No- one will be able to leave the city without their permission. The only people allowed in will be those who fly in on the commercials airlines or with the military. For all your posturing, you Westerners can do nothing; the Taliban will win.’ He made an empty gesture with his hands and shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is unlikely that you will be allowed to find your brother. If you get a mention in the newspapers, you will be lucky.’
Susan protested. ‘But I have already spoken on the telephone with the editors. I have told them why I am here and they have all agreed to see me. Surely they would have said no if they didn’t intend printing anything?’
‘It is not like that here. They are being polite.’ He dipped his head slightly. ‘Yes, they may print something, but it will be very little and probably tucked away in the middle of their papers. Don’t forget, there are suicide bombings here and in Pakistan, which is just a few miles away almost daily. There are Afghan policemen and soldiers from the United Nations being killed by roadside bombs and suicide bombers, not counting innocent civilians. What value is your brother’s situation against that of those brave men who are laying their lives down to protect Afghanistan? No, the newspapers have much to choose from, and I think your brother will be of little interest to their readers.’
‘I’m not going to give up,’ Susan told him a little indignantly. ‘My brother is important to me. I do understand the awfulness of the situation, but I won’t let that get in my way just because of a few Taliban.’
Ali pulled a face and pursed his lips. ‘Please, please do not underestimate them; they are ruthless.’ He leaned forward as if to add meaning to his next remark. ‘And they do not like Western women, believe me.’ He straightened. ‘My advice to you is complete your enquiries, your search, quickly and leave. Your brother has been missing a very long time; it is unlikely you will ever find him.’
Susan looked at Ali with a sad expression on her face. ‘What can I do?’
He shrugged. ‘There is nothing either of you can do because it will be very dangerous for you both. Already the American Embassy is providing secure accommodation for its employees inside the embassy because it is so unsafe for them in the city. Believe me; if the two of you do not leave Afghanistan soon, you will never leave.’
Milan Janov had been left kicking his heels by the events that had unfolded in London. His request to the CIA chief to send a hit team in to take out Abdul and his group had yielded nothing, and in frustration he had contacted Maggot to find out why. Maggot was unhelpful, not because he wanted to be but because he knew nothing; he had not been contacted by Hudson, the CIA man. At that stage, neither of them knew that the organisation had been seriously compromised and effectively shut down, probably for good.
Janov asked Maggot to make some phone calls. He was afraid his own, heavily accented English might give him away, so Maggot had agreed to take on that task. He contacted the American Embassy and asked for Randolph Hudson but was told the Mister Hudson had returned to the United States. He then asked to be put through to the Military Attache’s office. It was then he discovered that Commodore Deveraux had also returned to America.
The alarm bells began to ring and Maggot had that uneasy feeling that the game was up; the security forces were closing in on members of the group. He contacted Janov and they met again in the nightclub in West London.
‘From what you have told me,’ Maggot said to Janov, ‘The Chapter has stopped operating. Well, here at least, and I think it is getting dangerous for anyone who had dealings with them.’
Janov was sat hunched over his Urquell lager. He held the glass firmly and shook it gently so that the amber liquid spun inside the glass.
‘If I take care of my end of the operation,’ he said eventually, ‘could you take it on here in Britain?’
Maggot shook his head firmly. ‘The operation is too big. And even if I wanted to, there will be other members of The Chapter who would prevent it. Someone will pick it up again, but not me.’
They sat in silence as the music drifted over them and dancers moved gracelessly about the pocket handkerchief dance floor. Janov cast around; his bottom lip protruding as he pondered the impact of what Maggot has said. His thoughts were no longer on what pleasures awaited him in the rooms upstairs, but how he could repair the break in their import/export business.
‘Rafiq,’ he said after a while. ‘I have control from Turkmenistan up to all the European ports. Abdul Khaliq has control in Afghanistan. But it is weakening and I believe he is preparing to break away from us. I think it is because of him that we have reached this situation.’
‘If this is true, how can you prevent it?’ Maggot asked him.
Janov shook his head. ‘I cannot, but I can make him pay.’ He lifted his glass and drained it. Maggot turned round towards the bar and attracted the attention of one of the barmaids. He pointed to Janov’s empty glass. The
