Chapter Twenty-Three
Saturday, March 12, 1988
Jalalabad
Javed pushed Johnson toward the door. “You must go,” he said, his eyes flashing black.
“Can’t I just take the photo?” Johnson said. “I need—”
“I said no,” Javed said, his tone now abrasive and loud. “That’s final. My colleague needs it, for the reason I explained. But I will get a copy sent to you through Haroon. I promise I’ll send it, and I thank you in advance for the passports and visas—I trust you will keep your word on that. Go with Baz here; he will take you out.”
He pushed Johnson again.
Johnson grimaced and began to reach into his bag for his camera. “But it’s important. Can I instead take a photograph of it? I think it’s quite—”
“No, just go!” Javed snapped. “You’re wasting time.”
Baz beckoned them, and they ran out
