Zan Zar Zameen: Revelations

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Thanks to Farouk's help, John and Sooraya infiltrate the madrasah, and find out things are far worse than they'd hoped.



It wasn't easy to find time alone in the madrasah: everybody seemed to want to speak to Sooraya, though the Afghan girl didn't want to speak to any of them. The only person she wanted to see was John, but the only thing more difficult than securing time alone was time alone with a man. By watching the movements of the other students carefully and keeping an eye out for John she was finally able to follow him into a room she knew to be empty, quickly closing the door behind her in case any other students should wander by.

Old habits had started to reassert themselves by this point, and she had to tell herself that it was all right to be here. There were far more important things to worry about than propriety, though even this logic didn't stop the slight shaking of her hands as she turned to face him. "Things are very bad," she said in a hushed tone, trying to rally the words to share what she had seen about the madrasah.

The language barrier was proving to be somewhat of a problem. John hadn't been able to get any further intel but he'd been expecting the worse. "They're going through with it." More of a statement rather than a question.

He reached out and turned the key in the lock before he motioned for Sooraya to move further into the room, away from the door.

"We're going to need to get word out to the rest," he said. "I can't leave. It's too risky." He didn't think he quite gained their trust just yet and he wasn't about to risk compromising Kane's operation if he were to be followed by one of Taraki's men.

Sooraya nodded her agreement, her dark eyes the only part of her face visible in the voluminous burqa she wore. "They are watching us, but more you than me." As a foreigner and a male of course John was more visible, and his status as a former student of Magneto's made him a near-celebrity in the school. She knew that any absence of his would be missed. A girl's, however...

"Maybe I can leave and they will not see me. It is the only way I know to tell the others of the danger."

He didn't like the idea of Sooraya going out on her own but she knew the area better than he did and if she could make use of her powers, there was no way she'd be caught.

"Your mutation..." There were bound to notice something amiss if she was gone for too long; a good thing she traveled faster in her sand form then. "If you can't get to Kane, get to Jono or Paige at the refugee camp. He should be able to telepathically link up to Kane or they'll have their comm units at least." They hadn't been given one of those out of precaution; Taraki's men might have been able to tap into their signal.

"I will try." It would be even better if they could have both escaped to carry the message to Garrison; though Sooraya wasn't under any delusions that it would be safer, it still made her very nervous to be smack in the middle of the fire.

"You can do this," John said in an attempt to reassure her. "You don't need to come back here if you don't want to. I know you're scared. I'd be too if I hadn't actually been in this position before." He frowned. "I'd prefer it if you stayed on with them, but I'm pretty sure Kane's going to get us out of this. And even if he doesn't... we'll figure something out."

Glancing over her shoulder at the door, Sooraya then turned back to John, willing herself to meet his eyes, if only for a second. "I will come back. I will not leave you alone with these people." Though she had no doubt John could take care of himself when it came down to it, she wouldn't want to put him in the position of being completely cut off, among strangers without even a common tongue to get by.

He nodded. "Then you're going to have to trust me." He didn't think his plan would guarantee them a way out of this mess, but he knew that above all else, he'd protect her.

Meanwhile, Jono and Garrison travel out to talk with one of the tribal leaders, and learn some surprising facts from an unexpected source.



It was dusty, dry, and surprisingly cool for a September day. Garrison and Jono had been driving for a couple of hours, through the torturously hilly northern Afghanistan countryside, following the directions to the man they were supposed to meet, and taking the roads very carefully. It wasn't in the midst of a war, but this area had never been stable, and there was no sense risking themselves unnecessarily. Jono had been quiet; either bored, still annoyed at having to wear the heavy robes to cover the damage in his face and chest, or taking in the scenary. Kane really couldn't be sure which, as he juggled between the map, the wheel, and the GPS which was their only sure navigational tool.

"I think it's just a couple more kilometres from here. Assuming this country has land that isn't vertical somewhere."

Jono gave Kane the psionic equivalent of a grunt of assent, peering out over the rocky countryside. "More desert, more rocks. Real summer home material, this is." He shaded his eyes and peered out to the horizon. Just because he couldn't see people out there didn't mean they weren't being watched. Well, he thought, two could play at that game.

He closed his eyes and tried to filter out the noise of the vehicle and the buzz of Garrison's thoughts next to him. In his mind, Garrison was a colorful jumble of thoughts and sensations, like sitting next to a campfire. All Jono needed to do was find more fires out there.

