Tom Smith - Agent 6

On the living-room table was a bulky cassette player. Nara asked, in Russian:

– Is the music too… big?

She couldn’t find the word and changed into Dari.

– Is it too loud?

– No.

The music was bootleg Western pop, the kind that could be found in markets, spread out on shawls, with photocopied album covers, shipped in from other countries, sold at an enormous mark-ups, intended for the occupation force. Leo had no idea what the music was, or who the singer might be. The singing was English: the accent was American. The man had an excellent voice. Nara asked, genuinely nervous:

– Is it a mistake for a Communist to purchase the music of an American singer?

Leo shook his head.

– I don’t think anyone is going to mind.

– The captain gave me an allowance. I have never had my own money before. I spent it. I spent it all in a single afternoon. I kept buying things I didn’t need until the money was gone. Was I wrong to do that?

– No.

On›- The singer is called Sam Cooke. Have you heard of him?

– I don’t follow music.

They listen for a few more moments before Leo said:

– I knew an American singer once. He was a Communist and he visited Moscow many years ago when I was a young man. I provided security for him. He was called Jesse Austin. His voice sounded a little like this man’s voice. Except Jesse Austin didn’t sing pop songs.

Nara took a pen and pad from the living-room table, writing down the name JESSE AUSTIN, as if he were a suspect she needed to investigate.

– I will try to find him in the bazaar tomorrow.

Leo had never thought of looking for his music.

– If you find it, let me know. We can listen together.

Leo glanced around her apartment, at her Communist books now on display on the shelves, books that she’d once been forced to hide in the brickwork of an alleyway, the books that had infuriated her parents and brought about the attempt on her life. She owned very little else: the apartment was almost as empty as Leo’s. The song finished. The tape crackled. A new song began. Nara said:

– Your life in Moscow must be very different from your life here?

Leo nodded, uneasy at the turn the conversation had taken.

– It was.

– Do you miss your family?

She’d never asked about his personal life before and he didn’t like her asking about it now. He was about to say goodnight and return to his apartment when she added:

– They’re going to execute my father.

Leo’s irritation melted away. He said:

– Yes. I know.

– My mother will be imprisoned. So will my brother. I’ve never lived without my family before.

– It will be hard.

She looked into Leo’s eyes with a pitiful mixture of loneliness and resolve.

– Does it get easier?

Leo shook his head.

– You find ways of coping.

Leo had not entered the apartment, remaining on the threshold, not wishing to embarrass her sense of propriety. She had not invited him in. It would be culturally inappropriate. However, he sensed that she did not want him to leave and wanted him to ask permission to come inside. She could not bring herself to make the request. Finally, Leo said:

– Try to get some sleep.

He turned and left, forcing himself not to look back to see if she was watching him.

Reaching the front door, Leo paused. He pictured her alone in that stark, freshly painted, soulless apartment. It was ridiculous that he should think of going back. She’d lost her family. Of course she wanted company. Was it precisely because she was alone tht he wanted to be with her? The two of them were in the same position, alone, outsiders. It didn’t need to become awkward. What was wrong with them becoming friends? He slowly turned around.

Nara was at the door. She had not shut it but she was not looking at Leo. Captain Vashchenko was at the end of the corridor, a map rolled up under his arm, walking towards them.

– I need to speak to both of you. Let’s talk in Leo’s apartment.

Nara waited until the captain had passed her before leaving her apartment, hiding behind him. Leo did not have a chance to catch her expression.

Inside his apartment, the captain spread out the map on the table, paying no attention as Leo tidied away his opium pipe. The captain took out his gun, using it to weigh the map down. It showed mountains and a valley near the city of Jalalabad, not far from the Pakistan border. The captain explained:

– I presumed a connection between the murders in Kabul and the failed bombing of the Sarobi Dam. I was correct. Dost Mohammad was behind the murders in Kabul. We found the body of Samir Mohammad at the dam, a known bomb-maker. The two men are brothers. According to our source, there are four brothers in total, a young boy called Sayed and a fighter called Fahad, a man feared as a great warrior. This family is a unit of insurrection. Their target is the stability of Kabul. Three days ago we sent a team to their home village, not far from Jalalabad. Hind helicopters were supposed to provide air support for a ground team. We’re told that the villagers opened fire. The helicopters retaliated. The conflict escalated.

He paused, glancing at Leo.

– Several hundred are dead, including women and children. We now have a problem of a different kind. Stories of the massacre have spread throughout the region. We fear they will inflame the insurgency, not just in the province where it took place but also in Kabul. News of the massacre has reached the capital. People are accusing us of striking the village as an act of revenge. Many of our Afghan allies are upset. They see our response as disproportionate.

Leo guessed where the captain was going.

– You have military internal affairs. Let them investigate. Make a show of justice.

– This isn’t about an investigation of our personnel. They were doing their job. This is a public-relations exercise. We need to go into the region and perform some kind of conciliatory gesture. You are our most experienced adviser, you understand these people. These terrorists are causing more problems dead than they did when they were alive. I want you to broker some kind of peace, some kind of compensation.

Considering the premise absurd, Leo scratched his stubble.

– Captain, I’ll be frank with you. Going to this village is a waste of time. They don’t want anything from us, except that we leave their country. I don’t have your authorization to offer that, do I?

Taking his gun, but leaving the map, the captain didn’t register Leo’s objection, saying:

– We leave first thing tomorrow morning. I need people to negotiate, people I trust, which is why I want Nara Mir to come with us. She’s proved herself to be a promising agent. It would be good to have at least one Afghan, for the sake of appearances.

Departing as abruptly as he arrived, he stopped by the door, looking back at the two of them.

– You will translate everything I said for her, won’t you?

The captain shut the door, leaving the two of them alone together.

Leo sat in the back seat of the armoured UAZ beside Nara, the pair of them looking in opposite directions, their bodies angled away from each other. They’d been in this position for most of the long, uncomfortable journey, remaining silent and avoiding eye contact, staring at the view as their convoy had left Kabul, setting out along one of the most dangerous roads in the world, en route to Jalalabad. Forced into taking a diversion around the mountains, humbled before the Afghan landscape, the road passed through the Surobi Gorge where it twisted around sheer drops of several hundred metres, hillsides spotted with burnt-out carcasses of crashed vehicles. This was ambush territory, as lethal as the exit from the Salang Pass where insurgents hid in the mountains, picking off fuel convoys. A military officer was driving with the captain in the front beside him. There was a second vehicle in support with four more Soviet soldiers, a modest military convoy with radios ready to call for air support should it be required. Upon occasion the captain turned around and addressed some comment to Leo, his inscrutable, angular features providing no clue as to whether he guessed what had happened last night. It would be entirely consistent with Soviet protocol if the newly constructed apartment blocks were bugged.