Bernadette looked at the megaphone. She turned it on and gave it a quick test. It worked.
“You’re right. I need to stand tall with a big voice. Let’s go.”
They ran to the square. The place was packed. Men of every age lined the square, shoulder to shoulder to see the spectacle of a westerner having his head chopped off.
The imam stood close to Chris on the dais with Jamshed beside him. He surveyed the crowd; he had them in his hands. Today would be a turning point in Kandahar, once the infidel was executed, he would tell the crowd that a miracle had happened, the man had confessed before death. He would produce the robe and place it on himself for all to see. He’d promised it to Jamshed, but he knew he must have it for himself. He would have power over this city and soon, the entire country.
He had chosen his own son to be the executioner for the day, hoping that this would make him into the man that he sorely lacked in being. He’d had him wield the large blade many times in their courtyard chopping melons.
When Chris arrived on the dais, the imam realized to his own horror what a large neck he had. He quickly sought out a big policeman, asking him to assist, that it was his duty. The policeman reluctantly agreed.
Sergeant Hammer heard the loud noise from the square. The hair raised on the back of his neck. He hated this feeling. The tank in front of his unit was going nowhere. He couldn’t convince the tank commander to back up.
A group of kids played soccer on the side of the road, kicking the ball back and forth and watching the tank with interest.
Corporal Mendez came up beside him. “You’d think that cheer was for a soccer match and not an execution.”
“That’s it,” Hammer yelled slapping Mendez on the back. “We need to play some soccer.”
Mendez looked at Hammer as if he’d just lost his mind. “Sure, Sarge, if that’ll make you happy…”
“Get the men out of the vehicles. I want a quick meet,” Hammer instructed. He ran to the kids in the street with Aziz by his side. “Tell the kids I’ll pay them for the use of the soccer ball for five minutes.”
Aziz translated and turned to Hammer. “They think the privilege of their soccer ball is worth many Afghanis.”
“I’m sure they do—is this enough?” Hammer asked, shoving a wad of bills towards the kids. The kids grabbed the money and handed over the ball.
Hammer jogged back to his men who were forming in a circle. “Okay, men, any of you know how this game is played?”
Three of them nodded, the others shrugged, and one said, “I think it’s with your feet and not your hands, isn’t is Sergeant?”
Hammer nodded, “You’re going to kick this ball around until all those Afghanis in that tank come out to play. There are four of them in there. I figure they won’t be able to stand watching you Jarheads mess up their beloved game.” Hammer pointed to his other men. “You guys stay on the sidelines, cheer like hell, make noise, and when the guys come out—take them down—but no rough stuff. This is going to be a peaceful tank takeover—you copy that?”
The men yelled in unison, “Copy that, Sergeant!”
The men started to kick the ball around. Others cheered on the sidelines. Hammer stood with his back to the tank watching his men. Mendez stood to the side of him so he could watch the tank.
“Anything happening?” Hammer asked.
“The tank commander opened the hatch, he’s watching,” Mendez replied.
“We need some action,” Hammer said. “Okay you guys, play rough, and let’s see some tackles and some checking.”
“There’s none of that in soccer,” Mendez protested.
“There is today,” Hammer said. “Come on you guys, a little hustle let’s see some contact.”
The marines gladly complied. They found kicking the soccer ball boring. Private Olsen threw an arm block into Private Sawchuck, who responded by kicking the feet from under Olsen. The men squared off ready to have a fistfight.
“Is that what you’re looking for?” Mendez
“Anything from the tank?”
“Yeah, the commander is climbing down and the other three crew are coming out. They are yelling something.”
Hammer looked to Aziz. “What are they saying?”
“They want to show us how the true game of football is played. They do not call it soccer.”
“Is that so, tell them they are welcome to show us,” Hammer said with a smile.
The Afghani tank crew came down from the tank, and the marines grouped around them. In seconds, every one of the tank crew had their hands bound behind them in nylon zip ties.
“Okay, Aziz, tell the Afghan tank crew they have possession of the ball, we have the tank. Men, get that damn tank moved, we got a mission to do.”
The men yelled, “Aye, aye, Sergeant.” Two of them jumped in the tank, threw it into reverse and backed it into a side street. Hammer and his men got back in their vehicles and headed for the square.
The imam put his hands up to silence the crowd. He took the microphone and started to speak. “This infidel dared to steal the cloak of the Prophet for his own gains. He has tarnished the good name of our country and our faith. For that he must die.”
The crowd cheered.
Bernadette stood behind Reza. “Okay, here goes, just translate everything I say.”
“Yes, inshallah, we will set your Chris free,” Reza said. He picked up the megaphone in a shaking hand.
“Imam Sardar Agha. How can you execute an innocent man?” Reza translated for Bernadette over the megaphone.
Sardar looked up from his microphone. He was incredulous that someone would dare to challenge him in this crowd. “Who speaks this nonsense?”
“He says you speak nonsense.” Reza said to Bernadette.
“You say this man is guilty of stealing the cloak of the prophet—is that true?” Bernadette said to Reza. He translated, somewhat haltingly. He couldn’t believe her words.
