Gravedigger by Mark Terry Page A

which was waking up. East of the village were fields of maize and other vegetables. Smoke drifted out of chimneys. Goats and horses and chickens made barnyard sounds amid the sound of morning chores being started.
    They led Derek to the largest house, knocked on the door and were let in by a muj . Derek studied this muj , and decided he didn’t look Afghani or Pakistani. He thought he looked Arab.
    The Arab looked at him. He was bearded and wore a patterned kaffiyeh on his head. His nose was a pronounced beak and his features were sharp beneath bronzed skin. “Please,” he said in accented English. “Take off your shoes. The Sheik would like to speak with you.”
    When in Rome…
    Sliding off his shoes, Derek said, “Your English is very good.”
    “Thank you. You are American?”
    “Yes. Derek Stillwater.”
    “Come this way, please.”
    They passed from the entry area through a doorway into a larger room. A tall, thin man in white robes and turban lounged on pillows before a small table. He had a long, bushy black beard and a thin, ascetic face. A fire crackled in a fireplace. Sitting around the table were two other men. One of them Derek recognized as Khan, the man whose camp he had decimated. If Khan recognized him, he didn’t show it. The other was younger, severe looking, with a black beard shot through with gray. His right eye was black, apparently blind.
    The ascetic-looking man with the beard gestured to the pillow along the table. “Please, sit.” His English was also good, with a noticeable accent.
    Derek did. The heat from the fireplace felt wonderful.
    The man smiled pleasantly enough, although his expression was serious. “I am Sheik Osama bin Mohammed bin Awad bin Laden. Welcome to Shing Dun.”
    Derek nodded. “Am I a guest here?”
    “We have not decided. You were found wandering by yourself on the road into our town. You are American?”
    There was something about the way Osama bin Laden said the word “American” that made Derek nervous, but he said, “Yes. I am from the United States.”
    “Your name?”
    “Sorry. My name is Derek Stillwater.”
    Osama bin Laden reached down beneath the table. Derek tensed. The Saudi brought out Derek’s rucksack. He pulled out the first aid kit and the chemical test kit. “You are with the U.S. Army?”
    Shaking his head, Derek said, “No. I’m with the International Health Alliance. I’m a scientist. I’m preparing reports for the IHA and World Health Organization on contaminants in the food and water here. I’m trying to help.”
    “You are U.S. Army.” It was a statement this time, not a question.
    “No,” Derek said. “I am not. The IHA is an NGO. You understand NGO? A non-governmental agency?”
    “If you are not Army, you are CIA. This first aid kit and this--” He pointed at the chemical test kit. “—are clearly labeled U.S. Army.”
    More emphatic now, but not panicking. “I am a scientist with the IHA. I try to help. The U.S. Army makes very reliable and compact first aid kits and chemical analysis kits, which is why I prefer them.”
    “Why do you carry a rifle?”
    Derek cocked an eyebrow. “This is a dangerous country. Men in Afghanistan carry AK47s the way men in the United States wear neckties.”
    “I don’t believe you,” bin Laden said. “I believe you are with the U.S. Army or the Central Intelligence Agency.”
    “I’m not. I’m—”
    “Why were you walking alone?”
    “I was separated from my team. There was some sort of battle going on at Zin.”
    The one-eyed man said something in what Derek suspected was Arabic. Osama bin Laden seemed to listen closely. Finally he said, “Mullah Omar says you are an infidel.”
    Derek reflected that he had very little training during his military SERE classes on what to do in a situation like this. SERE stood for Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape. He had been taught survival skills in the desert, in the jungle, in the mountains, in the cold and snow, in the