Bernadette got in the car with Reza and Jason, turning to look at Almas as they left. She couldn’t believe how fast the boy was learning English and more importantly, the feelings she had for him.
The journey to the airport took too long in Bernadette’s mind. Every check stop, every traffic jam, was a nightmare. They finally pulled up to the gates of the compound. Reza told the guard they wanted to enter their storage container and showed the key.
The guard looked at the key, nodded, and pointed for them to turn right after entering the compound. Jason put the car in gear and followed the directions. A minute later, they were driving down row upon row of storage containers.
Reza checked the numbers, directing Jason to drive to the very end. He put up his hand to stop.
No one else was around as they got out of the car. Bernadette took the key, pushed it in the lock, and turned. It moved slowly then the lock clicked open. The large lever groaned as the door slowly swung open.
The first thing that hit them was the smell.
47
Jason put his hand up to his nose. “What the hell is that smell?”
Bernadette turned to him. “The smell of death.” She found a light switch on the side of the wall and opened it. A large watt light bulb illuminated the space.
The storage unit had been converted into a living space. A cot was in the back, with a table and chairs in the center. On the side was a camp style washbasin with a water tank and propane stove. A portable toilet and shower occupied a corner.
“Someone has been living here,” Bernadette said as she walked into the container. Something crunched below her feet. Looking down she saw the remainder of pistachio shells.
“All the comforts of home,” Jason said. “But where is that smell coming from.”
Bernadette saw something glistening in the far corner of the room. She found a flashlight by the side of the sink and turned it on. “Yes, I think we have source of the smell…”
She walked towards the corner, as she did the glistening became a large plastic garment hanger suspended from the ceiling. Inside was a body.
“Is that Lund?” Jason asked peering at the figure in the bag.
“Yes, it is,” Bernadette replied. “I can make out his features from the pictures I’ve seen on his website.” She turned to Jason and Reza. “Now we know he didn’t double cross Caprinski. Looks like they had Lund here all along. Probably brought him back from the village and had him hiding here.”
“But why?” Jason asked.
“Lund probably thought he was going to get hold of the robe after they hung the theft on Chris. Someone screwed up the plans.”
“Any idea how long he’s been dead?”
“I’m no medical examiner, but my years of being around the dead tells me he’s been dead about twenty-four hours. This container is pretty warm, that produces a pretty quick smell to a dead body. Looks like Caprinski was tying up all the loose ends with Chris being caught,” Bernadette said. She could see fresh ligature marks around his throat.
“Let’s look for the robe, it’s got to be here somewhere,” Jason said.
“Sure,” Bernadette replied. “I don’t think it’s here, but let’s give it a try.”
Reza, Jason, and Bernadette went over the storage container, turning over boxes, looking under the mattress. It took all of twenty minutes to exhaust every inch of the place.
Jason sat back on his heels. “It’s just not here. Sorry, Bernadette.”
Bernadette wiped sweat off her brow. She looked back at the garment bag with Lund turning silently in it. “It was never here.”
She got up and walked to the front of the container and took out her phone. She dialed Lackey. She picked up on the third ring, “I found Lund dead in a storage container by the airport.”
“And the robe?”
“Not here.”
“I assume Lund didn’t die of natural causes?”
“You got it, he was murdered about twenty-four hours ago. Someone was cleaning up. My guess is Caprinski.”
“What are you going to do now?” Lackey asked.
“You said you’d give me back up, is that still on?”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“I need Sergeant Hammer and a whole bunch of his kick ass team. Have them locked and loaded for early tomorrow.”
“Where do you want them?”
Bernadette turned to Reza. “Reza, when and where will the imam execute Chris tomorrow?”
“They will do it after the second call to prayer in front of the main mosque,” Reza said in a solemn tone.
“Have them in the street in front of the main mosque at zero-seven hundred hours. I’ll meet Hammer there.”
“What have you got Callahan?”
“One crazy ass idea on how to save Chris. Can you send me the video of the night Lund and Chris were in front of the museum to my phone?” Bernadette asked.
“Sure thing, I’ll send it right away—anything else?”
“Yeah send a body collector to storage container two-fifteen at the airport and have Kahn lean on Caprinski hard, then bring him to the party at the Mosque tomorrow if he has anything good.”
“You don’t ask much do you?” Lackey said with a note of sarcasm in her voice.
“I’m looking for a bona fide freaking miracle tomorrow. Everything helps,” Bernadette said. She ended her call and took a deep breath.
“Where to now?” Jason asked.
“You can take me back to my guesthouse. Both Reza and you need to get a good night sleep tonight. We got a big show tomorrow.”
The ride home took over an hour. Traffic in the street was building. People were out shopping preparing for a feast tomorrow after the execution. The imam had promised a great new revelation, and the city was buzzing with speculation.
Jason dropped Bernadette in front of the guesthouse. The red rickshaw with Mohammed and Jebran was there. They bowed in recognition of her and resumed their posts of watching over her, their AK-47’s leaning up against the rickshaw as if they were waiting for batting practice or a cricket match to begin.
