Death in Kabul, page 34
‘Where?’
‘Dubai.’
‘We can check that.’
‘Not while I’m standing in this bloody minefield.’
Mac paused.
Holmberg faced away from him and bent at the waist, his hands on his knees supporting him.
Mac wondered if he should say what he was about to say. He looked across at Xiaoli. Baz had found a spare fatigue jacket for her. It swamped the girl, making her look far younger than she was. Baz had an arm wrapped round her shoulders, but he could see that she was still shivering.
He swallowed, then spoke. ‘You killed Bao Liang.’
‘No.’
‘We have a witness.’ This was a lie, but Holmberg didn’t know that.
Holmberg was silent. No more denial.
Behind him, Mac heard a scuffle.
‘You killed my mother?’ Xiaoli’s pain sliced through the cold air.
Mac turned in slow motion to see Baz landing on the ground on her back. Xiaoli was holding Baz’s pistol. She adopted a wide-legged stance and flicked off the safety. ‘No…’ yelled Mac. ‘Get down! Everyone, get down!’
‘I helped you and you killed my mother.’ This time Xiaoli’s screech wasn’t a question.
She fired at Holmberg. There was the sound of an explosion. In the time it took Mac to turn his head, Holmberg was on the ground, several feet from where he’d originally been standing. A few feet from him, the tell-tale cloud of smoke from a detonated mine was rising into the air. The bullet had hit a mine. Holmberg sat up, blinking and rubbing dirt out of his eyes.
But Xiaoli still had the gun.
In blind panic, Mac lunged towards her, his hand outstretched to try to deflect the arm with which she was holding the gun.
She fired again, but this time there was only the click of the hammer falling on the empty chamber.
Then Mac made contact and they both fell to the ground. Ginger landed on top of them and Jananga removed the weapon from her hand.
Somebody started clapping slowly and Mac looked up. It was Kourash, his smile as wide as ever.
‘Good save, Mr Mac-jan, good save.’
* * *
Jananga had handcuffed Xiaoli, who’d fought like a wildcat.
‘What did she mean?’ said Baz. ‘I helped you and you killed my mother?’
Mac shrugged. ‘It seems like maybe she wasn’t with him under duress.’
‘You think she ran away with him by choice?’
‘She helped him… helped him in what way?’
‘Of course she freaking did,’ said Baz. ‘It was her. She’s just about the one person other than Bao who could have known about the raid in advance. Bao would have warned her – and she warned Holmberg.’
‘Come on, she’s a child,’ said Mac.
‘Yeah, it fits with what Mayleen said. He liked them young.’
‘We’d better tell Logan.’ It wasn’t something Logan would want to hear. It could certainly wait until they got back to Kabul, until they’d had a chance to question Xiaoli about it.
Mac couldn’t see charges being brought against her for what she’d attempted, but she’d definitely need to be restrained for the duration of the flight. The rest of them were waiting and watching as the rescue attempt got underway.
The helicopter was now hovering two hundred feet above the minefield – high enough up to prevent its downdraught from setting off a mine. Holmberg had very tentatively clambered to his feet in his new position. Mac could see that his trousers were stained with urine. The man had pissed himself, and Mac couldn’t blame him, given the circumstances.
The winch was lowered slowly, and finally Holmberg was able to grab hold of it with a shaky hand. It took him a few minutes to attach it round his waist – he let go of it at one point and it swung away from him.
‘Shit!’ said Baz, next to him.
Mac held his breath as the Mi-17 was once again manoeuvred into a position where he could grasp it. But finally it seemed secure, and Holmberg gave the thumbs-up. As he was winched up to the cabin, the chopper swung rapidly away from the minefield, no doubt giving Holmberg the ride of his life.
He was handcuffed to one of the benches in the fuselage by the time they landed.
Ten minutes later the chopper was up in the air again. Four prisoners – Holmberg, Xiaoli, and his two thugs – one dead body, a consignment of retrieved antiquities. Xiaoli spat at Holmberg as she was bundled past him to her seat. They dropped off a couple of Kourash’s guys at Jam to sort out the return of the vehicles, then they were on their way back to Herat, Pyotr and Kolya grinning about something at the controls.
