Page 31 of What is Lost

Ustinov snapped his fingers. “An incendiary.”

“You’re serious. The thing is a flash-bang?”

“Of a sort. Only a very small explosion. More like a very bright, very loud firecracker. Just enough to incinerate the contents. Thereisa way to disable the incendiary, of course.”

“Of course.” John waited. “Which is?”

“Ah, yes.” Turning over a case, Ustinov pointed to a miniscule flap. “This is...erhm...how you say, Velcro? Pull like this.” He pulled then showed them a small white nib. “Press and hold five seconds and that incendiary is disabled.”

“Wow.” He and Davila traded looks, and thenDavila said, “Why do I feel like I just tripped into a James Bond movie?”

“He kind of does look a little bit like John Cleese,” John said. “If, you know, Cleese was, like, twenty years young and Russian.”

“Please.” Ustinov looked offended. “I am dead in...erhm...earnest. As you can see, there is no way anyone will be able to deprive you of cash along the way.”

“Unless,” John observed, “they deprive us of our thumbs and wear a blast shield and fire-retardant gloves.”

“There you go again, jumping to worst case scenarios,” Davila said.

“Helps me prepare for unpleasant surprises,” John said.

Ustinov pushed on. “Parviz also has several bottles of vodka. Those are for the Tajik guards. While theyarebribes, you must call them ‘gifts.’ You mustn’t forget to phrase them as such. That is very important.”

“What about the Afghan side?”

“Only cash. Don’t offer vodka. If there is a Taliban soldier around, you might be flogged. Or land in jail.” Ustinov put a furry finger to his lips. “Actually, they will have you meet with an accident…say, you will get in the path of a bullet or take one step too many off a short pier. They will take the money, of course. Not that it will do them much good unless, as you say, they deprive you of your right thumb.”

“And have a fire extinguisher handy,” John put in. “Or figure out the flap-and-button thingy.”

“What if the only guards are Afghans?” Davila asked.

“Same result,” Ustinov said. “Only they will drink the vodka andthentry totake your money. Best to avoid either scenario, yes?”

“How likely arewe to run into hardcore Taliban?” Davila asked.

“Very,” Ustinov said. “They have many reasons to patrol that border area.”

“People smuggling?”

Ustinov nodded. “In addition to infiltration by hostiles through a less-traveled route. Once you are across, however, it will be some time before you meet any Pamiris or Kyrgyz.” Ustinov pronounced it asKihr-gess. “They are nomads. Pamiris are usually more settled, though there are several bands who travel the mountains. Here.” Tugging a cell from a vest pocket, Ustinov poked the screen with a hairy forefinger then turned the screen to show them both a map.

“There is where we are in Dushanbe,” Ustinov said, indicating a red teardrop in the center of thecountry. “You can see we are north of the mountains. Now, this…” He traced a thin black line south of Dushanbe and in the mountains. “This is the border with Afghanistan, which follows a river.”

“The Panj,” Davila said.

“Correct.” Ustinov wagged his head. “On the Tajik side, the border is at Eshkashim. On the Afghan, it isIshkashimand about five kilometers’ walk to the west. As you can see, the border is not near any settlements, though that is the mouth of the Wakhan into Afghanistan proper.”

“But that’s where we’ll meet our guide on the Afghan side?”

“A guide, yes.”

“Name?” John asked. “Animal? Vegetable? Mineral?”

“What?” Before he could answer, Ustinov waved a hand. “Never mind. You will have a guide. Ask for Abdul-Ami. He will alsowaitforty-eight hours for you, if you are delayed.”

“Why would that happen?”

“Rockslides, bad weather. We want to allow for contingencies.”

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