Page 54 of What Remains (John Worthy #3)

“A trade?” Amused, Sarbaz tilted his head to one side and then the other, like a dog trying to make sense of what its master was saying.

The man’s dark gaze flicked from Poya to Shahida, slouched on the yak.

Her hands were bound. Another rope was looped around her waist, tethering her to the animal’s back so she wouldn’t fall. Or jump down and run away.

“You’re a brave man, Amu, I’ll give you that,” Sarbaz said, “but I don’t know why you think I’d be interesting in bargaining with you. I could kill you and your clansmen right now.”

This was true enough. They had strength in numbers, after all.

Four guards against Amu and Kur. Only Kur had leveled his rifle.

Amu’s AK was in its scabbard which was yoked to the one yak they’d brought and out of reach.

Kur’s rifle was steady enough, but Poya didn’t think he could take out four men before they took him out.

Even if Kur was that fast, Sarbaz had a very large, very black pistol in a paddle-holster.

Poya knew the make, too: a Glock. He even knew why Sarbaz might like that style of handgun because Baba had a good collection of American movies featuring police.

A Glock, Baba once explained, had no safety, which was why so many police liked them.

Keep a round chambered, then point and shoot.

Poya hoped no one was twitchy or, as the Americans would say, trigger-happy.

That’s all they needed: people to start firing.

There was no place to really run and hide here except into the mine, and he wasn’t doing that.

Chances were excellent, therefore, he’d get caught in the crossfire and they would all die for nothing.

“You’re nobody, Amu. There’s nothing to stop me from killing you and wounding your man here.

Oh, I’d take good care of him. We have a very fine doctor, who knows how to follow orders.

Saves me the expense of a bullet. Anyway, your man will be healed in no time and then I’ll put him to work.

You, on the other hand, will be found for the wolves or leopards…

whoever gets to you first. So, let me put this into language you will understand.

I don’t trade , Amu. I never trade. I take—and if I want to take this boy …

” Resting the heel of his right hand on his Glock, Sarbaz flicked a finger at Poya. “I will.”

This is a mistake. This is never going to work.

Swathed in his coat and hat and a bulky scarf which he’d wrapped around his nose and mouth, Poya kept his head down, staring up at Sarbaz through his lashes.

His bunched fists knotted, and he gritted his teeth against a sudden lance of pain the coarse rope slipped beneath his mittens and cut his wrists.

Stop, stop, you’re just going to make it worse. But he was scared out of his wits.

Because I told you, John Worthy. I told you. Except John wouldn’t listen.

Oh, John had apologized. Said, as he was tying Poya’s hands together, that he was so sorry things had come to this but offering him up was the only way to get his and Driver’s two friends out of the mine.

To do that, John explained, they had to give Sarbaz something he would really want—and then just one more thing to sweeten the deal.

That, John said, was Poya.

I’m sorry. John cupped one of Poya’s cheeks in a hand. I’m sorry, honey, but you need to be brave. As brave as you’ve been since Kabul. I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. We don’t have a choice.

Right. That was such a lie. Adults always had choices, but not he. What was he supposed to do? Go shrieking away into the snow? Adults were all alike, too. They were always sorry, so sorry, but they didn’t mind using kids like him.

Well, Poya was sick of adults who claimed he had no say, no choice.

First, his parents who’d made Poya into what he was and then Mami telling him he had to stay while she went away, and then Ibrahim with his doleful eyes who’d seen the thing that had made Zahid curse him and spit and now frightened Amu so badly.

Adults always looked for any excuse to get rid of Poya.

Even that American doctor, that John Worthy.

But…Poya let John tie his hands. What was he going to say? No? Find somebody else? There was no one else. Everyone knew it. He’d known what they would do as soon as Driver had looked his way and said, What about we sweeten the deal with a trade?

He was the sweet. He was the only one, too. There were no other boys old enough whom Sarbaz would want.

So Poya sat still while John made his complicated loop and tie.

Even when John cinched the rope and a bit of the tender skin of Poya’s left wrist had gotten caught and cut, Poya hadn’t squeaked or jerked.

He only gritted his teeth. John wouldn’t have been the wiser if he’d not seen a smear of Poya’s blood.

Oh, I’m sorry. Here, let me see. There wasn’t much blood, but John fussed, his head down, his mouth close to Poya’s ear.

So Poya could not possibly miss what John said next.

“I’m giving you more than just this boy.

” Amu’s tone was as flat and void of emotion as his face.

