Death in Kabul, page 35
‘It was him,’ said Baz. ‘He sold the artefacts to Holmberg, I’m sure of it. I recognised one of the Paizas I had seen before.’
‘Quiet,’ snapped Paghahan. He hooked the leg of an empty chair with his foot and dragged it closer to Baz. ‘Sit.’
Mac did what he was told, playing for time while he worked out his game plan. Of course Paghahan would put them close together, so he could cover them both with one weapon. But he wouldn’t be able to tie his captive up without putting down the gun. So what was he intending to do? If he locked them both in, it would be the easiest thing in the world to untie Baz and he was sure they would be able to work out an escape.
So that wasn’t what the professor intended. Where could he go from here?
Was he a man who was willing to kill rather than be exposed as corrupt?
Paghahan looked unsure of his next move. Was he?
‘You killed Marshall, didn’t you?’ said Mac. ‘He found out that you were supplying Holmberg and he threatened to expose you.’
‘I passed the pieces on to him and Holmberg paid me.’ Paghahan’s mouth twisted into a demented smile. ‘But Davie wasn’t going to expose me. Your Captain Marshall didn’t care one bit where the artefacts came from. He just wanted money. More and more money to keep his mouth shut. He was greedy. So I told him to meet me at the tank graveyard for a final pay off, a lot of money to buy his silence. He believed me, and I took my chance. I couldn’t let him live – he would have just come back for more and drained me dry.’
Baz looked at him in disbelief. ‘And what about you? Selling off our country’s treasures to line your own pockets. You were just as greedy.’
Paghahan shook his head. ‘No, Baz. You don’t understand the politics here. Elections are coming and we cannot let Hamid Karzai win the presidency. We need money to beat him in the loya jirga.’
‘Who’s “we”?’ said Mac.
‘Junbish-e Milli.’
‘But that’s Dostum’s party,’ said Baz. ‘You couldn’t.’ She looked over to Mac to explain. ‘Abdul Rashid Dostum is a warlord who allies himself with whichever side seems most expedient at the time.’
Mac knew he’d been accused of committing war crimes.
‘He’s proved himself a strong leader against the Taliban. Karzai is weak,’ said Paghahan. ‘Our cause is important, and I had to sell off a few small pieces to pay for it.’
‘But they weren’t small pieces – they were some of the most valuable pieces the museum had. No doubt you’ll simply claim they were stolen by the Taliban, if anyone ever comes asking.’
‘I get it now,’ said Mac. ‘The connection with Holmberg – we have proof that he was receiving money for arms from one of Dostum’s lieutenants.’
Paghahan’s patience was wearing thin, which meant they were running out of time. With Baz tied up, it was all on Mac.
‘Duck!’ he shrieked to Baz, at the same moment as throwing himself at Paghahan’s ankles. If he could make the professor fall backwards, any gunshot should hopefully end up in the ceiling. But the professor’s reaction time was whip sharp. He attempted to side-step Mac, while lowering the gun. Mac crashed into one of his legs and Paghahan fell to the side. The gun went off and Baz screamed.
Mac got an arm around Paghahan’s neck and wrenched it tight. They both lay on the floor, winded and struggling.
‘You… okay… Baz?’
He heard her gasp. ‘I think so.’
The gun had clattered to the floor, but Mac had no idea where it was. Paghahan was flailing around as if he was trying to reach it. With a supreme effort, Mac twisted the older man away from whatever he was grabbing at. For a man of his years, Paghahan was still strong and Mac was having trouble overpowering him. They strained and grunted, each determined to come out on top. Feeling the broken statue against his back, Mac took a chance. He let go of the professor with one hand and felt around on the floor behind him. Paghahan sensed that his grip had weakened and went all out to push Mac away. As he skidded past the figurine, his fingers found what he was looking for. Part of the smashed head. It was heavy enough and it had sharp edges. He shifted his weight to give his arm the freedom he needed. He swung the piece in a wide arc and smashed the sharp edge into Paghahan’s eye.
The professor’s grip on him went slack.
