Lie down with lions - Ken Follett [121]
When they reached the summit of the pass she noted, with some satisfaction, that she was not even breathing hard. She had never been this fit in her life—and she probably never would be so again. Ellis was not only panting but perspiring, she observed. He was in quite good shape, but he was not as hardened to hours of walking as she was. It made her feel rather smug, until she remembered he had suffered two bullet wounds just nine days ago.
Beyond the pass, the track ran along the mountainside, high above the Five Lions River. Here, the river was sluggish. Where it was deep and still the water appeared bright green, the color of the emeralds which were found all around Dasht-i-Riwat and taken to Pakistan to be sold. Jane had a fright when her hypersensitive ears picked up the sound of distant aircraft: there was nowhere to hide on the bare clifftop, and she was seized by a sudden desire to jump off the cliff into the river a hundred feet below. But it was only a flight of jets, too high to see anyone on the ground. Nevertheless, from then on Jane scanned the terrain constantly for trees, bushes and hollows in which they might hide. A devil inside her said You don’t have to do this, you could go back, you could give yourself up and be reunited with your husband, but somehow it seemed an academic question, a technicality.
The path was still climbing, but more gently, so they made better speed. They were delayed, every mile or two, by the tributaries which came rushing in from the side valleys to join the main river. The track would dive down to a log bridge or a ford, and Ellis would have to drag the unwilling Maggie into the water, with Jane yelling and throwing stones at her from behind.
An irrigation channel ran the full length of the gorge, on the cliffside high above the river. Its purpose was to enlarge the cultivable area in the plain. Jane wondered how long ago it was that the Valley had had time and men and peace enough to carry out such a big engineering project: hundreds of years, perhaps.
The gorge narrowed and the river below was littered with granite boulders. There were caves in the limestone cliffs: Jane noted them as possible hiding places. The landscape became bleak and a cold wind blew down the Valley, making Jane shiver for a moment despite the sunshine. The rocky terrain and the sheer cliffs suited birds: there were scores of Asian magpies.
At last the gorge gave way to another plain. Far to the east, Jane could see a range of hills, and above the hills were visible the white mountains of Nuristan. Oh, my God, that’s where we’re going, Jane thought; and she was afraid.
In the plain stood a small cluster of poor houses. “I guess this is it,” said Ellis. “Welcome to Saniz.”
They walked onto the plain, looking for a mosque or one of the stone huts for travelers. As they drew level with the first of the houses, a figure stepped out of it, and Jane recognized the handsome face of Mohammed. He was as surprised as she. Her surprise gave way to horror when she realized she was going to have to tell him that his son had been killed.
Ellis gave her time to collect her thoughts by saying in Dari: “Why are you here?”
“Masud is here,” Mohammed replied. Jane realized that this must be a guerrilla hideout. Mohammed went on: “Why are you here?”
“We’re going to Pakistan.”
“This way?” Mohammed’s face became grave. “What happened?”
Jane knew she had to be the one to tell him, for she had known him longer. “We bring bad news, my friend Mohammed. The Russians came