Agent 6 (30 page)

The Road from Kabul to Jalalabad
100 Kilometres East of Kabul
25 Kilometres West of Jalalabad
Next Day

Leo sat in the back seat of the armoured UAZ beside Nara, the pair of them looking in opposite directions, their bodies angled away from each other. They’d been in this position for most of the long, uncomfortable journey, remaining silent and avoiding eye contact, staring at the view as their convoy had left Kabul, setting out along one of the most dangerous roads in the world, en route to Jalalabad. Forced into taking a diversion around the mountains, humbled before the Afghan landscape, the road passed through the Surobi Gorge where it twisted around sheer drops of several hundred metres, hillsides spotted with burnt-out carcasses of crashed vehicles. This was ambush territory, as lethal as the exit from the Salang Pass where insurgents hid in the mountains, picking off fuel convoys. A military officer was driving with the captain in the front beside him. There was a second vehicle in support with four more Soviet soldiers, a modest military convoy with radios ready to call for air support should it be required. Upon occasion the captain turned around and addressed some comment to Leo, his inscrutable, angular features providing no clue as to whether he guessed what had happened last night. It would be entirely consistent with Soviet protocol if the newly constructed apartment blocks were bugged.

Last night had been a mistake, an impulsive, hot-headed mistake of the most adolescent kind. They shouldn’t have kissed. Nara would surely agree. They’d been lonely, two lost souls in their bleak and empty new apartments. He couldn’t remember exactly how the kiss had happened – they’d been talking, standing close, examining the map spread on the table. She’d pointed out the village where her family came from, the village where she’d never been welcome. She’d shown Leo the route by which her grandfather used to smuggle fleeces into China, explaining how many of the smugglers died in the mountain passes. As though the thought had only just occurred to her, she realized that her grandfather would have known about the plot to kill her and probably approved of it. She became upset, explaining why. It was possible at this point Leo had touched her, merely to comfort her, or he’d brushed her hand by accident. He couldn’t be sure. Though the prelude was muddled in his mind, the kiss was clear, sexual desire for so long repressed by opium, or grief or both. For a moment he’d experienced an uncomplicated pleasure of the kind lost to him, an unstoppable urge, convinced nothing else made sense except following through on this impulse. Yet as he’d gripped her waist he’d felt her body trembling, overwhelmed by emotion, nervous and inexperienced. He’d pulled back. She’d stood before him, her mouth fractionally open as if trying to say something and unable to put together the words. They’d remained opposite each other for what seemed to be several minutes. It might only have been a matter of seconds before finally she’d walked out, quietly closing the door behind her.

After Nara had left Leo had smoked, filling his lungs with opium, his substitute for human contact.hausted, he rested his head against the bulletproof glass and closed his eyes.

*

Leo awoke to find the vehicle stationary. Nara wasn’t beside him. There was no one driving. He stepped out, opening the heavy armoured door. To his side of the road there were the blue-green waters of a lake. On the other side a steep mountain towered above them. They were at Darwanta Dam, not far from their destination, the village of Sokh Rot located in the valley on the other side of the mountain. The captain was standing with his officers, several of whom were smoking. Nara was by the water, gazing into it, separate from the others. Leo walked to her. Hesitant and conscious that the captain was watching them, he was unsure what to say. He touched the water, rippling her reflection.

— It doesn’t have to be a problem.

She didn’t say anything. Leo added:

— I take . . . responsibility. You were blameless in this.

He wanted to stop speaking but couldn’t help adding qualifications to each remark.

— It was a mistake, a mistake that we can put behind us. That’s how I feel.

She said nothing. Leo continued:

— The best thing would be to carry on as we were before. As though it hadn’t happened. We should concentrate on the task at hand. We’re close now.

He quickly qualified:

— I mean, we’re close to the village, rather than you and I, are close, because of last night. I’m not saying we can’t be close, in the future, as friends. I’d like to be your friend. If you want . . .

Leo wished the captain had requested helicopter transport, cutting the journey to minutes rather than hours. But considering the nature of the situation, an alleged massacre by two Hind helicopters, it would have been insensitive to enter the area by air, inflaming the outrage, or sparking panic. Leo did find it odd that the captain had insisted upon handling this problem himself. The intelligence that the massacre was energizing the insurgency in Kabul seemed vague. Equally vague was the notion that forgiveness could be bought with a development project, a medical centre, a school, a well or herds of plump livestock, or why this gesture would take up the captain’s time. Leo had packed nothing other than his pipe and a modest stash of opium, predicting that they would be forced to stay in nearby Jalalabad until the matter was concluded.

