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Driver frowned. “About what?”
“Math,” John said. “Bas had seven kids, in a three-four split. So, roughly fifty percent. Nature’s not perfect and in small enough numbers, you’re going to get some skew. But roughly half the kids here ought to be boys and the other half, girls. But if onlytwoare boys…”
“I get it,” Driver said. “If there are only a couple of boyshere, where are the rest?”
“Poya just told us.” John looked to Shahida. “Right?”
“Yes, my boys are whereIand Mac and Meeks and Flowersgo to rescue them.” Shahida straightened. “My boys are in the mine.”
3
The story wasclose to what Driver said everyone believed. Musa’s Humvee was forced off the road. Unfortunately for them all, none of the boys were skilled fighters. All were young and recently rescued from their owners.
“Musa and I do best we can,” Shahida said. “But they are too many and we give up fast.”
“You didn’t want any of the boys to get killed in the crossfire,” John said.
“Yes. Musa already got hurt. I make one call for help, but I never know if Mac hear.”
“He did,” Driver said. “But by the time he could muster up a flyover, you had disappeared.”
“That’s what he say, but…” She lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Taliban take over, drive us to cave but leave Humvee there. Then we walk. Maybe two, three days.”
“Staying in the mountains?” When she nodded, Driver said, “Smart. That way, the men who took you hostage could get out of sight if there was a flyover. It also explains why the trail petered out. What then?”
“Then we go to place where they have big truck. They put us in, and we drive to end of road.”
“To Sarhad.” When they all turned a look, Poya said, “Trucks came through the village a lot.”
“All with boys?” John asked.
“Not in the beginning. The trucks started the spring after Kabul fell. At first, all the passengers were men. Afghan Army, I think. But then the trucks started bringing boys.” A shadow of some memory darkened his features. “There was always someone there to meet them and give the driver money.”
“Big black horse, yaqut in gold necklace?” When Poya nodded, Shahida’s mouth twisted in a sour grimace. “That is Sarbaz. He was Taliban, but now he commander in mine.”
“After he paid for the boys, his men would make them get out and walk,” Poya said. “But I don’t remember you.”
“I think we in early group. We no walk. They put us on yaks. Maybe want to get us out of sight faster, too, just in case Mac get good eye in sky.”
“Mac would do that,” Driver said. “So, they hustled you to the mine?”
She nodded. “Musa no work good at first, even though doctor take out bullet.”
“Was he the one who shot you full of antipsychotic?” John asked.
“She. Woman from Kabul.”
“I might have seen her,” Poya said. “The women were easy to spot because they were veiled. I thought from her clothes that at least one looked like a soldier.”
“She do what Sarbaz say in beginning, this doctor, but she…erhm… complain. All time telling Sarbaz want her to look after mens but not give her good medicines. Mens get hurt, but Sarbaz no give her medicines and mens…their cuts, they get…how you say?”
“Infected?” John said.
“Yes, but no medicines to make them better. Mens die and two of my boys.” Shahida’s eyes shimmered. “Get bad cuts from tools and she no have right medicines.”
“I’m sorry,” John said. “Truly.”
Shahida gave a short nod. Knuckling away a tear, she cleared her throat. “Sarbaz say is okay because there always more mens, always more boys to take their place. Then, one day doctor complain too much and Sarbaz shoot her.”