Chapter 59
Monday, 29 December 2003
Mac climbed up the ladder and onto the top of his container at Camp Julien for one last time. The sun was a blood red orb in an amber sky, the spikey outline of TV Hill silhouetted against it. The muezzin were making the final call to prayer.
‘Allahu akbar… ashadu an la ilaha illa Llah…’
He listened, as entranced as ever, watching the sun sink down as the air grew colder.
Even after the voices finished, he stayed sitting in his chair. He would miss this view. The room at the Le Monde guest house to which he’d transported his gear earlier in the day just overlooked a busy main road and an unremarkable building opposite blocked out any view of the Kush. And he probably wouldn’t have time to sit around taking in the view anyway – he had to find another job.
Davie Marshall’s case was closed, and even though he wasn’t going to get any recognition for the part he’d played in it, he felt a grim satisfaction that justice had been served. Paghahan and Holmberg had been caught. And, somehow, Jananga managed to weave his way through the maze of corruption while still standing by his principles. Mac could bloody admire him for that, even if his methods were unorthodox compared to British police standards.
With a shiver, he climbed back down the ladder. He’d felt nervous when he accepted the job in Kabul, but now he was glad he was here. It was such an extraordinary place. And now a whole new chapter lay ahead of him.
Mac had spent the first half of the day with Jananga at a debriefing at Camp Souter. Lambert had insisted on a blow-by-blow – quite literally – account of the whole course of the investigation, and he’d written it out in triplicate on various official documents and forms. Paghahan was in Jananga’s custody. The surgeons at the Afghan Apollo Indian Hospital on Salang Road had done all they could to save his eye, but apparently it was touch and go whether he’d see again on that side. Mac didn’t give a shit. And he didn’t really care how Jananga had extracted whatever information he needed to secure a conviction. Paghahan had as much as confessed to having killed Davie Marshall, and he would have killed him and Baz too.
Baz was shaken but unhurt, and as soon as he’d untied her from the chair, she’d hugged him as if she never wanted to let him go. That felt good. Then she’d kissed him, and it felt even better. He met her later that night, back at the Gandamack, and they sat in the bar, calming their nerves with a couple of bottles of wine.
‘We did it, Khan,’ said Mac. ‘Solved the mystery and caught the villains.’
‘Damn pesky kids!’ said Baz, with a wide grin. ‘It’s going to be a great story to write up.’
‘But you’re going to leave out what happens next, aren’t you?’ He reached out a hand, intertwining his fingers with hers.
She nodded, still smiling. ‘This bit will be on a strictly need-to-know basis, Mr Mac-jan.’
* * *
Now all the i’s were dotted and the t’s crossed, he could start to think about what he was going to do next. Logan had assured him there was plenty of work going in Kabul, depending on what one was willing to do, and the bar at the Mustafa was virtually an unofficial employment agency for businesses that wanted to keep their dealings under the radar.
It was time to go. He knocked on Ginger’s door.
‘Coming for a well-earned drink?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it, boss,’ said Ginger, appearing on the threshold.
As Pamir dropped them outside the Mustafa, Mac saw Jananga coming down the pavement towards them. Mac raised a hand in an informal salute.
‘Salaam alaikum.’
‘Alaikum a’salaam. Mac-jan, how are you?’ said Jananga, with a wide grin. ‘It’s good to see you.’
Mac held open the door into the hotel.
‘Major Jananga. Or is it lieutenant colonel now after your great success?’
‘I am certainly hoping not,’ said Jananga following him inside.
‘What?’
They headed for the bar.
‘I am happy at my level. Being a major I’m safe and I know I will go home to my wife and children every day.’
‘But being a lieutenant colonel is surely just as safe?’
‘Not so. With every round of padshahgardi, the faithful servants of the old incumbent are assassinated…’
‘Padshahgardi?’ interrupted Ginger.
Jananga paused. ‘How would you say… a change in power. The higher ranks are swept away – but as a lowly major, I’m safe. So I always say “No” when they offer me a promotion.’
Although he said it with a twinkle in his eye, Mac was sure it carried a grain of truth.
