Afghan Bound Read online

  The two men continued with their inspection for some time while Charlie watched Justin watching her. There was no way he could have known it, but she hadn’t been given permission to speak.

  When Paul finished his examination he told Charlie to dress, and then turned to David. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job,’ he gushed, shaking him by the hand. ‘Now, if you’ll sign her back over to me we’ll be on our way.’

  David pulled a document from his jacket pocket, laid it out on top of the piano, and they both signed it.

  The show over, Justin returned to the morning room without his ice. Nonetheless he felt the need for another whisky and poured a generous measure, from which he took a large and satisfying gulp. But the door opening and the announcement that Paul and Charlie were about to leave interrupted his second drink.

  ‘They wanted to say goodbye,’ David informed him.

  Charlie looked Justin straight in the eye as she said her farewell. Of the earlier incident she said nothing. There was no hint of embarrassment; that was an emotion her month’s training had taught her to do without.

  ‘Well now, let’s get some food sorted out,’ said David after they had departed. They took salad out to the large wooden table at the front of the house where they ate and drank and chatted about their separate lives. It was obvious to Justin however that his friend was holding something back. The images of Charlie bent over and allowing such an intimate examination without the slightest morsel of self-consciousness played over and over in his mind. Sooner or later he would have to mention it; curiosity, as it always does, would get the upper hand.

  They talked until the sun, unlike that young woman he’d just seen, blushed a deep red and began its quiet descent into the sea, allowing a cool breeze to blow in. It had been a hot balmy day which meant the night appeared colder for it. Finally the two retreated to the comfort of the sitting room where David took a match to the kindling in the stove and set the fire ablaze. Soon the warmth spread about the room accompanied by the orange glow of the flames flickering and crackling pleasantly upon the logs. It was a moment when words seemed pointless; a time for reflection. In the fire David saw only flames – Justin however, saw the tightly corseted body of Charlie dancing on the embers. The flames blazed around her legs, licking at her smooth mound while the golden rings winked and glistened from beneath. He saw her breasts move in time to the crackle of the sparks before she turned to bend forward, proudly displaying her tattooed bottom. Her master’s mark, his brand, his symbol of ownership.

  ‘What exactly do you do for a living?’ His voice startled the relaxed David.

  ‘I told you. I have a practice in Brighton. I’m taking a sabbatical through the summer – a bit of a rest. My partners are holding the fort.’

  ‘That was an awful lot of money Paul gave you,’ Justin ventured cautiously. ‘Or am I being intrusive?’

  ‘No you’re not – not at all. That was a private consultation fee, that’s all. For his wife.’

  ‘Very private,’ said Justin flatly. ‘What was she here for, piss-flap adjustment?’

  ‘Oh,’ muttered David through a wry grin. ‘You saw that then.’

  Justin grinned back. ‘I saw everything. What the hell was going on?’

  David rose from his chair and threw several large logs upon the fire.

  ‘I think it’s going to be a long night,’ he sighed, crossing to the sideboard where several bottles stood on a silver tray. He poured them both a long drink and then returned to his chair. He sat quietly staring at the amber liquid for a few moments, and then began.

  ‘When I finished my degree I went straight into a casualty ward. Fifteen, sixteen hours a day – every day.’ He took a drink before resting his glass on the arm of the chair. ‘One day I’m stitching up this guy’s head after he’d been involved in a drunken brawl – the same guy I’d stitched up the week before, and the week before that. And I think: what the fuck am I doing here? This can’t be it.

  ‘Six weeks later and I’m on the plane to Quetta in Pakistan, doing my bit for voluntary work overseas and hoping to see a bit of the world. There’s a week in the university first, then a team of us end up in the mountains pulling bullets out of refugees from Afghanistan. We were there all of two days when the Mujahadeen raided the camp and forced us back over the border with them. They needed us to treat their casualties from an attack that had gone terribly wrong. It was quite scary I can tell you. One of the Pakistani doctors refused to do any work and demanded to be sent back. They sent him back all right, strapped across a donkey minus his bollocks.’ He took a swift slug of his drink to numb the memories.

