THIRD DELIVERY

To go out to the street was as to submerge himself again in the darkness and the fear. In truth they just had to cross an avenue, to turn in the second corner and they would already be in the street of the hill towards their house, but the widest was the street, more insecure it seemed to him. The girl, however, was happy, content, whistling something. The fucking whistle put Macri more in tension; he couldnt stop watching back and to the sides, so much he felt defenseless and harassed.

At one point he saw the lights of a car approaching far by their same side of the street. It came without haste but him fallt in panic. He looked backwards and calculated that they no chances of arriving to the next corner before the car reached them. Even so, he was about to go to run. He imagined a burst of machine gun and decided to plunge to the ground as soon as it would be more close, although it would make a ridiculous situation in front of Maru.

He had no time for it. Three armed men with turbans came out of the car. They took them with force and dragged them in without contemplations in spite of their hysterical shouts. They stuffed ithem n any way jostling in the SUV anyway. Inside, squeezed between those guys reeks of goat that hold them strong, Macri was shut up soon as he received the second punch in the head. To Maru they had to beat her more.

The men spoke only dari, issuing abrupt orders to them. By raising the car they had thrown a rag to each by the head and after the intense aggressiveness of the first moments, the situation calmed. Only heard the afghans shouting to each other and some sobs extinguished of Maru.

Macri felt his stomach in the mouth, was on the brink of a nervous collapse, could not nor breathe because of the fear. He was sure they were going to kill them. That was the end and there was no solution. Panic and impotence pressing to him the breastbone.

The car was stopped fairly soon. They removed them keeping them strong by the neck, almost without letting them breathe. In a few moments the two had become docile, given. They forced them to walk, practically dragged through several doors and a courthall. Their captors were waving to other people by passing, without to drop them at any time.

The group paused in what sounded like a smaller room. They made them kneel down and before to remove the hood Macri won a free and bestial punch in the temple. He took few seconds before being able to watch around to get an idea of where he was.

It was a normal room of a house. The floor was covered with red carpets, that look quite expensive, judging from what they were fluffy. The sides had located richly upholstered cushions low and prepared to sit down. In the walls, some pictures with framed Arab miniatures in wide brown lacquer marks. In front of them, lying on a pillow and surrounded by several armed men was the one that seemed the head of all the cojar. A fat man, very dark-skinned, almost bald; with white hair in yemples and big lips. He drew attention by the bald thing and a pair of exaggeratedly penetrating eyes. Wearing a light brown tunic and a sleeveless white, he spoke to them in perfect English with an American accent of Virginia:

- Welcome to my house. My name is Hasmat Ghani Ahmadzai. I have commanded them to bring you here because I wanted to have a chat with Mr. Macri Zibris, but do not fear, it will be something brief and nothing will happens to you -no one of both said anything – Do you understand to me?

-Perfectly - Macri Answered. Maru just agreed with the head.

-OK. We know, Mr. Macri, that You have come to our country to tallying the legendary sword of the prince of Ghor. The unique thing that we are going to ask you is that when they will show it to you, just prompted some time for examinating it and warn us immediately. Of the rest we will be in charge, but I assure you that nobody never will know that You were who warned us. In return we will know how to reward you.

- I do not know what you are talking about. I have not come to appraise nothing, nor know nothing of any sword. Not even I understand minimum of swords. I have come to buy the rights of a book…-Hihihi! I know, I know that your mission is secret, but do not take us by idiots, Mr. Macri. We are Asian, but nonidiot.

-I assure to you that...

-We know everything . We have infiltrated our people in many places and we found out many things. We know that you have come to meet Mr. Boris Paton, and we know that You have offered him money, and that you are coming for to evaluate the sword and that in return they are also ready to offer him the title.

- What are you talking about? I believe you have misunderstood it. There has been a confusion. I am a literary agent and Boris Paton is going to publish a book in Ukraine that we want to translate into English, although it will be necessary to change the title , and I have come to negotiate the rights, because…

- Are you very smart, Mr Macri ... but you can not fool me. We have ways to make you confess, but I believe that we do not have to arrive at that. I also like to play, so Mr Macri-literary agent, if when you will be in Chachag yif never the sword of the prince of Ghor comes to your hands , please call to the number that one of my men is going to give to you. I hope you understand that you must do it ike that, as you already know in my country a man's life, even if only literary agent, it worth very little.

- But what the hell is this sword? I swear that I do not know what I am talking about.

- Well, I will tell it just to illustrate the young lady - by first time Maru, that seemed absent during all the conversation, raised the head towards his host.

- Most foreigners who come to my country completely are ignorant of the history of Afghanistan. . They believe that our most ancient past was the Russian invasion, and do not know that this one is one of the places with the most history of all the world.

-Many we do know

-Sure, you accept that you know it, Mr Macri! Do you see how we do understand each other? The fact, young lady, is that in the middle of XIXth century the king of Afghanistan, Dost Mohamed, was losing the control of great parts of the country. In particular, several Tajik clans engaged in the slaves trade had established an independent and bloodthirsty government in the area of Ghor. It was a shame for our country but the king did not have army enough to fight against them. Then came to Kabul a flamboyant character. He was a North American adventurer; millionaire for more signs. His name was Josiah Harlan and at that time he lived in India. Harlan, who was also a very religious man, offered to the king to release Ghor and to end with the slave traders

-It seems a story of Ruyard Kipling.

- You know it is one, Mr. Macri -Hashmat smiled ever more- So he reunited a mercenary army in India. They were thousand soldiers of cavalry, four hundred camels and an elephant. The good Josiah Harlan wanted to emulate Alexander the Great, then what of the elephant. The fact is that with this army, which joined many Hazara freed slaves, managed to defeat the Tajiks, ending the slave trade and freeing the central provinces that put at the disposal of King Dost Mohammed. In return, the king appointed him Prince of Ghor and offered him the most valuable sword ever produced in Afghanistan; a silver sword decorated in lapis lazuli which was part of the royal treasure from the era of Guridian empire. The king ordered that Josiah and its descendants conserved the nobiliary title and the sword like symbol of their power over the territory of Ghor.- A very pretty story. I guess that is the sword that according to You I would have to appraise.

- Very intelligent! Yes. The sword was conserved in the familiar house of the Harlan in Pennsilvania until fifty years ago. Then mysteriously it was stolen and it disappeared. To my people that sword is very important…

- Your people? - this time was Maru the one that it interrupted.

-Yes, the kuchi people. Me, my young lady, I am a simple nomad; kuchi, as we are called here.

-No one would say it. You have a very nice house.