Greater Province of Kabul

10 Kilometres East of the City of Kabul - Pul-i-Charkhi Prison

Same Day

Like a sprawling desert fortress, the prison was surrounded by yellow-brick outer walls, three times the height of a man, running unevenly across the terrain, linking squat guard towers with pyramidal roofs. Rake-thin guards in ill-fitting uniforms slouched in the shadows, antique rifles slung over their shoulders. The scene would not have looked out of place in an American Western, the frontier outpost, housing gunpowder, whiskey and stables. Leo regarded the institution through the smudged lens of his aviator sunglasses, his eyes drawn less to the building itself and more to the vast space around the prison. It was in the middle of nowhere, rising from an arid plain; there was no clue for its existence: a fortress with nothing to protect, no river, or valley, no crops or people, as if it had been built thousands of years ago, surviving s away, the reason for its construction was eroded by the sand. There was no doubting the symbolism of this far-flung place: geographically and morally beyond the reach of civilization, a world of its own. Leo had heard talk of fifteen thousand people being executed here but he was numb to these statistics, numb to notoriety. Over the course of his life he’d heard so many numbers about so many different prisons, seen so many lists, heard so many whispered atrocities. Whatever the true number might be, it was certain that not one of those men or women had received proper burials, their bodies tossed into shallow graves outside the walls. Perhaps that’s why they’d designed the prison to look like a fortress, to guard over the angry souls trapped in the sand. It was a fanciful idea and one Leo might have taken more seriously if he had ever believed in life after death.

He entered the prison-fortress, akin to being allowed into a medieval castle through the great gates. And like a medieval castle, this was a facility concerned solely with the preservation of power. These walls had nothing to do with justice. The Soviet occupation force had immediately recognized the prison’s importance and sent a detachment of soldiers, as many as to the power stations and government ministries. This was where the dirty work of protecting a regime took place, processing the risky elements of the population. Soviet objections to the previous President’s techniques weren’t underpinned by morals, there was nothing wrong with a bloody purge, but murder had to be smart, and for the benefit of the party, rather than a personal grievance. Indiscriminate murder was a tactical mistake, undermining the Communist regime; murder needed to pacify, not aggravate, to make the job of the occupation easier, not more complicated.

Though he did not know them, the Soviet soldiers nodded at Leo as he passed them by, one foreigner saluting another. There was no such camaraderie between soldiers of different nationality: the Afghans and Soviets weren’t mixing, separated not merely by language but by profound mistrust. Only three months ago Pul-i-Charki had been under the direct control of a tyrannical president shot dead by the Soviets. Some of his deputies had been also been killed, but many of his prison guards were still here, subsumed beneath a new tier of management. Within a matter of minutes Leo counted three distinct groups: the Soviet troops, the new Afghan guard and the remnants of the old guard. If anyone asked him to write a report he’d argue the chances of an uprising were high. Corruption, betrayals and enemy informers were inevitable. His recommendation would be for Soviet reinforcements to take over the prison entirely. This unreliable patchwork of allegiances was repeated across the army and police. Leo knew of military advisers who believed the only solution was to have the Soviets do everything. Integration and cooperation were a fiction, peddled by politicians reluctant to commit more troops.

Nara had regained some composure, fearful of seeming weak in this fierce and unfriendly environment. As far as Leo could ascertain, she was the only woman officer. Hundreds of eyes trailed her with a muddle of lust and contempt. They were being shown the way by a highly obsequious prison governor, newly appointed by the regime and eager to please. He gave a commentary on his changes to the prison, pointing out various details, including the newly cleaned and improved kitchens that would provide basic but wholesome food. Leo remarked:

—Not difficult to improve on the food if the previous prisoners weren’t being fed.

The governor seemed stunned that not only could Leo understand and speak Dari, he could also make jokes in the language. He lahed loudly.

—You are right: any food is better than no food. That is true.

Unless his good humour concealed a darker soul, the man didn’t stand a chance. Leo guessed that he’d last no more than a month.

Nara had fallen back a little, her way of indicating that she wanted to talk out of earshot. Leo waited for the governor to hurry ahead to unlock a door and stopped, turning to Nara. Her voice trembled with emotion.

—They can’t see me like this.

—Like what?

—In a uniform… My parents.

—Do they know you’re a member of the secret police?

She shook her head, adding:

—You haven’t taught me how to question suspects. I’m training to be a teacher. I shouldn’t be here. It doesn’t make sense. There are others more suitable for this job.

—You were able to make an arrest. You can do this.

—I can’t.

—The fact that they’re your family should make no difference. Your family is the State.

—I’m scared.

If she had not been so merciless towards the deserting soldier Leo might have felt sorry for her.

—You’re not here to ask questions. You’re here to provoke them. The captain hasn’t sent you because he thinks you’re a skilled interrogator. There will be people already here who’ll handle the interrogation. You’re nothing more than a prop.

—A prop? I don’t understand.

—These interrogations are theatrical: people are brought in for effect. You’ll be paraded before your parents. That’s all. You’re not expected to ask any questions.

—I can’t do this.

The governor was lingering nearby, trying to ascertain the problem. A trace of impatience crept into Leo’s voice.

—Nara Mir, you’re an agent. You work for the State. You can’t find a task unpalatable and refuse to obey. In the end, you do as you’re told. You do whatever’s necessary. I have failed you as a teacher if I haven’t made that clear.

Nara forgot herself, suddenly angry, snapping at him:

—Would you interrogate your own parents?

Leo put a hand on her shoulder, a gesture of support that was not backed up by his reply.

—These dilemmas feel fresh and raw to you. But they’re old to me. They’re like a song I’ve heard too many times. Try to realize the awfulness of your position today isn’t remarkable, or exceptional, it’s ordinary.