Rough Cut: Rosie Gilmour 6 (18 page)

‘Shit,’ Ismal said. ‘This is bad. Someone must have got word to them that Laila’s got out.’

‘Bastards!’ Omar grunted.

‘Maybe we should go down and see if I can talk to them,’ Ismal said.

‘No way.’ Omar grabbed hold of his arm. ‘Listen, mate. We’re going to have to do
something
, but these guys don’t negotiate. So . . . just leave it to me.’

‘What do you mean?’ Rosie knew Omar was a Glasgow wide boy, but he was not the type to pick a fight.

‘Don’t worry, Rosie. We need to take a risk here. Just keep calm, whatever happens.’

‘Jesus,’ Rosie muttered to Matt.

Omar said something in Urdu to the security guard in the car with them, and he answered, uttering a few words, then shifted a little in his seat. His hands gripped the rifle and he brought it up, flicking off the safety catch. Rosie looked at Matt, then at Ismal, his face grim as he looked out through the windscreen to see the other Taliban man slapping Asima hard on the face. The medic protested and was hit by the butt of the second soldier’s rifle.

‘Right, troops. Are you strapped in?’

Before they had the chance to answer, the wheels span, and the 4x4 took off down the hill and swerved onto the road, picking up speed as they approached. He’ll slam on the brakes now, Rosie thought. Any minute. He has to. Instead, Omar picked up speed and the truck got closer and closer. Christ! He was going to ram them. Hearing the engine, the Taliban soldier turned in disbelief as Omar drove straight at him. But before he could move, Omar had driven into him and rammed him up against the truck, his body buckling. Asima had jumped away and the medic threw her to the ground, diving on top of her to protect her. In the confusion, Laila broke free as the other Taliban soldier aimed his rifle at Omar’s windscreen. Then the
gunshot. Rosie wondered why their windscreen hadn’t shattered, then she saw the Taliban soldier drop to the ground. Ismal jumped out and grabbed Asima. The medic got hold of Laila, and they all piled quickly into the car.

‘Let’s go!’ Omar was looking in the rear-view mirror. ‘I can see the other one getting up. I thought I’d done him in, but the bastard’s on his feet, limping.’

From nowhere another Taliban soldier came up, pulled the shot man to his feet and pushed him into the pickup, along with the other one.

‘They’re behind us, Omar. And they’re catching up,’ Ismal said.

‘Fuck!’ Omar pushed his foot to the floor.

In the back, everyone was almost on top of each other. Asima’s cheek was red and swollen from the slap. Laila lay on Matt’s shoulder, whimpering. The guard wound down the window and leaned out, firing off a couple of shots at the truck. They could hear glass shattering, then more gunshots and a thud. The guard slumped back, blood pouring out of his shoulder.

‘Oh Jesus, Omar! He’s been shot,’ Rosie said.

Omar said something in Urdu, and the guard grimaced and touched the wound, his hand covered in blood. Then he pulled himself up and leaned out of the window again. Omar sped around the last of the mountain path, the car skidding, and Rosie eyed the drop, wondering if it was better to get shot or captured, or just go over the cliff. If it’s
going to happen, make it quick. She turned in time to see the security guard let off one more shot, and the Taliban truck swerve wildly all over the road. It was out of control, and she watched as it skidded over the cliff, soaring through the air, its wheels still spinning.

‘Bullseye!’ Omar said, keeping his boot down.

‘Fucking beauty!’ Matt said, as the guard came back in and almost passed out on his shoulder.

Asima climbed across.

‘Let me have a look.’ She tore at the guard’s tunic and opened it up to see the hole in his shoulder gushing with blood. Then she pulled off her headscarf and told Matt to press it hard against the wound. ‘He’s bleeding badly, Ismal. We have to get somewhere fast.’

‘It’s less than two hours to Islamabad. We need to keep going. Look in the back there. My bag. Get something we can use to stop the blood and see if you can fix him up.’

Rosie watched, squeezed up against the door, as Asima rummaged in the bag, then expertly wrapped a bandage around the guard’s wound, taping it to his chest.

‘Will he make it?’ Rosie asked.

‘I hope so. I can’t do anything more now.’

‘He’ll be fine. He’s a tough guy,’ Omar said. ‘Hasn’t spoken a word all week, but when the chips were down, he was there. He saved us. I won’t let him die. Once we get out of this valley and onto the main road, we can drive like the wind.’

Rosie sat back and breathed let out a long sigh. She suddenly felt Laila’s hand reach out and clasp hers tight.

‘You’re okay, Laila. It’s going to be fine. It’s over now,’ she whispered.

