Lie down with lions - Ken Follett [54]
Jean-Pierre concentrated hard, recalling the details he had memorized during his conversation with Mohammed, and began to trace for Anatoly the route the convoy would follow on its way back from Pakistan. He did not know exactly when they would return, for Mohammed did not know how long they would spend in Peshawar buying what they needed. However, Anatoly had people in Peshawar who would let him know when the Five Lions convoy departed, and from that he would be able to work out their timetable.
Anatoly made no notes, but memorized every word Jean-Pierre said. When they had finished they went over the whole thing again, with Anatoly repeating it to Jean-Pierre as a check.
The Russian folded the map and put it back inside his shirt. “And what of Masud?” he said quietly.
“We haven’t seen him since last I spoke to you,” said Jean-Pierre. “I’ve only seen Mohammed—and he is never quite sure where Masud is or when he will appear.”
“Masud is a fox,” said Anatoly with a rare flash of emotion.
“We will catch him,” said Jean-Pierre.
“Oh, we will catch him. He knows the hunt is in full cry, so he covers his tracks. But the hounds have his scent, and he cannot elude us forever—we are so many, and so strong, and our blood is up.” He suddenly became conscious that he was revealing his feelings. He smiled and became practical again. “Batteries,” he said, and he brought a battery pack out of his shirt.
Jean-Pierre took the little radio transceiver from the concealed compartment in the bottom of his medical bag, extracted the old batteries and exchanged them for new ones. They did this every time they met, to be sure that Jean-Pierre should not lose contact simply by running out of power. Anatoly would carry the old ones all the way back to Bagram, for there was no point in taking the risk of throwing away Russian-made batteries here in the Five Lions Valley, where there were no electrical appliances.
As Jean-Pierre was putting the radio back into his medical bag, Anatoly said: “Have you got anything in there for blisters? My feet—” Then he stopped suddenly, frowned and cocked his head, listening.
Jean-Pierre tensed. So far they had never been observed together. It was bound to happen sooner or later, they knew, and they had planned what they would do, how they would act like strangers sharing a resting place and continue their conversation when the intruder had left—or, if the intruder showed signs of staying long, they would leave together, as if by chance they happened to be heading in the same direction. All that had been previously agreed, but nevertheless Jean-Pierre now felt his guilt must be written all over his face.
In the next instant he heard a footfall outside, and the sound of someone breathing hard; and then a shadow darkened the sunlit entrance, and Jane walked in.
“Jane!” he said.
Both men sprang to their feet.
Jean-Pierre said: “What is it? Why are you here?”
“Thank God I caught up with you,” she said breathlessly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jean-Pierre saw Anatoly turn away, as an Afghan would turn away from a brazen woman. The gesture helped Jean-Pierre recover from the shock of seeing Jane. He looked around quickly. Anatoly had put away the maps several minutes earlier, fortunately. But the radio—the radio was sticking out an inch or two from the medical bag. However, Jane had not seen it—yet.
“Sit down,” said Jean-Pierre. “Catch your breath.” He sat down at the same time and used the movement as an excuse to shift his bag so that the radio poked out from the side facing him and away from Jane. “What’s the matter?” he said.
“A medical problem I can’t solve.”
Jean-Pierre’s tension eased a fraction: he had been afraid she might have followed him because she suspected something. “Have some water,” he said. He reached into his bag with one hand, and with the other pushed the radio in while he rummaged. When the radio was concealed he drew out his flask