Refuge (40 page)

“Do not think I do not lie awake at night and wonder how things might have been if I had accepted his offer when I first received it. Your sweet mother would still be alive, your brother a different man, you and Bushra would have had such different upbringings, my word you would most likely be attending Duke right now. Do not make the same mistake I did, my love. By God, seize this opportunity Allah has granted you, seize it in a way I never did, if not for your sake then at least for mine.”

Noor fights back tears.

“I’m going to be bereft without you.”

“Rubbish, you are the strongest, most courageous woman I’ve ever known.”

He pushes himself out of his chair.

“Now enough, we have a whole week for tears and farewells.”

He hands the passport back to Noor.

“I love you, Baba,” she says.

“And I you, more than life itself.”

He kisses her, and she walks down the verandah. When she gets to the doors she looks back. She smiles. He has already settled into his chair and is reading his book.

On the way home, she wonders if Charlie will have returned by the time she leaves. She hopes so, more than hopes, she prays that he has.

But if he hasn’t, it will be fine. To delay love is not to deny it.

She walks up the driveway. Elma’s Land Cruiser is still parked out front. She steps into the entrance hall.

“Elma,” she shouts. “You’re not going to believe this. It expires in three weeks.”

There’s no reply.

“Elma?”

Noor heads down the corridor into the kitchen and opens the French doors. Elma isn’t in the garden.

How strange
.

She goes to her room, and decides to write her passport details in her notebook. She scans the desk. It’s not there. She searches the vanity’s drawer. It’s not there either, and neither is Charlie’s letter.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Elma says.

Noor spins around to see Elma leaning against the door frame. She is holding the letter and notebook in her hand.

“Perhaps when I visited you in Amsterdam, once you had set up your love nest, one night at dinner, him bounding in with that ridiculous grin on his face. Or maybe you were always going to play me for a fool. ‘Don’t mention Charlie to Elma,’ you’d tell your friends, and the only way I’d find out would be when you were featured in some sickening article about your fairytale love story.”

Noor trembles. She doesn’t recognize the woman standing in front of her. Elma rubs her eyes.

“I’m so tired of being played. I mean why do people do it? It’s so destructive.”

“I should have told you. I’m sorry, it just happened.”

“Nothing just happens in this life, Noor.”

Noor goes to protest, and Elma throws out a hand.

“No, don’t patronize me and say it’s God’s will.”

“But what if it is? You, yourself, told me that one day I’d meet someone and fall in love without realizing it.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that this isn’t love? I won’t let you destroy your life, you hear me. You need to choose once and for all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s either him or the scholarship. I won’t allow both.”

“But I’ve already been awarded the scholarship.”

“You haven’t accepted it yet.”

“But I’m going to.”

“Not if I call Gerben Janssen and tell him you’re turning it down for a better offer from the United States.”

Elma’s gaze is unwavering. Tears spring in Noor’s eyes.

“I could no more deny my love for Charlie than I could deny Allah is God and Mohammad his messenger.”

“Then that is you decision.”

Elma steps back from the door. The implication is clear. Noor should go. Noor tries to breathe but finds it impossible.

It’s over. Just like that it’s over.

She looks around the room. Apart from her passport there’s nothing else in it that’s hers. Elma holds out the notebook and letter.

“I wish you a wonderful life together,” Elma says.

Noor takes them and continues on out of the house. She reaches the end of the driveway and feels as if the world has been turned on its end. She leans over and vomits.

FORTY-NINE

TARIQ ENTERS THE
reception room to find the Prince sitting with Ivor.

“Ah, Tariq,” the Prince says, “please come join us.”

Tariq sits on the couch opposite Ivor.

“Mr. Gardener, was just commiserating with me over our setback.”

“Hell, even we thought they’d run out of jet fuel,” Ivor says. “No one could’ve foreseen it.”

“Except Tariq did. It’s to my great chagrin that I didn’t take his advice.”

Tariq sees Ivor glance his way as if he’s measuring him in a whole new light. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to ever since they’d returned. It feels good.

“I still think they’re laughing at me behind my back,” the Prince says.

