‘I’ve just given up smoking,’ he said, as if in answer to her unspoken question.
‘Good idea,’ she said.
He rearranged himself in the seat and asked her why she had joined the KGB.
She was silent for a few moments. ‘I think the main reason was that I couldn’t think of an alternative,’ she said eventually.
‘You’re joking…’
‘No. I got accepted at Moscow University, and could hardly believe my luck. I really wanted to get out of Tashkent. To get out of Central Asia, full stop.’
‘Why? You’re Uzbek…’
‘An Uzbek woman. I don’t expect any Uzbek man to understand…but for anyone brought up the way I was there’s not many chances of fulfilment in this culture.’
‘So why did you come back?’
‘I missed the place.’ She laughed. ‘But that’s only part of the story. I don’t know how you feel about what’s happened in the last few years…’
‘Ambivalent, I suppose.’
‘That sounds about right. I hated it in Moscow – it was so obvious there that the system only worked for a few people at the top. Back here it was different. Oh, I know it was far from perfect, and every time I turn on the TV now there seems to be some new horror story about what’s been done to the environment, but…well, look at the place compared to what it was before the Revolution. We have education for everyone, and health care…’
‘I saw what this place must have been like before the Revolution,’ Marat said. ‘In Afghanistan.’
‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘I guess I wanted to preserve some of what had been achieved.’
‘And the KGB seemed the best place?’
‘One of the best. Advances in things like women’s rights are enshrined in the state law. Which is what we’re supposed to protect, among other things.’
‘You’re not too worried about the other things?’
‘If you mean locking up fundamentalists, no I’m not. They’re not interested in democracy.’
‘What would you do if they came to power?’
‘Leave, I expect. What would you do?’ Islamic Republics were alcohol-free zones, after all.
‘Probably the same. Though I’ve no idea where I’d go. America maybe, if there was a way to get in.’
‘If they declared an Islamic Republic here I expect the West would bend over backwards to take in political refugees.’
He grunted with amusement. ‘Maybe I should be voting for the bastards. If we ever get another vote, that is. As our beloved President is so fond of pointing out: “Do not destroy your old house until you have built another.”’
‘Makes sense to me,’ Nurhan observed.
‘Maybe. But only if people are allowed to start work on the new house. Bakalev is putting anyone who tries in prison.’
She looked at him. ‘You’ve given up hope, have you?’
He smiled. ‘Let’s just say I’m not expecting too much from the next few years.’ He put his hands in his pockets to conceal the fact that the left hand had begun to shake. Looking out of the Volga’s window at the mountains and star-filled sky he had the sudden conviction that the ancient Greeks had got it wrong – Orion was holding a bottle opener, not a sword.
Simon Kennedy had left Tashkent about half an hour after Nurhan and Marat’s departure from Samarkand. The main road between the two cities wasn’t bad, and he reckoned he would be in Samarkand not much later than two in the morning. He didn’t expect there would be a great deal he could do before daylight, but at least he would be on the spot.
Driving, in any case, was something he always enjoyed, especially at night. He had done quite a lot of it lately, usually with Janice, who seemed much more happy indulging her sexual appetite in some desert lay-by than in either of their rooms at the Hotel Uzbekistan. Kennedy wasn’t complaining, though he did sometimes wonder what the local police would make of it if the two of them were ever caught in the act.
Janice had a brain, though, and he was inclined to trust her judgement in this business with Sarah Holcroft. There probably was something funny going on in Samarkand. Either way, he supposed he would know by morning.
The tour bus had been travelling for slightly more than three hours when it finally reached its destination. Its occupants had seen no other vehicles during the journey, and passed not a single light, either beside the road or off in the distance. They could have been driving across the moon.
‘Please stay in your seats,’ Nasruddin said.
‘Until the plane has come to a complete stop,’ Docherty added under his breath. He wondered if there had ever been such a courteous hijack as this one.
‘The women will leave the bus first,’ Nasruddin told them. ‘They will have separate quarters from the men.’ There was a muted wail of fright from Elizabeth Ogley at this news.
‘There is no cause for alarm,’ Nasruddin said, almost indignantly. ‘On the contrary – such an arrangement is in accord with Islamic tradition.’
And will make it harder for any rescue operation, Docherty thought. He wondered what sort of ‘quarters’ were awaiting them outside in the darkness.
‘The women will now leave the bus,’ Nasruddin announced.
For a moment no one moved, as if in instinctive mutiny against the demand. Alice Jennings was the first to stand up. She leaned over to kiss Sam on the forehead, murmured something to him, and started down the aisle, head high. Docherty didn’t see the look she gave Nasruddin, but their former guide looked as if he had been slapped.
One by one the others followed. Sarah Holcroft and Sharon Copley both looked frightened, Elizabeth Ogley close to panic. Brenda Walker showed no emotion, encouraging Docherty to believe that she was indeed what he had suspected. With any luck she would have the same training as he had in dealing with hostage situations.
Isabel was last, her face stern as she disappeared down the steps at the front of the bus. Docherty prayed to any possible gods that might be up there that he would see her again.
Nasruddin disappeared, leaving just the clean-shaven man with them. The AK47 was held loosely, but its barrel was pointed right down the aisle between them. There was no sign of carelessness, and the previous hint of nervousness had given way to a watchful confidence. This man has seen military action, Docherty thought.
Several minutes went by. The men didn’t speak, but their shared glances were eloquent enough. What a fucking mess, Copley’s expression said. This can’t have happened to me, was written all over Ogley’s face. The Zahid men were trying to hide their anxiety behind stoical exteriors and failing. Their sons, like Sam Jennings, could not conceal the absurd sense of excitement which was bubbling up through the fear.
‘Talib,’ a voice said from outside, causing the clean-shaven man to prick up his ears. Words in a foreign language followed.
Talib gestured with his left hand for the men to follow him, and retreated down the steps. Docherty stood up quickly, intending to position himself at the head of the procession, but then thought better of the idea. A time might come for him to assume some sort of command responsibility, but it hadn’t arrived yet.
They filed off the bus, stepping down on to a gravel surface. Ahead of them was a long, one-storey building with dim lights showing in two of the windows. Two men with automatic rifles stood on either side of the twenty-metre path which led to the front door, channelling their passage. Another two waited by the door. Since Nasruddin was not