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Back The Frenchman
Chapters (76)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. DEDICATION
  4. AMIN
  5. PARIS
  6. … TWO YEARS LATER
  7. CHAPTER ONE
  8. CHAPTER TWO
  9. CHAPTER THREE
  10. CHAPTER FOUR
  11. CHAPTER FIVE
  12. CHAPTER SIX
  13. CHAPTER SEVEN
  14. CHAPTER EIGHT
  15. CHAPTER NINE
  16. CHAPTER TEN
  17. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  18. CHAPTER TWELVE
  19. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  20. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  21. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  22. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  23. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  24. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  25. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  46. CHAPTER FORTY
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  48. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  51. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  52. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  53. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  54. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  55. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  56. CHAPTER FIFTY
  57. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  58. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
  59. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
  60. CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
  61. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
  62. CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
  63. CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
  64. CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
  65. CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
  66. CHAPTER SIXTY
  67. CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
  68. CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
  69. CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
  70. CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
  71. CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
  72. CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
  73. CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
  74. CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
  75. CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
  76. EPILOGUE

As he walked to the car he sensed the cops behind him. The hum of diesels vibrated around him as the trucks lined up for fuel.

‘Good evening sir,’ said the taller of the cops, in English. ‘Far to go?’

De Payns turned. ‘To Kabul.’ He smiled.

‘American?’ asked the one with a moustache.

‘French,’ said de Payns.

‘Ah,’ said the tall one. ‘Long way from the home. Why are you in Afghanistan?’

‘I’m a journalist,’ de Payns said. ‘Morel. Georges Morel. I’m doing a story about the aquifers in northern Pakistan and eastern Afghanistan.’

‘This is your car?’

‘Yes,’ said de Payns, as the tall cop walked to the front of the Passat and made a face.

‘You staying in Afghanistan for long?’ asked the tall one.

‘I’m flying out in the next two days,’ said de Payns, wishing they would just leave him alone.

‘Okay,’ said the tall one, now smiling. ‘If it was more than thirty days, you’d have to change those plates. Pakistan plates no good.’

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De Payns made good time north, hitting only one checkpoint, where he was not asked to stop. It was 7.43 a.m. when he reached the city limits of Kabul. He kept an eye out for an internet cafe. As he moved into the city he saw a place, stopped and paid for a screen. He opened a Gmail account in the name of Charles Paris and sent a quick message, with his new phone number, to Dennis London, better known as Mike Moran.

He drove for another five minutes, past soldiers in mixed uniforms lounging on armoured personnel carriers, smoking; the city was looking less bombed out than on de Payns’ last visit, two years ago. He saw a restaurant with an English sign that looked open. He was happy to find the female owner was French and he ordered coffee, pain au chocolat and an omelette. As the woman walked away, his pre-paid phone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘This is your wake-up call,’ said an English voice. ‘Long time no see, mon pote.’

‘Too long.’

Moran said, ‘Shall we meet?’

‘That would be great,’ said de Payns, pouring sugar into his coffee. ‘You where you always are?’

‘I am,’ said Moran. ‘I’ll wait at the gate.’

‘See you in an hour,’ said de Payns and hung up.

He finished the omelette and coffee, and carried the pain au chocolat to the Passat.

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