Bernadette lowered her eyes then looked up at Jason. “You’re a scary man.”
“Yes, I know. My wife tells me that all the time.”
Bernadette got up and went to bed. Almas was asleep already in a small cot beside hers. She checked her cell phone. The text message almost stopped her heart.
30
Bernadette stared at her phone. The text was from Lackey. I heard you’d been arrested by Kahn and got yourself released. Not good being wanted by the Afghan Police. You need to know I saw a report from your Canadian Consulate. They found a headless body near Herat. It’s a close match to Chris. I can get you out of the country without problem. Turn yourself into our US military or the embassy. You’ll be home in two days.
That mention of the headless body knocked the air out her. She sat on the edge of her bed and tried to fight back tears. How could this be? She took a deep breath to relax so she could think. If Chris was dead, she knew in every part of her being that she would have felt it.
She walked out of the room and found Jason. He was sitting with his back against the wall with his ear buds plugged into his iPhone, a beer in one hand. He looked totally relaxed; she almost didn’t want to disturb him.
He sensed her presence and opened his eyes. “You look stressed, can I get you a beer?”
“Sure,” Bernadette said, sitting down beside him.
Jason popped the top on a beer can and passed it to her. “It’s Tuborg. I got it from the wrecked vehicle. The crew was Danish, they told me to take it, good bunch of guys.” He leveled his gaze at her. “Now, what’s up? You looked like someone jumped on your grave.”
Bernadette took the beer and sniffed. “Yeah, some shits got me rattled. Here, look at this.” She passed him her phone with the text message.
Jason read it, then put down his beer and put his hand on Bernadette’s shoulder. “Look, the Taliban leave headless soldiers all over this place. They have no idea if this is Chris.”
Bernadette swigged her beer and wiped her mouth with her hand. “Yeah, I know, it just got me rattled.” She shook her head. “You know, what the hell am I thinking? Chris and his guys were taken hostage near Lashkar Gah, Herat is way the hell north of here. And, damn it, if he was dead, I would have felt it.”
“You mean you two are that tight or you’re some kind of Jedi Princess?” Jason asked with a wry smile.
She looked at him for a moment. “Asshole, that remark will cost you another beer.” She drained her beer and tossed the can to the side.
Jason pulled the tab from another one and passed it to her. She drank the beer and sat back against the wall.
They sat, drinking their beer in silence. A small cat appeared, looked them over, found nothing of interest, and disappeared.
“Are you done tying yourself up in knots over that text?”
“Yeah, I think so. But I have to wonder, why would Lackey send something like that to me. Would she be trying to get me to stop my search?”
“The one thing I’ve never figured out all the time I’ve been in this country is the CIA. They do things differently than we do. We’d go into a village to wipe out some bad guys and they’d appear and tell us they wanted those bad guys left alive, something about valuable assets they needed to work with.”
“Yeah, I found the same thing in my detective work. We had criminals that were worth more outside of prison as informants than inside doing time like they should have.”
“You going to get some sleep tonight, detective?”
Bernadette downed the last of her beer. “Yeah, I’ll be up peeing a lot with all this beer, but thanks for the talk and the beer. I’m going to get some shuteye.”
She went into her room, and sat cross-legged on her cot. Almas turned over, looked at her from his cot and went back to sleep. A small window with a semi clean pane of glass showed a blanket of stars in the cloudless sky. She wondered what stars she was looking at. One star shone brighter than the rest and she wondered if it was Sirius. Her grandmother had called it the “dog star.” To some of the natives it was a bright star that lit the way to a good hunt.
Bernadette sat there and put her hand to her heart. “Okay, Chris, I know you’re out there. Don’t die on me. Don’t even think about it, okay? I’m coming for you—you hear me?”
She wiped a tear from her eye and lay on the cot. In a minute she was fast asleep from her exhaustion.
Chris had been sleeping when something woke him up. He felt like someone had nudged him. He sat up on his mat. No one was around. The guard had been by several hours ago, dropped off a bowl of rice with a few stale bits of bread in it, and left him.
Ever since Gul had been murdered in the courtyard, conditions had deteriorated. His new jailer hated him. He made it known every time he fed him. His chamber pot was hardly ever removed and the delivery of firewood was almost nonexistent. The last embers of the fire in the stove were starting to die. Soon, his little hut would be unbearable.
Chris pulled the small woolen blanket around him that Gul had given him. Gul had wanted him to live. His new jailer wanted him dead. Each time he closed the door; he made the sign of his hand cutting across his throat, telling Chris he would like to be the one to behead him.
The thought of death from beheading shook Chris. He was normally a positive man. Nothing he could do would make this death seem any less gruesome. He was trying to be as brave as he could, but, each day, the circumstances of his capture seemed to be getting worse. The Afghans in the village were preparing something. It looked like they were getting ready to leave. Would they take him with them or execute him before they left?
He got up and looked out the crack in the wall at the stars overhead, concentrating on the brightest one. He was sure it was Sirius. The name meant ‘glowing’ in Greek. His mother had said the star would light his way if he ever got lost.
