'And make sure you dump that wagon somewhere, preferably tonight.'
We rolled out on to the street, turned left and headed for the main.
94
Down by the market, the traffic was still paying no attention to the boys in the drunken-sailor hats, and they were still going berserk.
Dom was fighting the urge to nod off beside me.
We passed the woodstacks. We turned our heads in unison to stare at the little shack where Sundance and Trainers had caught up with us. I knew we were thinking the same thing. Magreb's wife faced a bleak future. In Afghanistan, widows are the lowest of the low. Those medical careers were going to be a long time coming.
Dom sighed heavily, and a tear rolled down his cheek. 'I've been so stupid . . . Peter, Magreb, Finbar . . . God knows who else . . . All because of my stupid bloody personal crusade . . .'
I concentrated hard on the road. 'He was never going to stop until he had the film. Once he'd destroyed that, it was always going to be your turn next.'
Dom stared miserably ahead. 'I thought it would solve everything. When the Irish guys said they wanted it, I bluffed and Peter played along. I said I didn't have it – not with me, anyway. That was when they dragged us out into the desert and shot Peter dead, right there in front of me.' He turned. 'And I still thought I could steal a march on them. Baz's girls had heard rumours about some big drugs deal going down between the Taliban and some Brits. I knew they must be the same Brits the FCO were trying to stop me investigating. I thought if I could make contact, find proof, whatever, I could put everything right . . .'
'And then Noah and his mate snapped you up and decided to skim themselves a nice little earner on the Dublin property market.' I put a hand on his shoulder.
Gym Tonic was coming up on our left. I took a few more twists and turns until we came to a crossroads. On the far side there was a high wall topped with razor wire. To the right I could see TV Hill.
I negotiated the junction and headed left. Moments later, we were passing the computer shop. I waited for a couple of workmen carrying buckets of rubble to get out of our way, then pulled up outside the pedestrian door to the right of the Gandamack gates.
'Stay here, mate. I won't be long. Ten minutes max. Any longer than that, take the car and get yourself back to Basma's. If I don't show up by tomorrow, get on the first plane out. You'll have to do it all on your own.'
I gave the gate a couple of punches. The slide was pulled back and a set of fiery Afghan eyes wanted to know what the fuck I wanted.
95
I gave Mr Winter Warfare a big smile, and as the door swung open I got a big row of brown teeth back. He was still dressed in the thick black polo-neck jumper, with even thicker stripy tank top. Five or six dusty 4x4s were jammed against each other in the courtyard. I followed the gravel path across the garden to the concrete steps.
I was hoping the reception desk would be unmanned, but the lad in the white shirt was right behind it, all smiles, a model of efficiency. I walked past the rack of Martini-Henrys. 'Hello, mate – everything good?'
'Yes, thank you, sir.'
'I'm looking for a guy I did some business with a few nights ago. Local, mid-thirties, clean-shaven, dresses quite Western – polo shirt and jeans. He was wearing a navy ball cap . . .'
His face lit up. 'Kellogg, Brown and Root?'
'That's the one. Could you do me a favour? Go and check if he's here? I said I'd meet him in the Hare and Hound, but I'm expecting a call and I don't get a signal down there.'
'Certainly, sir. Two minutes.'
'As long as it takes, mate.'
He headed past the weapon racks and back outside towards the steps that led to the basement.
If the fixer really was there, I'd consider taking him with us. A Pashtun speaker might come in handy. If I'd been on my own, I would have driven as close to the border as I could get without having to go through any checkpoints or controls, dumped the car and taken off