‘Tell me, Mac-jan, how is your arm now?’
‘On the mend,’ said Mac.
Ginger clapped him on the back with a grin. ‘Yes, Mac, you must tell me, does being shot by a little girl feel any different to being shot by a grown man?’
‘Fuck you, Ginger,’ said Mac. Now he’d never escape the story – Ginger would make sure of that.
They joined Logan and Baz in the bar. Logan had already lined up the drinks. Baz touched Mac’s forearm and kissed him briefly on the cheek, going a pleasant shade of pink when Logan’s eyebrows went up.
Mac pretended he hadn’t noticed.
‘What I find hard to believe,’ he said, holding up his tumbler of malt to the light to appreciate the rich amber colour, ‘is that you, Baz, purposely knocked over a priceless statue and smashed it to draw attention to yourself.’
Baz clinked her glass against his, and then against Logan’s and Ginger’s and, finally, against Jananga’s. ‘It was a fake. I wouldn’t have damaged anything real.’
Logan laughed. ‘So if it had been real? You would have sacrificed yourself to keep it in one piece?’
‘No way. I just would have screamed really, really loud.’
Logan, freshly released from the clinic, had regained his colour but still had one arm in a sling. Now he was keen to hear how the investigation had ended.
‘So if Marshall was sending antiques out of the country for Paghahan and Holmberg to pay his gambling debts, why did Paghahan slit his throat?’
‘Because he got greedy,’ said Mac. ‘He was threatening to reveal what Paghahan was doing unless the professor paid him more money.’
‘And are the Brits happy with the outcome?’
Mac shrugged. ‘I think they would have liked to have got their hands on Paghahan, but being stuck in Pul-e-Charkhi is punishment enough.’
‘Major Holder telephoned me,’ said Jananga. ‘They rounded up and arrested the men in the UK who were receiving the antiquities at Lyneham. He seemed satisfied.’
‘Where’s Holmberg?’ said Mac.
‘Also in Pul-e-Charkhi,’ said Jananga, with a wry smile. ‘The Swedish embassy are doing all they can to get him out, but we won’t let go of him. Baseer Ghilji is in the next cell to him.’
‘I told my father that last night,’ said Baz. ‘He sends you greetings and thanks, Jananga-jan. He’s trying to persuade my mother to come back here, so he can take over the museum.’
‘Seriously?’ said Mac.
Baz laughed. ‘It’s not going to happen. Mom’s been in America for nearly thirty years. She’s too used to her air-conditioning and mod cons to come back here. But I think my father will visit.’
‘What about Xiaoli?’ said Mac.
‘I’ve managed to get her a place on a woman’s education programme,’ said Baz. ‘She’s going to live with Mayleen, at Balbala’s house. I should be able to get some financial support for them, until they find jobs for themselves. Neither of them want to go back to the Lucky Star.’
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ said Logan. ‘Xiaoli’s been distraught over Bao’s death, and the role she played in it. Thank God she’s got Mayleen at her side.’ His heartfelt tone made the mood suddenly more serious. ‘It’s Bao’s funeral tomorrow. Baz, I wonder, would you come with me and Xiaoli?’
‘Of course,’ said Baz. ‘Where will it take place?’
‘At the British Cemetery, just up Shahid Road – about five minutes from the Gandamack.’
‘I know it.’
‘Ah, Kabre Gora,’ said Jananga, using its Afghan name. ‘She’ll be at peace there amid the roses.’
Logan glanced down and remained silent. Baz briefly touched his hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘At least Holmberg will pay for his crime.’
More than pay, Mac thought to himself. His life inside Pul-e-Charkhi would be hell. He went to the bar for another round of whisky, but thought better of it and bought the whole bottle. When he returned to the table, the mood seemed lighter again. Jananga was telling Baz the names and ages of his children, counting them off on his fingers as he did.
‘You’ve got six children?’ said Baz.
‘So far.’
‘You’re intending on having more?’ Her eyebrows went even higher.
‘Of course. I need to make sure there will be still some around to look after me when I’m too old to chase across the country after murderers with Mac and Logan.’
