Operation: Forbidden

by Lindsay McKenna

  How to repair things between them? He’d spent years in the States being educated. He knew Americans. Khalid sighed. Emma made him feel like a joyous young man. That wouldn’t work here. Khalid turned his attention to the screens and did an automatic scan, looking for possible SAM missiles. Taking a deep breath, he hoped what he was about to say wouldn’t turn her away from him.

  “I did a little research on you, Captain. Your family has a history of service,” Khalid said.

  Something had told her that as easy-going as Khalid appeared, he was a man who researched the details of any situation.

  “Yes, the Trayherns have given military service to their country since they arrived here two hundred years earlier. My mother, Alyssa, was a Trayhern before she married Clay Cantrell, my father. It’s a tradition for the Trayhern children, if they want, to go into the military of their choice and serve at least four to six years, depending upon whether they are officers or enlisted. We’re very proud of our family’s service and sacrifice,” Emma said tensely.

  “You should be. I’m very impressed, Captain. That’s very Sufi-like, to serve others. My Irish mother would say it is what you owe to life. That we all owe others. We can’t live life alone or separate ourselves from the poor and suffering.”

  Emma moved uncomfortably around in her seat. Talking to Khalid was like a minefield. She didn’t really want to know anything about him. All she wanted was to do a good job on this mission and then get back to base camp, her military record clean once more. Clearing her throat, she said, “She sounds like a wonderful, giving person much like my mother, Alyssa.”

  “My mother has red hair and brown eyes,” Khalid informed her. “She’s an obstetrician and she has set up clinics throughout Afghanistan with the help of her church’s ongoing donations. She has spent from age twenty-eight to the present here in Afghanistan. The good she has done is tremendous. I think you must know many Afghan women die during childbirth. Most women have an average of seven children. And one out of eight women dies in childbirth. Very few villages have health care available to them.”

  “That’s so sad,” Emma said as she banked the Apache to start a descent into Bagram. They had left the mountains, and now the dry, yellow plains where Bagram air base sat spread out before them. “I can’t believe how many women lose their lives. It’s horrific. I heard from Major Klein, my C.O., that there are Sufi medical doctors who have devoted their lives to the villages along the border.”

  “Ah yes,” Khalid said, brightening, “Doctors Reza and Sahar Khan. I’ve met them a number of times. My mother works with them through her mission. They are truly brave. Because they are Sufi and giving service and trying to help the border villages from the farthest south to the farthest north of our country, the Taliban constantly tries to kill them. The only way the Taliban keeps hold over our people is through fear, retaliation and murder.” His voice deepened. “Reza and Sahar have a strong calling. As Sufis they render aid and help wherever they can. Reza is a doctor of internal medicine and surgery. His sister, Sahar, is an obstetrician. I cannot tell you how many women’s lives she has saved. They drive a Land Rover that is beaten up and very old. I have offered to buy them a new one, but they said no.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would stand out like a sore thumb and the Taliban could find them more easily. In January of each year they start in the south of Afghanistan and then they drive along the border from village to village offering their medical services for free. By the time June comes, they have reached the northernmost part of our country, and they turn around and drive back down through the same villages. Each village gets visits twice a year, except of course, the most northern one, but they stay two weeks there to ensure everyone in that village is properly cared for.”

  “Who funds them?”

  “I do,” Khalid said. “I also coordinate with several American charities who give them medical supplies. Money’s only importance is how it is spent to help others.”

  Emma said nothing, easing the Apache down to three thousand feet. “That’s gutsy, and talk about sacrifice, those two doctors should get medals of valor.” Obviously, this officer was generous with his money. Brody’s bragging came to mind. Was Khalid bragging to impress her? Something told her he was, and she became even more wary.

  Snorting, Khalid said, “The central government refuses to acknowledge their sacrifice to our people. They aren’t very happy about Sufis, either. They barely tolerate them.”

  “Why are Sufis so targeted?” Emma asked. She saw Bagram air base coming up. It was huge and lay on the flat, dirt plain with Kabul about ten miles away. The city glittered in the sunlight. Kabul wasn’t that safe, either. The Taliban had infiltrated the city and it was dangerous for any American, military or civilian, to be there without an armed escort.