“No, they’re relieved,” Ivor says. “Hekmatyar, I know, was furious you stole a march on him. Supposedly when he heard you were on the move he grabbed his guard’s AK-47 and fired it into his dining room ceiling. Chandelier fell smack into the middle of the table.”

The Prince clutches his stomach and laughs.

“Fact is,” Ivor says, “your legend’s only gotten bigger. Shit, shooting down that MIG-21 took some guts.”

“In battle you can only act on instinct,” the Prince says. “I saw the Stinger lying there and Allah did the rest.”

Ivor slurps his tea and leans forward.

“So you going back in?” he says.

“In three days,” the Prince says.

“Anything I can help you with? I still got a couple of Stingers lying around if you need em.”

“Well I suppose if you’re offering.”

“I’ll have em sent over later today.”

There’s an awkward silence. Ivor shifts his position as if he can’t get comfortable. Tariq watches him closely. There’s something about this man; his damp brow, his pasty skin, his twitching eyes. He wonders why the Prince is so enamored by his company.

“What’s bothering you, Mr. Gardener,” the Prince says, “you seem unusually jittery today.”

“Just things on my mind, you know how I am, always thinking. Did I tell you I’m out of here in a month?”

“No, I wasn’t aware. Where are you headed?

“Cairo.”

“Ah, a wonderful city. A buffoon for a President, but truly there’s no place like it, you’ll enjoy it there.”

“You going back to Riyadh?”

“Once our mission’s accomplished.”

“You know, that’s what I’ve always admired about you, your Highness, all those princes back in Saudi jumping up and down declaring their love for jihad, but when it came down to it none of them wanted to risk their lives. You know what we call people like that back in the States? Chickenhawks.”

The Prince chuckles

“I like that, I must use that expression myself some time.”

“Even bin Laden hasn’t stayed to the bitter end,” Ivor says.

“He became very upset by all the infighting amongst the mujahideen. You know how hard he tried to heal the rifts between the parties. He even had the humility to reach out to Massoud.”

“I heard he left because Saudi intelligence had a bounty on his head.”

The Prince snorts.

“They’ve no issue with him. No, I just think he needed some peace and quiet, a place to recharge his batteries.”

“Before what?” Ivor says.

“I’m not following you.”

“What’s he going to do after his batteries are recharged?”

“Be a businessman like his father, I suspect. You must have heard he’s bought some farms in Sudan, even a tannery; he’s ready to settle down.”

Ivor picks at the skin around his finger nails.

“I don’t buy it, I hear rumors he’s reached out to Hezbollah, wants to join forces.”

“Oh come now, you’re paranoid. How many years have we fought side by side to achieve this victory?”

“Means nothing. One year after the Second World War the Americans and Soviets were mortal enemies.”

“So what are you saying, am I now your mortal enemy?”

“No, course not, but bin Laden…”

Ivor works his fingers through his hair.

“All I ask is that you keep your ear to the ground; get in touch if you learn anything, however insignificant it may seem.”

The Prince leans forward and takes Ivor’s hand in his.

“You’ve been most helpful to me during your time here, Mr. Gardener, a friend even. And once you’re my friend, you’re always my friend.”

“Appreciate that.”

The Prince stands, and Ivor and Tariq follow suit.

“I suspect we won’t be seeing each other again,” the Prince says. “Not in Peshawar at least.”

“Kick butt out there,” Ivor says.

The Prince laughs

“And all the best in Cairo. Go with peace.”

“Ma-salaam,” Ivor says.

The Prince kisses Ivor on both cheeks. Ivor extends a hand to Tariq, and Tariq shakes it.

“Goodbye, Tariq.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Gardener.”

Tariq waits for the Prince to sit and takes Ivor’s place. A servant comes over with a silver bowl, and the Prince washes his hands.

“He may be going to Cairo but I suspect he’ll be spending most of his time in Khartoum,” the Prince says. “We should let bin Laden’s people know, send them some background on Gardener, that sort of thing.”

“I’ll make sure it’s done right away,” Tariq says.

