They stared at the Russian jeep. All four tires were flat, slashed by a blade.
"Parks," Stoner muttered savagely, "Yob tvoyu mat, it had to be him, to make sure we couldn't follow."
Greg grabbed his arm. "Stoner, listen. GAZ jeeps are common in Afghanistan. I can find plenty of shops that carry parts for these things. I can have someone here in an hour, maybe. It sounds like the riots and shooting are about finished."
"Yeah, do it."
He sprinted off, and Faria glanced at him. "I want to thank you for what you did. I thought they would kill me."
"Not as long as I'm around, they won't."
She smiled. "And they say you're all bad. Inside, Rafe Stoner, you're a pussycat." Her expression darkened, "You're not still thinking about us, surely?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm over that."
He explained about Marina Tanai. About how they'd rescued her from the bar outside the Torgan Valley. "All she got was a bullet, poor kid. I don't even know if she's alive or dead."
"Can't you call them? The hospital, I mean."
He shook his head ruefully. "In all the excitement, the idea of a phone call left my mind."
He took out the satphone and first called Ghazni hospital. It took several minutes before the physician came on the line.
"She's on the way to Jalalabad. We can't contact the ambulance direct. It's out of cellphone range, but I can assure you the Unimog will get through. Call them and see if they have any news." He gave the number of the specialist unit and hung up. Stoner punched in the numbers, but after a search of their records, they told him she hadn't arrived.
He started to worry, but Faria took hold of his hand and stared into his eyes. "She'll be fine, Rafe, I'm sure. Give it time."
"Sure."
Greg arrived in a breakdown truck with a young mechanic, who carried in the first of the spare wheels. He explained they had a store full of GAZ wheels, left over when the Soviets ran.
"We make much profit from these parts, Sir. There's no need to fit them to your wheels. The tires are still on the old wheels. We just swap them over. Very quick, very cheap." They waited, "For you, good, Sirs, I will supply and fit these new wheels for half the usual price. Four hundred dollars American."
About twice the going rate, but beggars can't be choosers. "Do it."
An hour later, he dropped the jack on the last wheel. Stoner paid him out of his rapidly dwindling stock of greenbacks, and the mechanic drove away, vastly satisfied. He was concerned about Faria and said they'd take her home. She suggested they'd get to Ahmed's farm first, which was nearest. They could check on his sisters who would have gone home after Daud arrested her, and make sure Ahmed got back okay from Ghazni.
"Christ, I'd forgotten; the kid's out in all this weather. Jesus, I hope he made it back. I should've done something to help," he exploded in anger at his stupidity.
To his surprise, Greg punched him on the shoulder. "Snap out of it. You're killing yourself for nothing. One day, Faria and I will thank you for doing everything you did. Without you, she'd be dead. They were going to murder her, so we had no choice."
He nodded, reluctantly. "Maybe. Let's make sure he made it back."
They arrived at the Durani farm and glanced around. There was no Fordson model F tractor parked outside. The girls opened the door to greet them, and they ran inside the house out of the snowstorm.
"Where's Ahmed?" he asked them before they could speak.
"Ahmed?" both girls shook their head, "He's with you, isn't he?"
"No." He stared at Greg. "I'm going to find him, he has to be somewhere on the road to Ghazni, probably engine trouble. I need your GAZ."
"I'm coming with you. Faria, take care of the girls; this won't take long. We should be back by tonight. Tomorrow at the latest."
She nodded. "Bring that brave boy home, no matter what." She didn't add what they were all thinking. It could be all they could bring back was his frozen, dead body.