  “What mystic group hasn’t been a target?” he asked rhetorically. “Ah, Bagram is below us. We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes.”

  She heard veiled excitement in his voice. Emma paid attention to the air controller giving her landing instructions. Tension accumulated in her shoulders. She really didn’t want to go to Shaheen’s home. It felt like a trap to her, but Khalid was her boss. If he wrote her up for a glowing commendation after this six-month gig, she’d have a revived military career in front of her. And Emma wanted nothing more than to expunge that black eye she’d given to the Trayhern family, once and for all.

  “Come,” Khalid said, gesturing toward a large parking lot inside Bagram air base. “My car is over there.”

  The roar of jets taking off shook the air until it vibrated around them. As Emma walked at Khalid’s side, her bag in her left hand, dark aviator glasses in place, she felt nervous. At the Ops desk where they’d filled out the required landing flight forms, everyone seemed to know him. He had joked and laughed with many of the enlisted personnel behind the desk. His sincerity and concern for each of them was obvious. Emma saw how every man and woman glowed beneath his charisma. Brody Parker had done that, too. It seemed people who weren’t as rich as he was were always enamored with him. Emma had realized later it had been because they knew he was rich.

  As she walked down the line of cars, Emma reminded herself that Khalid was dangerous to her heart. He was far too likable a person. Frowning, she saw him take keys from his pocket and click them toward a Land Rover. The vehicle was a dark-green one that had plenty of dents and scrapes all over its body. In fact, there was a lot of dirt and mud on it, too.

  “Hop in,” Khalid invited, opening the rear so they could throw all their flight gear into the back.

  Emma slid into the passenger side and put on the seat belt. The dashboard was dusty. She wondered if Khalid’s home looked like his car.

  Tension thrummed through Khalid as he drove through the security gates of Bagram after showing his identity card. “Have you been in the city of Kabul before?”

  Emma watched him drive with care. “Yes, I have, but only with an Afghan escort on a day trip. When I fly in here, I remain on base for safety reasons.” He looked around constantly. In fact, they both had their side arms on the seat between them. She knew attacks were frequent in Kabul. The road leading up to the base was asphalted, but soon they were on another highway with plenty of potholes to dodge. Heavy traffic came and went from the busy main air base that served the country.

  “Not many Americans wander off Bagram,” Khalid murmured, nodding. “And with good reason. They are targets. One day I hope that our country will be free of the Taliban and you can see the beauty of it.”

  Emma was as alert as he was, keeping a hand on her .45 pistol. Too many cars were attacked by the Taliban. That Khalid was a marked man only increased the chances that they could be attacked.

  Khalid motioned with his long hand toward the city. “My parents’ villa is on the outskirts, upon a small hill ringed with thick, almost impenetrable brush. I also employ guards at the base of the hill.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, anyone who is rich is an aut
omatic target. But you will be safe at our compound. Ten-foot-high stucco walls completely surround our home. It’s all one story so that it is hidden behind the walls. There is a metal gate at the entrance and a guard is always on duty. Each window has an ornamental grate across it to prevent break-ins. The front door is wrought iron, too.”

  “I don’t know how anyone could live this way,” Emma muttered. She saw Khalid give his characteristic shrug.

  “We have generations of Afghans with PTSD, post traumatic stress disorder. We all have it,” he said, glancing at Emma. “It’s just a question of how bad it is and how much of your life it stains.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I’ve always valued being born in the U.S., but after being over here and seeing the poverty, the murders and constant threats that your people live under, I feel very, very fortunate in comparison.”

  “Yes, I was grateful for my years I spent in your country,” Khalid said. He swung off on a dirt road that led up to a small knoll in the distance. The road was rough and rutted because of the spring rains. “The seven years I spent there Americanized me a great deal.” He flashed her a sudden grin. “I really miss American French fries.”

  For a moment, Emma’s heart melted. His smile was dazzling and she felt the full effects of it. “You seem very Americanized. Your English is flawless and you use our slang, Captain Shaheen.”

