Page 65 of What Remains

“Because it is.” There was coincidence, of course. But something like this? Gunshots rupturing a winter morning, his discovery of the people who’d been doing the shooting and one being a manheknew?

Wait, could it be that Mami had succeeded, after all? Baba told Mami to go to Sarhad because that was where his American friend said for them to hide. Poya knew that American had to be Mr. White. There was just no other explanation. Granted, it had taken Mr. White a really,reallylong time to get here, but maybe this was a case of better late than never?

So, did that mean hismotherhad found Mr. White? Had discovered he’d been sold and told Mr. White where to find Poya?

How likely is that?Not very, he thought. Coincidences did happen.

There were also two undeniable facts. One: the woman. Who was she? Someone Mr. White had recruited to help? An odd choice, especially for a country like Afghanistan. A man would’ve been the more logical and better choice. Call it chauvinism, but that was the truth.

And two: the shots had come from the mountains to northeast. He didn’t know anything about those mountains except that there was a wide road winding into them on its way to wherever.

Given the distant gunfire and the fact that Mr. White was really hurt—and the woman was sick or drugged or something—the only logical conclusion was that Mr. White had been shot on a mission. He might even have been on a mission to rescue this woman.

The only thing he could be absolutely certain about, though, was that Mr. White was not here to rescuehim.

“You expect us to believe that this is a coincidence, boy? A man who carries this?” Amu held up the black, boxy device which had been cradled in Mr. White’s hand. “An American with such a phone?”

“It’s not a phone. Even if it was, he wasn’t calling me.”

“Then whoishe calling? This, how did you call it?”

“SOS.” No point in hiding that he could read as well as speak English. Amu had figured that out as soon as he got an eyeful of the books and made Poya read out the titles.

“Yes SOS.” Amu waggled the phone. “Clearly this is meant for someone.”

“Idon’t know who.” Although once Poya understoodwhatMr. White was clutching, he’d quickly volunteered his mother’s cell. He could not afford for Amu to search him. If Amu did insist he strip, Poya was as good as dead.

In spite of his fear, hewasalso curious. Who was Mr. White calling? Maybe they would find out sooner rather than later. Amu had not deactivated the SOS and Poya was certainly not going to show him what to do. Although turning off the SOS was trivial, in all the excitement, the fact that the SOS was still being broadcast had been overlooked.

And if truth be told? Poya wanted to keep it that way. Because Mr. White’s friends were more likely than not on their way. The thought touched off a small flare of hope which he instantly tried to quash. Not only was there no telling how far away Mr. White’s friends were, they had no reason to help him.

“Well?” Amu said. “Was he callingyou?”

“Me? No, I just said?—”

Amu cut him off with a savage swipe of a hand. “Is that how he knew where to find you? To take you away from here?”

“No.”

“But you don’t deny you were preparing to leave.”

“No.” How many times were they going to go over this same ground? There was nothing else he could say since, along with his books, Amu had found the odds and ends Poya had collected for an escape.

“You can’t leave. Iownyou,” Amu said. “Iboughtyou.”

Since those were statements that didn’t require a response, Poya said nothing. Better that way. Would Amu beat him? Probably. He didn’t think Amu would turn him out. Poya had cost what the Americans would calla pretty penny.One didn’t throw away an investment.

“I buy you, I save you, andthisis how you repay me?” Amu’s mouth worked as if he wanted to spit. “By plotting an escape? By gathering supplies so you could run?” Pawing at the pile of Poya’s things, he held up the passports. “With these?”

The way Amu brandished the passports reminded Poya of a movie where a character showed off an inside straight, whichAmericans called agutshot.His father had explained:It means that the draw is very risky and likely to fail.Appropriate, too, given where Mr. White had taken a bullet.

“What would you like me to say?” The words sprang from his tongue before he realized what he was doing. “Yes, I have different passports. Yes, I was planning to run away. Yes, Iknowthis man, but I don’t knowwhyhe’s here.”

This was what he got for doing the right thing. He should have kept his mouth shut about Mr. White. He should’ve backed out, left that woman alone, let Mr. White die. Let thembothdie. However bad things were now, what would happen if Mr. Whitedidwake and recognize Poya? If he was weak and disoriented, Mr. White might…wait, whatcouldMr. White say?

He might say what he knows. Baba might have told him about me.

This was how people got found out. In movies and plays and books, people said things when they were sick and weak that they’d never say if they were feeling well or had all their wits about them.

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