"He... he went out into the snow on the last night, and he never came back. The men said they heard shooting, later, from a long way off. I don't know if it was Khaled they were shooting at. I ... I don't know what happened to him."
"Then it will be Nazeer..." he muttered.
The sobbing spilled over again, and he plunged his face into his fleshy hands. I watched him uncomfortably, not knowing what to do or say. Since the moment that I'd cradled Khader's body in my arms on the snowy slope of the mountain, I'd refused to face the fact of his death. And I was still angry with Khader Khan. So long as I held that anger before me like a shield, loving Khader and grieving for him were deep and distant wonders of my heart.
So long as I was angry, I could fight off the tears and miserable longing that made Ghani so wretched. So long as I was angry, I could concentrate on the job at hand-information about Krishna, Villu, and the passport workshop. I was on the point of asking him about them when he spoke again.
"Do you know what it cost us-apart from his... his unique life - Khader's hero curse? Millions. It cost us millions to fight his war. We've been supporting it, in one way and another, for years.
You might think we could afford it. The sum is not so great, after all. But you're wrong. There is no organisation that can support such an insane hero curse as Khader's. And I couldn't change his mind. I couldn't save him. The money didn't mean anything to him, don't you see? You can't reason with a man who has no sense of money and its... its value. It's the one thing all civilised men have in common, don't you agree? If money doesn't mean anything, there is no civilisation. There is nothing."
He trailed off into indecipherable mumbles. Tears rolled into the little rivers they found on his cheeks, and dropped through the yellow light into his lap.
"Abdulbhai," I said, after a time.
"What? When? Is it now?" he asked, terror suddenly bright in his eyes. His lower lip stiffened in a cruel curve of malice I'd never seen or even imagined in him before that moment.
"Abdulbhai, I want to know where you moved the workshop. Where are Krishna and Villu? I went to the old workshop, but there's no-one there. I need some work on my book. I need to know where you moved to." The fear shrank to a pinpoint in his eyes, and they glittered with it. His mouth swelled in something like the old voluptuary smile, and he looked into my eyes with avid, hungering concentration.
"Of course you want to know," he grinned, using the palms of his hands to wipe at the tears. "It's right here, Lin, in this house.
We rebuilt the cellar, and fitted it out. There is a trapdoor in the kitchen floor. Iqbal will show you the way. The boys are working there now."
"Thanks," I said, hesitating a moment. "I've got a job to do, but ... I'll be back later tonight, or tomorrow, at the latest. I'll see you then."
"Inshallah," he said softly, turning his face to the windows once more. "Inshallah."
I went down through the house to the kitchen and lifted the heavy trapdoor. A dozen steps led into the floodlit cellar. Krishna and Villu greeted me happily, and went to work on my passport immediately. Few things excited them more than a counterfeiting challenge, and they chattered in a spirited little argument before agreeing on the best approach.
While they worked, I examined Ghani's new workshop. It was a large space-much larger than the basement of Abdul Ghani's mansion alone. I walked some thirty to fifty metres past light tables, printing machines, photocopiers, and storage cupboards. I guessed that the basement extended beneath the next large house in the street beside Ghani's. It seemed likely that they'd bought the house next door, and connected the two cellars. If that were so, I assumed, there would be another exit, leading into the neighbouring house. I was searching for it when Krishna called to tell me that my rush-jobs visa was ready. Intrigued by the new set-up beneath the houses, I promised myself that as soon as possible I would return and inspect the workshop thoroughly.
"Sorry to keep you," I muttered to Didier as I climbed back onto the bike. "It took longer than I expected. But the passport's done. We can go straight to Madame Zhou's now."
"Don't hurry, Lin," Didier sighed, clutching at me with all his strength as we moved out into the traffic. "The best revenge, like the best sex, is performed slowly and with the eyes open."
"Karla?" I shouted over my shoulder, as the bike accelerated into the metal stream.
