Free Redback by Lindy Cameron Page B

friends are Americans.'
    Gideon raised an eyebrow.
    'Really,' Jana grinned.
    'I've got a great story here no matter what,' Alan continued, 'but I'd like to have all the
first-hand facts verified, first hand.'
    'I will give you the story,' Agent Brand offered.
    'You mean the information.'
    'I mean the story, Mr Wagner. So much of what happened this evening is, was or will be
classified.'
    'What? But I'm a journalist. And I was there. I mean, it's not like you can say I wasn't.'
    'We can say anything we like,' Brand stated, as if that was obvious.
    'And we weren't there,' Gideon said. Alan snorted derisively.
    'And if you say we were, I'll have no choice but to hunt you down.'
     

Chapter Eleven
    Café Baba, Peshawar, Pakistan
Tuesday 4.30 pm
     
    Ashraf Majid was nervous. But it was with anticipation, not foreboding, that he sat
alone; waiting. Today, perhaps tomorrow, he would make the most important connection of his
life.
    The narrow street, four steps from his lopsided table, was choked with noisy local traffic. In
this bazaar of the old city, the human traffic was mostly Pashtuns, Chitrali and Afghan refugees,
but there were also sheep, motor bikes, horse-drawn tongas and auto-rickshaws. The shop
across the way had suddenly drawn a crowd, but Majid could not determine what the attraction was or
why a copperware seller would even have a busy time.
    He folded the roti around the last of the beef and peas, thumbed it into his mouth, and then
pushed the empty tin plate away. A young boy appeared with a pot of freshly brewed kahwa ,
filled from the samovar next door. The boy poured the kahwa into his cup. Majid inhaled the
green tea before sipping it, then sat back and continued to wait.
    This was his third day biding time in Peshawar, capital of the North-West Frontier Province.
Until Sunday just gone, he'd never been this far north. Born near Quetta, another thin-aired
mountain region, but educated in Karachi and Manchester, before training in Afghanistan, it occurred
to Majid that he had seen much of the world but not enough of his own country. That, however, was
about to change.
    Soon, insha-allah , he would be able to demonstrate his devotion with a long useful life.
And if he could offer all of himself, without having to sacrifice his future, then God was indeed
great.
    Not that he was a coward. Far from it. If he had to, he was ready to die. But one of his great
joys was bearing witness to his actions, so he saw no value in self-destruction. Majid frowned with
sudden doubt.
    Had he been tainted by too much time spent in the West? Was he contaminated by a sense of
self-importance? He cricked his neck. No. It was far better to prove his worth many times over. And
if Kali was right then he, Ashraf Majid, would get the chance to do just that - to use his skills
again and again, until old age took them. He would not have to blow them to heaven with the
crusaders. He was more than ready to pledge his living to the jihad of Kúrus, so that
one day he could freely travel his own land and all the nations of Islam with his sons and their
sons.
    Yes, Majid would make Kali proud and impress the Emissary with his resolve. He smiled with joyous
expectation.
     
    Khyber Hotel, Peshawar, Pakistan:
Tuesday 4.30 pm
     
    Christ's sake Mudge, sit down. Do you want him to see you?'
    'It's a crowded bloody bizarre, mate. Who's gonna notice?'
    'Bazaar, you doofus. And sit down anyway you're blockin my view of the gun shop.'
    Mudge curled his lip. 'Which bloody gun shop, Spud? There's like a gazillion of em in this town.
And hello, we're s'posed to be scoping the chai shop.'
    'It's kahwa not chai in these here parts,' Simon Brody said.
    'Car-wea,' Mudge attempted, then shrugged. 'Car-way, chai, tea, tai-chi, same diff, and who
cares? There's no beer without a stupid permit, that's all I bloody know. And how come you're not
antsy? You better not be going all yogi on me.'
    'Yeah right,' Brody snorted. 'I've just got my eye on the Winchester that