When Bernadette walked into the guesthouse, Aaron greeted her, and bowed low. “Would Madame care for another carafe of scotch?”
“Thank you, Aaron, but no, I’d like some Afghani tea, and could you go to the market and get me a few things?”
“Of course, it would be my pleasure.” Aaron said bowing again.
Bernadette found a pen and note pad on the hotel desk and quickly wrote out a list, then pulled out a wad of Afghani notes. “I hope this will be enough?”
Aaron looked at the list. “This is a strange list. I’m sure this money will cover it.”
Bernadette went to her room. While sipping the tea Aaron brought to her room, she reviewed the video Lackey sent her, watching it several times. Lund walked out with a package, he handed it to Chris, and then the lights went out. Someone in the shadows was in the background.
There was no way to enhance the video on the phone. She’d have to use her instincts. Setting the phone down, she knew there was one person she had to call. She dialed the number.
After a long series of rings, her Grandmother Moses picked up. “Hey Bernadette I wondered when you’d call.”
“You knew it was my ring again?” Bernadette asked incredulously.
“No, I got a new phone. This one has caller display, and it says Afghanistan right on the screen,” Grandmother Moses said.
“Oh…that’s great,” Bernadette said.
“What’s wrong?”
Bernadette held back tears; her grandmother always knew what was going on with her. “I’ve got to take a gamble tomorrow. It’s the only way I can save Chris.”
“Bernadette you’ve lived your life by taking chances, don’t let anything stop you now. Don’t you remember the time you saved your grandfather from that charging grizzly bear?”’
Bernadette thought for a moment. “I did? I don’t recall that.”
&nbs
p; “You were only two years old. Grandfather and you were out for a walk. The grizzly came out the bush, mad as hell, charging down the path. Your grandfather turned to grab you and shield you. He fell down.”
“I don’t remember…”
“You might have blocked it out. You got in front of grandfather, you stood tall with your arms raised and roared. That grizzly stopped in his tracks. He turned and walked back into the bush.”
“I did that?”
“Yes. Now, whatever chance you need to take, you take it.” Grandmother Moses said.
“Thanks, Grandma Moses, I will.” Bernadette closed her phone and fell back on the bed. Tomorrow she would have to stand up to an executioner’s blade. How tall could she make herself, how loud could she roar?
48
Sleep did not come to Bernadette that night. There was too much at stake—Chris’s life. She drank a large amount of tea while reviewing the video numerous times. Then, she’d pored over the internet to look at every file on Mohammed’s sacred robe to see the last time it was worn and when.
The Taliban had worn it once in what was called a brilliant propaganda move. The Taliban leader, Mullah Omar had taken Mohammed’s shroud out of storage and wore it in public to identify himself with the prophet and to give him legitimacy.
Bernadette had read that around three a.m. “What was that Caprinski had said about everything was fine until the crazy imam’s got involved? What are they up to?” she asked herself.
By 0500 hours she was beyond sleep and her whole being was buzzing with energy. She felt like she could have taken on the entire Afghan army. At 0600 she got herself ready. She showered and put on the clothes she’d asked Aaron to get for her. The tricky part was the final touches.
She walked out of the guesthouse at 0630; Jason and Reza were already there with Mohammad and Jebran. They probably hadn’t slept either.
As Bernadette walked up to them, Mohammad and Jebran raised their guns and shouted warnings in Afghani.
Bernadette raised her hands, “It’s okay. It’s me, Bernadette.” She was wearing the traditional Afghan men’s pants, long shirt with the hat and parka overtop. She wore her own boots.
Jason’s eyes went wide. “Why are you dressed like a man, and what’s with the stick-on beard?”
Bernadette chuckled. “Women are rarely invited to the front row of executions. I need to be front and center to save Chris.”
Reza nodded in agreement. “You are most correct, the women have to be in the back. Even in a burka you would not get close.”
“Okay, we’re ready to roll then,” Bernadette said. “I’m hoping Hammer and his team are in the side street I told them to be on.”
Chris stared at his breakfast. The guards had made sure he had a good meal of porridge and chicken with some Naan bread. He pushed it aside. He couldn’t eat. The guards had told him in sign language that he would not be hanged. His fate was that of an executioner’s blade.
This was the one time he was not so proud of the large neck he’d developed from all his years of weight lifting in the gym. A size eighteen neck was an accomplishment but not when someone wanted to chop your head off. Chris’s hand went instinctively to his throat. He let it drop away.
He’d been awake all night, thinking of his last moments with Bernadette back home. How the time ended with wild love making, but then he could see they were drifting apart. This crazy idea of his coming to Afghanistan was his way of proving himself worthy. Now, if something didn’t happen in the next few hours, his head would be removed from his body. He closed his eyes to shut out the vision.
The guard came to the cell; it was time for him to go. They gave him an orange coverall to wear. He looked at it, and then put it on. There was no use in arguing or fighting. He’d only delay his date with a large blade.
Bernadette rode with Jason and Reza. Mohammed and Jebran putted behind them as fast as they could in the red rickshaw. Somehow, they kept up. The traffic moved slowly this morning. Numerous vehicles were heading in the same direction.