He stared at it. “Well, Bernadette,” he said quietly, “if you’re out there, I hope this star will light your way to me, because if you don’t get here soon, these guys plan on separating my head from my body.”
He lay back down on his mat, pulling the blanket as tightly around him as he could. Footsteps sounded outside the door. They stopped at the door, and then moved away.
31
The morning came with low hanging clouds. They were thick and dark, as if they wanted to unleash a storm or blanket of snow. Bernadette got Almas off to the bathroom then did a quick wash and joined the others for breakfast.
They were all sitting cross-legged on cushions with steaming bowls of porridge, laden with cardamom, oil, and chicken. The smell of it almost put Bernadette off her appetite, but she was hungry. She took a bowl of the stuff that almost made her gag and thanked the soft-spoken lady with the flashing brown eyes.
The stuff brought back memories of her stay in hospital. If she took a big spoonful, chewed quickly and swallowed it she could handle it. She washed it down with tea, telling her stomach to accept this, as it was food.
After Jason finished his meal, he scrolled his cell phone as he talked to Reza in half Afghani half English.
“What’s our plan for today?” Bernadette asked as she swallowed her last mouthful of the strange concoction.
Jason looked up at Bernadette. “We’re going to head out towards Farah on route 606. The road is pretty good. It was built with help by India to avoid travelling through Pakistan back in 2009. It’s a nice two-lane highway, unfortunately the Taliban killed a lot of people making it, and it’s not your safest place for daily travel. I doubt if Rick Steves has it on his travel guide.”
“How do we stay safe on the road?” Bernadette asked.
“Well,” Jason continued, “we’re okay to Bakwa, that’s about halfway to Farah, then by the time we get to Bayak, we got Taliban control pretty much all the way. You and I will be in burkas and Reza here will be our driver.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Yeah, a real party. During our route, Reza will keep watch on Facebook, Twitter and
Instagram to see what our Taliban buddies are up to.”
“How’s that help?”
Reza took out his phone. “The Taliban are always posting selfies on those sites. I just keep an eye on them to see how close they are. Sometimes they even post locations so their families can keep in touch with them.”
“Seriously?” Bernadette said, looking at Reza’s phone. “How did you get on their sites?”
“I know a guy from my old village. He decided to join the Taliban when the army rejected him. I sent him a friend request and here I am, I’m in the Taliban Facebook group.”
Bernadette said. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I’ll wake up tomorrow and all of this will just be a crazy dream?”
Jason laughed. “If you live through this, you can tell everyone you were in the strangest land in the world. No one knows if this place dropped back in time or it’s some time warp that we’ve all fallen into and can’t get out of until we board a jetliner and find ourselves back in the real world.”
They went back to their rooms, packed up their gear, and went to the car. The clouds opened up with large flakes of snow. By the time the car was loaded, the roads were carpeted in a blanket of white.
“This could be good for us. The Taliban hate fighting in bad conditions. They can’t see anything,” Jason said.
“Yeah, and neither can we,” Bernadette responded.
They drove down the road with the little Camry doing some slipping and sliding on the snow covered roads but mostly holding its own. NATO troops were stationed along the highway in heavily armored vehicles and tanks.
The snow kept falling and the road became harder to navigate. Bernadette thought she would welcome the sight of a snowplow but they were non-existent here. If they saw a troop transport truck, Jason would follow behind it, as its large wheels would provide a clearing. But the trucks weren’t always going all the way to their destination.
By late morning, they saw the town of Bakwa appear out of the driving snow. The drive that should have been just over an hour had been three. They climbed out of the vehicle near an army checkpoint.
“I’m going to go inside and get some intel,” Jason said. He walked into the operations tent. A corporal standing guard pointed him in the direction of the sergeant in charge of operations.
Jason knew the man, a German named Kaufer; they’d served in several campaigns together. He approached Kaufer, throwing him a quick salute. “Hey, Kaufer, what’s the shit out there?”
Kaufer looked up from his maps, “Auch, mein got, what the hell are you doing here, you dumb Canuck? Don’t you know we are about to unleash some serious hurt on the Taliban?”
“What, is that something new?” Jason replied with a grin. They had been in some serious conflicts in both Croatia and Kabul. The German loved the words ‘serious hurt,’ he thought it made him sound funky.
“The Afghan general in this area isn’t going to wait for spring this time to throw the Taliban out of Farah. As soon as the weather clears, we’re going in—”
Jason put his hand up, “Yeah, I know, you’re going to throw down some serious hurt?”
“Throw down…what is a throw down…should I use this word?”
“Sure, Kaufer, it means a challenge.”
“Okay, then we will throw done some serious hurt. Where are you heading?”
“To a place on the other side of Farah, a little village called Azau. I’m on a hunting mission with a client.”
“You are on suicide mission, my crazy friend. You will get caught in the crossfire between the Afghan army and the Taliban—that is if the Taliban don’t kill you. What is so important about this client?”
Jason looked around to see if they were being overheard. “My client is looking for her man. He’s the guy being blamed for stealing the robe from Kandahar.”