  ‘You know,’ he continued. ‘He begged them to stop. Told them he would do whatever they asked. But they wouldn’t listen. They knew we were watching, gauging how far they were prepared to go. They went all the way, in front of us. No one ever questioned them a second time – ever…’ His words trailed away like a song fading on the radio.

  ‘Bloody hell, that must have been so frightening,’ whispered Justin. ‘How on earth did you escape? I mean, you must have escaped at some time, to be here.’

  ‘Escaped!’ laughed David out loud. ‘I escaped twice. For six months we traipsed around the mountains like bloody nomads, then we met up with a group who’d been fighting around Kabul. They’d taken several Russian soldiers as prisoners, including some high-ranking officer or other. He was hooded and in a sort of straightjacket, and they’d put heavy chains around his ankles. That night I was ordered to the Rebel chief’s tent. Inside they’d staked the naked officer to four posts. It was my job to keep him alive while they interrogated him. His hood was still on and four Afghans were beating his feet with sticks. I’d seen what these guys could do to a man, but usually they were quick. Not for this one though. He was in for the works.’

  Justin shook his empty tumbler, prompting David to finish his drink. ‘Did he live?’ he asked on the way to refill the glasses.

  ‘Couldn’t tell you.’ David took a tiny sip to wet his lips. ‘I kept him going on Amyl Nitrate but they kept beating him and stubbing their cigarettes out on his body. One of them even pushed a lighted cigarette under his foreskin. You could smell the flesh smouldering.’ Justin winced at the very thought while David continued.

  ‘The poor bastard couldn’t even scream. Under the hood they’d forced a gag into his throat and taped his mouth. I’d just bent over to administer more stimulant when the sound of gunfire explode all around us. Bullets came ripping through the tent, thudding into anybody that was still standing. Then the Russians entered to find me lying across one of their majors with hypodermic in hand. I was dragged away and never saw him again. Maybe he died, I don’t know.’

  ‘So that’s how you got away,’ put in Justin. ‘A hell of an adventure, but I don’t see what that has to do with Charlie being arse up over the chair this afternoon.’

  ‘That was the start of things,’ explained David. ‘You see, I couldn’t ignore what I’d seen – the things I’d witnessed.’

  Suddenly the telephone rang, making both men jump in their seats. While David answered it Justin thought that whoever was on the other end must have had excellent hearing, because his friend’s voice was barely audible. As the telephone conversation continued Justin took the opportunity to replenish the drinks yet again, all the time straining to hear what was being said in the hall. Before he returned to his seat he’d gleaned that David was about to give another private consultation.

  When David came back into the room he closed down the dampers on the wood burning stove. ‘It’s warm enough, don’t you think?’

  Justin nodded absently. ‘How long before the Russians let you go?’

  ‘They didn’t. Half of them wanted to string me up as a mercenary. As far as they were concerned I was a rebel sympathiser, poking my Western nose in where it wasn’t wanted. By the time some officer saved me I was missing a couple of t
eeth and about two pints of blood. In the end I was flown up to a military hospital in Herat. They fed me up and told me someone important was coming to see me.’ He laughed bitterly at the memory…

  2.

  David thought he was going to come home a hero. Then the officer from the Komitet Gosudarstvennoye Bezhopaznosti arrived. David was all smiles, shaking the officers hand and thanking everyone for his rescue. The man’s face had more scars than a butcher’s block; what it didn’t have was a smile. Obviously the KGB training budget didn’t stretch to a pleasantry course. Either that or Nikolai had played truant the week it was run.

  ‘What were you doing with the rebels?’

  David was prepared for the question and told his story truthfully from beginning to end.

  Nikolai remained expressionless. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘that under the conventions of war, mercenaries are treated in the same manner as spies and saboteurs? There is no difference.’

  The realisation dawned quickly. They don’t believe me, thought David. Or they don’t want to believe me. He was about to protest when the KGB officer spoke again.