  Khalid drove around some potholes, the ruts deep, dry and hard. The Land Rover crept forward. “I love America. I love what she stands for. I want my people to have a democracy just like yours. While I studied at Princeton, I truly understood what democracy was for the first time. I brought my passion back here and Kinah and I have worked ever since to bring our country closer to that vision we hold in our hearts.”

  “It’s a vision worth holding,” Emma agreed, hearing the fierce, underlying emotion in Khalid’s voice. There was no question he loved this desert country. Emma studied the rounded hill coming up. The shrubs were thick and dark green from the base up to the top of greenish-brown stucco walls. The color of the walls blended into the earthen landscape. If she hadn’t been looking for the walls, she probably would have missed them. She wondered what it was like for Khalid and his sister to grow up here under such constant threats. Her admiration for him grew.

  The bearded guard at the front entrance opened the gate and saluted Khalid. The sentry stepped aside as Khalid returned the salute and drove the Land Rover into the three-car garage. The automatic door started downward as he eased out of the vehicle.

  Emma followed suit. They gathered their gear and he took her to a side door.

  “Prepare yourself,” he said, a glimmer in his eyes as he opened the door.

  Emma didn’t have time. The dog, a saluki, Ayesha, rushed out the door, barking joyously around them, her thick, long tail wagging with happiness. It was impossible for Emma to remain stiff and stoic. Khalid had been right: Ayesha would lick her fingers off her hand if allowed to do so.

  Wiping her wet fingers on the side of her flight suit, Emma and Ayesha bounded over the white-tiled hall with its cool, pale-green walls. Khalid’s laughter and playfulness around the saluki automatically made Emma’s heart pound a little harder. Truly, Ayesha was a faithful companion to the Apache pilot who petted her fondly as she danced and pranced at his side.

  The hall flowed in three different directions. Khalid pointed to the left. “Your suite is the second door on the left. My dear housekeeper, Rasa, has promised you will be comfortable while you visit us. If there’s anything you need, just press the buzzer on the inside of the door, and she will come to assist you.”

  “And you, Captain?” Emma asked.

  “I’m going to my suite, get out of my uniform, grab a shower and I’ll meet you in our courtyard in an hour. There’s much to show you before we have dinner at 8:00 p.m. tonight.”

  Dinner. Her spirit sank. Emma didn’t want to spend too much time with this pilot. He was too mesmerizing. Ayesha bounced around Khalid, her tongue lolling out of her long muzzle, her dark-brown eyes alight with worship for her master. “I’ll see you later,” she said, more tersely than she meant it to be. Emma wished mightily for a bathtub, but they weren’t to be found anywhere. At base camp, there were only showers. Her flight boots thunked with a slight echo down the highly polished white-, brown-and orange-tiled hall.

  The door to her suite was ajar. Emma pushed it open and walked in. What she saw made her gasp with delight. The suite looked like a five-star hotel room! Across the king-sized bed was a gorgeous lavender-and-white star quilt. And on the wall above it hung an art fabric collage of a Rocky Mountain meadow filled with colorful wildflowers. Setting her bags on the bed, Emma looked around, dazed by the quality of the furniture, the decorations and the sense of peace that filled the room.

  Her mahogany dresser was an antique. She ran her hand across the polished surface and figured it had to be from either North America or perhaps Europe. As Emma opened one of the drawers, she noticed the dovetailing on each side, another sign of quality craftsmanship. She tucked away her few clothes, keeping out her silky pink pajamas and her own washcloth. Emma had learned a long time ago to carry one with her since many countries didn’t provide them.

  The pale-lavender walls matched the beautiful quilt on her bed. Fresh flowers in a brass vase adorned the mahogany coffee table that stood between a small purple sofa and a wing chair. Soft music played from a radio. Doilies and a long embroidered runner lay across the top of the dresser. The furnishings gave the room a 1930s flavor. She felt as if she’d walked back in time to an era when everything was made by hand. Even the rugs on either side of the bed seemed to have been handmade from scraps of cloth that had been wound into ropes and then anchored together.

