Back at the hotel, Carla began formulating a plan to get Anita out of the prison. Habib stared open mouthed at what she had thrown onto the table in front of him; it was the identity card of Sangar Zohori, the guard who had searched her.
“You stole that from the guard?” he asked incredulously.
“I wanted to be sure about who I might need to deal with, and he has just become part of my plan. I need you to get me a Burqa straightaway. I will need it so I can blend in unnoticed. I want you to come with me as well, and yes, I will pay you.”
Habib’s face lit up at the prospect of payment, but he sensed this was not the time to haggle over price, his finger was still extremely tender at the joint.
An hour later, Habib returned with a complete outfit, and was amazed when Carla stripped down to her underwear, in front of him, and put on the Burqa. Carla was in a hurry and did not want to waste time on modesty.
When she saw him enjoying the view, she asked sharply, “how is your finger?” He quickly looked away.
First, they went back to the prison and Habib asked a guard when Sangar Zohori would be off duty. “In about an hour,” he replied.
Carla and Habib waited patiently for him, in the Land Cruiser, within sight of the main gates. The heat was unbearable.
Sangar Zohori came out with several other men and caught a bus into Ahmad Shah Baba Maina. From there, he walked to his home and ate his evening meal with his wife and young son.
Carla had seen all she needed for now, so they returned to the hotel for the night. Early next morning, they went back to the man’s home and observed the comings and goings, including Sangar Zohori setting off for work.
About an hour after he left, another man visited the house. Carla needed to know what they were saying, so she and Habib listened outside an open window.
She used the camera on her phone as a periscope, and recorded the sound as well. Carla had one earpiece and Habib had the other so they could hear the conversation inside.
“What are they saying, Habib?”
“It sounds to me like the man is having an affair with the woman. I think he also fathered the child we saw.”
“That could be possible, they are quite similar, and the boy does not look like Sangar Zohori. See how he plays with the boy, that is much more than a friend would do.
“Ok, Habib, we will go back to the hotel to freshen up and have a rest, we have some time to kill.”
***
That evening, they both went back to Zohori’s home, this time Carla wore her westerner’s clothes.
As she expected, Zohori went out to gamble, with some friends. It looked like it would be late, when he walked back to his home.
Carla and Habib knocked on the door, and Habib told Zohori’s wife they had some important instructions for her. She must leave at once and stay with friends or family, until tomorrow night.
“Here is $200 for your trouble,” offered Habib.
The wife protested, but Habib cut her short and said that he and Carla knew Imsha, the little boy, was not Sangar’s son. They would tell Sangar and also who the boy’s father was.
The wife cried out in distress, her hand flew up to cover her mouth, and she turned away, trying to think of a solution to this nightmare.
The woman knew that, for such a crime, she would die in prison.
She took the money, gathered up a few things and carried her son out into the night.
Carla and Habib now had a long wait in the shadows for Sangar Zohori to return. Carla had picked her spot well, there was no one about and just as Sangar Zohori approached the doorway she was hiding in, she stepped out in front of him, blocking his way.
In an instant, he recognized Carla and an evil grin crossed his face.
“Come for some more have you?” he asked.
She ignored the remark and said she wanted him to do something extremely important for her. He grinned, glanced from side to side, and made a grab for her, but he missed and just grabbed air.
His reward was a hard smack to his left ear, with her cupped hand. The simple smack would only have stung, but the compressed air, as the cupped hand flattened, burst his eardrum and sent him crashing into the wall.
He staggered upright, waggling his head in an attempt to clear his ears, and focused on her defiant stance, legs slightly apart, hands on hips, and a wide self-satisfied grin.
“Why not try the gun,” she suggested helpfully, “you know how to use one don’t you?”
Zohori pulled out the pistol, slowly cocked it with the slide action over the barrel, and pointed it at her. He squeezed the trigger, but the gun did not fire. Carla had lunged, and with her right hand forward she grabbed the slide, pushing it back slightly, so the firing mechanism could not work.
She followed through with her right leg and crushed his testicles with a whiplash kick; she had them corralled between his inner thighs, pubic bone, and the crook at the inside of her ankle.
As he doubled up, she twisted the gun from his grasp and brought her left knee up hard under his chin. Moaning, he keeled over at the base of the wall, in a fetal position. He looked up at her vaguely as he started to recover; she stripped the gun down to its components, and scattered everything around him in the sand.
It would take at least an hour to clean the parts, assuming he ever found them all.
“Why don’t you try with your knife?” Carla goaded, “but be careful not to cut yourself.”
