Borrowed Time

‘They sent my CV on ahead,’ Mike said, smiling. ‘How civilized. Jim Beam will be just fine, with a little water.’

Ram brought the drinks and sat down with his own. He had the look of a successful businessman who spent time in the gym. His dark hair was slicked back over his ears; his umber skin, incredibly smooth, was wrinkled around the eyes and at the corners of the mouth, the only signs that he might be capable of ageing. When he looked up he had the eyes, Mike thought, of an interrogator.

‘I’ve got instructions to crash-course you on the layout and culture and customs of the Vale of Kashmir,’ he said. ‘I don’t have long, even by crash-course standards, so if you don’t mind we’ll start early tomorrow.’

‘Does it involve anything painful?’

‘Walking, mainly. If you tread the territory and use your eyes, you’ll catch the tone and temper of the place faster than any other way. After that, we can get down to particulars — like studying the dope trails, pinpointing fundamentalist hotspots and identifying known and probable villains in the region.’

‘What can you tell me about Reverend Alex Young?’

‘We’ve met several times,’ Ram said. ‘He’s a sincere man, a shade humourless for somebody so young, but his heart’s where it should be. He runs a good little medical centre for the poorer people and he has a three-Rs infants’ school operating two hours a day, Monday to Thursday. I don’t know anybody who doesn’t like him.’

‘I suppose he got in touch with the Security Council because he didn’t know there’s a UN man in the vicinity.’

‘That’s right. He doesn’t know what my job is — nobody here does. I function as regional eyes and ears for the UN, so I have to work behind a cover. Reverend Young, like everybody else, thinks I’m a civil servant. As far as they’re concerned I’m beavering away in my scabby cabin, engaged on a long-term proposal for improving rice production in the Vale.’

‘And I’m to be — what?’

‘A UN fact-finder. Sent in response to local uneasiness about the banditry and political shenanigans.’

Mike nodded. ‘What do you make of the troubles?’

‘They’re all rooted in greed.’ Ram ticked off his fingers. ‘Territorial greed, because this is a very lush and desirable place to live; commercial greed, since it would take a thousand years of pesticide spraying to choke the fertility of this region; raw financial greed, because some of the most cunningly developed, efficient and profitable drug routes in Asia pass through or near this area.’

‘And what would you say are the chances of bringing the violence and unrest under control?’

‘If what we guess is true,’ Ram said, ‘that only a few really bad guys are at the heart of it all, then I think a UNACO team could swing it and put things back the way they were ten years ago — still not perfect, but less likely to blow up into something international.’

‘Your guess could be wrong.’

‘Sure it could. People say there are unknown hands operating in the Vale, ruthless hands representing big national interests. And of course there’s the question of time. Even small random fires can set off powder kegs by accident. If that happens, there’ll be no low-key way to put things right.’

Mike finished his drink and stood up. ‘If we’ve got a really tough day ahead of us,’ he said, ‘I think I’d like to shower and hit the sack. Before I do I have to touch base. Do we have a satellite window?’

Ram looked at the clock. ‘Half an hour left.’

Mike went outside and stood for a minute, listening to the insect noises, gazing up at the canopy of stars. He took a deep breath and caught the fragrance of flowers and grass and warm tree bark. It was like being at home in Vermont in the summer, with all the sensations multiplied by ten.

He took out his mobile and flipped on the illuminator. An insect landed on the status window as soon as the light came on. Mike tapped three buttons and put the phone to his ear. The scrambler noises cut in and went away again. Philpott spoke.

‘It’s Mike, sir. I’m in position. After a scrub and a snooze I’ll be ready to go.’

Philpott asked if he had heard anything from Sabrina.

‘No, but I wasn’t expecting to.’

Philpott said she had arrived at Dehra Dun and had been moved north from there as scheduled, but now he had lost touch with her. ‘She should have called in more than two hours ago.’

‘I’ll keep my unit switched on all night,’ Mike said.

‘And I’ll do the same with mine. Keep me posted, Michael.’

As Mike began to fall asleep in his room at the cabin an hour later, less than a kilometre away a man called Ahmed Faiz was running for his life.

Ahmed had run for more than twenty minutes, through woods and thickets, down a ravine and across a rocky outcrop that tore the skin on his knees and hands. He was young, but the running and the fear had drained him, making his heart pound and his limbs drag like lead. He longed to stop and catch his breath, but to stop was to die.

‘Muhammad be praised,’ he panted, ‘Muhammad is good. Muhammad be praised, Muhammad is good. Muhammad be praised …’

Whenever he felt himself flagging, when his feet slowed and threatened to stumble to a stop, he thought of his wife and his three small children. He saw their faces and the image put strength in him.

‘Muhammad is good …’

He had to get back to where he came from, to the safety and enclosing love of his family. He had no idea how far he must still run until he was safe, he only knew he ran in the right direction; long ago, his father had taught him to read the stars. He drove himself to the west, the west and the border. Beyond the border lay Islamabad and the safety of his home.

‘Well now, Ahmed!’

He stopped and felt himself falling, losing his balance. He tumbled into the coarse grass and felt twigs tear his face. How had this happened? How did Iqbal get in front of him?

‘Up, little man! Up!’

He was hoisted like a doll and shoved against a tree. A torch came on, right in his eyes, the light painful as a knife. Ahmed shut his eyes, squirmed and felt another pair of hands take hold of him from behind the tree.

‘You were told, were you not, that there were severe penalties for stealing? You were told, also, that to flee would be senseless. There is no escape.’

Ahmed was panting too hard to reply. A heavy fist slammed into his stomach. Now he couldn’t inhale. The pain flared into his chest and he thought he would faint. Through the pounding in his ears he heard Iqbal, his mouth close, the breath warm on his ear.

‘There are no exemptions, Ahmed. You were well paid to do your simple job. You were given money to support your family. Yet you abused your master’s generosity. You stole.’

‘Twenty rupees!’ Ahmed gasped. ‘It was only twenty rupees! And I found it!’

‘You cannot find what is not lost, little man.’

‘It was lying on a bench!’

‘It was not yours. It was a simple test of your loyalty.’

Ahmed’s arms were gripped tighter. The torch was held higher as Iqbal stepped back. Ahmed heard the knife slide from under Iqbal’s sash.

‘Please! Please, I beg you! My wife and my children need me! I gave back the money, there is no need for this!’

‘There are rules, Ahmed. To break them is to commit a grave insult to your master. You knew that. You were not kept in ignorance of what would happen if you transgressed.’

‘Iqbal! No! I beg you!’

The kukri made a swift arc from right to left, slicing through Ahmed’s throat as if it was not there. It swung again from left to right and severed his head clean from his body.

Ram Jarwal woke Mike at six o’clock with a cup of coffee and told him he should be ready to leave in twenty minutes. Mike drank the coffee while he dressed. By the time he was ready, Ram was outside, tightening the laces on his walking boots.