Ken Follett - Lie down with lions

She had not followed the conventions of sexual behavior, and the only other women they knew like that were whores.

When Jean-Pierre was there she always reached out to touch him just before falling asleep. He always slept curled up, facing away from her, and although he moved a lot in his sleep he never reached out for her. The only other man she had shared a bed with for a long period was Ellis, and he had been just the opposite: all night long he was touching her, hugging her and kissing her; sometimes while half-awake and sometimes when fast asleep. Twice or three times he had tried to make love to her, roughly, in his sleep: she would giggle and try to accommodate him, but after a few seconds he would roll off and start snoring, and in the morning he had no recollection of what he had done. How different he was from Jean-Pierre. Ellis touched her with clumsy affection, like a child playing with a beloved pet; Jean-Pierre touched her the way a violinist might handle a Stradivarius. They had loved her differently, but they had betrayed her the same way.

Chantal gurgled. She was awake. Jane laid her in her lap, supporting her head so that they could look directly at one another, and began to talk to her, partly in nonsense syllables and partly in real words. Chantal liked this. After a while Jane ran out of small talk and began to sing. She was in the middle of Daddy's gone to London in a puffer train when she was interrupted by a voice from outside. "Come in," she called. She said to Chantal: "We have visitors all the time, don't we? It's like living in the National Gallery, isn't it?" She pulled the front of her shirt together to hide her cleavage.

Mohammed walked in and said in Dari: "Where is Jean-Pierre?"

"Gone to Skabun. Anything I can do?"

"When will he be back?"

"In the morning, I expect. Do you want to tell me what the problem is, or do you plan to continue talking like a Kabul policeman?"

He grinned at her. When she spoke disrespectfully to him he found her sexy, which was not the effect she intended. He said: "Alishan has arrived with Masud. He wants more pills."

"Ah, yes." Alishan Karim was the brother of the mullah, and he suffered from angina. Of course, he would not give up his guerrilla activities, so Jean-Pierre gave him trinitrin to take immediately before battle or other exertion. "I'll give you some pills," she said. She stood up and handed Chantal to Mohammed.

Mohammed took the baby automatically and then looked embarrassed. Jane grinned at him and went into the front room. She found the tablets on a shelf beneath the shopkeeper's counter. She poured about a hundred into a container and returned to the living room. Chantal was staring, fascinated, at Mohammed. Jane took the baby and handed over the pills. "Tell Alishan to rest more," she said.

Mohammed shook his head. "He's not frightened of me," he said. "You tell him."

Jane laughed. Coming from an Afghan, that joke was almost feminist.

Mohammed said: "Why did Jean-Pierre go to Skabun?"

"There was a bombing there this morning."

"No, there wasn't."

"Of course there wa—" Jane stopped suddenly.

Mohammed shrugged. "I was there all day with Masud. You must be mistaken."

She tried to keep her face composed. "Yes. I must have misheard."

"Thank you for the pills." He went out.

Jane sat down heavily on a stool. There had been no bombing at Skabun. Jean-Pierre had gone to meet Anatoly. She did not see quite how he had arranged it, but she had no doubt whatsoever.

What was she to do?

If Jean-Pierre knew about the gathering tomorrow, and could tell the Russians about it, then the Russians would be able to attack—

They could wipe out the entire leadership of the Afghan Resistance in a single day.

She had to see Ellis.

She wrapped a shawl around Chantal—the air would be a little cooler now—and left the house, heading for the mosque. Ellis was in the courtyard with the rest of the men, poring over Jean-Pierre's maps with Masud and Mohammed and the man with the eye patch. Some guerrillas were passing around a hookah, others were eating. They stared in surprise as she walked in with her baby on her hip. "Ellis," she said. He looked up. "I need to talk to you. Would you come outside?"

He got up, and they went out through the arch and stood in front of the mosque.

"What is it?" he said.

"Does Jean-Pierre know about this gathering you have arranged, of all the Resistance leaders?"

"Yes—when Masud and I first talked about it, he was right there, taking the slug out of my ass. Why?"

Jane's heart sank. Her last hope had been that Jean-Pierre might not know. Now she had no choice. She looked around. There was no one else within earshot; and anyway they were speaking English. "I have something to tell you," she said, "but I want your promise that no harm will come to him."

He stared at her for a moment. "Oh, shit," he said fervently. "Oh fuck, oh shit. He works for them. Of course! Why didn't I guess? In Paris he must have led those motherfuckers to my apartment! He's been telling them about the convoys—that's why they've been losing so many! The bastard—" He stopped suddenly, and spoke more gently. "It must have been terrible for you."

"Yes," she said. Irresistibly her face crumpled, tears rushed to her eyes, and she began to sob. She felt weak and foolish and ashamed of herself for crying, but she also felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her.

Ellis put his arms around her and Chantal. "You poor thing," he said.

"Yes," she sobbed. "It was awful."

"How long have you known?"

"A few weeks."

"You didn't know when you married him."

"No."

"Both of us," he said. "We both did it to you."

"Yes."

"You mixed with the wrong crowd."

"Yes."

She buried her face in his shirt and cried without restraint, for all the lies and betrayals and spent time and wasted love. Chantal cried, too. Ellis held Jane close and stroked her hair until eventually she stopped shaking, began to calm down and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I broke his radio, you see," she said, "and then I thought he had no way of getting in touch with them; but today he was called to Skabun to see to the bomb-wounded, but there was no bombing at Skabun today. ..."

Mohammed came out of the mosque. Ellis let go of Jane and looked embarrassed. "What's happening?" he said to Mohammed in French.

"They're arguing," he said. "Some say this is a good plan and it will help us defeat the Russians. Others ask why Masud is considered the only good commander, and who is Ellis Thaler that he should judge Afghan leaders? You must come back and talk to them some more."

"Wait," Ellis said. "There's been a new development."

Jane thought: Oh, God, Mohammed will kill somebody when he hears this—

"There has been a leak."

"What do you mean?" Mohammed said dangerously.

Ellis hesitated, as if reluctant to spill the beans; and then he seemed to decide that he had no alternative. "The Russians may know about the conference—"

"Who?" Mohammed demanded. "Who is the traitor?"

"Possibly the doctor, but—"

Mohammed rounded on Jane. "How long have you known this?"

"You'll speak to me politely or not at all," she snapped back.

"Hold it," said Ellis.

Jane was not going to let Mohammed get away with his accusatory tone of voice. "I warned you, didn't I?" she

said. "I told you to change the route of the convoy. I saved your damn life, so don't point your finger at me."

Mohammed's anger evaporated, and he looked a little sheepish.

Ellis said: "So that's why the route was changed." He looked at Jane with something like admiration.

Mohammed said: "Where is he now?"

"We're not sure," Ellis replied.

"When he comes back he must be killed."