Zohori gave it some thought, as he recovered from the pain. He eased himself up the wall and drew out a long knife from his pocket, the blade clicked into position.
Carla tried to imagine all the likely moves he would take to skewer her. First a lunge, straight for me, so I must make a tempting target.
He lunged in a crouched position; she sidestepped and followed round with a whiplash heel kick to the back of his head. He stumbled forward and smacked hard into the opposite wall. He groped for the fallen knife in the sand and eased himself up the wall, into a standing position.
She anticipated his next move. He will back me against the wall. That way, whether I jump left or right, he will slice me at some point on the arc.
He hunched down, legs set apart, knife in the right hand, left hand out for balance. As he moved towards her slowly and cautiously, she turned so that her back was up the alley, and not against the wall.
He lunged, slicing through the air, from right to left; Carla back stepped, then she leaned forward and grabbed the wrist of his knife hand, whilst aiming another hard kick at his testicles.
He squealed like a stuck pig, but refused to release the knife.
Carla forced up the knife arm to expose the right arm pit, and with a sharp jab of her fingers to the acutely sensitive nerves, a pain like an electric shock, shot up his arm and the knife hand relaxed. Carla snatched the knife, pushed the man back against the wall, and watched him slide down it to the ground.
She caught his attention with a penetrating jab to the liver, with her toe. He lay there whimpering for mercy.
“Did you ever give mercy to the women you have violated?” she screamed “Now, pay attention!”
He struggled into sitting position and stared at her, a beaten man.
To emphasize the need for attention, she threw the knife between his outstretched legs, very close to his bruised genitals and said, “If you want to continue wearing your balls, you will find a way of getting this woman out of the prison, tomorrow.”
She handed him a slip of paper bearing Anita’s name.
He looked at her in amazement. “No! No!” he cried, “that’s not possible, only the Commandant can authorize a release.”
Another hard toe jab in the liver sent him gasping at the renewed pain, as he rolled over onto his side.
"Wrong answer," said Carla as she leaned over and extricated his knife from between his crossed legs. A series of jabs with the knifepoint, under his flabby chin, made him sit up.
“Think about it; when you get home, you will find no one there. Your wife and Imsha are staying with my men, so if you ever want to see them again, you will find a way of getting the woman out, alive and safe. If you try to run or tell anyone, I will know, and I will take considerable pleasure in feeding you your balls, then I will hurt you, and you will beg me to kill you.
“Do you see what this is?” she waved his identity card under his nose. “I have people on the inside too, they will be watching you.
“Do you doubt me?” she asked firmly.
“No! No! Of course not, but I can’t---” he began, pathetically .
“Don’t say that, I don’t want to hear it, think over what I have said, you will find a way, think of Imsha!”
Carla walked away; Habib came out of hiding and followed her.
“What do we do next Carla?” he asked.
“We go to bed and in the morning as he goes to work, we remind Zohori what we expect of him.” She caught sight of an expectant gleam in Habib’s eyes; obviously he thought she was inviting him to sleep with her.
“How is your finger Habib?” she asked sternly. His smile vanished immediately.
Carla updated Sam on progress, outlining how she had persuaded the guard to get Anita out the following day, by blackmailing him with his family’s life. She also explained how she had tricked them into leaving their home.
Next morning, Carla donned the Burqa and headed for the prison with Habib; they waited for Sangar Zohori to arrive.
She intercepted him near the main gate and asked him where she could collect Anita.
“Get me a Burqa, her size and I will bring her out when I leave tonight. The other guards will think she is a visitor just following me out.”
The plan seemed feasible to Carla, and she agreed to bring the garment wrapped like a food parcel for him, he would then get it to Anita.
Carla went back to Habib, explained the plan and they set off to get the clothes.
She made a further call to Sam, updating him.
***
Carla carried the parcel into the prison, the same entry procedure as before, but this time Zohori was waiting for Carla outside the search room.
“Come in,” invited Zohori politely, holding the door open for her. Once inside, he took the package and felt it for anything solid. He had no real doubt that it was just clothing, but he was a guard, after all.
“I need to bribe a couple of guards” Zohori explained, “$300 will be enough” he added, breaking eye contact.
“I had planned to pay you anyway, so this comes out of what I would have given you,” replied Carla.
Zohori looked pleased; he was not expecting payment.
“How much will you pay?” he asked.
“You will get what is due, just make sure you deliver the woman, safe and in good condition, later today,” she reminded him.
She left and walked out to Habib, who was waiting outside the prison, and they drove back to the hotel.