Rosie’s mobile rang and she saw McGuire’s name come up. She flashed it towards Matt, who snorted.

‘Good luck with that one,’ he said.

‘Hi, Mick.’

‘Fuck’s sake, Gilmour! I said to call me at least a couple of times a day – you’re there two days and I haven’t heard a cheep. What’s going on?’

‘Oh, I know, Mick. Sorry. I was going to call you last night, but there was no signal . . . You see, I’m up in the mountains here, in Swat Valley. Hellish place.’

‘I can smell bullshit,’ McGuire barked.

‘Well, it might not actually be
bull
shit,’ Rosie joked. ‘Listen, Mick. Everything’s okay.’

‘What do you mean okay? What about the girl?’

‘We got her.’

‘You did? Brilliant! Is she alright? Are you alright? Are you in any danger? Listen, Gilmour, I want you out of there pronto if you’ve got the girl. Like tonight if possible, or tomorrow at the latest.’

‘We’re flying tomorrow, Mick. With Laila. We’re just on our way down to Islamabad now. I’m going to phone Marion when I get there.’

‘Great. I can breathe easily. So was there any trouble?’

Rosie let it hang two beats.

‘A bit. But hey, we’re just about there. So we got away with it.’

‘That sounds suspiciously like a body count. Are you sure that big Bosnian isn’t with you?’

‘No,’ Rosie smiled at the sudden thought of Adrian. ‘No. He’s not here. There was a bit of aggro though, but I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Have to go now.’

‘Right. Okay. But I’m planning to make a real issue of this kid and the forced marriage story. So I hope she’s all singing, all dancing.’

‘Er . . . Yeah . . . I’m sure we’ll be alright. Have to go.’ Rosie hung up.

She hadn’t even spoken to Laila about going public with the story yet. They were too busy trying to stay alive. She would have Laila all sewn up before she got home, because as soon as it hit the
Post
, the media, and not just in Scotland, would be all over it.

‘Is that your editor?’ Laila asked.

‘Yeah. He’s a bit of a livewire.’ Rosie looked at her. ‘We’ll have a talk between tonight and tomorrow to plan what we do.’

‘I overheard what he said.’

Rosie gave her a guilty look.

‘I want to tell my story,’ Laila said, a determined look in her eye.

‘We will,’ Rosie was relieved. Music to her ears. ‘Look,’
she nudged Omar. ‘A sign for Islamabad. And the road ahead is getting more populated.’

‘Halle-fucking-lujah!’ Matt rested his head back and closed his eyes.

*

On the outskirts of Islamabad, the tall buildings and monuments cast shadows in the setting sun. Rosie was delighted to see traffic lights and normality – just the sense that they were in any big capital in the world, where there was some kind of order, as opposed to the lawless area they’d escaped from. They dropped the medic off at his mother’s home in the city. He wasn’t planning to go back to Swat any time in the future. Omar drove past houses and along tree-lined avenues, past houses and gated compounds. The remnants of British colonial rule, where houses would have been owned by merchants or diplomats, had left their marks. Signs in English for tennis clubs, private schools, Catholic and Episcopalian churches.

Ismal punched in a number to his phone and spoke.

‘We are ten minutes away, Gerry. So far, so good. But there was trouble. Our armed guard has a gunshot wound. I should be able to treat him once I get a good look. Sure. Thanks.’

Along the avenue where the British Embassy was, they drove towards a gated complex. A security guard approached and Omar wound down his window. Ismal leaned across and spoke, and the guard walked across and pulled open
the tall iron gates. Rosie rolled down her window, taking in the scene – lush green gardens and a few villas dotted along the avenue. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the thwack of what sounded like a tennis ball striking a racket. Behind the tall trees she glimpsed a green wooden clubhouse and people sitting in the garden sipping tall drinks. In one of the trees, two exotic red-and-yellow birds squawked as they took off into the evening sky. It was mesmerising, given where they’d been.

‘God almighty! It’s like something out of that movie,
White Mischief
. What’s going on?’ Rosie asked.

‘That’s the tennis club in the embassy grounds,’ Ismal said. ‘Only for diplomats and invited guests, such as businessmen who are working out here. It’s where people can get out of the dust of Pakistan and feel very British. All rather old Raj.’

‘Yeah,’ Matt said. ‘To hell with all that Taliban shite up the road, I was made for places like this.’

‘Sure.’ Rosie smiled, feeling the tension evaporate from her body. ‘You could fit into this very well.’