Nearing their destination, Captain Vashchenko became unusually talkative. He remarked:

— Do you want to know what my biggest disappointment has been since arriving in this country?

The question was rhetorical and he pressed ahead without waiting for, or wanting, an answer.

— During the invasion I was involved in the siege of the President’s palace, where the 40th Army is based. Where the defector was living – you went there.

Nara had understood enough to offer the name.

— Tapa-e-Tajbeg.

The captain nodded.

— The plan to capture the President. We expected the private guard to surrender. Unlike every other Afghan division they proved resilient. We had to fight our way in. It was the first time I’d ever fought in a royal palace. There was expensive crystal smashed across the floor. Chandeliers were falling from the ceilings. Paintings and works of art were shot to pieces.

The captain laughed.

— Imagine fighting in a museum, that’s what it was like. You’re taking cover behind antiques worth more than I’ll earn in a lifetime. Considering there was not a hope they were going to win, those guards fought bravely. I guess they knew they were going to die whatever happened. We secured the palace room by room. I wanted to be the one who caught or killed the President. What a prize that would’ve been! I made a guess he would be hiding in his bedroom. Doesn’t everyone retreat to the bedroom in times of danger? People associate it with safety, or the most appropriate room to die in. I was wrong. Another member of my team found the President in the bar. He had his own private bar. He was sitting on a chair, his back to the door, drinking a fifty-year-old Scotch. They shot him in the back, careful not to destroy the decanter. We drank the Scotch to celebrate. But I didn’t felt like celebrating. I’m still annoyed I picked the wrong room.

The captain shook his head in regret.

— I’ve never shot a dictator.

Leo remarked:

— You’ve installed another one. Perhaps you’ll get another chance.

To his surprise this amused the captain.

— If the time comes, I’ll be heading straight to his private bar.
He turned around, an unexpressive man allowing himself a modest smirk.

— How about you translate that for her?

It was the last thing the captain had said before leaving Leo and Nara alone last night. He knew that they’d kissed. Leo had been right. The rooms had been bugged.

The Border of Laghman and
Nangarhar Provinces
Village of Sokh Rot
116 Kilometres East of Kabul
9 Kilometres West of Jalalabad
Same Day

Approaching the site of the massacre, the landscape began to change. The trees were no longer flecked with blossom; they were charred – branches scorched black, entire trunks burnt, reduced to charcoal silhouettes like a child’s pencil drawing. At the epicentre the road disappeared, replaced by a series of ash-black craters, circled by jagged stubs, like trolls’ teeth, where the trees had stood.

The captain ordered the car to stop. Leo stepped out, immediately noticing the sharp chemical smell leaching from the ground around him. When the wind blew, fine dust spiralled in the air, coils of black circling around them. Ash crunched underfoot. He caught Nara’s eye. She’d never seen the war outside Kabul. She was shocked. He wondered how long it would take her to justify this destruction, to rationalize it and formulate arguments about its necessity. No doubt the process had already begun.

The mud walls of the houses were not in ruins but altogether missing. In a few cases, on the outskirts, there were remnants, mu heaped in a mound, dried out and cracked by the heat. Leo asked:

— What did this?

The captain was wearing sunglasses and Leo stared at his own distorted reflection in the lens.

— These villages seem serene and quaint, your typical primitive backwater with cow-shit houses and kids chasing goats, pots and pans and bags of rice. This was a terrorist haven. The brothers who came from here were armed with enough explosives to create this kind of destruction, or worse. They were going to bring down an entire dam. Do you know how many people would’ve died, not only soldiers but civilians too? What did this? The villagers who lived here did this. They brought this upon themselves. Our helicopters came under heavy fire.

Leo didn’t know the classified technical specifications of the Hind attack helicopters, but they were heavily armoured: their blades were titanium tipped. Rifle and machine-gun fire wouldn’t be enough to bring them down.

— How heavy was the fire?

The captain kicked at the ground.

