Andy McNab - War torn

The man nodded. 'Nevertheless, your position is an interesting one. Do you see yourself as Afghan? As English? As Pashtun?'

'What's he saying?' Boss Weeks asked.

'He's talking about the school wall,' she lied. To the tribesman she said: 'Allah chose to offer my family refuge in Britain during difficult times and for that I thank Allah and Britain.'

It was a reply she had prepared long ago for any Pashtun who asked her that difficult question. But none had before now.

'And do you really believe,' the son pursued, 'that by working for the British Army you are working in the best interests of the Pashtun people? There is a lot of work to be done here but an army which comes to fight can't do that work. Or is it that after living so long in England you don't care about the Pashtun people?'

His words were confrontational but his tone was gentle.

Her cheeks began to burn.

'What did he say?' Boss Weeks was getting more impatient.

At last she said: 'He asked if the British Army would really be prepared to build a wall around the school.'

'He seems to be speaking to you about this wall with some intensity…'

She shrugged.

They debated the likelihood of a mortar attack on the school and whether a wall would really help prevent this. They learned that only a few weeks ago women and girls had been killed at a village school not far away.

'I hope it was rebuilt,' the engineer said. 'In the UK we support the education of women.'

Asma thought of her own education in east London. That had been grey too. She had gone to the same grey, concrete place as hundreds of other teenagers in grey uniforms and the last thing on anybody's mind had been their education. The idea that women and girls might die for the right to this education would have seemed amazing there.

Jean and Major Willingham were now locked in a discussion with the head tribesman which brought all other conversation around the carpet to a halt.

'What's he saying?' Weeks hissed.

'They're discussing the Taliban,' Asma said.

The tribesman said they had heard about a training base near the Helmand River. He named an area. Asma recognized the name at once from her interrogation of the two detainees.

'In fact,' said the tribesman, 'we have reason to believe that our brothers in this area are sheltering many fighters. And we must remember that our brothers may not have been given a choice.'

'And the focus of this activity? Exactly where is it?' the major demanded.

Jean translated this as: 'Some indication of the exact location would be extremely interesting and helpful to our understanding of this situation, if you would be kind enough to share this information.'

The tribesman looked at his elder son.

'Asad?'

Asad said he wasn't sure exactly which compound it was. He once again named the area.

'Could you be more precise?' Major Willingham urged.

But Asad shook his head.

'We would very much like to welcome you here again. By then we will perhaps have found the answer for you.'

Asma had a feeling that he wanted to discuss with his family whether to disclose the compound's location, but the OC looked pleased enough.

'That would be extremely helpful.'

Asma translated: 'We thank you for your generosity and understand that you have the interests of Afghanistan and its future and those of the Pashtun people at heart.'

The tribesmen smiled and the meeting ended amicably. It seemed to Asma that the good-looking soldier, in his position by the door, had remained motionless throughout. She saw him, very quietly and unobtrusively, radio the men outside. She watched Jean grin at him as she passed and his face broke into a smile in return.

When they emerged into the sunlight the Vectors were waiting. Soldiers appeared as though they had materialized from cracks in the dry walls and climbed aboard.

'No doubt about it. Someone fancies you,' Jean muttered to Asma.

'He's got really amazing eyes. They're so blue I had to keep looking at the carpet in case they burned a hole in me.'

Jean gave her a sideways glance. 'His eyes look an ordinary sort of grey to me.'

Asma looked confused.

'I'm not talking about that tribesman, for heaven's sake,' Jean said.

Asma blinked.

'Duh. I mean Second Lieutenant Weeks. He just couldn't stop staring at you. And when you were chatting away to Ol' Blue Eyes he was getting really agitated.'

'Don't talk daft!'

'I swear it.'

'What about you then? You kept looking at someone all through the meeting.'

'Did I? Who?'

'That soldier over by the door.'

Jean giggled.

'And you gave him a sexy smile on the way out. And you were looking at him in the cookhouse the other night, too.'

'Well… he's nice to look at…'

'Are you blushing? I reckon you are!'

'I reckon I might be too…'

They did their best to look serious again when the officers climbed in beside them.

'Well,' Major Willingham said as the Vectors set off through the dust. 'Do we trust them? Or are they just trying to use the British Army to fight some local feud against whoever lives in that compound?'

The engineer pulled a face.

'Whatever their motive, it's not greed. They're not asking for the earth, just a school wall.'

'But that elder son. He's educated. He's spent a few years in Saudi; he could so easily have come under the influence of…'

Boss Weeks nodded: 'I think his history's highly suspicious. I found that man highly suspicious. I mean, possibly dangerous.' Then he coloured and added: 'Although of course I'm not used to dealing with these people.'

'Well let's ask someone who is,' the major said. 'What did our interpreters make of them?'

Jean said: 'If Asad was Saudi-educated he will have come back with new ideas. That may be good, because he can handle concepts like oil exploration. And it may be bad.'

'There's a danger,' Asma continued, 'that he'll have come back wahabi – that is, with no respect for the old tribal customs. If you're wahabi then you regard a lot of the local practices as no more than superstition. So when Arab fighters, and other insurgents, get here and stamp all over the local traditions and run amok with their weapons, he might think that's cool. Or he might think he's promoting Pashtun interests.'

'Very interesting,' Major Willingham said. 'I saw you having a conversation with the son. How dangerous do you think he is?'

Jean watched her carefully. They all waited for Asma's answer.

'Well,' she said at last, 'my instinct is quite strong on this one. I think we should trust this family.'

'YOU'VE GOT SOME CALLS TO MAKE.'

Dave had been summoned over to the ops room. Jenny… His stomach lurched. Something's happened to her.

'Is it my wife, sir?'

'No, nothing like that. It's about the two men you lost. Rifleman Jordan is doing well in Selly Oak but he's made repeated requests to talk to you about the incident. And Rifleman Buckle…'

'Yes?' Was the 2 i/c preparing him for bad news? His enquiries about Steve had always met with the same noncommittal response. Now Dave felt his heart thump.

The 2 i/c said: 'Rifleman Buckle would also like a word with you.'

'So he's well enough to talk now!' Dave's heart was still pumping hard but it was feeding relief to all the tiny, faraway capillaries that had drained as he braced himself for the worst.

He was handed the phone and, after being passed along a chain of medical personnel, he heard a voice he recognized.

'Dave, is that you, mate?'

The voice was airless, as though its owner was wearing too tight a uniform. But it was unmistakably Steve Buckle.

'Good to hear you, mate! I've been asking to speak to you every day but they wouldn't let me.'