The wind only whistled past this hollow, and the tiny flag of surrender tied to the willow pole he still gripped snapped to life in tiny, abortive spasms, like a bird trying to fly with a broken wing.

“I will give you the woman, too.” He inclined his head toward the blood-stained bundle the yak carried. “And that .”

“Mmm.” Like Poya and Amu, Sarbaz was well bundled against the cold.

Only his face, bearded and wolfish, showed and he worried the beard now, combing it with the cracked fingers of his right hand.

The gold ring with its magical curse was dull in the last of the day’s light, the metal more like lead. “What makes you think I want either?”

“Two reasons. One is the medicine you gave that woman. I know you did. There are needle marks. She also babbled for hours.”

“So?”

“So, you wanted information. The other reason is you wasted bullets chasing them. We all heard the shots in the valley. You don’t shoot at people you want to keep alive.”

Sarbaz hmm ed again as his fingers tangled in his beard. “How did you come on them?”

“I didn’t.” Amu tipped his head at Poya. “He did, and that’s another reason I want to trade. I bought him. I gave him a home, and he repays me by lying, stealing, sneaking off.”

“Thinking to run away? And that’s how he found them?”

“Well, he found the woman. The man wasn’t far away. Most of his face is gone.” Amu moved his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “No surprise. Leopards and wolves always go for the soft parts first. Lips, nose?—”

A scream, loud enough to make them all flinched. Even the yak lifted its head.

“Let me go !” she raged, struggling against the ropes bound around her wrists.

One around her waist tethered her to the yak.

“Let me go or I’ll kill all of you! I’ll dance on your graves Khuday darla da spo marg rawali !

” Foam flecked Shahida’s lips. She looked like the dogs she hoped would tear Sarbaz apart. “ Jaaru she! ”

Sarbaz raised both eyebrows. “She must’ve had some mother.

Mine was always slinging curses like that at my sisters.

I can see why you’d want to be rid of her.

I could order another injection. That would slow her down.

On the other hand, she might be good in bed, Amu,” Sarbaz said. “Give you more children.”

“Dogs!” Shahida spat and twisted. “ Gudree shai! ”

“Shut up, woman,” Sarbaz said.

“No!” Shahida let loose a huge gobbet of spit. It didn’t get far before the wind snatched and carried it away. “You want me to shut up, you will have to cut out my tongue!”

“Don’t tempt me,” Sarbaz said.

“She talks too much. Besides, why would I want more?” Amu’s features were flat and expressionless. “You would only steal them.”

“Only if they’re boys,” Sarbaz said easily. “And only after a certain age, when they are stronger.”

Although the light was bad, Poya saw the muscles in Amu’s jaw twitch and jump. “I do not want her.” He tilted his head toward the woman. “So, I give her and the dead one to you. I will give the money they had on them as well.”

“Money?” Sarbaz’s eyebrows arched. “They had money.”

“A lot.” Then, Amu added, “Don’t shoot me. I’m going to show you one of the packs.” Turning, he pulled a large black case from a pannier. Unzipping the case, he held the edges apart so Sarbaz could see inside. “Money. Lots of it. American dollars, too, not Afghani.”

“If you don’t mind.” Sarbaz gestured to one of his men, who trotted over, relieved Amu of the bag, then trotted back. “All hundreds.” He pulled out what look to Poya like one of those bricks they showed in movies. “How much?”

“I don’t know.” Amu shrugged. “All I know are sheep. I am offering all this. I don’t care what you do with her or the body or the others, all I ask is for my son. You give me Hamzad, I give you all…”

“Flowers!” Straining, Shahida shrilled, “Meeks, Meeks ! Where are you?”

“ Khwla banda ka !” Cursing, Sarbaz covered the distance to Shahida in two strides then backhanded her across her mouth so hard her head whipped round. “Will you close your mouth? I can’t even hear myself think.”

“ Gashti ka bacha !” Screeching, Shahida reared back then flung a wad of bloody spittle. This time, her aim was perfect and caught Sarbaz on a cheek. “ Harami !”

Livid, Sarbaz drew his hand back for another slap then checked himself, turned on his heel, and jerked his head at one of his men.

“Go,” he grated. “Go and fetch the doctor. Bring more of that medicine. Oh, and bring candles. The light’s getting bad.

” Then as the man turned to go, he added, “And fetch the other two Americans.” To Amu: “A precaution. Better to have them verify the identity of this one.”