“Yes, that is true. This man stole the cloak. He must die for it.” Sardar commanded by pointing his hand to Chris. “Place him on the block. There is no delay.”
The crowd cheered again.
Reza translated Sardar’s words to Bernadette, and shook his head. “He does not agree with you.” Reza said.
“But you know the cloak is here. It never left,” Bernadette said and Reza translated.
The crowd of men looked at each other. There was silence.
Sardar looked to both sides of him, as if he could not believe this insult. “Who makes this accusation? This falsehood? Surely we will seize this person and have them cut down with this infidel.”
Reza’s hand shook even more. He turned to look at Bernadette. “You have his attention. I’m not sure if this is good.”
“Keep going, you’re doing fine,” Bernadette said.
“Yes, and I’m going to be very dead very soon,” Reza replied.
“If I can show you the cloak of the prophet will you admit this person is innocent?” Reza translated for Bernadette.
The crowd started to talk amongst themselves. Men started to yell, “Show us the cloak—show us the cloak!”
“Do you want to see the cloak of the Prophet my brothers or do you want to hear the words of an imam who is attempting to use the cloak for his own means?” Reza translated.
“We need to move forward, Reza.” Bernadette said. She pushed Reza through the crowd. The men parted. Some looked angry, some looked baffled and amused by Reza’s words.
“Where are we going?” Reza asked.
“Move towards the shrine. We’re only fifty meters away.” With Bernadette behind Reza they pushed their way through the crowd to the steps. They climbed quickly and reached the entrance.
The large black urn was in the corner. Bernadette took off the top. It was dusty and dirty. She peered down into the bottom.
“There’s nothing there. I can’t believe it’s not there,” Bernadette said. She pulled back in shock.
“You see,” t
he imam yelled into the microphone. “This person has nothing. Nothing but lies—seize them.”
Men rushed up the steps towards Bernadette and Reza. Jason tried to get to them. The crowd pushed him back.
“This is bullshit,” Bernadette said staring at the men rushing towards her. “It has to be here.” She took the lid and smashed it on the steps.
A cloth fell out.
The men stopped on the steps.
“Is that it?” Reza asked.
Bernadette knelt down and picked it up. She unfolded it and held it up. “My God, it’s the sacred cloak of Mohammad.
A cheer went up from the square. Men started to clap and cheer.
“This is blasphemy,” Sardar yelled into the microphone. “These men have planted this robe here. They knew it was there all along. They are in league with the infidel. Bring them here and we will execute them all with their partner in crime.”
“What’s he saying?” Bernadette asked Reza.
“He’s not buying it. He’s saying we planted this cloak. He wants us to suffer the same fate as Chris.”
“That slimy son of a bitch,” Bernadette said. “Where’s your megaphone?”
Reza looked to his side, “It is gone. Someone tore it off me.”
Men surged forward, grabbing Bernadette and Reza. They pushed them towards the dais with Sardar and Chris. Other men picked them up, placing them beside Chris.
Bernadette was forced to kneel beside Chris. Her head was down. She turned slightly, “Hey, sweetie, it’s me.”
“Bernadette! Oh my god, what the hell…” Chris said turning his head. “Why?”
“I had to try, honey. Sorry…I had to try…” Bernadette said, stifling a sob more from frustration than fear.
Chris shook his head. “I wish you’d stayed out of this. You should have gone home.”
“You knew I wouldn’t.”
Chris sighed. “Yeah, I knew I’d see you here. This is really a bad way to have death do us part. And we never got to our wedding vows.”
A loud roar of vehicles came from outside the square. The crowd moved as NATO armored vehicles pushed into the square. A man on top with a megaphone yelled something to the crowd.
“What’s he saying, Reza?” Bernadette asked Reza who was kneeling beside her and wondering why he’d ever become her interpreter.
“He is saying that the imam must let everyone go. They must stop this execution immediately,” Reza said.
“Wonderful news. Hammer made it through with his men,” Bernadette said.
Sadar took the microphone and began yelling something.
Reza turned to Bernadette, “The imam says that NATO has no authority here. This is the business of the religious council.”
The crowd started to yell.
“How’s that going with the crowd?” Bernadette asked Reza.
“Not good. The crowd believes the imam.”
Bernadette blew out a breath. “Damn, no one wants to miss a triple header.”
A sound of sirens came from the other side of the square. Bernadette looked to see armored police vehicles entering. A man jumped out with a microphone and started shouting. One word was understandable—Caprinski.
“I hope this is about Caprinski’s confession,” Chris said.
“This is Police Chief Kahn. He says he has a confession from the leader of the security team, Caprinski. He says that the imam, Sardar Agha, he convinced the infidels to steal it then double-crossed them. The imam was going to use the cloak of the prophet for his own gains. He was going to collude with the Taliban and help bring them back to power.”
Jamshed pushed Sardar out of the way and took the microphone. “People of Kandahar, this is true what the chief of police is saying. This vile imam wished to fool you all. He’s had the robe all along; he wanted to enslave you to the rule of the Taliban.”
Jamshed turned to Sardar. “I will not hang with you, Imam, you will hang on your own.”