‘That must have been one fuck of a favour they owed you,’ said Mac to Logan as the Mi-17 swept along the Harirud valley.
‘It damn well was,’ he said with a pained grin. ‘Saved a man’s life. An important man. But now I owe them in return – and believe me, they’ll make sure I pay.’
Chapter 57
Sunday, 28 December 2003
With Logan injured, a consignment of recovered antiquities and a prisoner who could be considered ‘a person of interest’ in the Davie Marshall murder, they needed to get back to Kabul as fast as possible. Luckily, Pyotr and Kolya’s next job was out of Kabul, so after dropping Kourash and his men in Herat, and refuelling at their client’s expense, they were quickly airborne again.
They took Logan straight to the German Medical Clinic, where he spent a day being patched up by an American doctor. The bullet was removed and he was all stitched up, though still moaning vociferously about the pain. Mac and Baz visited him and told them what they suspected about Xiaoli’s involvement. He didn’t seem surprised.
‘That bastard had been sniffing around her for a while. That’s why I wanted him out of the joint.’
Xiaoli hadn’t left his side and hadn’t stopped begging for his forgiveness. She’d had no idea when she left the Lucky Star with Holmberg that her mother was dead. It had all been a big adventure for her. But it turned out that her teenage ideas of a romance with Holmberg had already gone sour by the time they left Jam. Walking through the mountains in winter wasn’t the elopement she’d expected. And then she’d discovered that her lover was responsible for her mother’s death. It was no wonder she’d snapped, and tried to shoot him.
Holmberg was going to be charged with sex trafficking as well as all his other crimes, but that didn’t answer the question of what was to become of Xiaoli. Jananga had been all for dumping her at the Chinese embassy, but Baz had taken her back to the Gandamack and said she’d reach out to some of the NGOs dealing with women’s issues in the city. It was clear that Logan, fond of her as he was, was in no position to take on a teenage girl, and Baz didn’t just want to send her back to the Lucky Star where she’d end up in a life of prostitution. She seemed bright and spoke several languages, so surely she could somehow claw her way into a better life.
For Baz, all the loose ends were starting to tie themselves up, but she knew Mac was frustrated.
‘Holmberg’s alibi for the night Davie Marshall was killed holds out,’ he said, grim-faced behind the wheel as he drove her and the recovered consignment of artefacts to the museum. She and Professor Paghahan were going to unwrap them together and she was super excited to see what they would find.
‘But surely you’d checked that already?’
Mac shrugged. ‘He’s got more than one passport. He was travelling on a different one.’
‘Seriously?’
‘It’s not illegal. He’s got dual nationality. He travels in the Middle East and visits Israel. A lot of people do it, but we hadn’t picked up on it.’
‘But he’s still going down for Bao Liang’s murder?’
‘Definitely. And for owning a brothel – papers in his office show that he was actually the owner of the Lucky Star – plus sex trafficking a minor. That’s all great. But it means I still don’t know who killed Davie.’ He banged the heel of his hand on the steering wheel in frustration.
Baz shrugged. ‘Razul?’
Mac shook his head.
‘One of Holmberg’s other henchmen?’
‘I suppose so. We’ll probably never know.’
Baz was sympathetic, but nothing could dent her delight at being able to return Holmberg’s stolen artefacts to the museum.
‘You go in,’ said Mac as he pulled up by the museum gates. ‘I need to make a couple of calls. Then I’ll bring the rest in.’
‘Sure.’
Baz went to the trunk of the Land Cruiser and grabbed a plastic crate into which they’d stacked all the smaller packages. She hefted it out, gave Mac a wave and went up to the gate. It was still being manned by the same boy guards, and they opened it for her without question. Either Paghahan had warned them in advance, or they finally recognised her as someone who could go in unchallenged.
