‘No!’ the Russian shouted. ‘No!’
But too late.
He heard the sound of the RPG being launched. For a split second he saw it thundering towards him.
It was the last thing Dmitri Kirov ever saw. His truck exploded into a fireball just as the group of Afghan Mujahideen disappeared up the hillside, carrying the suitcase bomb and shouting in triumph as they went.
Chapter One
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be arriving in Islamabad, where it’s a very hot Sunday morning. Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened and that any luggage is safely stowed under your seat or in the overhead lockers.’ The pilot’s voice was as calm and reassuring as pilots always are.
Ben Tracey’s mum, Dr Bel Kelland, looked at him. ‘Do your seatbelt up, love.’
‘All right, Mum,’ Ben replied. ‘I heard.’ And if Ben had heard, his school friends sitting in the seats around them probably had too.
‘Do your seatbelt up, love!’ a mocking voice said from behind.
Bel raised an eyebrow, but Ben shot her a warning glance and she kept quiet.
Ben was nervous — on his mum’s account, not his own. And not because of the flight — though he had reason enough to be, after his previous experiences in aeroplanes — but because of what she would be doing over the next couple of weeks. They would have an hour at Islamabad airport before Bel, Ben, his school friends and the teachers who were accompanying them took an internal flight to Quetta. Near there, Ben would be staying with a Pakistani family as part of a two-week exchange programme that his school regularly organized with a charity that promoted links between the two countries.
‘Awareness!’ Mr Knight had said to them weeks ago back at Ben’s school. It was during a meeting with the six youngsters who were going on the exchange, and their parents. Mr Knight was a rather dull teacher with half-moon specs, long strands of grey hair combed over to hide his bald patch, and a fondness for the sound of his own voice. ‘Awareness! That’s what it’s all about, ladies and gentlemen. Pakistan will be very different to Macclesfield. There’ll be no’ — he had waved his hands about in a fuddy-duddy way — ‘no Nintendos out there. That’s what you call them, isn’t it? Anyway, you’ll be living with real Pakistani families, eating with them, going to school with them and basically experiencing what life is like in a very different part of the world. It’ll be a strange world to you, but believe me — when the Pakistani students come back here, your lives will seem equally strange to them. We’ve run the exchange for a number of years now, and although not all the students have found it easy, I believe they’ve all found it a richly rewarding experience…’
Ben had been one of the six students who, after two interviews — one with the school and one with the charity — had been selected to go on the exchange. Three boys — Ben, Jez Thompson and Ed Hughes; three girls — Rebecca Simpson, Nazindah Hasan and Amelia Roberts. Apart from the teachers, they would be his only British companions for the next two weeks. His mum’s work, in the meantime, was going to take her over the border into Afghanistan. A rather different kettle of fish and Ben could tell that she was nervous too, even though she did her best not to show it.
His ears popped as the plane lost height.
‘I still don’t see why I can’t come with you, Mum.’ Ben was looking out of the window at the sun rising above the vast mountain ranges below. ‘Someone could have taken my place on the exchange. Loads of people wanted to do it.’
‘I’ve told you, Ben,’ she said, gently putting one hand on his knee. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘If it’s too dangerous for me,’ he replied, ‘it’s too dangerous for you.’ He turned to look at her. ‘There’s a war going on in Afghanistan, Mum. People die there.’
‘And that’s why you’re not going,’ his mum replied. ‘Look, Ben, Pakistan isn’t exactly the soft option. I know you’re going to have your friends around you, but it’s not like going to summer camp. You need to be careful.’
Ben looked down. ‘I know,’ he said.
‘I’m very proud of you, Ben,’ she continued in that tone of voice she knew embarrassed him, but which she used anyway. ‘Most kids your age spend their holidays playing on their computers. For you to come out here is very…’ For a moment she appeared lost for words. ‘I’m just proud of you, OK?’
Ben silently looked out of the window again. ‘I just don’t want you to get into trouble. I’ve read about Afghanistan in the papers. About the Taliban and everything. They’re… they’re vicious. And Helmand Province, where you’re going, that’s the worst place of all.’
‘I’ll be fine, Ben. My work is important. The people in Afghanistan are very poor. They need to be taught how to farm—’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Ben interrupted, ‘I know. Corn, pomegranates, soybeans, anything but poppies.’
Ben understood why she was going to such a dangerous part of the world. The main crop of the Afghan farmers was the poppy. Poppies meant heroin. Almost all the heroin that hit the streets of Britain came from Afghanistan. The poppy fields had to be eradicated, but nobody could do that without showing the farmers how they could make a proper living by growing different crops. And so the British and Americans had invited scientists and environmental campaigners to the region to try and educate the locals in new farming methods. The scientists would be given heavy military escorts. But even so, not many people felt inclined to go to Afghanistan. Ben’s mum was one of the few who were willing.
His dad had tried to persuade her not to go, but she had overruled him. That was just the way she was. ‘And anyway,’ she had said, ‘the school will welcome volunteers to help with the exchange. I’ll be able to go out and come back with Ben. Then we’ll both feel better, won’t we?’
Russell hadn’t been able to argue with that, especially as Ben didn’t exactly have a spotless record when it came to staying out of trouble.
‘I’ll be all right, Ben,’ Bel said. ‘I want to make sure you’re settled in your village first. When I leave, I’ll have a military escort and they’ll take very, very good care of me.’
Ben didn’t reply. He just continued to look out of the window as the plane descended towards their destination.
It was much later that day when they stepped out of the terminal of Quetta International Airport. There were ten of them: three boys, three girls, three teachers and Bel. The heat of the sun was like a slap on the face. Ben squinted, then pulled his shades out of his pocket and put them on. People swarmed around them. They were a strange mix. Some wore clothes that wouldn’t be out of place on Oxford Street; others wore robes and sandals and looked to Ben like they were from another century. He noticed quite a lot of the locals staring at them.
Ahead of them was a large car park. The vehicles were all very old, but one of them looked less elderly than the others. It was a minibus that had once been cream but was now a dirty grey-brown because of the dust. A man leaned against it, the only other white face around. He looked about fifty, with grey, slicked-back hair, old jeans and a beige shirt. His tanned face spread into a smile when he saw them, and he waved.
‘I can carry my own luggage, Ben,’ Bel said lightly.
Ben shook his head. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, and he struggled with both his mum’s rucksack and his own as they walked towards the van.
He heard a noise from behind: a coughing sound that badly disguised the word, ‘Creep!’ Ben looked over his shoulder to see a class mate with blond, floppy hair. It was Ed Hughes and it was no secret that he and Ben didn’t like each other much. In fact, when Ben had heard that Ed had successfully applied to go on the exchange, his heart had sunk. Before he could reply, however, he heard a sharp reprimand. ‘That will do, Ed. Ben’s just trying to be helpful. Maybe you could take a leaf or two out of his book.’