Spies & Spice (Completed)

Chapter 1

Nakhonay, Kandahar Region, Afghanistan.

Circa 2015

*****

"NOOOO please! Not again!" the captive pleaded feebly with unfocused eyes; his vision almost blurred with the injuries sustained all over his face. As he was dragged by two men on either side, he struggled to free himself with the last vestiges of strength left in his body. One of the men pushed his head again into the water in a large tub, and as he desperately struggled to pull his head up for air, he began to thrash his legs.

Sadiqullah, slouching in a chair few feet away, observed the proceedings with impassive eyes, his face showing none of the wild excitement he felt inside. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. It had been a long day, but fruitful. The stench of blood and water in the dark cellar  made him feel sick and his eyesight  blurry, but he didn't care. He had more important things to worry about. As he got up from the chair, he sniffed the last whiff from an intricately designed opium bottle, a gift from his grandfather. He sauntered towards the water tub and observed the bubbles and water being splashed about by the struggling man.

Sadiqullah could almost sense that the tortured man was about to crack. Perhaps he didn't need anyone's help to make that guy talk, as he originally feared. Ah well! It is always better to be safe than sorry! Sadiqullah signalled his men to pull the almost breathless man out of the tub. The quiet and dimly lit cellar filled with gasps and cries of the struggling man, which sounded like music to his ears. Suddenly, almost like a jarring note, he could hear the faint music being played in front of the house, an irritating reminder that he had to leave his captive for the time being and join the festivities of his wedding. Just as he turned to leave, Sadiqullah  kicked the collapsed man in the ribs, making him splutter blood and water all over the floor.

****

The high beam lights of the Toyota Hilux helped Abdul Zakir navigate through the sand ridden bumpy roads. His eyes checked all the four passengers in his favourite pick up once again, and noticed the uncomfortable silence, which had nothing to do with the AK 47 slouching on the shoulder of one.

Soon, illuminated by the full moon, the familiar grapevines and the poppy fields came into view, which surrounded his hometown Nakhonay. Even though there were very few cars on the road at that time, Abdul's eyes were alert as he scanned the surroundings thoroughly, a habit that was hard to die, after growing up in their war-torn country full of roadside bombs and IED's. But right now, as they travelled to the wedding of their town elder Haji Malim's elder son Sadiqullah, his heightened nervousness was owing to the special guest in the front seat, Fayiz Khan. The neighbouring village elders Abdul picked up, felt insulted as they were scooted to the backseat to make room for this stranger. Abdul glanced furtively at Fayiz Khan's tall and imposing frame, with broad shoulders and muscular build, evident even in his loose but expensive traditional attire. Going by Haji's insistence that Fayiz be picked up and brought to the wedding, all the way from his hotel in Kandahar, Abdul knew that Fayiz was someone very important, even though his complexion and foreign luggage made him wonder if he was a local. Fayiz hardly uttered a single word ever since he got in to the pickup, even though Abdul went out of his way to make him feel comfortable. He hoped Fayiz would tip him well once they reached the wedding venue.

Abdul's face relaxed as he heard soft snoring from Fayiz Khan. He looked at the sleeping man's face and wondered.... perhaps he can't close his mouth properly because of the cleft lip, and that's why he snores! It was still visible in spite of Fayiz's thick beard. Abdul sighed! Well, he wasn't rich like Fayiz but at least he didn't have a cleft lip. Imagine all the ridicule or pitiful stares he would have got from everyone! He chuckled to himself as the snoring got louder, which forced the rest of the passengers in the Hilux to wake out of their slumber. The village elder sitting behind Abdul in the back seat, another guest to the wedding, glared at Fayiz's snoring mouth and Surma filled eyes, but controlled his temper, as he noticed the AK47 hanging on Fayiz's shoulder. He took out his anger on Abdul instead. "Who is this guy and why is he coming with us?" He began to mumble in his native Pashto language mixed with colourful expletives.