Page 37 of Deadly Betrayal
The bread in Azita’s throat turned to dirt,and she had to force it down with a sip of tea. For two very longyears, she’d been tormented by what she’d done. Though there was noneed to worry. Kaden would never know.
But should he ever find out, she’d willinglyaccept his retribution, no matter how painful. Or final.
The line to enter the Salang Tunnel wasstopped dead. Khalid didn’t have time for this. He had to catch upwith Azita. Still swearing, he shoved open the door of his SUV andmarched over to the delivery truck ahead of him. Someone had toknow what was going on.
After greeting the man, he said, “Traffic’sreally bad today.”
The snaggle-toothed driver nodded sagely andtipped his head toward the CB radio under his dashboard. “A car setoff a roadside IED and went over the cliff.”
Khalid stroked his beard as he consideredthis news. “Traffic should start moving then.” Now that the showwas over.
“Flying parts hit some nearby vehicles. Lotsof injuries. The ANP is clearing the road before reopening thetunnel.”
This was not at all what he wanted to hear.They could be trapped for hours. Tapping his hand on ledge of thetruck’s open window, he thanked the driver and returned to his SUV.The delay would put more and more distance between him and Azita,assuming she wasn’t also caught in the traffic jam. To make gooduse of his time and to keep from worrying about what could happenif he didn’t find her soon, he dialed Shahram’s number again.Predictably, there was no response.
It didn’t matter. They couldn’t have traveledmuch farther than Pol-e-Khomri in Baghlan province. He just hopedhe caught up to them before the first turnoff. There were two roadsto Fayzabad, and he didn’t know which one Azita and her idiotbrother would opt to take.
Still, he had a fallback; Agha Ali could usehis influence with the telephone company and get another locationon them. It would cost Khalid dearly, but Azita was well-worth theexpense, despite her being more stubborn than he’d anticipated. Itwas a good thing he’d have years to rid her of that particulartrait.
A half hour later, the ANP started allowingvehicles into the Salang Tunnel. The long line of cars moved at anexcruciating crawl, and for once, Khalid was thankful for theinterference of the West. Were it not for the improvements they’dmade, he would no doubt already be turning blue from lack ofoxygen. Midway through the tunnel, the vehicles ahead of him pickedup speed. The remaining kilometers disappeared under the roar ofthe SUV’s engine, and within minutes he exited the tunnel.
Now that he was finally making good progress,Khalid allowed himself the luxury of soaking in the beauty of theHindu Kush. He particularly loved these mountains in the winter,when the tall jagged peaks were covered in sparkling white snow.Today, the bold crests were brown with exposed dirt and rocks.Although not at its most beautiful, the harsh timelessness of therange struck him as even more majestic. A true representation ofAfghanistan and her people. They were warriors. Poor anddowntrodden, yet above all, survivors.
A plume of black smoke rose from the valleybelow. It had to be coming from the car that had struck the IED.Someone, perhaps an entire family, had died here today, but afterthree decades of war, no one paid attention to one more death.Unless someone in authority demanded it, the victims would mostlikely remain in the burned-out carcass of their destroyed vehiclefor months. Things would change when he was in charge.
A dark image entered Khalid’s mind, blurringhis vision. He blinked rapidly, then glanced at the plume over hisshoulder again. What if… could the car… Refusing to even lethimself consider the possibility, he offered up a quickprayer—Allah, please let her be safe!—before focusing on thecoming days and what he needed to do to ensure the success of hisplans.
The wedding was in four days. In that time,he had to locate his missing fiancée, share his plans forAfghanistan’s future, and make her see how Laila’s marriage toTariq would benefit them all.
He spent the next few kilometers imagininghow things would be once he rallied the majority of the warlords toback him, once he presented himself as a candidate in the nextelections, once he took his place as president of the IslamicRepublic of Afghanistan.
To appease his newest wife, he’d loosen therestrictions on females and direct some aid money toward betterhealthcare for women and children. He’d improve education andincrease literacy rates. But most importantly, he’d build up theeconomy by granting mining rights to the most deserving and leastcorrupt Afghan companies.
Only through self-sufficiency could they hopeto slip through the shackles binding them to the West.
Spotting a fueling station at the entrance toPol-e-Khomri, he pulled over and began filling up the tank. It wasnever a good idea to be low on petrol in a country where half thestations were open on an erratic schedule and the other half wererun by militants. A young man greeted him and began washing thewindshield. After paying, Khalid walked to the nearby store torelieve himself and buy some food. The store was bustling withcustomers, and the workers were doing their best to keep theshelves stocked. No doubt traffic jams in the pass led to increasedbusiness for the shopkeepers in this small town.
He ordered tea and a kebab sandwich,something he could easily eat as he drove. While he waited, hetuned in to the conversation of the food preparers.
“He was wearing Afghan clothing and his hairwas dark, but he was much too tall and big to be one of us.” Theyounger of the two preparers, a boy still in adolescence, fairlyvibrated with excitement. He kept bouncing on the balls of his feetas he cooked Khalid’s kebab.
“Did you hear him speak?” The other, an olderman in his late forties, asked. “If he was a foreigner, you’d haveheard an accent.”
“No. He didn’t say a word. All I know is thatAgha Behzad at the garage helped him tape up his side window. Therewas some sort of argument with another passenger, an Afghan man. Afew minutes later, the tall man and an Afghan woman got in the carand left.”
“The other man stayed behind?”
“He came in here and asked for the number ofa local driver.” The boy seemed lost in thought as he wrapped thesteaming kebab in a large piece of bread. “I wonder whathappened.”
The older man eyed Khalid warily beforeadmonishing the boy with a glare. “It’s none of our concern.”
“Forgive me,agha,” Khalid apologizedfor interrupting. “My curiosity is getting the better of me. Is theman that was left behind still here? I’m going north. Perhaps I canoffer him a ride.”
“That is very kind of you,agha,” theboy said, handing Khalid his tea and sandwich. He pointed to a manat the far end of the store, who sat sipping tea as he stared outthe window. “He’s right there.”
Shahram.
Khalid wanted to bellow with rage. He stalkedover and it was only the fact that they were in a crowded storethat kept him from strangling Shahram that second.