“What’s going on?” Bernadette asked.
“This was a plot to overthrow the government by the imam. He was in league with the Taliban.”
“Holy crap,” Bernadette said. “I thought this was all about money.”
“The chief is telling the police around us to set us free immediately or be judged as criminals in league with the imam,” Reza said.
Bernadette, Reza, and Chris were immediately brought to their feet. The imam tried to grab the sword to make good his promise of a beheading. His own son grabbed it from him.
Chief Kahn made his way through the crowd to the dais and released Chris from his shackles. He looked at Bernadette in her disguise. “I should have known you would be here.”
“Just trying to delay the proceedings until your big entry. Glad you could make it,” Bernadette said.
“I hear you found the cloak. How did you know where it was?” Kahn asked.
“It was from an interview Jason had with the night watchman. He said it looked like Imam Sardar, Lund, and Chris were in a rugby match at the door. I had to look it up on the Internet. You can keep passing the ball laterally from one player to the other. Lund passed it Chris, and then the lights went out. Chris told me he had it for only a few seconds then Lund took it back. He gave it back to the imam who hid it in the top of the jar.”
“And they used me as the scape goat,” Chris said, massaging his wrists from the shackles.
“Yes they did, sweetie. I think Sardar got Caprinski to convince Lund he was going to get the robe out of Kandahar. But it was all a double cross. Sardar needed some non-believers to steal the robe to incite the tribes and turn them against each other. He was then going to come out the leader…with the cloak.” Bernadette said.
“We are in your debt,” Kahn said. “You have saved Kandahar from much bloodshed.”
“You are welcome. And I’m most happy that we saved Kandahar from shedding our blood. Now, maybe I should take off this disguise,” Bernadette said.
“Do not do that just yet,” Kahn said.
“Why is that?”
“You were handling the robe of the Prophet, you are a woman. Perhaps you should not surprise this crowd even more,” Kahn said.
Chris put his hand on Bernadette’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll be happy to get you out of that disguise when I get you back to our room.”
51
Bernadette and Chris were in luck—the shower had some hot water. They took advantage of it by showering together to save water. It wasn’t until several hours later that they came up for air from their lovemaking, or as Chris called it…getting reacquainted.
“I’m sorry,” Bernadette said as she traced her hand down Chris’s chest.
“You’re sorry? For what?” Chris asked.
“I should have seen the signs that you were unhappy. I was too busy being a cop. I know we kept making fun of you being the house husband, but I know deep down it was eating at you.”
Chris kissed her on the forehead and placed his large hand on hers. “I should have been more vocal about it. Instead, I took this security job in Afghanistan to show you I was a big boy.”
Bernadette chuckled and squeezed Chris. “Yeah, you showed me alright.”
“So, what do we do now?” Chris asked.
Bernadette looked into his eyes. “I think we love the hell out of one another and get on with our lives. Sure, we’re going to have some hard times figuring things out, but that’s what marriages are for.”
Chris kissed her on the lips. “That works for me.”
Bernadette pulled back from him. “Oh, just one more thing, I may want us to adopt a boy I found.”
“Say, what now?”
“It’s kind of a long story, but this boy, Almas…he’s how I found you. If it wasn’t for him, you’d be either lying in a grave in that village or sent to the imam so fast I’d never have had a chance to save you.”
Chris picked up her hand and kissed it. “If this little guy made such an impression on you, then I’ve
got to meet him.”
Later that afternoon, Bernadette called Reza and left a message. She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject with Almas. She knew they were somehow connected by the events they’d been through, but would Almas want to be adopted? Would he want to leave his country?
It was not until late in the evening that Reza called back. He seemed excited. “Bernadette, you will not believe it.”
“Try me,” Bernadette said, as everything that happened in this country was somehow one step beyond her experience.
“You remember the people we met in Farah?”
“Yes, Miriam and Azar…the guest house….”
“Yes, that is the ones. I received a phone call this morning. They were back in the region to collect religious artifacts of Buddha and they came across a group of villagers that had been hiding in the hills from the warlord.”
“Ramin Rasul?”
“Yes, he was pushed out of the region and left for Iran. Miriam found this out from the NATO troops. That is why she and her husband could resume their work.”
“Okay, that’s nice to know about Reza. But how is this unbelievable news?”
“Miriam found Almas’ parents.”
“What?”
“Yes, praise be to Allah, they asked Miriam if she knew of their son. They told him what he looked like. Miriam realized it was Almas. She had my number and called me; I put Almas on the phone with his parents.”
Bernadette held back tears. “That is wonderful news. How soon does Almas leave? I want to see him before he goes.”
“Oh no, he is already gone. My cousin was leaving for Farah this morning. I was able to catch him before he left and Almas went with him. How fortunate for all.”
“Yes, how fortunate. Did Almas happen to leave any message…you know…maybe…?”
“Oh yes, he said inshallah he will meet with you again. He said he sees many happy things in your stars. And he left you a small picture that he drew,” Reza said.
“Thank you, Reza.” Bernadette put down the phone.
Chris came into the room. “What is it? You look like someone just died.”
Caught In The Crossfire: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery Page 25