CHAPTER 13
Wednesday July 3rd 1230 hours - Charikar, Afghanistan
The marketplace nominated by Katz’ captors was busy and hot. Thirty minutes had elapsed since the agreed time. Major Cheryl Ferguson was fidgety. Behind her, in the Thales Hawkei, Major Rob Harris sat with Ahmed Khan whose wrists were bound together with plastic cable ties.
Khan put a hand to the thick white bandage that was wrapped around his head. “I’m still bleeding. Your doctors are useless.”
“You’re lucky we had doctors look after you.” said Ferguson. “I had a rusty needle all ready to go.”
“Yeah, stop your whinging.” Harris joined in. “We even fixed your glasses so you can see your next target. And look, there she is!” Harris pointed to small child walking through the markets with her father. “When we’re done here why don’t you and your boys go over and shoot her. She’s unarmed so it should be easy. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
“No one is above the law of Allah. The girls that were killed ... their deaths are on the heads of their parents who sent them to school.”
Ferguson looked at Khan’s face trying to see even a small sign that he might not be totally convinced that he was right. But all she saw was twisted conviction born of a fear of independent thought. Then Harris made an admission that she was not expecting.
“I’m a Muslim, too, Ahmed,” Harris glowered. “I know the book as well as you do and there is nothing in it that says it’s okay to kill innocents. You’re a murderer. It’s as plain and simple as that.”
Khan huffed his contempt. Ferguson looked outside and anxiously drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
“Be patient, Major” Khan teased. “Look around. You are amongst friends here.”
Ferguson did look around. Hundreds of people milled about the square, haggled at stalls and drank coffee… they might all be friends, but they might not.
“There they are!” she said suddenly.
The green, dark-glassed, armour plated Land Rover looked as out of place in the market as the Australians’ Hawkei. It slowed to a stop thirty metres in front of them. Many in the marketplace sensed the danger and hurried indoors or hid behind the thin shelter of the canvas stalls. Some, mostly old men who had seen so much violence that they no longer ran from it, remained on their stools and continued smoking and sipping their thick, black brew.
“Okay, let’s do this.” Harris climbed out hauling Khan along with him. Ferguson stayed in the vehicle, weapons systems at the ready. Khan and Katz emerged from their respective vehicles at the same time. Harris held his machine gun across his chest trying to look non-threatening. Stay cool, Elliott had told them about a dozen times. Stay cool.
Two men stood at the other vehicle, also armed and ready should the Australians try to cross them.
"They're not mucking around," Ferguson observed. "Check out their hardware."
One of the Taliban fighters held a standard Kalashnikov, an AK-47. Harris could easily match that. The Soviet RPG-7, on the other hand, was a serious weapon and if the man holding it decided to use it, it could do a fair amount of damage to the Hawkei which, although highly mobile, was relatively lightly protected.
"They must have been expecting a tank," replied Harris wryly. "Let's try not to give them a reason to press the trigger."
Katz wrists were bound behind his back. Harris gave Khan a not-so-friendly shove in the direction of his friends and as the captives walked slowly towards each other Katz’s pronounced limp was immediately noticeable. The two men stopped when they met in the middle.
“I must confess, Captain, I will not miss you. You have not been very pleasant company at all.”
Katz blinked and shook his heads as though he were trying to focus on the person speaking to him.
“And if I had a gun, Ahmed,” Katz spoke slowly and without emotion, “I wouldn’t miss you either. And I want my key.”
“Ah, your precious little trinket. I am sorry, but your people took it from me. For some reason they did not believe that I had a girlfriend named Alison. Who knows where it is now?”
Khan again touched the blood spot on his bandage. “It is strange, don’t you think, that your people are exchanging a so-called violent terrorist like me for a broken soldier like you. What do you think they are up to?”
“Oh I don’t know, Khan. Maybe I’ve got something you don’t … like a heart, for example.”
“Well, Captain, you can tell your commander that I know what he is up to and as soon as I am safe I will be getting, shall we say, a second opinion on my injury.” Khan shook his head and laughed mockingly. “You Australians should stick to cricket, yes?”
Katz coughed. “If you’re going to use the same quacks who tried to fix my leg,” he rasped, “then I wouldn’t bother if I were you.”
Suddenly a loud crack saw both men half crouch. Khan covered his head with his arms. He then pushed Katz to the ground and ran towards his waiting vehicle. Katz, with his hands bound behind his back was unable to protect himself and his head hit a concrete stump with a thud. Inside the Hawkei, Ferguson’s index finger tensed ready to launch weapons. Outside Harris lifted his gun to his shoulder. Katz’ two armed escorts did the same, ready to exchange fire.
From the far end of the market, oblivious to the havoc he had almost wreaked, a young man dismounted his back-firing motor scooter, cursed and kicked his machine before reaching for his tool box.
Khan reached the safety of his vehicle while Katz lay still on the ground.
That’s the last thing he needed, Harris thought. They’ve already smashed his head at least once.
Harris lay his weapon down, raised his arms and moved towards Katz. Khan’s men watched him closely and with distrust.
Harris didn’t know if Katz was dead or alive but this was not the time to check his vital signs. “Let’s get you home, Captain!” Harris started to drag the limp body back towards their vehicle. Once on board, Ferguson reversed a hundred metres until their enemy was out of sight, spun the vehicle around and pushed the accelerator hard to the floor.
“Search him!” Ferguson called urgently over her shoulder.
“I’m on it.” Harris searched Katz for explosives that Khan’s men might be able to detonate remotely. “He’s clean,” he said finally, “but he’s not looking good. Hurry!”