They pulled the car up on a red-brick driveway and the front door opened. A silver-haired man dressed in white linen shorts and a polo shirt stood there, bronzed and handsome. Behind him was an attractive blonde woman. Everyone got out of the car and Laila suddenly threw her arms around Rosie.

‘Oh, Rosie, how can I ever thank you?’ She broke down.

‘Not me,’ Rosie choked. ‘Thank Asima here, and Ismal. They’re the guys with all the courage. And of course, Omar – not forgetting poor Hasan, our guard.’

‘Hello, Rosie Gilmour.’ The tall silver-haired man approached with his hand stretched out. ‘Welcome. I’ve heard a lot about you. Gerry Owens, and my wife, Deirdre.’ He swept his hand across his clothes. ‘Forgive our casual clothes – we had a mixed doubles match and couldn’t get out of it.’

Rosie noted he said it tongue in cheek, as she shook both their hands. She felt as though she was nearly home.

He turned to Ismal.

‘Good to see you, Ismal, and Asima. Come in. Let’s get your man fixed up, and we can sit and you can tell me all about your drama.’ He walked ahead. ‘Bring him in. I have a room all set up.’

*

In the early morning, Gerry drove them to the airport in his Mercedes, and was waved through check-in all the way to final security. They got out and took their bags.

Ismal’s phone rang and he looked grim as he listened, then hung up.

‘There’s trouble. They know Laila is with us and they’re looking for Asima and me. They’ve been to our house.’

‘Jesus! What now?’ Rosie asked.

‘You can’t go back now, Ismal,’ Gerry said.

‘I know.’ Ismal looked resigned. ‘But I’ve left everything
at my house. And what about the people at the camp . . . it’s leaving people short-staffed.’

‘Not your problem, you’ve done all you can. Time to go home now.’

‘We’ve no passports.’

‘Well, you’re with the British Embassy – we’ll sort that out for you. Give yourself a day or so, then we’ll get the paperwork done.’

Ismal turned to his wife.

‘We can’t go back, Asima.’

‘I know.’

‘Look,’ Gerry said. ‘Once we get the passports, then we’ll get a flight, and we’ll look after you. I honestly advise you not to go back up there and to get out of the country as soon as possible. Have you got money?’

‘Yes. I keep a UK bank account so I have access to money.’

‘Then you should leave. I can protect you while you’re here, but if you go back in, I can’t.’

Rosie, Matt, Omar and Laila said their goodbyes, hugging Ismal, then Asima, who was tearful. Rosie watched as they disappeared out of the airport. The four of them were on their own now. They approached final security and handed over their passports. The guard looked at all of them, then, when he came to Laila, went off to converse with two armed guards nearby. Rosie’s stomach hit the floor when she saw them making a phone call.

‘Oh shit, Matt! Something’s wrong,’ Rosie said.

‘Don’t let them take me, Rosie.’ Laila grabbed her arm.

‘Sssh. Just stay calm. Nobody’s going to take you.’ She tried to convince herself that what she’d said was true.

‘I’ll offer them money,’ Omar said. ‘That’s what they’re after. It’s all corruption.’ He went into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of twenty-dollar bills as the uniformed guard came across to them.

Omar turned his back and showed them the tip of the notes in his hand. The big guard shrugged and slowly nodded. Omar handed him the wad of dollars, and he went across to the desk. The guard waved them over and handed them their passports, then jerked his head dismissively towards the departure gate. They pushed through the barrier and walked briskly. Rosie wanted to break into a run. They were safe. The notice board showed the British Airways flight to Heathrow was boarding in half an hour.

‘Coffee, anyone?’ Rosie said.

‘Is it too early for a drink?’ Matt asked as he hugged Rosie and Laila.

Nikki was only half listening to Julie explaining all the details to her. It was a bit like a sales pitch, and not unlike the one her best friend made to her a few weeks ago, when she’d convinced her she could earn a few extra quid a week as an escort. Look where that had got her, she thought, glancing down at the bandaged stump. Since they’d taken her off the morphine, Nikki was swiftly discovering why half the country was hooked on heroin. With the morphine drip, even though she’d been aware of how much shit she was in, there was a euphoric sense that she was hovering somewhere above it all, and that this was really happening to someone else. The stump was always a stiff reminder, but when they’d changed her bandages every couple of days, and the surgeon had inspected her, declaring how fast she was healing, Nikki had always managed to summon a grateful smile. At least she was alive. But the last couple of days, she’d been feeling wiped out, depressed
and had hardly slept. She was still on strong painkillers, but they were nothing like the warm blanket of morphine, which had soothed away all her pain, inside and out.