“He’s dangerous this one, most Americans couldn’t care less about us anymore; they think we’re going back to the hovels we crawled out of. But Gardener understands that now the genie’s out of the bottle it can never be put back in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember before we left for Afghanistan how you told me it was our duty to take the fight elsewhere. What did I say to you?”

“You told me a wise general fights one battle at a time.”

“However an even wiser one is nevertheless preparing for the next.”

Tariq feels a visceral thrill surge through him.

“It’s America, isn’t it?” he says.

“There’s one true purpose in this life, Tariq: to lift the word of God and make his religion victorious.”

“What will our role be?”

“To bamboozle the Americans so thoroughly that when bin Laden does strike they won’t see it coming.”

“I will do whatever you ask of me.”

“Good. Now tell me, how’s your sister?”

Tariq has been dreading this question.

“There has been a slight complication. She began menstruating this morning and won’t be clean until the end of the week.”

“That’s a shame, I was eager to finally marry her.”

Tariq maintains his composure.

Good. You just bought yourself a few more weeks.

“Trust me,” Tariq says, “she’s as eager to be married. But she is a patient woman, she can wait.”

“Then I will wait also,” the Prince says. “It’s only two, three days more at most. We will postpone our departure.”

Tariq forces a smile.

“She will be elated to hear that.”

The Prince nods. It’s time for Tariq to go. Tariq kisses the Prince on both cheeks and leaves. He heads through the building. Eager mujahideen recruits make way for him as he passes. He is too preoccupied to take any pleasure from their deference.

Where the hell are you?

He walks out the door. Ivor’s SUV speeds past and a thought strikes him.

“Stop,” he shouts.

The SUV picks up speed as it heads down the driveway. He runs after it in his lopsided manner.

“Stop that vehicle,” he shouts at a group of mujahideen loading up a truck.

A couple sprint after it while another gets on his radio. The SUV’s lights disappear around the bend.

Damn
.

Tariq slows and continues to the bend. To his relief, he sees a couple of guards have barred the SUV from going any further. By the time he reaches the gate he’s regained his breath.

“I can take it from here,” he says to the guards.

He waits for them to retreat. Ivor winds down the window.

“Everything okay?” Ivor says.

“My sister, Noor Jehan Khan. She’s gone missing.”

Tariq reaches inside his waistcoat and pulls out his worn photo. Ivor scrutinizes it.

“She is older now, her face leaner—”

“How can I get a hold of you?” Ivor says.

“Through the Prince’s office.”

“Let me see what I can do.”

“Thank you, I’d forever be in your debt.”

Ivor rolls up his window, and Tariq nods at the guards. The massive gates swing open. Ivor drives away.

Who am I kidding?
He’s no more likely to find her than I am.

FIFTY

CHARLIE SKIDS TO
a halt outside his house and grabs his backpack. He runs up the steps and pushes the heavy door open.

“I’m back,” he shouts.

Down the corridor he hears Wali’s creaking wheelchair pick up speed. Wali comes flying into the hall.

“As-Salaam Alaykum.”

“And Wa’alaykum salaam to you,” Charlie grins.

Wali pirouettes to a perfect stop.

“I see you’re getting the hang of that thing,” Charlie says.

“I call it my Lada. I trust you had a good trip.”

“Greatest experience of my life.”

“The village is clear?”

“The village, the fields, the riverbanks, and not a single scratch on one guy.”

“That is most wonderful news.”

Charlie unzips his backpack and pulls out Wali’s tattered sneaker.

“Here I brought you back a memento. Thought it might remind you how you saved those kids.”

He hands Wali the shoe. Wali stares at it for so long that Charlie questions whether he should have ever brought it back.

“I couldn’t have asked for a finer gift,” Wali smiles.

Wali reaches into his pouch and retrieves the envelope Noor gave him.

“Now I have something for you.”

It’s Charlie turn to stare dumbfounded at the object in his hands.

“Well open it,” Wali says.

Charlie rips open the envelope and starts reading.

Dear Charlie:

From an early age my mother taught me that the last person you should try and fool is yourself. “Trust your feelings, never disown your instincts,” she’d say, and whenever my father presented me with a marriage proposal it was easy to turn down because in every case I felt nothing.