“What’s with the all the traffic?” Bernadette asked
Jason looked ahead, clearly reluctant to answer, then he looked at Bernadette, “The rumor is…that Chris will be executed by a ceremonial sword.”
“Holy Christ! Are they serious? What the hell kind of people do this?” Bernadette said. Her fists clenched and unclenched. She wanted to grab something—punch something.
Reza spoke up from the back seat. “The imam is trying to make a show. He wants a grand spectacle. Remember, he said he has something grand to show afterwards. This is his way of drawing a crowd for his purpose.”
Hammer moved his unit along a side street. He was in the lead unit of four armored personnel carriers with a manned 50 MM turret and a complement of six fully armed marines in each vehicle. They were almost in position. One more street and they’d be there. An Afghan Army tank came around the corner and stopped. Their way was blocked.
Bernadette’s little convoy of two came to the side street where Hammer was supposed to be. Bernadette jumped out of the car. “Where the hell is he?”
Mohammed came up from behind in the rickshaw. “I will look for him.” He pulled the rickshaw around them and was gone.
Bernadette stood by the car. She heard the second call to prayer. She knew that in a half hour from now, the faithful would be filing out of the mosque and into the square to see Chris’ execution.
Her only hope was Hammer and his men. The plan was to have Hammer’s team surround the execution site, pointing their weapons at the imam, while she tried to find the robe. She only hoped she was right about where she thought the robe was—Chris’s life was on the line.
Mohammed came back in a cloud of blue smoke, the rickshaw screeched to a stop in front of her. “Afghan Army tank blocking the street,” he said, shaking his head. “The Americans no get through.”
Hammer got out of his vehicle. He grabbed his interpreter, Aziz, and went forward to the tank. The tank hatch opened. An Afghan officer peered down at them from behind the hatch.
Hammer looked up at the officer and smiled. The man looked all of twenty years old with a stubble of beard. “Aziz, tell this officer that my unit must go through this street.”
Aziz bowed to the Afghan officer and repeated Hammer’s words, then turned to Hammer. “This officer says that no one is allowed to go into the square today other than Muslims who wish to witness the execution. All NATO personnel are forbidden to enter.”
“That’s bullshit. What kind of dumb ass would make such a command?” Hammer said.
“You want I should translate this?” Aziz asked. He looked up at the officer who was waiting to hear what Hammer had to say.
“No, damn it.” Hammer whirled and walked back to his vehicle. His cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and answered it, “Hammer.”
“You’ve got to get through to the square,” Bernadette demanded.
“My personal carriers are no match for a tank,” Hammer replied.
“Without your backup, Chris will be executed.”
“There’s not much I can do.”
“Figure something out. We’ve got twenty minutes.” Bernadette said
Hammer stared at the phone and punched the end button. He put the phone back in his pocket. He had twenty minutes to move a twenty-ton tank.
49
Chris sat in the back of the police van, staring down at the floor. Two police officers sat across from him, two more were by his side. He didn’t feel like eye contact and they spoke no English. What was there to say?
They marched him to the van in his orange coveralls with his legs and arms in shackles. He looked briefly at the sky; it was a pale blue with a few clouds. He missed his bright blue skies of home, of Canada.
As the van rocked and bounced over the uneven streets, he wondered what he’d feel before he died. Part of him felt loss. No one ever wants to die, especially when you’re thirty-seven years old and innocent. But he reali
zed the crime he’d committed was trying to make more of himself than he was.
Had he stayed in Canada with Bernadette and been content, had found another way for their relationship, he wouldn’t be here now. He tried to reconcile himself to his stupidity. His only crime was being in the wrong place in time, in taking a wrong turn, and not having the sense to go back the way he’d come.
The van came to a halt. He could hear a lot of voices. The door opened. A cordon of police lined the way towards a dais with a block—and a man with a large sword.
The crowd cheered as Chris stepped out of the van. He realized he was the main event. It felt odd that the spectacle of his death would be of interest to these people. Part of him was angry at this, and another part sad that they should find joy in his death.
He shuffled along in his chains towards the dais. As he got closer, he saw the man with the sword. That’s when he became really pissed. The guy had scrawny little arms.
“Aw, for Christ sake,” Chris said out loud, “at least you guys could have found someone who could put some muscle into it.”
50
Bernadette heard the cheer from the square. She knew it meant Chris had arrived to be executed. She turned to Jason, “What can we do?”
Jason looked at her. “I don’t know, he’s going to be surrounded by police…”
Mohammed pulled a canvas bag out of his rickshaw and walked towards Bernadette. He pushed it towards Bernadette.
“What is this?”
“Makes you a big voice,” Mohammed said.
Bernadette opened the soiled bag and took out an old battery powered megaphone. The thing looked like it was ancient technology.
“But what am I to do with this?”
“You must be louder than the imam, you must speak your truth to the crowd,” Mohammed said.
Jason turned to Bernadette. “He’s right. If you can prove Chris is innocent, you need to do it in front of the crowd. Reza will translate for you and speak—you have to give him the words.
Caught In The Crossfire: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery Page 24