England is the Property of New Delhi, Page 3

“And who might you be and what are you doing here?” Robert Berenson said.

  Duncan McNeill looked up at the man above him. “I’m not in favor of having a gun pointed at me when I haven’t done anything wrong laddie,” he said.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Robert Berenson said.

  “I’m hiking,” McNeill said.

  “Nobody hikes here,” Berenson said. He flipped the safety off his gun.

  “You don’t need to do that,” Duncan McNeill said. “I represent no danger to you.” That was a lie, Duncan McNeill was extremely dangerous. “Who are you with?”

  “I’m with the NATO Coalition,” Berenson said. “Now I’ll repeat, who are you and what are you doing here.”

  “My name is Duncan McNeill and I’ve been coming to Afghanistan for a very long time, far longer than you and your boys have been coming. I’ll be here when you’re gone too.”

  “I doubt that,” Robert Berenson said. In fact this guy might not last the afternoon if he wasn’t careful.

  “I heard there’s an American going round here causing trouble for the Afghans living around here. That wouldn’t be you would it by any chance.”

  “I’m Canadian,” Berenson said.

  “Interesting. I thought the Canadians were nice guys. If you’re the man I’m looking for then you’re definitely not a nice guy,” the Scotsman said.

  “Not all Canadians are nice.”

  At that point Duncan McNeill knew that he had the right man. It was in his head just to kill the Canadian but that would be a little unfair so they would talk first. And then it was likely that McNeill would kill the Canadian.

  “Do you want to tell me why you’re out here?” Berenson said.

  “I’m looking for a bad man, I’m getting the sense that I’ve found him.”

  “Can you open your pack please?” Berenson said. He holstered his gun to put the other man off guard.

  “I can do that but first I’d like to know why you want to look in my pack?”

  “NATO can search anyone’s pack,” Berenson said.

  “There’s a picnic in my pack, I told you I was hiking. I’ve been coming to Afghanistan a long time. I’ve hiked everywhere in this country.”

  “Where are you hiking to?”

  “I’m hiking from Meshed to Herat.”

  “Now I definitely want to see what’s in your pack,” Berenson said. Meshed was over the border in Iran. “How did you cross the border?”

  “I walked across,” McNeill said.

  This was going on too long. Berenson pulled his taser out and shot the Scotsman in the chest. Berenson was fast but not fast enough. The Scotsman fell over and started screaming and Berenson looked down at the knife sticking out of his side. There was no pain as yet but that knife had to be sharp, it had gone straight through his jacket and through his shirt. It was buried in his intestines, he knew that much. Berenson was in very little danger, he had read somewhere that Japanese soldiers had been taught always to twist their bayonets after pushing them into an enemy. If you didn’t do that the enemy could pull the bayonet out and use it on you. Twist the bayonet from side to side after you pushed it in and the other man was screwed. Berenson pulled the knife out slowly, it hadn’t gone in anything like as deeply as he had first thought. He took his jacket off and folded it up into a bandage and pressed it into his side, there was some blood but not too much.

  Berenson could get help from NATO forces quickly if he needed to but if he did that he would have to explain the man in front of him and he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want this man talking to authorities and he especially didn’t want anyone probing what he did here. You could get away with doing a lot to the natives in Afghanistan as long as you didn’t make waves and create headlines. Handing the Scotsman over was likely to do that. Berenson turned the taser off and waited for the other man to recover.

  After a minute McNeill rolled over and sat up. He stared Berenson right in the eyes. Berenson didn’t like that so he turned the taser on again. This time he kept it on for five minutes. He was just considering whether to cut one of the Scotsman’s ears off when he heard a voice behind him.

  “What are you doing to my master?”

  The voice was beautiful, melodic even. Berenson turned round and beheld one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life. Her eyes were green like those of many people in Afghanistan. They were soft and they held concern for the man on the ground. If Berenson had had any brains at all the word “master” would have put him immediately on his guard. It should have but it didn’t. He was enraptured by this woman and after he had dispatched the Scotsman he was going to have her. She was tall, maybe about five feet ten and she had long dark hair. She wore a shawl over her head but her face was uncovered.