‘Professor?’ she called as she marched along the central corridor. ‘I come bearing gifts.’ It had been all she could do not to rip the packages open as soon as they were unloaded from the helicopter. But it had seemed right to wait until she got them here, so the professor could see them at the same time.
‘Basima-jan,’ said Paghahan, appearing from a side room. ‘You are like the female version of Indiana Jones.’
Baz laughed as she followed him into his office. ‘Not really, Professor.’
There was an awkward moment after she put the crate down on his desk. Baz went to hug him, he put out a hand to shake, and they ended up skirting round each other without doing either.
‘You’re well, Basima?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘And your parents?’
‘Yes, indeed. You and your family are well too?’
‘Yes, thank you. I think your father will be very proud of you.’
With the formal greetings out of the way, Baz lifted the lid of the crate. The professor peered in and then started to take out the wrapped items and put them on his desk.
‘You have no idea what’s inside these?’ he said.
‘No. Holmberg was heading for the border with Turkmenistan. I’m guessing his ultimate destination was Dubai or even Europe. He claimed that he had papers for them, but he hasn’t been able to produce any.’
Paghahan took a pair of half-moon spectacles out of the pocket of the koti waistcoat he was wearing over his shalwar kameez.
‘Let’s take a look,’ he said.
The packages were of varying size. Some were taped up in bubble wrap. Others were bundled in cloth and tied with string. Grey dust clung to all of them, suggesting to Baz that they had indeed been stored in a cave or had even been buried for a time. She wondered if Holmberg had more items hidden in the same place.
Paghahan picked up one of the cloth-swathed items. He took a pair of scissors and snipped through the string, then unfurled the rough cotton. Sand spilled out onto the desk and the floor as he revealed a small Buddha statue of carved clay.
‘That’s beautiful,’ said Baz, hardly daring to breathe as he held it up.
The head piece was chipped and an arm was missing, but it was still an extraordinary piece.
‘We have some like this,’ said Paghahan. ‘It looks as if it could have come from the Buddhist monasteries near Hadda, close to Jalalabad. I would have to compare them more closely, but the style is very similar.’
‘How old would that make it?’
‘Fourth to sixth century, I think.’
An unexpected wave of anger hit Baz. ‘And Holmberg thought he could help himself to this stuff and take it out of the country?’
The professor shook his head sadly. ‘It would have gone to the highest bidder and probably never be returned to its home.’
‘These items are priceless.’
She picked up one of the bubble-wrapped objects and started to peel away the tape. Paghahan was unwrapping another Buddha statuette and carefully wiping dirt and sand from it. Baz twisted the package in her hand, unspooling several layers until she revealed a small brass lozenge. A Paiza.
‘Look, it’s just like…’ Baz’s words died in her mouth, but the professor was engrossed in a close-up examination of the statue he was holding.
Baz turned the Paiza over, to be quite sure of what she was looking at.
She looked away from it, in the direction of the window. Where was Mac? Where the hell was Mac?
She looked at the Paiza again, up close. There was no mistaking it. There was NO mistaking it. There was the tiny groove at the top of the eyelet, the mark made by the constant wear of the thong or cord on which the Paiza had hung. The mark she’d noticed the last time she’d held this Paiza in her hand, here in the museum.
There seemed a sudden shortage of oxygen.
She blinked and stared at it. If this Paiza had been stolen from the museum, the professor would surely have said something.
But he hadn’t mentioned it.
She looked up and her eyes met his. He knew exactly what she was thinking.
Chapter 58
Sunday, 28 December 2003
The calls took forever – but even with a good word from Jananga, Phelps was adamant that his dismissal still stood. He updated Holder on the mission and got small thanks for his work. But finally Mac was done, climbed out of the Land Cruiser and headed into the museum. He was carrying two of the larger pieces they’d recovered, and they weighed a ton. As he used them to push open the main door, the top package started to slide and he had to push himself up against the doorframe to hold it in place.
‘Shit!’
He couldn’t risk dropping it – it was probably some priceless and irreplaceable artefact that was a thousand years old. As he struggled to get the packages balanced again, Professor Paghahan appeared from the bowels of the museum.