  ‘It seems a shame to shoot such an educated man,’ he said. ‘A terrible waste of knowledge.’

  ‘But I’ve done nothing wrong,’ pleaded David. ‘All I’ve done is tried to help those—’

  ‘You are,’ Nikolai interrupted contemptuously, ‘an enemy of the USSR, and like all our enemies you will be destroyed.’ With that he mumbled something to the two guards and walked from the room, leaving David to ponder his future – what little remained of it.

  Bad thoughts and the searing heat made for an uncomfortable night. Sleep was only possible between the bangs and flashes of sporadic gunfire away in the hills.

  Morning brought with it more toothache and the return of the sinister man from the KGB, followed closely by two white-coated men. David’s stomach was alive with butterflies.

  ‘Mr Harper, you are a very lucky man.’

  His words did little to lift David’s spirits, although he did note the irony of the word ‘lucky’ as pain once more coursed through his swollen jaw.

  ‘In Herat we seem to have a shortage of medical staff. Nothing too serious, you understand. Nonetheless, a shortage all the same, and it appears that Dr Ustinov has a position you may wish to fill – here in this very hospital.’

  David’s body visibly slumped with relief; he had expected the worst. Once he had recovered some of his composure, relief gave way to indignation. Why were they treating him this way – a British subject?

  ‘I’d rather go home,’ he ventured. ‘My wife will have been worried these last few months.’

  For the first time the KGB officer managed a forced smile. ‘You have no wife Mr Harper. Or parents. And no brothers or sisters either.’

  David’s jaw dropped in surprise. How could they gather so much information about him in such a short space of time?

  As if he had anticipated the question Nikolai answered smugly. ‘We have our ways too, Mr Harper.’

  ‘I want to see the British ambassador!’

  Nikolai smile a second time.

  ‘No point. He has already been informed of your death and subsequent cremation in a burning vehicle during a rebel raid. Tragic really.’ The smile became a sneer of victory. ‘Now, shall we stop these games?’

  ‘And if I say no?’

  ‘Then,’ answered Nikolai, turning nonchalantly away to face the others, ‘we have another position available. It involves being upright in front of a wall, at least for a short time anyway.’

  Suddenly the options became crystal clear.

  David’s duties were simple, frighteningly familiar, and immediate. With little time to collect his few possessions he was escorted to building eleven and his new quarters. By lunchtime he had been briefed on all he needed to know – like how to withdraw drugs from the dispensary and how, if he performed well, a new life in the Soviet Union was possible. The food was good, if not the company. They washed down thick steaks with bottles of Stambolovo, then made their way back to the building. This time however, they turned right and travelled down a long corridor lined on either side with a number of doors.

  ‘Those on the left,’ said Ustinov, ‘are male rebels. On the right, female. We deal only with the females. Nikita’s team looks after the men. The added humiliation of being interrogated by the opposite sex makes our job a little easier.’ He guided David through the final door and straight into the female interrogation room. Inside, the two doctors he had seen the day before were hauling a naked woman up by her ankles until she was suspended from the low ceiling. Her wrists were manacled to the floor so that her entire body was being stretched until her muscles glowed red and must have burned with the pain. Her head twisted and snaked but David did not hear a scream from inside the black hood that covered her face. Ustinov went across to the men who were attaching the ends of the ropes to a hook in the floor, leaving the woman suspended and spread-eagled upside-down.

  ‘I see you’ve already started.’ He laughed, then turning to David said: ‘Such dedication to their work, anybody would think they enjoy it.’

  David looked at the two men grinning from ear to ear. They certainly enjoy it, he thought to himself, that much was obvious. He pointed to the woman who, by this time, had stopped writhing and was now completely motionless.

  ‘What’s she done?’

  ‘She ran a safe house for the rebels in Kabul, but that is of no concern to you. What is your concern is keeping her alive until we have discovered where the other houses are.’ He cleared some space on a nearby table, produced a pack of cards, and the three Russians sat and played.