"We're not far," he said to Garrison.

Kane nodded, and inside of ten minutes, he'd killed the engine as they looked at the tribe arrayed around the campsite. The Tajik were not nomadic like some Afghani tribes, but regularly followed their herds on wide foraging migrations through the mountainous scrub. Doctor Watt's contact had been very clear that they would not be permitted to address the tribal council, but one of the elders, Burhanuddin Masood, had agreed to speak with them privately.

Looking at the guns worn with casual competence, Kane hoped that Masood was expecting them.

"Time to find out if this was a really bad idea." He got out of the jeep slowly. "Ready to be witty?"

"I'll let you handle the wit, mate," Jono quipped as he slid his long legs out of the jeep and made sure to keep his hands in sight. He made sure to keep 'speaking' directly to Kane, rather than a broad sending to everyone around. "They don't seem like they're going to shoot first. I might not have a heart an' lungs anymore, but I don't want to experiment with getting riddled with bullets today."

"Well, we're not wearing Russian uniforms, and guns over here are like Louis Vitton bags in Manhattan; more of a required accessory." Garrison said, just as a man approached him. He looked them over carefully, his gaze intense but not hostile. Finally, he spoke, and Jono's power provided the translation.

{What do you want here?}

{My name is Garrison Kane. I'm a Canadian, here to speak with Burhanuddin Masood.} It was strange with Jono's telepathy providing the clarity, but the communication seemed stable enough. The man gave them both another look before nodding.

{Elder Masood mentioned a visitor. We were expecting another Ubzek swine.} He said striding off. Garrison exchanged a look with Jono.

"Ubzek swine? That's a big insult from a Muslim." Kane noted quietly.

Jono winced at the slight echo in his head. He knew that he was hearing Pashto, but his brain was interpreting it as easily as English, and his telepathy was aiding Garrison's facility with the language. "So this means they won't shoot us?" Jono questioned as he rubbed at his forehead, the only part of his skin visible under the thick robes. "Marvelous."

"Means he's got someone he'd already like to shoot more." Garrison pointed out, as the man led them through the camp. The reek of the animals, shaggy cattle and goats, was especially strong until they reached the high fires. There were a group of horses tethered and grazing quietly away from the other animals, and a mix of battered vehicles parked carelessly. One vehicle stood out, a matte black modern SUV at the very edge of the camp, which Garrison filed away in the back of his head.

Otherwise, it could have been a normal working camp anywhere in the world. There were few women or children; mostly men, grouped around the fires and talking loudly. The odd one would take notice of them, but no one said anything as they finally reached the front of a circular tent.

{Wait here. Elder Masood will join you soon.} Their guide said, and disappeared from the flap, leaving them to try and arrange themselves comfortably on the thin ground rugs. "Down the rabbit hole here, eh?"

"Alice in bloody Wonderland," Jono griped, trying to move comfortably in the billowing robes. "Bloody hell, who still lives like this?" he sent directly to Garrison.

"About half the world, Jono. This area's been used as a battle ground pretty constantly over the last thirty years. The land is sparse enough without adding shelling to it." Kane pointed out. He wasn't an expert on Afghanistan, but had gone through the reading that CIDA had sent about the area. It was a mountainous region, with excellent fruit farming in the valleys, and decent enough grazing for livestock further up. Trade the trucks and guns for a bow and more horses, and the Tajik farmed much like they had a thousand years ago.

"Which of course doesn't give them good reasons to trust us. When the Russians were invading, the US sent millions in weapons up here, and in the process, turned half the south into drug cartels. Now that the Taliban is in charge, pro and anti-Islamic forces are doing the exact same thing, with these poor bastards stuck in the middle."

"This Masood, I wouldn't envy his job, then," Jono replied, turning to look towards the entrance to the small hut. "If I was in his shoes, I probably wouldn't care one whit about two Westerners vanishing in my backyard."

"He likely doesn't. Hopefully, though, he'll at least answer a couple of questions." Kane didn't bother to add that this was something of a shot in the dark, investigative-wise. The Taliban knew that a Canadian wouldn't get far, which is why they didn't bother to try and stop Canada from sending one. Kane was hoping that the tribe's relationship with the field hospital might shake a little more cooperation his way, even with the chances of finding out the killers was remote enough to seem impossible.

The tent flap was pulled aside, and a man stepped in. He was old, but hard and windcarved in his features. A spiderweb of deep browned wrinkles surrounded his grey beard and dark eyes. Obviously a man that lived most of his life outside, working in the sun. He made a gesture and an untranslatable statement before settling himself into an easy sitting position.