Kaufer lowered his head then raised it, staring into Jason’s eyes. “Really, my friend. If this is the case, I will do what I can. I have some air support. But I can’t send any helis to you if they are needed for the attack.”
“I’ll only call you if I’m desperate,” Jason said.
Kaufer put his hand on Jason’s shoulder. “My friend, you’ve been desperate all the time I’ve known you. Now, I will give you some maps you’ll need.” He looked around. “No one will miss these.”
Reza, Almas, and Bernadette found shelter beside an outside heater under a tarpaulin. Three female NATO soldiers were huddled near the heaters smoking cigarettes.
Bernadette nodded to them as she put her hands towards the heater. The heat in the car wasn’t great; she’d had to keep her hands in her parka to keep them warm. Almas had been cuddled up beside her to try to keep from becoming a popsicle.
The soldiers eyed Bernadette and her companions. At first they said nothing, smoking their cigarettes and drinking coffee. The female, a soldier with corporal stripes and an American flag on her shoulder, stared hard at Bernadette.
Bernadette caught her eye, nodded, and looked down at the heater.
“What the hell you people up to?” the soldier asked. Her nametag said Lacroix. She was tall and blonde with a distinct southern accent, somewhere between South Carolina and Georgia. Bernadette had heard that same accent in Charleston once.
“Oh, us?” Bernadette looked up as if she’d been noticed in the aisle of a supermarket. “We’re just out looking for a lost relative.”
“Likely freaking story,” Lacroix said. “You some kind of spook?”
“You mean, CIA? Not me, I’m not smart enough to be one of them.” Bernadette replied with a wink.
The soldier beside Lacroix, a black lady with a round face and short cropped dark hair, made a whistling sound. Her name was Smith. “Girl, if you’re not CIA and you don’t look army—then you’re out of your mind being here. You best get in that little bitty car you came in and high tail your ass back to Kandahar. ’Cause this place is about to have the shit hit the fan with incoming Taliban.” She rolled her eyes for effect. “Know what I mean?”
“Thanks for the warning, I appreciate it.” Bernadette said with a forced smile. It was better to humor these two.
“This little girl doesn’t get it, does she?” Lacroix said looking at Smith.
Smith lowered her head as if in mourning. “Nope, she don’t get it.” She raised her head up again, her eyes going wide. “Listen up, little missy, wearing the guns and knives and looking cool. There’s a shit load of Taliban out there. When they catch a woman they make sure they get their fill. Those bastards form a line and call in all their pals. Then and only then, when they’re done, do they kill the woman? No, they torture her first, just to make sure they got their kicks in.”
Bernadette’s face went red. Not from fear, but anger. These women were trying to scare her off. This was bullshit. She closed her lips tightly so she wouldn’t tell them to screw off.
“And another thing,” Lacroix chimed in. “Here’s the one last thing we’ll tell you if you go out toward Farah since it looks like that’s what your fixing to do.”
“What’s that?” Bernadette asked through clenched teeth.
“Save a bullet for yourself.”
The third woman beside them wore an Australian flag on her shoulder. Her nametag was Brownlow. “Look here, mate, these girls are having a bit of a laugh at your expense, but it’s real out there. All the women worry about getting caught outside the wire by Taliban. The thing about the bullet—that shits real. Never let yourself be taken prisoner”
Jason came out of the command center with some maps under his arms. He motioned to Bernadette and the others to follow him back to the car.
“You make some new friends?” Jason asked.
“Just some girl talk,” Bernadette replied looking over her shoulder.
They followed Jason to the car. They climbed in and Jason turned over the ignition. There was an ominous clicking sound of the ignition.
“This is not good,” Reza said from the front seat. His head was shaking fr
om side to side as if he was willing the ignition to catch with the engine.
“Nope, not a good sign,” Jason said. He jumped out of the car, opened the hood, and fiddled with some wires and got back in. “Now, let’s see who’s on our side.”
The car turned over and Jason gunned the engine. Almas clapped his hands from the back seat and started to chant something.
Reza turned towards Bernadette. “Almas is singing a children’s song of how things are going well for us…with the help of Allah, of course.”
Bernadette smiled at Almas. His enthusiasm was infectious. She wanted to bottle it up and keep it inside her. She hoped it would be there when they met the Taliban.
The car pulled ahead. Just on the outskirts of town, Jason stopped the car and opened the trunk. “Okay, Bernadette, it’s time for you and me to put on our disguises.
Bernadette opened the door and got out of the car slowly. She hated the burka, hated everything it stood for, and most of all hated wearing it. She took a deep breath and pulled the garment over her head. She felt like she was disappearing, the large blue garment covered her down to her feet. The only opening was for arms and a slit for her to look through
Jason did the same. He looked like one hell of a large and tall Afghani woman. He returned to the passenger side of the car. Reza took the wheel.
“We’ll be okay until we hit Bayak,” Jason said. “Reza will try to talk our way through to a sick relative in Farah. He has a big wad of Afghani bills to hand out as bribes or ‘baksheesh,’ as it’s known here.”
Caught In The Crossfire: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery Page 15