Tom Smith - Agent 6

He looked at Nara carefully, adding:

– She’s a tasty one. Any chance she’s up for some fun later? She’s one of the more laid-back women here, isn’t she? I’ve been told only the ones in uniforms are the ones you can mess about with. A face mask means they don’t fuck, right?

Frustrated, Nara implored Leo:

– What did he say?

– Your parents are not cooperating.

Reaching the cell Borovik gave precise instructions about the order of their entrance.

– I will enter first, then you and finally Nara Mir. It is important that there is a gap of at least a minute between your entrance and hers, so that both parents presume that there are no more new arrivals. She will then step inside the cell and surprise them.

The cell was unlocked while Leo translated to Nara. She was struggling to pay attention. Finally she gave Leo a small nod, indicating that she understood her part in this performance.

A guard opened the steel door. Borovik entered, Leo followed behind. Her parents were seated on two chairs, side by side. Her mother was not wearing the chador, her face exposed. Ashamed, she remained stooped, hunched over, meeting no one’s eye, staring at the patch of stone floor between her feet. In contrast, her father’s hands were on his knees, head held high. Leo didn’t need to ask any questions. There could be no doubt that this man had either directly sanctioned or been a party to the plans to murder his daughter. Borovik was also right about the man’s pride. It bristled around him.

Borovik ushered the Afghan interpreter out of the room. There was no need for him with Leo present. The move surprised Nara’s father but he remained silent, waiting for them to speak. At this point Nara entered the cell, pausing by the door, before stepping into the room, hands awkwardly by her sides. Staged like amateur theatre, it was nonetheless an effective device. Her father regarded her uniform: his eyes drilled into the details of her clothes, the colours, the symbols of the new regime. From his reaction he already knew she worked for the government. He regained control of his expression, easing back into his seat.

Borovik leaned close to Leo.

– Ask him if he’s ashamed that he ordered an attack on his daughter.

Leo translated the question. Before the father could answer, Nara stepped forward.

– Father, please let me help you. There has been a mistake. I’m here to explain that you had nothing to do with the attacks. If you cooperate we can be out of here within hours.

A threat of violence could not have been as tormenting to him as this offer of help. Gasping at his daughter’s naivety, the father said:

– You will help me?

– Father, the nature of my employment must be a shock for you.

She continued, deluded, narrating the fantasy of his innocence, a fiction constructed in the drive to the prison.

– We have our differences. But I know what these men cannot know. There is love between us. I remember holding your hand. You loved me as a child. As an adult, it has not been easy. I wanted to tell you about my recruitment. Consider this, you work for the government. You design buildings. I work for the government too. I will teach in universities, perhaps some of the buildings you helped create.

Her father shook his head, embarrassed by his daughter’s show of emotion and talk of love. He found it humiliating and silenced her:

– We found your boos, your political manifestos and your notes on how to identify recruits for government work and those who might be a threat. Were you going to inform on us? One day you would, if we had said the wrong thing or criticized the invaders.

– No, never, I want to help you.

– You cannot help me. You have ruined me. Not even a whore could have brought as much shame to our family as you have done.

Nara’s mouth fell open. Leo saw her falter, for a moment he wondered if she would need to steady herself against the wall. She didn’t. Her father continued, sensing weakness, wanting to hurt her, his desire to inflict pain stronger than self-preservation.

– I allowed you an education and you taught yourself to be blind. You cannot see what is happening to your own country. It has been invaded. It has been stolen from under your eyes and yet you celebrate this fact.

Still suffering from shock, Nara clung to one of her previous arguments, referencing her father’s role as a builder, a creator, not a terrorist.

– You work with the government. You are an architect.

– Shall I tell you what I learned from the history of the buildings around us? Hundreds of years ago the British invaders destroyed the ancient Charchata bazaar in retaliation for the murder of their envoy. That is how invaders weigh the life of one of their own against our nation. A whole city is not worth one of their officers, they would tear it down to rubble. The same will be true for the Soviets because this is not their home, not their land, no matter what destruction they bring they can always return to their cities and their families. I have never worked for the Soviets. I worked for the people of Afghanistan, the people of Kabul.

Nara stepped forward, only three paces from her father. Leo thought there was a chance he’d strike her, even in the cell. His arms and ankles were not restrained. Nara asked:

– You knew of the attack?

– Knew of it? I drew them a map of our apartment and marked with a cross where you would be sleeping.

Leo had not translated a word. He glanced at Borovik. The interrogator seemed to know exactly what was going on and said:

– The father has admitted his guilt, yes?

Leo nodded. Borovik continued:

– That was the easy part. What we need are the names of those involved.

Leo whispered:

– There is no chance he’ll give up those names. Borovik agreed.

– The pride that helped us will now work against us. You are right, the father wouldn’t tell us the names. His wife is a different matter.

Borovik gestured at the guard on the door. There was the sound of an adjacent cell being opened. A young man appeared, blindfolded, his hands tied behind his back. Leo didn’t recognize him. Nara’s mother stood up, raising her face for the first time, hands locked together, pleading:

– No!

It was a desperate, animal-like cry. Leo asked Borovik:

– Who is that man?

– It’s Nara’s brother. The mother seems keen on her son. She agreed to her daughter’s death. I wonder if she’ll agree to the death of her son.

Nara had turned almost as pale as her mother. Borovik whispered in Leo’s ear:

– I’ll wager I can get a name within five minutes.

Like a sultan calling for food, Borovik clapped his hands together.

A guard entered carrying a stainless-steel tray. On it was a single bottle of orange soda, the liquid luminous in the gloomy cell, the colour of the Fanta label a faded blue. The guard set the tray down on a table. He pulled a bottle opener from his pocket with all the formality of a waiter in a luxury hotel. The steel soda top clinked on the floor. Borovik stepped forward and began to drink straight from the bottle in long gulps, a thin orange line leaking from the side of his mouth until the bottle was finished. He placed the empty bottle on the edge of the table and let go. The bottle fell, as was intended, smashing in two. Borovik picked up the largest remaining portion by the neck, creating a jagged glass fist. It was a crude threat, breathtaking in its savagery, exploiting the notoriety of this place. Leo had seen enough. Without saying a word he walked out, brushing past the shocked figure of Nara, leaving the cell. Borovik called out to him from the door but Leo didn’t look back. Passing the exiled interpreter, Leo said: