Page 23 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)
SIXTEEN
Kabul, Afghanistan
At first, Rhys thought the knocking was part of his dream, but it grew louder, forcing him to claw his way back from deep slumber to consciousness.
He looked at his watch. It was almost six o’clock.
Rhys bolted out of bed and went to open the door.
A young man of about seventeen stood in the corridor.
He was very thin, and his upper lip was covered with a soft fuzz meant to represent a moustache.
A sparse beard shadowed the lower half of his face but failed to disguise the acne spots on his skin.
His expression was one of a deer caught in the headlights, surprised and frightened at the same time.
“Hello,” Rhys said, smiling in welcome. “Are you Ahmad Khan?” The young man nodded. “Won’t you come in?”
Rhys stepped aside to let Ahmad into the room. He came in but stood as close to the door as possible, as if he were going to bolt at any moment.
“Ahmad, I just want to ask you a few questions. Is that all right?” Another nod.
Rhys took out a photo of Jo and showed it to the young man.
“Do you remember this woman?” A nod. “Ahmad, Jo Turing has been missing for several weeks, possibly more. I found your name written on her notepad. Why would she have made a note of your name?”
Looking at the young man, Rhys couldn’t begin to imagine what Jo would want with him.
He seemed to be afraid of his own shadow, or more likely, losing his job.
There had to be countless other young men who’d be only too happy to take his place, eager to earn steady wages and pocket generous gratuities from the Westerners.
“Miss Jo need guide,” Ahmad mumbled. He stared at the tips of his scuffed shoes.
“Are you a guide?”
Ahmad shook his head. “My brother is. He do it for extra money.”
“Did your brother take Miss Jo into the mountains?”
He nodded miserably but still hadn’t looked up.
“Ahmad, I need to speak to your brother. Where can I find him?”
Ahmad finally lifted his face. His dark eyes were brimming with pain. “Ali hurt,” he said.
“Is he in a hospital?”
“He at home.”
“Can I see him for just a few minutes? I won’t tire him out.”
“Ali hurt bad.”
“Is he conscious?” Rhys asked carefully, not wanting to cause Ahmad further distress.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Is he awake?”
“Sometimes. He in pain.”
“Ahmad, is there anything I can do to help?”
Ahmad didn’t reply right away, but Rhys suddenly recalled Rob’s advice.
He reached into his pocket and extracted several bills.
He quickly did the math in his head and peeled off a thousand Afs, which would be equivalent to approximately ten quid.
He held out the bills to the young man. Ahmad looked uncertain but finally took the money and pocketed it.
He walked over to the nightstand and scribbled something on a notepad, then ripped off the page and handed it to Rhys.
“Go there tomorrow after ten.”
“Thank you,” Rhys said, but Ahmad was already rushing toward the door.
Rhys studied the address Ahmad had written down. He could barely make it out, but Rob or Mr. Zahir would be able to help. At least it was a lead.
Rhys changed into a clean shirt and headed downstairs.
He was early, but he’d sit at the bar and have a drink while he waited.
According to Rob, the Mustafa Hotel was one of the few places in Kabul that served alcohol, and although the prices were exorbitant, Rhys was ready to pay whatever it took to get a glass of red wine.