Ria, are you ok?

Chapter 9

41 - Hamza

The car smelled like apples. Actually, everything smelled like apples, and it was kind of nice. Ahmed and I drove down to the famous Babusar pass, which is on the way back to Islamabad; the place where we would be meeting Peter in about twelve hours. I confessed to Ahmed I wasn't one hundred percent sure who Peter was, but I thought it was the guy who had given me a ride to the airport a few days before and I'd never thought he would actually contact me or come this way.

We agreed it was still worth a shot. And we should assess the situation on the spot when we meet him. If he's who I think he is, he'll be perfect for our business. Young, tall, fit, curious and naïve. We would just need to get to know him for a couple of days to make sure he didn't tell anyone that he would be meeting me there to make sure no one would miss him or come looking for him.

Ahmed took out his gun and held it in his hand. I tapped the side of my waist to check mine was still there.

"I don't like guns either you know," he confessed while pointing it at the sun setting on the desolated desert horizon. I looked at his gun, it was exactly the same as mine. When I looked back to the road I spotted a Western girl hitchhiking alone by the side of the road.

"Stop," said Ahmed.

"Yeah, I saw that."

It wasn't all that strange to see foreigners hitchhiking on that road, as it was the main road connecting the capital city of Islamabad with the main tourist attractions in the country. I pulled over and reversed the car to where she was standing. Ahmed got off the car to open the door on the back as a fine gentleman he was. The girl got into the car and said: "Hi, I'm Amy."

She had short blonde hair that looked like it had just been washed. For a second, I was sure I could smell the herbal shampoo she had used. She had blue sports clothes, not too different from the ones high school students use during sports events or Russian gangsters wear every day, except that hers didn't have the Adidas logo on it.

"My name is Hamza and this is my friend Ahmed," I told her.

"Where's your luggage?" Ahmed asked, noticing she wasn't carrying anything with her.

"It's in my hotel room in Islamabad," she smiled politely and placed her hands on her lap.

Besides not having any luggage with her, she looked a bit too young to be hitchhiking by herself at sundown in this part of the world.

"We're going to Islamabad as well," Ahmed said. I know what his plan was. He would buy her a drink and some snacks on the way to earn her trust slowly and when we arrived in Islamabad he would pay for a fancy place where she could stay by herself, in order to impress her. Then, he would tell her about the things we could show her in Gilgit to try and take her as close to the Chinese border as possible.

Amy was unusually clean and well-groomed for a hitchhiker who was waiting by the side of the road. She also looked too calm and relaxed for a petite blond girl who had just been picked up by two big guys double her age, size, and probably experience too.

We drove together for two hours. She told us she was from the States and was traveling around Pakistan by herself. She said she was twenty-three, which I highly doubted, and that she was staying at a backpacker hostel near the bus station which she'd forgotten the name of.

We stopped by a city called Naran to have some dinner. After walking in we got a small table for the three of us and Ahmed ordered some biryani fried rice for us. Amy said it was the best meal she had had in a while and that she loved all the spices used in Pakistani cuisine.