Tom Smith - Agent 6

He entered the prison-fortress, akin to being allowed into a medieval castle through the great gates. And like a medieval castle, this was a facility concerned solely with the preservation of power. These walls had nothing to do with justice. The Soviet occupation force had immediately recognized the prison’s importance and sent a detachment of soldiers, as many as to the power stations and government ministries. This was where the dirty work of protecting a regime took place, processing the risky elements of the population. Soviet objections to the previous President’s techniques weren’t underpinned by morals, there was nothing wrong with a bloody purge, but murder had to be smart, and for the benefit of the party, rather than a personal grievance. Indiscriminate murder was a tactical mistake, undermining the Communist regime; murder needed to pacify, not aggravate, to make the job of the occupation easier, not more complicated.

Though he did not know them, the Soviet soldiers nodded at Leo as he passed them by, one foreigner saluting another. There was no such camaraderie between soldiers of different nationality: the Afghans and Soviets weren’t mixing, separated not merely by language but by profound mistrust. Only three months ago Pul-i-Charki had been under the direct control of a tyrannical president shot dead by the Soviets. Some of his deputies had been also been killed, but many of his prison guards were still here, subsumed beneath a new tier of management. Within a matter of minutes Leo counted three distinct groups: the Soviet troops, the new Afghan guard and the remnants of the old guard. If anyone asked him to write a report he’d argue the chances of an uprising were high. Corruption, betrayals and enemy informers were inevitable. His recommendation would be for Soviet reinforcements to take over the prison entirely. This unreliable patchwork of allegiances was repeated across the army and police. Leo knew of military advisers who believed the only solution was to have the Soviets do everything. Integration and cooperation were a fiction, peddled by politicians reluctant to commit more troops.

Nara had regained some composure, fearful of seeming weak in this fierce and unfriendly environment. As far as Leo could ascertain, she was the only woman officer. Hundreds of eyes trailed her with a muddle of lust and contempt. They were being shown the way by a highly obsequious prison governor, newly appointed by the regime and eager to please. He gave a commentary on his changes to the prison, pointing out various details, including the newly cleaned and improved kitchens that would provide basic but wholesome food. Leo remarked:

– Not difficult to improve on the food if the previous prisoners weren’t being fed.

The governor seemed stunned that not only could Leo understand and speak Dari, he could also make jokes in the language. He lahed loudly.

– You are right: any food is better than no food. That is true.

Unless his good humour concealed a darker soul, the man didn’t stand a chance. Leo guessed that he’d last no more than a month.

Nara had fallen back a little, her way of indicating that she wanted to talk out of earshot. Leo waited for the governor to hurry ahead to unlock a door and stopped, turning to Nara. Her voice trembled with emotion.

– They can’t see me like this.

– Like what?

– In a uniform… My parents.

– Do they know you’re a member of the secret police?

She shook her head, adding:

– You haven’t taught me how to question suspects. I’m training to be a teacher. I shouldn’t be here. It doesn’t make sense. There are others more suitable for this job.

– You were able to make an arrest. You can do this.

– I can’t.

– The fact that they’re your family should make no difference. Your family is the State.

– I’m scared.

If she had not been so merciless towards the deserting soldier Leo might have felt sorry for her.

– You’re not here to ask questions. You’re here to provoke them. The captain hasn’t sent you because he thinks you’re a skilled interrogator. There will be people already here who’ll handle the interrogation. You’re nothing more than a prop.

– A prop? I don’t understand.

– These interrogations are theatrical: people are brought in for effect. You’ll be paraded before your parents. That’s all. You’re not expected to ask any questions.

– I can’t do this.

The governor was lingering nearby, trying to ascertain the problem. A trace of impatience crept into Leo’s voice.

– Nara Mir, you’re an agent. You work for the State. You can’t find a task unpalatable and refuse to obey. In the end, you do as you’re told. You do whatever’s necessary. I have failed you as a teacher if I haven’t made that clear.

Nara forgot herself, suddenly angry, snapping at him:

– Would you interrogate your own parents?

Leo put a hand on her shoulder, a gesture of support that was not backed up by his reply.

– These dilemmas feel fresh and raw to you. But they’re old to me. They’re like a song I’ve heard too many times. Try to realize the awfulness of your position today isn’t remarkable, or exceptional, it’s ordinary.

An entire wing had been appointed for the more important political prisoners and their interrogations. The stone floors were cleaner, the guards were more alert, and the overhead fans worked, a sure sign there was a concentration of Soviet officials nearby. One man greeted them, another adviser exported to Afghanistan. His expertise was the handling of prisoners, the extraction of information – a professional interrogator.

– My name is Vladimir Borovik.

Medium build, with greying hair and soft hands, Borovik had the anonymity of a mid-ranking bureaucrat. He was younger than Leo, perhaps forty years old, and he displayed unnecessary deference. It grated on Leo, the implication that he was somehow the authority in a place like this. More likely, the man was angling for a friendship, a fellow Soviet to keep him company in town and show him how to survive the next few months, where to drink, where to find women. Borovik ignored Nara completely, despite her being the crucial element in the interrogation. He spoke in Russian, at speed, giving Leo no time to translate:

– I only arrived a couple of weeks ago. They have me staying at a military base. I can’t say I like this country very much. But the pay is so good I couldn’t say no. I’ll earn five times the amount that I would back home. I plan to complete six months, maybe a year if I can stomach it, and then go home and retire. That’s the dream. I’ll probably end up going home, spending all my money in a month or two, and then I’ll be back here again.

Eventually Nara was forced to interrupt, putting to use her limited Russian:

– Excuse me, I did not understand.

Leo said in Dari:

– Nothing worth translating.

The prison governor had melted away, leaving them alone, not wanting to be involved. As they walked to the cell Borovik whispered to Leo, inexplicably lowering his voice as though they were in danger of being overheard:

– The woman’s parents haven’t asked about her well-being or safety, not once.

He nodded at Nara, continuing:

– I’ve told them she was viciously attacked. They don’t seem to care. There’s no question in my mind that they were involved. The father is a proud man. In my experience a proud prisoner is the easiest to break.

Nara looked at Leo for a translation. Leo said nothing, allowing Borovik to continue.

– The father is something of a bore. If he’s not silent and solemn, he’s ranting and raving about various political issues. The mother is always silent, even when I ask her a direct question. I can’t wait to see how they react to their daughter.