Page 65 of Deadly Betrayal

Tariq sipped a glass of tea while Dagarspooned out some rice and kebab onto a large piece of bread. Whenhe was done, the boy lowered his gaze and offered him the breadwith both hands. “Khan Tariq.”

The men watched while Tariq took a firstbite. When he nodded, Dagar let out a small breath and passed thebowls around to the others. They ate enthusiastically, this beingtheir first taste of lamb in months. Times had been lean, withTariq pouring every spare afghani into weapons to defend histerritory. Since the foreigners were getting ready to leaveAfghanistan, tensions among the tribes were on the rise. TheTaliban were coming, and everyone was left with only two choices:join them or fight.

Ishaq, his brother and second in command,nudged him in the ribs. “Not hungry, my brother?”

“Just savoring it.” Tariq smiled tightly, hismind firmly planted in the past. Their father and grandfather hadestablished this village, a lone Pashtun bastion in the province,and had led the men, some related by blood, some not, against theRussians. Initially, Tariq and his father had supported the Talibanand their desire to return Afghanistan to a more Islamic society,but the destruction they’d wrought had been unforgivable. Justanother power grab by the Pakistani government that had backed theTaliban with both money and fighters from their own military. He’dnegotiated a truce with the local Tajiks, and together they hadwaged war against the Taliban. His father was dead now, and it wasup to Tariq to lead these men, to protect their village and theirfamilies.

When Khalid Mullazai had approached him aboutbuying land just outside Fayzabad city on which a lucrative goldmine was located, Tariq had immediately taken offense. With hisgood teeth, clean nails, and tailored clothing, Khalid had beenjust another puppet from Kabul come to do the bidding of theWestern powers. He was rich and educated, and everything Tariqdespised.

The conversation had been short, endingabruptly with Tariq spitting on the ground next to the man’sexpensive shoes. After telling the rich bastard to go fuck himself,Tariq had turned his back on the man and walked away.

He couldn’t have been more surprised when twoweeks later, Khalid had returned, holding a bag full of money andweapons. “This is but a small sample of what you can have if wework together,” he’d said, tossing the bag on the table betweenthem.

The money had paled in comparison to theAK-47s. Tariq had been unable to tear his eyes away from theirsleek beauty. He’d never seen one that wasn’t bent or dented orwrapped several times around with duct tape. Indicating the emptyseat across from him, Tariq had invited the man to talk. Over thecourse of the following two hours, Khalid had unveiled the detailsof his plans. The man dreamed big, that was for sure. Still, Tariqhadn’t been convinced. “What’s in it for me?”

“In exchange for the land and the support ofyour men in Badakhshan province, as well as your help in acquiringthe support of your cousin Zarack in Kapisa province, I will ensurethat at least fifty percent of the mining rights in Badakhshan areawarded to companies originating in the province.”

“If you are elected.”

Khalid had nodded. “With your support, I willbe.”

The man’s offer was tempting. The mines wereworth millions of afghanis, and the income would do much to benefithis people. But only if he controlled them. “A reward several yearsdown the road is not good enough.”

“What do you want?”

Tariq had known then exactly what he’d neededto do: tie himself to this man with a bond that could not easily bebroken. It was the only way to guarantee the man’s… cooperation...should he ever take office. He smiled. “I’m looking for a wife.Young. Biddable.”

“A wife?” The man’s shock had been almostlaughable.

“Yes. Do you know someone who might do?”

Something had clouded the man’s eyes. Regretperhaps. He’d shrugged and picked up the bag containing the moneyand weapons. “I’m not a matchmaker.”

Tariq had laughed at Khalid’s haughty tone.“I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Three weeks later, Khalid had returned withthe agreed-upon sum, the weapons, and a promise to let Tariq marryhis niece, Faroukh Mullazai’s daughter.

It had been the best day of Tariq’s life.

Rangeen and Patman, two of his young nephews,were looking at a phone and laughing. Tariq didn’t mind his menrelaxing, but too much good humor led to carelessness. Tariq tookthe phone and peered at the blurry image on the tiny screen. AnAfghan woman stood between two large men in Western-styleclothing.

Patman pointed with his finger and spokeexcitedly. “Uncle, the man on the right is an American moviestar.”

Tariq raised a brow. His nephew lookedabashed.

“What is funny about this picture?” he asked.It was shameful.

“Usually it is the movie star who gets thewomen, but look how she stands so close to the bodyguard,” Rangeenexplained, coming closer.

Tariq snorted and passed the phone to Ishaq,but Ishaq did not laugh. In fact, he scowled. “I have seen thiswoman before.”

Around the table, everyone quieted. Afeeling, like the electricity in the air before an attack, zappedalong Tariq’s skin. “Where?”

“I’m not sure.” Ishaq passed the phone to theman beside him. “All of you, take a good look at the photo. Do yourecognize the woman?”

The phone had reached the other side of thetable when Sher Dil, Tariq’s sister’s husband’s brother, looked up,his eyes wide. “She was at the house where we picked up yourbride-to-be, Khan Tariq. She didn’t want us to take her.”

The zapping along his skin changed directionand headed to his stomach in a hard punch. Something wasn’t right.He glared at his nephews and barked, “Where was this photo taken?”If the woman was in Kabul, then it was only an odd coincidence.