{I am Burhanuddin Masood. Timur said that you had arrived.} He looked them both over before turning to Jono. {You wear the garb of the Pashtun. Why?}

"Because it's terribly comfortable," Jono said with utter seriousness. "I think that in the future everyone will be wearing billowing black robes."

Masood's expression didn't change, but there was the glint of humour obvious in response. He rubbed his beard with his right hand before finally speaking. {I assume you must be the Canadian policeman.} He turned to Garrison. {I must tell you that I can give you little help about who killed your countrymen.}

Kane stifled any sign of disappointment. {So why did you agree to this meeting?}

{Because it isn't who killed your people. It is what, and I believe that we have a common enemy here.} Masood shifted to a more comfortable position. {There are many tribes here in the north. Including the Turkmen and the Ubzek, who have not been friends to the Tajik in the past. During the Little Satan's agression against us, they helped Soviet forces in this area. My father was rounded up during a counterstrike, and we never saw him again. They are dogs looking for a master, and they have found one with a purpose now.}

{Fill in the lost one here, mate,} Jono said, the words in his mind flowing together into the syllables of Pashto in the minds around him, {Little Satan?}

{Russia. Soviet Union at the time.} Kane filled in, to Masood's nod. {What used to be the border is now smaller states; Turkstan, Ubzekistan, Kazakhstan. But how does that apply here?}

{The drug warlords don't care much for this area. It is unsuited for the poppy fields to produce opium. But there is a commodity here that has existed for thousands of years; people. Groups of slavers, mostly Turkman or Ubzek in origin, have moved freely across the borders, stealing mostly women and boys for illegal sale. It has always been so, but now,} Masood's expression had gone cold. {Now they have someone organizing them, working with locals to work quickly. I know they turn greedy eyes on your hospital and the camp. One of my nephews remembers seeing a Westerner asking questions about the slavery trade not long before they disappeared. If they were asking questions, then they were likely killed for it.}

Jono just sat silently, taking in the details. The concept of the slave trade had always seemed like the stuff of history, or a case of Someone Else's Problem when it would flicker across the evening news. Confronted with people who were directly affected by it, however, seemed to light a fuse in him.

{Right, so who's organizing it?} he asked pointedly. {Stands to reason they'd have the answers.}

{If we knew, we could do something. But we don't.} Masood shook his head. {As I mentioned, there is little help here. These men also prey on Tajik families. If you had a way to stop them, we could offer you our effort.}

{Well, slavers is something we didn't know before.} Kane said, hiding his frustration. He'd been hoping for something more solid. Trying to find a connection with slavers would be all but impossible.

{I wish you luck in your cause.} Masood got to his feet and showed them to the flap. {Such men deserve to be punished. It is too late to take the roads back tonight. Timur will find you a place to sleep until morning. Assalaam-o-alaikum.}

Kane and Jono were left standing out in the cold night air.

Jono walked over to lean against the jeep, pulling the bulky headdress down and letting the small breeze blow through his hair. "So it looks like your aid workers probably got tangled in this tricky business, yeah?"

"Most likely. There's motive involved, as opposed to a random crime." Garrison shook his head. "There's something else going on. The Taliban wouldn't just let foriegn slavers operate unmolested."

In silence they unloaded the jeep and tried to settle in.

***

"So you can't actually eat or drink? At all?" Garrison said as they sat by the fire. Night had come quickly, and they had spent an hour doing little but chatting about minor things, each of them carefully negotiating around the massive elephant that was the issue of slavery in their heads.


"No jaw," Jono replied, patting the bandages around where his mouth and chin should be. "Not much of a throat, no stomach, nothing. Don't really know what's inside me, since the doctors can't really x-ray me and I'm not about to let someone just go poking inside. I might have a big gaping hole in my chest bleeding psionic energy out, but I'm no one's science project."

"An Englishman that can't drink. That is what I call bitter iro--" Garrison's sentance just died as a tall red-headed woman stepped into the circle of the firelight, taking an easy seat near to them. She was attractive, in a severe manner, in a way similar to Dr. Grey at the school. A thin smile was on her lips as she looked at Garrison and Jono with a calculating expression.

"Hello then," Jono said, trying to gauge Garrison's reaction while slowly reaching behind him for one of the small logs of firewood in case the woman's intentions were anything more than just sharing a fire.