Mac opened the bottle and topped up their glasses. Even Jananga accepted another finger, shaking his head, but holding out his glass at the same time.
‘Now,’ said Mac, putting the stopper back into the bottle, ‘I need to hear the story, Logan.’
‘What story?’
‘Whose life you saved that put Vertical Lift eternally in your debt.’
‘Oh. That story.’ He took a slug of whisky. ‘It’s long. Complicated.’
‘And?’ said Baz.
‘Well, if you’re all sitting comfortably…’
‘Slange,’ said Mac. The whisky tasted damn good.
Acknowledgements
Creating a novel is always a collaboration and we’d both like to thank all our accomplices in Death in Kabul.
Firstly, we’re hugely grateful to our agent, Jenny Brown, for her help and encouragement along every step of the winding road to publication.
We also owe a debt of gratitude to our editor, Craig Lye at Canelo, for the faith he put in this book from the start and for his thoughtful input throughout the editorial process, resulting in the book we have today. Thanks too, to the rest of the team at Canelo, including Joanne Gledhill, Vicki Vrint, Francesca Riccardi, Claudine Sagoe, Thanhmai Bui-Van, Nicola Piggott, Elinor Fewster, Micaela Cavaletto and Iain Millar.
We are indebted to Tom Sanderson for his brilliant work on the cover, which we really love.
Thanks to our beta readers, Jennifer Hogan and Nellika Little.
Nick’s acknowledgements
First and foremost, I’d like to thank my sister and co-author, Alison Belsham, for coming up with the idea for a murder mystery set in Afghanistan. Though this isn’t strictly a murder mystery, it was originally.
I’d also like to further thank Nellika for teaching me so much about Afghanistan and the Afghans – I still remember sitting in the shade in Zinder Jan drinking tea and eating wild apricots with her and the village elders back in 2004.
I owe a great debt to many Afghan friends, in particular Baktash and Shariff.
And finally, I’d like to apologise to Manny and Rodney from Fred’s Garage in Woodlawn just outside Baltimore. Guys, I wanted to put you in the book but until you open a branch in Kabul it just isn’t happening!
Alison’s acknowledgements
When the idea of writing a book with my brother first sprang to mind, I wondered if it could possibly work or if I’d taken leave of my senses… Well, thankfully it did work, and not only that – it was an incredibly enjoyable and satisfying experience. You may not believe it, but we actually didn’t have a single argument or disagreement throughout the process.
Writing is a solitary pursuit (even when done in collaboration!) and every writer needs a support network. So thanks and respect to my partners in crime from the Edinburgh Writers’ Forum, Jane Anderson and Kristin Pedroja, for their ongoing love, support and writerly chatter, particularly during the long and difficult months of lockdown. Our WhatsApp group is always busiest when we’re supposed to be writing!
And finally, thanks to Mark, Rupert and Tim as always for being there.
A note from the authors
Nick fell in love with Afghanistan approximately twenty years ago. Alison fell in love with the country over the course of writing this book.
Since we started working on this project, Afghanistan has been overtaken by the most horrifying humanitarian crisis in its history. It’s heart-breaking to watch the events that are unfolding there.
There is little practical we can do to help, but we are pledging to donate 10 per cent of the author royalties of Death in Kabul to Afghanaid.
Afghanaid is a British humanitarian and development organisation that has worked in Afghanistan for nearly forty years, building basic services, improving livelihoods, strengthening the rights of woman and children, helping communities and responding to humanitarian emergencies. With years of experience, their majority Afghan team has a deep understanding of local, cultural and ethnic issues, and they have earned trust and respect among the communities they serve. Their work is now more critical than ever before.
About the Authors
Alison Belsham is the author of the internationally acclaimed Tattoo Thief trilogy, which has been translated into 15 languages and was a No.1 bestseller in Italy. As well as writing crime, she is collaborating with her brother Nick Higgins on an action thriller series set in Afghanistan. She is a co-founder of the Edinburgh Writers’ Forum, providing professional development and networking for writers.
