The Khan by Saima Mir (best thriller novels of all time .txt) 📗

would accept?’ Afzal Khan’s forthright words impressed and shocked the gathering in equal measure, and sent murmurs running through the room.

Bazigh Khan raised his hand to calm the men. ‘That will not be necessary,’ he said. ‘We must allow the daughter of our Khan to hear what each of us has to say. That is our way and has been since time began.’ So, one by one, they came forward and put their case.

Jia listened, paying close attention to every word. They put their plight before her, heaped praise upon her father and demanded justice for his death. And as she listened, she realised they would never accept her as their equal, so she resolved to play a different game.

‘You have done me a great honour by inviting me here,’ she said. ‘I know that you have done so out of love for our laws and for my father. Jaanan Khan is right, I am only a woman and I know little of the world of men. Women know only the pain of leaving their family behind to help a man build his name and his family; the pain of being heavy with child, a child that will carry a man’s name; the pain of giving birth; of love, of suckling your male child for two whole years, pouring every ounce of life into him only for him to turn around and tell you he knows better than you. The West would have us believe that women are equal to men, but you and I know we are not. Women can only live as equals if men permit it, if men support us, step aside to allow us to progress, if they help us stand and place our feet on the ladder of success. My father was one such man and he was proud that his Jirga was full of such men. And so, because I know you to be men of honour and forward-thinking, and because you know my weaknesses, I am asking you to stand by me as your daughter and sister. I am your honour. We are Pukhtun. Help me to make things right, help me to deliver what you need. Give me time and I will bring you badal and my brother, your son.’ She paused, emphasising the word, reminding them that they were family. ‘But you must trust me and assist me in this process. I cannot do it without you.’

As she spoke she saw each man’s face soften, his head bow, some in shame, others in understanding, and she knew she had won. They had expected her to defend her position the way a man would; they had been ready for a fight but not for her surrender.

One by one they came and offered their allegiance. Placing their hands on her head, the way a father does to his child, each man gave his blessing. Women were strange creatures, difficult to gauge, impulsive and emotional. But some, the ones who were pure, like their mothers, could see into men’s soul and beyond the naked, shivering wreck that housed them. They found themselves wanting to protect her and, in so doing, win her favour. They were afraid both for her and of her.

The meeting was over. One by one, Bazigh Khan showed each man out until only Jia Khan remained. ‘That was smart,’ he told her.

She smiled at him gently, putting her hand on his. ‘Now, Uncle,’ she said, ‘sit by me and tell me everything my father knew about the Jirga and its weaknesses.’

CHAPTER 23

She knocked on the door and waited. No answer. She rapped harder, her knuckles bearing the brunt. The sound of footsteps and the turning of a key followed. She could see he’d been sleeping. His hair was ruffled but he was dressed. She understood this was why he’d taken so long to open the door: he’d been searching for his clothes.

He stood aside to let her in.

‘Coffee?’ he asked. She nodded.

She watched him moving around the kitchen looking for clean cups, trying to find milk, all the things one does when someone drops by unannounced in the middle of the night. She noticed his body was still taut and lean and it made her glad she’d driven over.

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said, taking the cup. ‘I keep thinking about Ben and what state he must be in…’ She paused, waiting for him to speak, but he didn’t. He just kept looking at her, wondering why she was here now, after all these years, and in the middle of the night. She was worried about her brother, which was understandable, but her concern for him while still no mention of her own son angered him. He wanted to ask her why, but he was afraid that she would leave, and he had waited so long for her to come to him this way.

She shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, not ready to tell him her real reasons for visiting, instead talking about other things. ‘I’ve been meeting with my father’s old cronies,’ she said. ‘Remember them?’ He nodded, now as interested in her words as her lips. He blocked out his questions, wanting her to keep talking. He also wanted her to stop. She noticed the light behind his eyes, the one that would come alive when he was wrestling a knotty problem or when he was pursuing her. She wanted to see it burn and so she began telling him about her meeting with the Jirga, the things they had said, the way it had made her feel. As she spoke, bits of Jia Khan, criminal barrister, began to fall away until she was just Jia. The words spilled out of her, and she let them. She knew he would clean up the mess; he was the only one who could. He always had been, hadn’t he?

He listened quietly and when he finally spoke it was only to say, ‘Perhaps warm milk would’ve been better, then?’ She