Gravedigger Read Free

a price. Derek looked at Noa, who counter-offered. After a few minutes of haggling, Derek was the proud owner of a copper kettle. Johnston looked at it. “I always did enjoy working with you. You get to carry the kettle.”
    “You don’t like tea?”
    “Actually, I love tea. And now you’re in charge of making it.”
    “Guess I’d better find a tea shop.”
    “With any luck it’s right next to the restaurant where we’re supposed to find John Landing.”
    The restaurant had about six outdoor tables. The food was cooked outside on a grill. Lamb, goat, chicken, or maybe they were ducks or geese. Behind the grill a bearded guy cooked on a couple woks. It smelled terrific. Noa asked about John Landing.
    The cook muttered something. Noa said, “He’s not here. And he doesn’t know where he went.”
    “When was he here last?” Johnston asked.
    She asked and came back with, “A couple days.”
    Derek pointed at strips of meat. “Is that like jerky?”
    Noa glared at him. “We have a job to do.”
    “Ask him.”
    She spewed off some Urdu and said, “Smoked goat.”
    “I’ll take some.”
    She shot him a disgusted look and bargained. “No,” Derek said. “I want a bunch. In a bag.”
    “Hungry?”
    Johnston merely watched with a bemused expression on his face.
    Goat jerky packed away, they wandered further into the bazaar. Derek stopped at a rug shop, looking at the gorgeous rugs. He picked through some, finding a small one. “What do you think?”
    “I think if you want souvenirs, you’re in the wrong business.”
    Derek turned to Johnston. “You like this one?”
    “Doesn’t match my décor.”
    “I like it. It’s small.” He gestured for Noa to start bargaining. Her expression was mostly covered by her scarf, but there was no doubt about the body language.
    “Just do it,” he said.
    The rug merchant watched the exchange with interest. With unconcealed disdain Noa turned to the Afghani and started bargaining. Finally she got a price she deemed was reasonable and Derek paid for the rug and slung it with a cord so he could carry it over his back.
    They continued on to the remaining possible locations of John Landing. Along the way Derek bought dried fruit, a bag of dates, tea, candy, and three small cooking pots. Finally they arrived at a hookah restaurant. Men lounged around small tables, smoking the water pipes. Derek wondered if they smoked tobacco, hashish or opium. Most of the men seemed reasonably alert, but the further into the shop they went the more stoned they seemed to be.
    Toward the rear, back to the wall, was a westerner. Johnston looked at him. “Landing?”
    Blowing out a smoke ring, he said, “You Johnston?”
    Johnston made introductions as they joined Landing at the table. Landing wore wrinkled khakis and an unbuttoned white shirt that revealed a chest full of wiry gray hair. Similar wiry hair covered his head. His skin looked like it had been left out in the sun for a couple dozen years, the creases around his eyes deep as if he spent most of his life squinting at the horizon. He gestured at the hookah. “Feel free.”
    Noa looked at Derek. “You going to buy one, too?”
    “Nope. I’ve had the privilege. Not my thing.”
    “Stillwater? Heard about you. Had an adventure in Cuba, didja?”
    “ Si .”
    Landing grunted. “Okay. Guess you’re here for the next stage of your snipe hunt. Any of you guys got a map on you?”
    Digging into his pack, Derek supplied a map. Noa had one in her hand as well. Landing took the two, and tossed Noa’s back to her. “Crap. Think Mossad would do better than that.” He held up Derek’s, which was a detailed topographical map. “My kind of guy. Got a pencil?”
    Johnston supplied a pen. Sucking on the water pipe, Landing spread the map out on the table and started making X’s and circles. “’kay. Here’s the deal. Most of these sites are over in Afghanistan. Afghanistan, in my opinion, is made up of a bunch of fucking barbarians.