Page 7 of Obsession of the Egoist
Someone paid for electricity and TV. Who hoped I’d return?He wasn’t close to his adoptive family; he hadn’t seen them in ages.Then who paid for all this?Was it Yugo? Did he plan to let me go from the beginning? Is it some kind of a sick joke?
He turned the volume up and clicked through the channels, not paying much attention to what was showing. He needed a distraction—from thoughts, memories, emptiness, and life.
During the time he’d spent with Yugo, he’d never worried about what he would do once he escaped. Now he had his freedom back, but he had no clue what to do with it. Decisions had been made for him for too long, that he’d forgotten how to make his own. He didn’t even know which channel to watch.
The flickering screen trapped his eyes, throwing his mind in a half-hypnotic state. But a part of him kept thinking about what he would have to tell his family. Why he had been missing? Why he couldn’t go back to the police? How could he be normal ever again? How could he have another relationship in his life?
Maybe I wouldn’t feel this useless if I killed him? Would his death release me? Why have I never been able to kill him? He did so many things to me, yet I couldn’t pull the trigger. Why?
His finger kept switching channels until he found the news again.
“The public execution of Ali Amin, the third son of Ahmad Amin, the leader of the Al-Amin group, triggered a civil war that is drowning Afghanistan in blood. Dozens of innocent people died in the crossfire,” said a female anchor with a sorrowful face, tucking a lock of slick black hair behind her ear. The screen changed, showing devastation and destruction reigning on yellowish, sandy streets. Now and then, gunfire disturbed the clear day as the camera focus traveled from stone buildings to United Nation soldiers, and then to bodies, piled on the dry ground, covered with white sheets. Among them, red poppy flowers bloomed.
The anchor kept reading the news, but Kuon stopped listening. His eyes focused on a child’s hand, showing from under the dusty fabric, and the small text, running at the bottom of the screen.
Mindlessly he reached for the phone and dialed the number on the screen. He introduced himself to the female receptionist at the other end of the phone, barely registering what he was saying, while his mind concentrated on a single task—don’t think…
“THAT’S TOBIAS, BOSS.”Greg’s voice, coming from the speakers, sounded a tad worried. Putting a whiskey glass aside, Yugo frowned. The civil war in Afghanistan shuffled his cards. More than three weeks had passed since Yugo’s position became muddied. Communication with the Al-Amin was cut short, and no matter how hard he tried to reach Ahmad Amin, he always met the same, emotionless answer of his secretary: ‘He is out of the office. I’ll pass the message.’
“Put him through.”
A sharp click reached Yugo’s ears, signaling Greg had switched lines.
“Speak,” Yugo said, as the low hissing of a long-distance call inhabited the air.
“I’m in Kabul. We got a new deal.” Tobias’ voice sounded restless, strained even. Yugo wondered what caused his distress, but the course of his thoughts changed. He frowned.
“If you‘re in Kabul, where is Mio?”
“He is fine. Locked away.” Yugo’s senses spiked as he imagined a scowl of dissatisfaction on the weather-beaten face.
“Alone?”
“Relax, he’s under surveillance. Nothing will happen to him.” Tobias snorted, but his voice dropped when he continued. “We got a proposition. We need to give our reply as soon as possible.”
“Then start talking.”
The pause stretched, filled with a low hissing.
TAP. TAP.Yugo frowned, as all his senses came to attention. The sharp sound of something hitting the speaker repeated, and he realized that Tobias was warning him of a tapped phone.
“Start speaking,” he repeated.
“Today Ahmad Amin made an official statement where he promised to create an Independent Emirate of Afghanistan and restore the country to its former glory by implementing full Sharia law and clearing the country of the filth and foreign influence. In his public speech, he demanded the president of Afghanistan to withdraw from his position and hand the reins of power to him within three days. If his demands aren’t met, a civil war will start.”
Yugo pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “Did you give any promises?”
“Not yet.” Tobias cleared his throat but said nothing else.
Biting a side of his right thumb, Yugo sank into his thoughts. Even if Ahmad Amin had enough resources and men to overthrow the existing government, he would have to retain the power, as well as receive diplomatic recognition from influential countries. Throwing out foreign influence would be a nearly impossible task. Afghanistan has a great geo-location. The United Nations will never give it up.Why did Tobias call rather than return and discuss it in person? That doesn’t seem like him at all. He hates phones, yet he is using a tapped one. Was he asked to provide an answer today?What’s the rush?
Leaning back into the chair, Yugo folded his hands behind his head.
Supporting such a huge war would bring lots of money, power, and enemies. However, it was only a matter of time before the United Nations would stop calling the Al-Amin a group of separatists and start calling them terrorists. If he wasn’t careful, the S-Syndicate would share this fate.
“Thank you for the update, Tobias. I can’t give you anything right now.” Yugo squinted at the colorful flicker trapped in the edge of the crystal ashtray. “Maybe in a week. There is nothing left for you to do in Kabul. Return. Now.”
A PIERCING GLARE IN THE LIGHT,almost colorless eyesshot through Yugo as Tobias rocked in the guest chair. His gray jersey showed dark patches under his armpits and in the middle of his chest. “Couldn’t we talk tomorrow? I’m freaking exhausted. I look like shit. I need a shower.”
