Ghazan sits on his horse, rifle in one hand, walkie-talkie in the other.
Zarek rides past, evaluates our condition. He sees Robyn is alright. To me, he nods approval. “Once more, I am in your debt.”
I watch Zarek ride off. When he has gone, I turn to Robyn.
“What did he mean by that?” I ask.
Robyn stands in the riverbed, carrying the AK47 in one hand. The wind blows her headscarf. Like a veil, it flutters across her nose and mouth. Her blue eyes stare at me.
“Haven’t you figured it out by now?” she says. “After everything I’ve told you?”
“No more games, Robyn.”
“Nothing more to tell, Breed. I’m Zarek’s wife.”
28
The Warranty
North Arwal Valley
Thursday, 2230
Zarek made camp two hundred yards from the spot where Robyn and I had sheltered. Shahzad’s force was decimated. The Mujahedeen spent the entire afternoon bayoneting the survivors and setting a security perimeter.
Every dead Talib was examined. Shahzad could not be found.
It took me hours to recover from the shock of Robyn’s revelation. When the fighting ceased, we climbed out of the riverbed. The air reeked of the metallic smell of blood, the sharp scent of cordite. Zarek rallied his troops and issued instructions.
The hour grows late. Zarek and his men regale each other and Koenig with tales of the day’s battle. I meet Robyn’s eyes across the campfire. Jerk my head toward the river.
We rise and walk to the edge of the riverbank. Stare at the fast-moving water, flowing silver in the light of the moon. I sling my rifle, thrust my hands into my pockets for warmth.
I don’t have to say a word. Without prompting or preamble, Robyn launches into her story.
Despite their Muslim beliefs, the Pashtun are inherently monogamous. A man takes a second wife only in cases where there are deep issues with his first marriage. If a second marriage is ill-conceived, it can lead to lasting enmity between families. Blood vendettas.
Zarek and Wajia loved each other. During their twelve years of marriage, Wajia had not been able to conceive a child. She encouraged him to take a second wife to bear him children. The warlord refused. Preoccupied with other matters, he pushed off the decision.
When Zarek kidnapped Robyn, his sole intention was to use her to draw the United States into negotiations. He was playing the old game of bait-and-switch. He would open negotiations for a hostage, then segue into negotiations for peace.
Wajia found she liked Robyn. The American girl’s tomboyish nature, her clumsy, self-conscious femininity appealed to the Pashtun woman. More importantly, she saw a girl who could never hope to usurp her position as Zarek’s first wife. Let Zarek take the American hiking and shooting. What interest did Wajia have in such things?
The situation was perfect. Wajia studied Robyn carefully. Concluded that Zarek and Robyn would produce attractive, healthy offspring. Nor was there a question of the girl’s sexual appetite, or Zarek’s sexual interest.
A year after Robyn’s kidnapping, Wajia broached the subject to Zarek. Indeed, she suspected Zarek and Robyn had already engaged in sexual relations. By Sharia law, he had the right to take Robyn without marriage. The issue was irrelevant.
The issue that mattered most to Zarek was political. Would marriage to an American hostage, a soldier, affect negotiations? Of course they would. The bait-and-switch had better work. Otherwise, Zarek would have to walk away, keep Robyn, and incur the wrath of America. What of it? It would not be the first time Zarek Najibullah had angered great powers. In these mountains, Zarek was lord and master, leader of the faithful.
Zarek made his decision.
One beautiful autumn day, he took Robyn riding to a secluded spot on the river. There, they picked their way onto the riverbed and sat by the flowing water.
“Come, Sergeant Trainor,” he said. “Face me.”
There was nothing unusual in the formality of Zarek’s speech. It reflected the English he had learned as a small boy at school in Kabul. What surprised Robyn was the gravity in his eyes.
Robyn and Zarek sat facing each other, knees touching.
“Pay attention, Sergeant Trainor. I will only say this once.”
“Of course, Zarek.” Robyn was flustered. “What is it?”
“Very well.” Zarek took a deep breath. “I am a simple man. Allah has chosen me to lead the faithful. It is my responsibility to save this land from foreigners. Westerners, and foreigners from other Muslim countries who would use this land for their purposes. More than the lines on paper Westerners call Afghanistan. All the historic lands of our peoples.”
“I understand that,” Robyn said.
“You have become special to me,” Zarek said. “Wajia and I do not want you to leave. I want you to bear my children.”
Robyn had no words. She reached for his hands and took them in hers.
“You accepted, of course.” I kick at pebbles. Some loose shale on the riverbed.
“I’m happy here,” Robyn says. “I love Zarek. His dreams and ambitions inspire me. Wajia is a wonderful woman.”
“Did you discuss how your marriage would complicate negotiations?”
“Of course. I told Zarek there was no way I would go back. If negotiations broke down and America wanted me, they would have to come and take me. Zarek drove off the Soviets. He would drive off the Americans as well.”
“How did you manage Grissom?”
“That,” Robyn says, “became a delicate matter. In the end, we managed it very well.”
Zarek and Robyn were married in the Pashtun tradition. They consummated their union, but agreed not to have children until the negotiations were complete. Grissom was to be brought to the camp in secret. Hooded so he could not locate it. Robyn’s marriage to Zarek would be concealed to facilitate the bait-and-switch. There was never an intention to send her back.
Negotiations between the United States and Abdul-Ali Shahzad were difficult. America courted Shahzad because he dominated the Afghanistan-Pakistan border and hosted Al Qaeda. If he could be turned, it would be a major coup.
Everything went
