He wanted to have it out with her, to damn her for adopting the soft Western ways of their father, while their mother and aunt were forced to endure the lonely hell of their forgotten history. He wanted to tell her that the maternal side of their family contained greatness and perseverance, and the French corporation had taken that from them. It was an injury that they all should have borne together, but Anoush and their father were too busy with their decadent boats and secret drinking. But he held back—his sister already knew what he thought.

He climbed into the Mercedes and shut the door. Anoush had done it again—had put him in the situation of having to choose between Pakistan’s security and the welfare of his own sister. He breathed deeply, aware of the ISI man watching him in the rear-view mirror. The decision he had to make now was easier given the decision he’d made seven years ago, when his father had asked too many questions and made the mistake of judging him. His father had subsequently died from an unexpected ‘heart attack’. Now Yousef had to decide about Anoush.

He thought of his youth, growing up alongside his gregarious little sister. The holidays in which Anoush and their father had skied and sailed, while Yousef looked for a quiet place to read a book. Being the clever one of the family wasn’t easy. Being the one to uphold the honour of his family—to avenge the losses they had suffered—was never going to make him popular. But that was his role.

He keyed his phone and watched the number connect as Anoush stormed back into her apartment building.

‘Colonel,’ he said into the phone, ‘we have a security situation.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CHAPTER

FIFTY-SIX

Between them they had one firearm, which de Payns insisted Templar take. And then Templar threw a small backpack over his shoulder and walked into the shadows without even a backward look.

They were at the northern outskirts of Gardez. North of his position was the service station, which de Payns could see stayed open for all the trucks that were on their way to or from Kabul. It was 5.24 a.m. He drove into the forecourt, avoided the diesel queue and went straight to a petrol bowser. He tanked and went to the counter with euros and US dollars, then waited behind a truck driver who was paying. As he did he became aware of a couple of National Police officers standing at the coffee stand to his left. He smiled briefly and they glared at him—early thirties ANP cops with Sigma 9mm handguns on their hips and AKMs over their shoulders. De Payns got to the front of the queue, gestured to the petrol pump and asked for a large bottle of water, a pre-paid phone and a pack of Marlboros, offering euros and US dollars. The young man accepted the euros.