"You! Your-" Kane sputtered, pointing at her. "Moscow! The woman in Moscow!"

"Da. I see now why you are a detective, Inspector Kane. Mister Starsmore, please do not bother with the stick. If I was here to hurt you, I assure you that a few feet of wood is not enough to stop it." The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a wallet, opening it. "My name is Natasha Romanova. I am an officer of the GRU."

"Russian intelligence." Kane said, trying to regain his composure. Seeing her had suddenly wiped away any thoughts that this might be an ordinary investigation. Natasha only nodded.

"Normally I would not try to advertise my position, but I have little time to worry about establishing trust, and neither do you, Inspector." She paused to fill a mug from the blackened coffee pot by the fire and took a sip. "Masood is a very old enemy of the Russians, but he is also a very practical man. There are... lines of communication that have been kept open between us. We have been watching the increase in slaving very closely over the last few years here. Have you realized what is really going on yet?"

Jono let out a psionic groan, dropping the log and rubbing his temples. "Bloody christ, Kane. Missing aid workers, a slavery ring, and now Russian spies? You don't half mess around, do you?"

To Natasha, Jono just shrugged, showing his empty hands. "So you're saying you've known about the whole slave trading thing for a few years, so why're you just here now?"

"Because only now can it possibly effect my government." Romanova said simply. "The slavery aspect is almost traditional in these lands, going back before the time of Alexander. What is new is that it is no longer about trafficking people. It's about trafficking weapons."

"Weapons? How is it... mutants."

"Ah, now the Inspector understands. This is arms dealing. In this case, the weapons are mutants; taken young, frightning, unskilled and open to suggestion. If only all soldiers were like that?" She gestured with her coffee cup. "The man in question is Anatoly Markov, a former KGB operative who went into business for himself in Ubzekistan. He's co-opted several small groups, and is coordinating them. The traditional trade in women and boys pays for the organization, and any mutants he sells at extremely high costs. Normally, we would simply arrest him, or remove him, but his network is too valuable and he spends much of his time moving through the West. However, if one of his partners were to make a confession to a foreign government, as a Russian national, we could order him deported to Moscow, and straight to us."

"Which partner do you mean?"

"Come, Inspector. You don't think the odd focus of Islamic scholars in the region is coincidential, do you? Mr Starsmore, would you like to hazard a guess?"

"What, not that charming Masood fellow?" Jono replied, feigning as much innocence as he was able to behind the black leather wrappings. "You're saying that if we... that is, someone were to provide you with a bloke who can name names, your government can stomp down on the bastards selling slaves - children, at that - here?"

"No. On both counts. Masood is a rare honourable man. Markov is working with the madrasah near the camp. He provides funds to Taraki in exchange for Taraki helping to identify and target potential mutants in the region. I think Taraki's even offered up some of his own followers in return for armed support." She said, sipping calmly and speaking like she was describing a shoe sale. "If Taraki could be made to confess, and evidence of his connection made available, Markov's arrest and eventual... cooperation would occur. As for stopping the slavery, there is little anyone can do, but removing Markov takes away the effectiveness of it, and removes mutants from the auction block."

"Taliban crackdowns in the area drives the tribes into camps with the earthquake as an excuse. That makes it easy for Markov to operate and for Taraki to recruit. Something doesn't add up. Why hasn't the Taliban cracked down on Taraki, real charges or not, if they think he's got a hint of connection to this? Why can't anyone follow the money line?" Kane pointed out.

"You tell me, Inspector."

"You're not here because of Markov or Taraki." Garrison said, pointing his finger at her. "You're here because there's a third party in all of this, and you don't know who it is!"

"Very good. Much better than your last police work I witnessed." She clapped wryly. "The reason that the Taliban has had to work as hard as they have is because someone is also funding the tribes. You were right in one aspect, Mister Starsmore. Masood is involved, but not with slaving. Someone is also providing the link for funding between Markov and Taraki, and we don't know who."

Romanova got up and dusted off her pants. "Be careful now, both of you. As you can see, there's a lot more going on then just a pair of murders in this place."

Jono glared daggers at the Russian woman. "So who's this Taraki, then? I'm starting to get the feeling someone knows more than she's sharing, and trying to set us up to do the dirty work."

"Of course I am. Goodnight." Romanova said, before walking off.

"Taraki is the man in charge of the madrasah." Where I sent John and Sooraya, Garrison didn't bother to add. "I have a feeling we need to leave early in the morning.