“How long has it been, Windrush? Fifteen years?” Batoor, now known as Bacha Khan, gripped Jack"s hand in an iron fist.
“It must be,” Jack said. “You were khan of the Rahmut Khel then, a minor Afridi clan when I was trying to stop gunrunning along the Frontier. Now, look at you! Bacha Khan and tilting to be Amir of all Afghanistan!”
“It is a faint chance, Windrush,” Batoor said, “but what is a man if he does not dream and dare?”
“I could not think of a better man to be Amir,” Jack said honestly.
Batoor remembered his manners, “May you never tire, Windrush.”
“May you never see poverty, Batoor.”
“Sit, Windrush,” Batoor invited, “and we can talk like old men. We can reminisce of the old days when we fought the rebels in India and my brother in Pakhtunkhwa.”
Jack had fought alongside Bat