‘Ah, Mr MacKenzie, let me help you.’ He took the top piece and Mac was able to stand back from the wall.
‘Thank you, Professor. I have a few more still in the car. Shall I bring them to your office?’
‘Yes, please do.’
Mac put down the package he was carrying and rested it carefully against the reception desk. Then he went out to the car and brought in the rest of the artefacts. As he did this, Paghahan ferried them from the reception area to his office. It only took a few minutes, and Mac followed Paghahan down the corridor with the final item.
‘Put it here, please,’ said Paghahan, pointing to a corner of his office where there were more packages stacked up.
Mac looked around.
‘Where’s Baz? I thought she’d be in here, checking the artefacts.’
The professor gave a half smile and a half shrug. ‘You missed her. She left just a few minutes before you arrived. I think she had a call from America.’
‘Oh?’ Mac thought for a moment. Sure, he’d been on the phone, and he’d been jotting things in his notebook, rather than looking around – but Baz wouldn’t have left the museum and walked straight past his car. This didn’t make sense. ‘Are you sure, Professor? Maybe she’s in the bathroom?’
The professor shook his head. ‘No. She had to leave.’
There was something off about the way he spoke. Mac didn’t believe him – but what the hell did that imply?
‘But she never showed up at the car…’
It simply didn’t make sense. He couldn’t have missed her, unless she’d gone out by a different door, or somehow detoured as he’d been on his way in.
Professor Paghahan shrugged. ‘She’s not here.’
Mac shook his head in puzzlement. ‘Okay, I’ll go and check outside for her.’
A loud crash somewhere in the distance made the professor jump.
‘What was that?’ said Mac.
‘I have some workmen here. They’re clumsy fools.’ The professor stepped forward with an arm outstretched to shepherd Mac towards the door. ‘It would be better if you left now, so I can sort them out.’
Mac allowed himself to be escorted from the office but he had no intention of leaving the building. There was something fishy going on. What had happened to Baz? What had she seen or done? He made a move to go in the direction of the noise.
‘Mr MacKenzie.’ Paghahan’s tone was sharp now.
‘Professor, I think maybe Baz is still here. Perhaps she’s with the workmen…’ He realised that made no sense at all, but it gave him the excuse to stride away from the older man. He had no idea what was going on, but he was determined to find out. And to find Baz.
When he reached the end of the central corridor, he faced a choice. There was a suite of rooms off to his left, or a staircase to the first floor on his right. He replayed the sound in his mind. It had been on the ground floor, he felt almost sure. He turned to his left and went into the first room. It was virtually empty, bar a couple of display plinths with nothing on them. He stopped and listened. There were no sounds of any workmen in the building, but even stranger, he couldn’t hear Paghahan coming after him. It was as if he was completely alone.
A creaking of floorboards in a room somewhere ahead of him reminded him that he wasn’t. He walked slowly and quietly into the next space. It was also empty, so he carried on moving. The third room had a couple of statues in it, but after that his way was blocked by a locked door. He heard the screech of a piece of furniture being moved on the other side of it.
‘Hello? Who’s there?’
‘You need to leave. This isn’t your country. These things don’t concern you.’ Paghahan appeared from behind a screen on the other side of the room. There must have been a door beyond it. His expression was hostile, and one hand was pushed deep in his waistcoat pocket.
Mac tried the locked door again. There was definitely someone on the other side of it.
‘Stop!’
He turned back to the professor. Paghahan was pointing a pistol at him. ‘You should have left when I asked you to.’
‘Where’s Baz?’
Paghahan drew a set of keys out of a pocket in his shalwar. He gestured with his gun for Mac to step away from the door. Once it was unlocked, he flicked the gun barrel again to indicate that Mac should go inside.
‘Baz! Thank God,’ said Mac. She was tied to a chair in the centre of the room. Nearby, a statue lay on the floor, its head snapped off and in pieces. The source of the crash. ‘What the hell is going on?’