— The situation we are here to address is not an investigation into whether our pilots made the wrong decision. Fuel-air bombs were an appropriate choice of weapon, in my view. We’re here to convince these people that there are better and smarter options than fighting us – that fighting us is going to bring misery to millions.

Picking up on an earlier term, Leo asked, the jargon meaning nothing to him:

— Fuel-air bombs?

He’d never heard of them before. The captain briefly glanced at Nara. Even though she’d spied on Leo, even though she’d reported on the deserters, she was still foreign and the captain would only trust her so far. He spoke softly, quickly, making sure she couldn’t follow his Russian:

— They produce blasts of a longer duration, a pressure wave that is much harder to survive. They suck up the oxygen from the surrounding air. Normal explosives contain a large percentage of oxidizer. Thermobaric weapons are mostly fuel.

Listening to the captain, Leo understood why the military planners were so sure they would win this war. They had weapons of such ingenuity that anything other than a victory was illogical. He remarked:

—
To ensure no one survives?

—
They’re designed for cave networks. If the bomb can’t destroy the entire cave, it can at least suck out the air, turning a base that is safe structurally into a death trap.

Leo added:

— And villages?

Leo didn’t expect an explanation, the captain was already walking away, but he belatedly understood their use. They were weapons that would ensure everyone died, reducing the visible scars of the attack without compromising the lethal intent.

Nara crouched down. There was a steel cooking pot, turned black, but otherwise undamaged. She rubbed a small patch of it clean.

Outside the former centre of the village a shallow lake of ash was forming. The toxic surface lapped at Leo’s feet. The network of irrigation channelould ered the orchards had been destroyed in the attack. The water was still being carried down from the mountains but now it had nowhere to go. He scooped up a palm full of water. It trickled through his fingers, leaving a smear across his skin. He rubbed the residue with his thumb. The captain was becoming impatient:

— We need to move into the hills, talk to the people and discover what they want. Obviously we’ll we replant the orchards, clean up the water, and distribute the land to the relatives of those who were killed. You’ll handle the negotiations.

Leo stood beside Nara.

— Nara and I will go alone. It would be best if you and your men stayed here.

The captain shook his head without giving the idea a moment’s thought.

—
Could be dangerous.

—
No more dangerous than if you come with us.

The captain took out a pair of binoculars, regarding the nearest village.

— They’re going to get a medical centre or a school. We don’t need to be too precious about it.

*

The nearest village to the site of the massacre was called Sau. It consisted of a cluster of houses located on the side of the mountain, at an altitude several hundred metres above the valley floor. From their position the villagers would have been able to watch as the helicopters hovered over their neighbours, launching missiles, dropping bombs, fire consuming the trees and houses. Though the village didn’t look far away it took almost an hour to cross the scorched land and climb the terraced slopes, following the irrigation channel, walking along the concrete edge. The captain had not only insisted upon coming with them, he’d brought his five soldiers. Leo was confused by his approach. It was true: there was an element of danger. But ambushes were unlikely within the village itself. The mujahedin’s tactics were to attack Soviet positions while presenting the enemy with no targets to retaliate against, forces that dissolved into the mountains. Their aim was not to recapture cities since such a victory offered Soviet troops a target to attack. Refusing to engage in conventional warfare, instead, they would slice at the occupation, inflicting upon it a series of cuts, some deep, many shallow. They would bleed the Soviets while the Soviets dropped bombs on dust and rock, or, in this case, apricot trees.

His brow damp with perspiration, Leo wiped his face, studying the approaching village. Sau was small. Whereas the village of Sokh Rot was founded in the lap of once-fertile orchards, this village had no obvious industry other than livestock, herds of goats that scattered as they neared it. For such a small village there was a large crowd in the centre, several hundred men, many times more than would normally be found in a village this size. Leo caught up with Nara and the captain.

— What do you make of that?

He pointed at the crowd. More people were arriving, travelling down from the mountain paths and across the valley. The captain surveyed the landscape, observing the crowd. Inscrutable, he remarked solemnly:

— They want to see the destruction for themselves.

Leo shook his head, pointing to the opposite side of the valley.

— Why are they crossing the valley? They can see the devastation from there. Why are they coming here?

The captain didn’t reply.

*

Uneasy, Leo climbed the last few metres, entering the centre of the village and finding himself completely surrounded.