The relief force was departing for Chakdarra. The job for them had only just begun. After the brief service, Blood had ordered Andre back to Peshawar, from there to depart for Simla, and preferably from Simla to England-which was home to her, so far as the general knew. He felt that the Father’s death was his responsibility, that he never should have allowed him to accompany the unit in the first place, that if it wasn’t for the fact that medical aid was sorely lacking, he would have been firm from the beginning. The frontier was no place for civilian non-combatants.
Finn was to head up a small detachment that would escort Andre back to safer territory and deliver dispatches to be sent on from Peshawar. Mulvaney, Learoyd, and Ortheris would be among those to accompany them, since they would have to ride and Blood didn’t feet that he could spare any of his lancers. The cavalry had proved to be of great value, and he needed all the experienced horsemen under his command. Sending back one officer-the one with the least experience on the frontier-and several foot soldiers who could ride after a fashion, was the wisest choice. It would still be a hazardous journey, but one small mounted unit could move quickly and stood a better chance of getting through. All the tribes in the vicinity were up in arms, and most of them could be expected to join the forces at Chakdarra. There was far less risk in taking the opposite direction.
"I should have taken that bullet," Churchill said. "I am a soldier whose duty is to die for queen and country if the need arises. He was a man of God who would not even carry a gun. "
He was about as far from being a man of God as a man could get, thought Finn. His duty was to die, as well, if the need arose. He had discharged it. His death was not for nothing.
"It’s over then," said Finn, when they had gone. "We’ve done what we’ve come back here to do. Or Lucas has. Churchill will live now and go on to become prime minister of Great Britain. Ironic, isn’t it" We came here to find a disruption to adjust, and it found us. "
"Something’s wrong," Andre said."If I could think straight, maybe I could figure out what the hell it is, but I can’t manage to do that now. All I know is that something’s wrong. It isn’t over yet. Maybe we should have remained with the field force."
"Not much chance of that, after Blood ordered us back," said Finn. -Besides, I don’t know what the hell we should have done or should be doing. I just don’t know anything anymore, and I don’t much care either."
— You didn’t remember Churchill before I told you about him, did you"" said Andre.
"What""
"Lucas was going to talk to you about that, but he never got the chance. When we first met Churchill, I didn’t remember him. I didn’t know anything about him. But Lucas remembered him."
"Lucas was always a history addict," Finn said. "He used to say that you never know when you might need information that would help you … stay alive," he finished lamely.
"Then you knew"" said Andre.
"Knew about what""
"About Churchill, " Andre said. "Thathe would become prime minister of Great Britain."
"Whatare you talking about"" said Finn, angry with her for thinking about Churchill when Lucas was dead. "To hell with Churchill. Churchill’s not an issue any longer. Whatever happened to begin the chain of events which led that Ghazi tribesman to kill Winston Churchill, whichever act interfered with history to bring that about, it’s been compensated for, Lucas did it. I wish it had been me, but I wasn’t even there. Damn it, I wasn’t even there!"
"Finn," said Andre, softly, "I didn’t know him as well as you did or as long, but I didn’t love him any less. He thought this was important. I didn’t know Churchill would become Prime Minister of Great Britain because there was nothing about him in the subknowledge of my implant education. There was nothing about him in the mission programming either. But Lucas knew. Lucas remembered. He didn’t know it from his subknowledge, and he didn’t know it from the mission programming. He just remembered. Do you understand""
Delaney simply stared at her.
"Finn, you had to have encountered Churchill before Lucas died. You must have seen him at the officer’s conference at least. Think, Finn, did you know who he was" Who he would be""
"Of course I knew," said Finn, frowning. "I even had a chance to talk with him for a while last night. Hell, I remember thinking that he was so serious for his age, that if he didn’t …"
"What""
A blank look came over Finn’s face.
"That doesn’t make any sense," he said. ‘How could I have thought … " His voice trailed off.
"You didn’t know him either, did you"" Andre said. "His name didn’t trigger any responses. It was the same with me. It was the same with Lucas, too, don’t you understand" Lucas remembered who Churchill was, but not because the information was contained in his subknowledge or in the mission programming. He remembered reading it. If Churchill was important enough to have been written about in history books, how could he have been left out of the implant education programs" How could there have been nothing about him in the mission programming if it was a known historical fact that he served in this campaign""
"You’re right," said Finn. "It wasn’t in my sub-knowledge, either. After you told me what Lucas said, I just assumed-Wait a minute. If a historical disruption somehow brought about Churchill’s death-if he actually caught that bullet-then that would have accounted for there being nothing about him in the implant education programs or in the mission programming, because he would never have survived to become prime minister of Great Britain. But then how could Lucas have read about him in history books" There must have been some sort of flaw in the mission programming."
"And in the implant education programs"" Andre said.
"I admit that sounds unlikely, but-"
‘Sahib Finn""
They turned around to see their native attendant, Gunga Din, approaching hesitantly.
"Yes, Din, what is it"" Finn said.
"Soldier sahibs say time to leave for Peshawar," said Din. "Mulvaney Sahib say must not waste daylight."
"He’s right," said Finn. "Have you made everything ready, Din""
"Everything ready," Din said. "Sahib Finn" Is permitted for this worthless one to pay respect Father Sahib""
"Of course it’s permitted, Din," said Finn.
Din approached the grave and stood over it for a moment, his lips moving as he silently said a prayer in his native tongue. When he was finished, he glanced at them with an embarrassed smile and thanked them profusely.
Finn knelt down over the grave and placed his hand upon the mound of earth. -Good-bye, old friend," he said.
They turned and walked away. Din, too, felt the loss. Perhaps he did not feel it so profoundly as did Finn and Andre, but he was overcome with emotion at the death of the one man who had ever treated him as something more than what he was-an untouchable. As they walked back down toward the green, Din glanced over his shoulder for one last look at the "Father Sahib’s" grave. He squinted, blinked, then shook his head. He thought he had seen something, but there was nothing there now.
For a moment, just the barest fraction of a second, as he looked back up toward the knoll where the cemetery was located, Din thought he saw someone standing over the grave. Perhaps, thought Din, it was only his imagination. Or perhaps it was a portent. He shut his eyes and muttered a quick prayer to Shiva. He thought he had seen a tall, dark figure, wearing a long robe that billowed in the wind.
Sayyid Akbar stood high upon a precipice overlooking the Khyber Pass. Beyond, stretching as far as the eye could see, was the tortured landscape of the Himalayas, like giant rocky waves frozen into immobility. Below, at the bottom of the gorge, was a narrow, twisting trail, walled by sheer cliffs and broken by huge boulders. One small step forward would take him to oblivion, an oblivion he sometimes longed for. He had lived for a long time. The pathetic madman named Sadullah believed him to be a god, an incarnation of the Prophet or some minor deity of his absurd religion, but who knew" Who knew what twisted thoughts that passed for cogitation flashed through that demented mind" There was no need to understand him, so long as Sadullah could be used. And he was used so easily. As I am being used, thought Nikolai Drakov, whom Sadullah knew as Sayyid Akbar.