When they finally noticed him, they didn’t get particularly excited. They woke up the two men in the bed of the truck, and all four of them waited patiently as Forogh completed his descent to the road.
“Peace be with you,” Forogh said in Pashto, giving a casual wave.
“And with you,” one of the guards replied affably. “Where do you come from?”
“From Charikar,” Forogh said. He unshouldered the bag of magazines and offered it to one of the junior guards. “These are a gift. I’ve come to visit my uncles in the Karimov clan.”
The young guard rifled the sack and then dropped it into the back of the pickup and put out his hand for Forogh’s AK.
Forogh tightened his grip on the shoulder strap. “I’m keeping this.”
The younger guard looked at the sentry in charge.
“We need to search you,” the leader said. “To be sure you’re not smuggling anything into the village.”
Forogh gave up the rifle, consenting to the search. “What would I be smuggling?”
“The Americans know we’re holding one of their people here,” the sentry explained. “They might try to send a spy with a radio. Why didn’t you follow the road up from Charikar? Why come up over the mountain?”
Forogh smiled dryly. “Because the Americans have blocked the road into the Panjshir… which I’m sure you know.”
The guard accepted that. “What business do you have with the Karimovs?”
“I told you… they’re family.”
“Do you come to herd goats with them?”
Again Forogh’s dry smile. “They do not herd goats. They cut timber in the mountains to the north.”
The guard grinned crookedly. “Give him his rifle.”
Two of the sentries remained at the pass while the leader and his partner drove Forogh into the village. They stopped in front of the home of Orzu Karimov, the oldest of Forogh’s uncles, the family patriarch. Forogh jumped out of the back and called into the house.
Orzu and two of his sons came outside.
Forogh noted the surprise in his uncle’s eyes, but it was brief enough that the sentry would not have picked up on it.
“This man claims to be your nephew,” the sentry said from the passenger seat.
Orzu Karimov was sixty-five. His face was lined and weathered, but his eyes were keen, teeth strong. “He’s the son of my oldest sister. Welcome, nephew. It’s been a year. Are you finally ready to work?”
Forogh shrugged. “Is there any?”
His uncle laughed and looked at the guard. “He’s been lazy his entire life. He prefers following after goats to working for a living!”
The sentry laughed back and slapped the driver on the shoulder with the back of his hand, signaling for him to pull off.
Orzu signaled Forogh to precede him into the house, giving his sons a menial errand to run. Once inside, he barred the door and turned around. “I’ve received word you’re working for the Americans.” It sounded almost like an accusation. “Is this true?”
“Who else knows?” Forogh was very surprised. “Who told you?”
Orzu leveled his gaze. “I have friends everywhere. You should know that by now. You’re here because of the American woman.”
Forogh took a knife from inside his robe and used the tip of the blade to remove the screws from the buttplate of the AK-47. The infrared strobe slid out onto the table. “This flashes a light that only the Americans will be able to see. I will use it to mark the building where she’s being held.”
Orzu’s eyes were steady and unblinking. “They pay you well, the Americans?”
“Well enough, but that’s not—”
“Well enough to endanger your clan?” his uncle asked harshly. He pointed at the strobe. “That’s enough to see every one of us shot.”
Forogh was surprised by his uncle’s anger. “I promised them you would help, Uncle.”
“That was a naïve promise to make.” Orzu dropped into a chair. “Why would I ever agree to such a thing? The Americans are leaving this country, and the Hezbi grows stronger every day. Making friends with the US now would be suicide.”
Forogh sat across from him. “I told them you would help because Massoud was your friend, and Massoud would not have tolerated the Hezbi taking over the Panjshir.”
Orzu remained obdurate. “Massoud is dead, and the Hezbi is a devil we must learn to live with. Once the Americans have gone, they will leave the Panjshir because there’s nothing here for them.”
“Aren’t they taking a portion of your profits from the timber?”
“If they are, that’s no reason to take twenty men up against six hundred. They leave us alone to live our lives, and that’s how I intend to keep it.”
Forogh understood his uncle’s reasoning. “In truth, I knew I was lying when I told them why you would help.”
A shadow crossed his uncle’s face. “Lying?”
“The real reason you will help, Uncle, will be to save the village from total destruction.”
Orzu sat forward, making a fist on the tabletop. “The Americans aren’t that stupid. If they attack, the woman dies — instantly.”
Forogh slipped the strobe back into its hiding place. “There is a man hiding in the mountains above the village. You will help me find a way to mark the woman’s building with this light.” He began to screw the screws back into place with the knife. “After the building is marked, we will ride out of the village with your men, up into the mountains as if we’re leaving to cut timber. Then we will circle back to the junction with the Khawak Pass to set up a defensive perimeter for the Americans’ extraction zone. While we are doing this, the American will sneak into the village and take the woman. He will then ride north with her to meet us. After the woman is lifted from the ground, we will all disappear into the mountains to begin cutting timber.” Forogh chuckled. “Well, you and my cousins will begin cutting timber. The American and I will make our way back to friendly territory on horseback… and the Hezbi will never be wise to your helping. Even if we have to fire on them to protect the extraction zone, they won’t know who’s shooting at them, and they’ll never be able to give chase in the mountains without horses.”
Orzu gaped at him. “The Hezbi aren’t stupid, either! And even if they were, this American of yours will fail.”
“If he does,” Forogh said with a shrug, “then I will be stuck working with you in the mountains until you decide to return to the village.”
Orzu stood up from the table. “No, Nephew, I will not help you mark the building, and I will not put my men in danger to help the American.”
“Yes, you will, Uncle. Because if you do not, tomorrow night the village will be attacked with bombs and helicopters and soldiers. The Hezbi will fight to the last man, and many Tajik will die in the crossfire… and so will their horses — so will your horses.”
“I could warn them,” Orzu threatened. “Tell them to get the woman out of here before the attack begins.”
“That would change nothing,” Forogh replied. “They would keep the woman here, and Americans would still attack. But that’s unimportant because you would never warn the Hezbi.”
“Why are you so sure, Nephew?”
“Because of Massoud, Uncle. Massoud would never do such a thing, and I know that he is still the only man you have ever admired.”
CHAPTER 44