  Berenson realized he was still holding down on the button for the power to the taser. He switched it off. The Scotsman lay unconscious on the ground. The woman walked over and knelt by him. She kept a wary eye on Berenson. Although Berenson didn’t know it this woman was even more dangerous than the Scotsman. He was outsmarted although not outgunned, he still had a small chance of getting away but it was a very limited chance. He was close to being trapped in a web.

  “What did you do to him?” the woman said. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

  Berenson ignored her question. “What’s your name?” he said.

  “My name is Taraneh,” she said.

  She shook McNeill’s shoulder gently. He failed to respond. For a moment Berenson wondered whether he had killed the Scotsman but then he saw his chest move.

  “Why did you do that to him?’ Taraneh said.

  Berenson suddenly felt nervous but he didn’t know why. Everything was going his way, the Scotsman was down, the woman was no threat so why did he feel a sense of danger. He began to back away. When the woman saw he was backing away she stood up quickly. At that point Berenson knew he was in extreme danger. He turned away and then there was perfume in the air. It was a heady perfume unlike anything he had ever smelt before. He turned to run but the woman ran past him. She stood in front of him. He twisted and changed direction. He heard her footsteps coming up behind him and then she was ahead of him again. He turned and she was there again. He pulled the taser out of his pocket and zapped her with it. She should have gone down but she didn’t. Instead she smiled at him and pulled the taser electrodes out of her chest.

  “Come and sit down,” she said.

  Berenson was confused. He allowed the woman to lead him over to where Duncan McNeill lay. McNeill was waking up so Berenson zapped him with the taser again. Taraneh reached out and broke his arm at the wrist. He heard the bone snap but there was no pain.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  Berenson looked at his broken wrist and then he sat down. He looked at the woman. God she was beautiful. She reached out and stroked the side of his face. Her perfume smelled incredible and he breathed it in deeply. He knew he should be doing something else but he found it so hard to think straight.

  “Why did you hurt my master?” she said.

  There it was again. Berenson had a moment of lucidity. She had called him her master. “Why do you call him your master?”

  “Because that’s what he is.”

  “How can he be your master? Are you his slave?” Berenson said.

  “We have known each other a long time, a very long time. Before that there is nothing.”

  Berenson’s head was beginning to clear, in fact it was clearing rapidly. There was something in that perfume of hers. He realized he had to get away from this woman. His wrist was hurting. He looked down and saw that it was broken. Berenson could not remember breaking his wrist. He took a deep breath and punched the woman with his good hand. She rode with the blow and then she picked him up and body slammed him onto the ground. All the wind went out of him. He looked at her in horror. He had landed on his broken wrist, he too
k another deep breath and tried to block the pain. He was only partially successful. Taraneh leaned forward and took hold of his broken wrist. Then she twisted his wrist savagely from side to side. The pain was so bad that Berenson almost passed out.

  “Why did you do that?” he said.

  “Why did you kill all those Afghans?” she said. “Tell me the truth.”

  Berenson smelt the perfume again. For a moment he was confused and then he replied. “I killed them for sport, I killed them because I get pleasure from killing people, I killed them because I could.” A part of his mind listened to what he was saying and was horrified. It was the truth but he couldn’t believe he was saying it.

  The Scotsman coughed and then sat up. He looked at the woman. “I did not call you,” he said.

  “No you did not,” Taraneh answered. “However, you were in imminent danger of death and so I came. Things have changed since I was last here.”

  “I guess they have,” McNeill said.

  “What changed?”

  “We got science. I’m still trying to decide whether that is a good thing or not. So far all science has done is given mankind better ways of killing each other and more ways to ruin the lives of all the animals on Earth.”

  The woman picked up the remains of the taser and held it out. “What is this device?” she said.

  “It’s called a taser,” McNeill said. “It fires an electrical signal into the body that is strong enough to disrupt the normal electrical signals. It also causes a lot of pain.”

  “Why not just use a spell?”

  Berenson looked at the woman and realized she was serious. He had a “what the hell” moment.

  End of excerpt from A Dangerous Scotsman in Afghanistan by Mike Ward – if you enjoyed this excerpt you can download the book from your favorite ebook retailer