I couldn't sleep that night. There were wars going on in this world about which I knew nothing. People were dying, kids still wet behind the ears were getting ready to blow themselves up and I didn't even know what they were fighting for. It was as scary as it was real.
Sikandar and Rashid left the foxhole the next day with plenty of provisions. It seemed they were going on a very long journey. 'Now we just wait,' said Khaled and rubbed his hands.
21 February came and my kidnappers sat glued to the satellite phone. Around midday came the news they had been waiting for. Sikandar and Rashid had blown themselves up and thirty infidels.
There was a massive feast that evening. A whole cow was carved up by Munir and Altaf. I didn't eat a morsel. I couldn't, after having seen into Sikandar's eyes. That night, the foxhole seemed colder than hell.
We abandoned the hideout immediately after Abu Khaled's four o'clock prayer. Teknikal explained the reason for the sudden move. 'The army will conduct a cordon-and-search operation before sunrise. We need to leave right now.'
Khaled, Teknikal, Omar and I struck out towards the north side of the escarpment. Munir and Altaf were left behind to wipe out all trace of the hideout. Teknikal had the satellite phone. Khaled and Omar carried AK-47s.
It was a difficult journey. We crossed mountains so steep you could look up the chimney to see the cows come home. But gradually the route flattened out and the mountains lost their sharp ridges. By late evening we reached a quiet valley. An empty wood-framed house was our abode for the night. Omar was sent out to get some provisions and didn't return. Teknikal and Khaled spent a restless night wondering if he had been caught by the army. 'You shouldn't have sent Omar,' I told Abu Khaled. 'He's so stupid, he'd foul up a two-car funeral.'
Omar finally returned at dawn, drunk as a billy goat. He swayed into the house and vomited all over the bed.
It took him a couple of hours to sober up. 'I've done it, Larry,' he grinned. 'I'm a real man now.'
Unfortunately for him, Abu Khaled overheard him. There was the mother of all rows between Omar and the zimmedar. Teknikal told me later that Omar had had sex with a shepherd girl who was barely thirteen, and would now be punished with thirty days of roza. That meant no food for him from morning till evening. Trouble was, for some reason Khaled figured I was in cahoots with Omar. So my food and drink was cut off as well.
The next day we began another journey, easily the most dangerous journey of my life, crossing from Indian Kashmir into Pakistani Kashmir. We travelled only by night and hid during the day. Teknikal guided us, wearing night-vision goggles. We followed him blindly across mountains and meadows, hills and trenches, freezing rivers and slick snow. We had to evade Indian mines, tracer flares and Indian border patrols. Mercifully, they had equipped me with Wellington boots, a waterproof jacket and even some woollen cloth to wrap around my calves as protection from frostbite.
A week later I found myself in a large green meadow in the middle of nowhere. Across the pasture stood an old two-storey wood-framed house with a black chimney. The paint was peeling, the beams looked cracked, but it was a whole lot better than that foxhole.
'This is our new home,' said Abu Khaled. 'We've reached Pakistan. Now there is no need to hide. No need to worry.'
But I had plenty of cause for worry. There was still no response to my kidnapping from the President and these guys were getting angrier and impatient. 'Let's give the Americans an ultimatum,' Khalid told Teknikal. 'Come on, pick a date.'
'How about 20 March, which is Milad al-Nabi?' Omar said.
'Too late,' said Khaled. 'I want something sooner.'
Teknikal looked at me. 'Why don't you pick a date, Mr Page?'
'March 17,' I said instantly.
'Any particular reason for choosing this date?'
'It's the birthday of someone very special.'
'Even that's too late. I pick 12 March,' said Khaled.
'Why?'
'That is my birthday.'
Pakistani Kashmir was exactly the same as Indian Kashmir – the same nomadic shepherds, the same wooden houses, the same food, the same weather. I spent the days waiting for some news from the President, and dreaming of Shabnam.
Before I knew it, it was 10 March. I asked Omar about the ultimatum. 'So what happens if you guys don't hear from my folks in the next two days?'
'Simple,' Omar said. 'We kill you.'
The guy was as subtle as a horse turd in the cream pitcher.
I couldn't sleep for the next two nights. Every time I tried to concentrate on something, a hooded gentleman with a scythe would come into my view. And I would begin shaking like a jackhammer.
To make matters worse, a blue norther arrived on 11 March, bringing with it screaming winds and more rain in one day than I had seen in the last five months. It was a real gulley-washer, with thunder and lightning. As sheets of rain struck the house, I thought of Mom. I thought of Mizz Henrietta Loretta. I thought about the Undertaker. About that freak April snow in Waco. I even thought of pa. But most of all I thought of a woman I had never even seen.
I woke up on 12 March and was told by Teknikal that there was still no word from the President. I was given a nice breakfast which I didn't touch, and then I was taken to Abu Khaled.
'Mr Page, looks like your people have decided to sacrifice you. Now you know why I call the Americans heartless. You better say your prayers.'
'Let me kill him, Boss,' Omar said, full of piss and vinegar. Ever since he bonked that girl he had become queer as a three-dollar bill.
'No, Chief, I will do it,' Teknikal said quietly.
I was ushered out of the house and taken to an open field which was slicker than owl shit with all that rain. Omar handed me a shovel. 'Come on, dig your grave, American pig,' he barked.
For half an hour I slaved over that trench, shovelling soil out of the hole in the ground that would be my final resting place. Finally, the grave was ready. The sun was halfway into the sky by then. A few birds chirped in the sunshine. It didn't look at all like someone was going to die.
Teknikal took out a black piece of cloth from his trousers. 'Would you like to be blindfolded?'
'No. I want to see what you guys are doing,' I said.
'Very brave, just like Saddam,' he mumbled. His AK-47 brushed against my leg. I was pretending to be brave, but inside I was shaking like a leaf.
They say when you're about to die your whole life flashes before your eyes. Well, that's not true, coz the only thing that flashed before my eyes was a crow, and an ugly one at that.
'Come on, just do it, Abu Teknikal,' Omar urged, looking at me through a video camera.
Abu Khaled recited a prayer in Arabic. For himself, or for me, I didn't know.
'Any last wish?' Teknikal asked me in a low voice. I knew he had grown fond of me, just as a family grows fond of a pet dog. But even pet dogs are put down when the time comes.
'Any last wish?' Teknikal repeated.
I thought about it. They wouldn't have any chocolate brownies in this hick town. That's when I noticed Teknikal had the sat-phone in his pocket. 'Can I make one phone call?' I asked.
'Who will you speak to?'
I first thought of calling Mom, but she would worry the warts off a frog and I didn't want to spoil her supper.
'There is only one person I would like to speak to before dying. The woman I love.'
'And who is she?'
'Her name is Shabnam Saxena.'
'Shabnam Saxena? The actress?' Omar suddenly became interested.
'Yeah. She is my fiancée. We were going to get married.'
'The bastard is lying, Abu Teknikal,' Omar shouted. 'There is no way he can know Shabnam Saxena.'
'I have her picture in my wallet, and also her mobile phone number,' I said.
'Let me check the bastard's wallet.' Omar ran to me and took out the wallet from my hip pocket.
I heard him whistle. 'The bastard wasn't lying. He does have Shabnam's picture.'