  ‘What about her?’ asked David.

  ‘She’s going nowhere,’ said Karl, without taking his eyes off his card hand. ‘We’re giving her time to think.’

  ‘Check her if you like,’ added Ustinov. ‘You may as well start somewhere, but don’t remove the hood.’

  David moved over to the still body and searched for her vital signs which, he noted, were very weak. She was near to exhaustion from the beatings she’d been given, which the raw stripes on her back clearly indicated. From the tone of her body he could tell she wasn’t old, around thirty he guessed, and despite the bruises from the canes she looked as if manual work was alien to her. There was little doubt that at one time in her life she had been a woman of wealth.

  ‘Well?’ asked Ustinov with a shrug.

  ‘She’ll live.’ David pointed to a chain. ‘What’s that for?’ Against her chin rested a metal clip at the end of a length of light metal links. He traced each link until they reached a bar pierced through her clitoris.

  Ustinov looked up with a grin. ‘It’s her little holding pin. We run it under her legs and clip it to the wall. Few of them try to escape from that.’ He threw the king of spades on the table. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘it saves us having to install heavy doors on their cells.’

  Karl picked up the king to go with his other two, and then placed the entire hand on the table in triumph. ‘Rummy!’ he announced.

  ‘You are always the one with the luck,’ said Ustinov, gathering in the cards to shuffle them for a new game. ‘Perhaps we should up the stakes.’ His associates agreed and three large slabs of bhang were thrown on the table; enough marijuana to keep a Rastafarian happy for a year.

  ‘Are you in this time?’ asked Karl. David pulled up a nearby chair and sat down beside the doctor.

  ‘Not unless you accept Old Holborn.’ he grinned. One game led to another, and what looked like the entire produce of the golden triangle seemed to exchange hands across the table. As they played, David’s attention returned to the girl, helpless, naked and motionless, not two yards away. Disturbingly he found himself studying her breasts with hungry eyes, watching for the slightest movement that would increase his growing excitement. Unlike her back, her stomach was f
ree from the welts left by the cane. Firm and flawless, the colour of nutmeg. He followed the line of her skin as it dipped at her waist then curved up to perfect feminine thighs, between which the slit of her smooth available cunt marked the centre like an exclamation mark. A further hour passed before Ustinov rose from the table.

  ‘I reckon she’s about ready to talk.’ He walked across the room to a table, where he picked up what looked like two micrometers. He laughed as he tightened and released the shiny chrome bar. ‘Just in case she’s not, though, we’d better have these.’

  The men cut her down and carried her across to the examination table in the middle of the room where, still hooded, they strapped her wrists and ankles to restraining buckles. Each of Ustinov’s men took a breast in their hands and squeezed tightly while he attached the nipple presses, which themselves were attached to chains in the ceiling. Once the presses were fixed the chains were pulled taut until the girl’s breasts pointed desperately skywards.

  ‘Shouldn’t you at least remove the hood?’ David asked. ‘How can she tell you anything with that on?’

  ‘Please, David.’ Ustinov was clipping a collar around her neck to pin her totally against the table. ‘If you allow them to rest, that’s exactly what they do. Now we can’t tell you your function – don’t presume to tell us ours.’ Having said that Ustinov began to roll the hood from her head and David waited in anticipation for the first glimpse of her face. The material clung like a second skin as the Russian doctor peeled it away, releasing yards of jet-black hair. Across her eyes was a moulded rubber blindfold that was buckled tight behind her head, and even with the rubber tongue depressor, which forced her mouth into a gape, there was no mistaking the fact that she was a beautiful female. Such exotic features; high cheekbones and long, long hair; incredible in any language.

  Karl pulled a cone-shaped plug from each of her ears. Instantly her head jerked and she winced; obviously the suddenness of the minimal noise in the room was too great after so many hours in complete silence. She rolled her head from left to right until Karl forced a brace down onto her forehead, locking it and her head into position on the table. Only her fingers and toes were now capable of movement.