Page 17 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

ELEVEN

Kabul, Afghanistan

Rhys had expected dry, dusty heat to envelop him as soon as he walked out of the airport, but instead he was met with a chill worthy of England.

The sun shone brightly—not something he was used to in January—but gave no warmth.

The nearby snow-capped mountains were dun-colored with an occasional smudge of green where vegetation had managed to force its way through the cracks and take root.

Rhys looked around, suddenly overwhelmed by the task at hand.

He was a storyteller, a producer, not an investigative reporter.

He hated the idea of letting Quinn down, but maybe his offer to come in search of Jo Turing had been too impulsive, made by a man who’d recently suffered a trauma and wasn’t thinking rationally.

“Rhys! Over here, mate!” Rob Malone called out to him as he pulled up in a dirt-splattered Jeep. “Sorry I’m late. There was a roadblock.”

Rhys tossed his case into the back seat and climbed in next to Rob.

“Where to?” Rob asked as he joined a queue of cars waiting to exit the car park.

“The Mustafa Hotel,” Rhys replied.

“Okay,” Rob replied, grinning. “It’s good to see you, Rhys. It’s been—what—five years or more?”

“About that,” Rhys replied as he looked around, eager for his first glimpse of Kabul .

“I heard you’re getting married,” Rob said as he turned onto a central road congested with traffic. He pressed on his horn, and its blare startled Rhys out of his reverie.

“Not anymore.” Rob looked like he was about to ask more questions, but Rhys cut him off, desperate to change the subject. “How’s the family?”

“My brood is fine. My oldest is graduating uni come June, and my little one just started primary school. She’s not best pleased she has to go to a school where her mum’s a teacher.”

“When are you going home?”

“Soon. Colleen will divorce me if I don’t show my face at home once every few months.”

“I thought divorce wasn’t an option,” Rhys joked, referring to Rob’s staunch Catholic beliefs, of which he made no secret.

“She’ll get a papal dispensation,” Rob said. “She’s like that, my Colleen,” he added with an affectionate grin.

“Can’t say I blame her.”

“She can see my ugly mug on the news if she misses me,” Rob joked.

“All she does is berate me when I’m at home anyway.

I’m nothing but an inconsiderate eejit, by all accounts, and a useless da.

I tell you, Rhys, being a father to four lasses is no walk in the park.

Every time I come home, I have to get to know those girls all over again.

I love them to bits, but I don’t get them, especially the older two.

The younger ones just want a cuddle and a present, but Bethan and Aislinn are a mystery to me.

Now, it’s all makeup, and parties, and lads.

They listen to music I can’t relate to and talk in slang that sounds like a foreign tongue to an old paddy like me.

At least with a son, I’d be able to talk football and rugby. ”

“It’s not too late,” Rhys replied, chuckling .

“I’m too old for babies. Besides, I’m sure an old pro like you has heard of the luck of the Irish. I’d have another girl for sure, maybe even twin girls just to hammer that nail deeper into the coffin. No, I’m done. Maybe, in time, I’ll have a grandson. That’ll be fun.”

“I wouldn’t mind twin girls,” Rhys said, his voice too soft for Rob to hear. He had no desire to share his pain with anyone, least of all someone like Rob Malone, who took his beautiful family for granted and spent at least six months out of the year away from them.

“You know, Rhys, if I was a more curious type of bloke, I would ask you why you’ve come into a war zone to search for a woman you barely know.”

“Good thing you’re not, then,” Rhys snapped.

He was annoyed with Rob for prying, but more so for asking the question he’d been asking himself since he left Quinn’s flat the night he volunteered to come on this lunatic mission.

Why was he really here? Was it to redeem himself in some way or to get out of his comfort zone and remind himself that his problems were nothing compared to those of people who lived with oppression, death, and destruction every single day?

Rhys looked around with interest as they drove into Kabul.

The traffic moved very slowly, the street congested with all sorts of vehicles, many of them military.

The streets were thronged with people, mostly men, Rhys noted, who wore their traditional clothing and seemed to just be milling about rather than going somewhere.

Given the hour, he’d expected most people to be engaged in some sort of work, but these men seemed to have nothing to do other than watch the passing cars and talk amongst themselves.

Several women walked by, wearing colorful dresses and headscarves, and children of various ages darted from place to place, their eyes too knowing for such young faces.

Stands lined the road, where young men sold fruit and other types of food, and Rhys watched as two women dressed in burkas approached a stand and made a purchase after several minutes of haggling with the seller.

“I hadn’t expected it to be so crowded,” Rhys remarked as they inched forward.