  Walking through another open door, Emma sighed. With a Jacuzzi bathtub, the bathroom was as large as her bedroom! She gazed at it longingly. Mentally, she blessed Khalid’s westernized parents for their thoughtfulness toward their visitors. There was also a large glass-and-tile shower. The blue tiles on the walls were hand-painted with colorful wildflowers. Emma recognized some of them, others she did not. She walked closer to study them. Some were from the U.S., for sure. Others were jungle flowers and orchids.

  A washcloth and a bright-yellow fuzzy towel had been folded on a nearby table. Lavender-colored soap sat in a white ceramic dish. She picked up a bar and inhaled the fragrance. It was jasmine, one of her favorite scents. Did Khalid know that? How could he? Emma replaced the soap and turned, suddenly feeling horribly trapped by the assignment. First things first. Emma noticed a range of hair products near the white porcelain sink. She would draw a luxurious bath, soak and then wash her hair in the shower. Still in mild shock over the plush suite, she once again reminded herself that Khalid was a man full of surprises.

  What next? Emma wasn’t sure. She quickly shed her boots and uniform and turned on the faucet to fill the Jacuzzi tub. As she sat on the edge of the tub and swirled her fingers through the warm water, she felt her heart shrink with fear and dread. What if Khalid made a move on her? Emma could swear he liked her, but so far, he hadn’t done anything off limits. The rose told her he was flirting. Did he see her as nothing more than a woman to chase and try to catch in the next six months? Brody had done something similar; he’d chased her for four months before she’d agreed to a date.

  Careful. You can’t get involved with him. You have your family to think of first. You have to redeem the Trayhern’s good name. Never mind Khalid is warm, personable, humorous and kind. Or rich. Groaning, Emma closed her eyes for a moment. This mission was much worse than she’d ever realized.

  Chapter 4

  “Come,” Khalid invited Emma as she walked into the spacious kitchen, “let’s go to the garage. I have my storehouse in there.” He tried to ignore the fact that she was now in civilian clothes, her red hair still damp from the shower and falling like fiery lava around her proud shoulders. Instead of a baggy olive-green flight suit, Emma now wore a tangerine-colored
T-shirt with dark-brown trousers. On her, they looked good. Too good.

  “I’ll follow,” Emma said firmly, gesturing for him to take the lead. Emma could smell the wonderful odor of lamb cooking with spices in the oven. With how Khalid’s light-blue polo shirt showed the breadth of his chest, Emma kept distance between them. He was just too much of a temptation.

  Khalid opened the door to the storehouse and stepped aside to allow Emma to enter. He turned on the lights. Emma halted and stared around the cavernous three-car garage that held only the Land Rover right now. Along the walls in neat rows were thousands of books and boxes of educational items such as crayons, pencils, pens and notebooks.

  “This is our vision,” Khalid said, closing the door and walking into the room. “Kinah and I bought state-of-the-art printing machines. We gathered a group of Afghan widows and trained them to print out the books for the children.” He went to one aisle, pulled out a book and opened it. “We’ve not only employed six women who had no way to earn any money. Now they are our printers and publisher. The books are written by the best authorities in education, according to Kinah. She worked a year to produce Pashto-written texts and pictures from grades one through twelve. It was a momentous challenge.”

  Emma nodded but remained distant. She made sure there was plenty of space between them. She heard the pride in Khalid’s voice for his innovating and hardworking sister. “This is a major undertaking.”

  Khalid nodded and slid the book back onto the shelf. “Yes, it is.” He gazed down at Emma and had a maddening urge to tangle his fingers in her damp red hair, which curled softly around her face. Did she know how fetching she looked with that coverlet of copper freckles across her nose and cheeks? Emma wore no make up, but didn’t need any. She was beautiful just as she was, Khalid’s heart whispered to him. But since he was marked for death, there was no way to fall in love with any woman, not even someone as tempting as Emma Cantrell. He focused on showing Emma the large room of supplies. “Once we begin Operation Book Worm, all the supplies will come from this location. They will be marked, packed by another group of widows and then sent by truck to Bagram for us. From there, we put them aboard our CH-47 and fly them out to the villages.”