“It’s a city of six million,” Rob replied. He looked tense and his eyes kept darting around the perimeter.

“Why the holdup?” Rhys asked. “Was there a road accident?”

“We’re approaching a checkpoint,” Rob explained. “There are many set up on roads leading into the city.”

“What are they checking for?” Rhys asked, feeling awfully na?ve. He was known for his meticulous preparation when working on a program, but he hadn’t spent nearly enough time reading up on Kabul.

“Explosives. The checkpoints are a way to minimize suicide bombings within the city. Problem is, if they stop someone who’s actually a bomber, he’ll blow himself up right at the checkpoint rather than allow himself to be taken into custody.”

“You mean we’re sitting ducks?” Rhys asked, the magnitude of what he’d done finally beginning to sink in.

“In a sense.”

“But what of all these people?” Rhys asked, meaning the Afghans who walked around as if they were taking a stroll through a park.

“They’re used to it, and know it can happen anywhere at any time.”

“What a way to live,” Rhys muttered. “It’s little wonder Colleen is threatening to divorce you if you don’t come home. ”

“I’ll be all right as long as I leave before the fighting season starts,” Rob said as the Jeep finally began to move toward the checkpoint.

“The fighting season?”

“The annual spring offensive launched by the Taliban. It’s a prolonged period of mind-blowing violence. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be gone by the beginning of March.”

Rhys breathed a little easier once they passed the checkpoint and headed into the sprawling center of Kabul. “A shimmering ribbon of progress,” Rhys said quietly.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a line from a program I worked on about the Silk Road,” Rhys replied. “It stretched from China to Rome and passed through Afghanistan. All the countries along the road reaped tremendous benefits. The trade brought riches, progress, and cultural diversity.”

“Where is it, this road?” Rob asked as he maneuvered the Jeep down a narrow street.

“It wasn’t an actual road, it was a series of trade routes used thousands of years ago, before the birth of Christ. In those days, Afghanistan was a rare jewel on a string of gems that was the Silk Road.

It was such a desirable location that it drew the attention of the Persians and then Alexander the Great, who conquered it and added it to his empire.

He built several cities, all named Alexandria after himself. ”

“Hmm, I didn’t know that,” Rob said. “I just assumed this place was always Satan’s asshole.”

“It was quite beautiful once. There are over one thousand archeological sites in Afghanistan,” Rhys added.

He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend this war-torn land and its people’s culture, but he suspected it was because he saw with his own eyes how low it had been brought since its days of glory.

“This is the only place on earth where you can find lapis lazuli.”

“What’s that, then?”

“It’s a beautiful blue stone that’s been highly valued since antiquity. It’s very rare.”

“There’s something else here that’s been highly valued since antiquity,” Rob replied. “Poppies.”

He didn’t get a chance to elaborate because they pulled up to the sprawling, outdated edifice of the Mustafa Hotel.

“It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it’s habitable,” Rob said as he parked the Jeep and began walking toward the entrance.

“I’m not here for the amenities.”

Rhys checked in and made his way to his room on the second floor.

The room was even shabbier than the foyer, with a narrow, lumpy bed and faded curtains the color of rotten apricots.

The décor looked as if it hadn’t been updated since the 1970s, if the hotel had been around then.

Rhys took out his mobile and tapped on his inbox. Nothing happened.

“There’s no Wi-Fi in the rooms, but there is an internet café downstairs,” Rob said, watching Rhys with a smile of amusement. “I hope you brought a converter to charge your phone.”

“Yes, I have one, although I’m not sure my mobile will do me much good.”

“You’re better off using the landline if you want to call home. The signal is spotty here, because of the mountains.”

“Right.”

“Well, you must be tired. Shall we have dinner later? This place doesn’t look like much, but the food is not half bad.”

“Sure. Thanks, Rob. ”

“Look, Rhys, go easy. All right?” Rob said, his voice low and serious.

“How do you mean?”

“People here don’t respond to demands or bullying.”

“I wasn’t planning on bullying anyone,” Rhys replied, surprised Rob would suggest such a thing.

“What I mean is, these are poor folk who don’t have much left to lose. If you want something from them, make it worth their while.”

“You mean bribe them for information?” Rhys asked, not entirely surprised by Rob’s sage advice.

“Not bribe—pay. Think of it as an exchange. You would pay for goods. The information you seek is their only asset. You can’t blame them for trying to sell it for the highest price.”

“Thanks, Rob. I understand.”

“Good man,” Rob said and clapped Rhys on the shoulder. “See you at seven?”