“I heard he’s a pretty colorful guy. I’ve never met him.”
“I haven’t, either,” Emma said, “but Khalid knows him well. He can’t do business in Khan’s villages without his blessing.”
“And of course,” Nike said, smiling, “the blessing is in the form of money greasing the chieftain’s palm.”
“Right on,” Emma said.
“But, I hear from Mike, Dallas’s husband who works up the strategy with the general, that Khan is a pretty decent fellow. He’s continued to use his five hundred horsemen to seek and root out Taliban all along the border.”
Emma nodded. “Khan is a good guy of a sort. I just wish this bribery would go away.”
“But how else is Khan going to feed his men, take care of his horses and get ammo to fight the Taliban?”
“I know, I know,” Emma muttered. “It’s a system. I don’t have to like it.”
“It’s so old that I don’t care what the commanders say about winning the hearts and minds of Afghans. I don’t think it’s ever going away,” Nike admitted.
“I understand from Mike that Khan is coming to Zor Barawul. After this last attack on Khan’s main village, he’s shifting his forces to protecting them in a proactive manner.”
“He’s going up against his old nemesis, Malik,” Nike said.
“Yep, those two hate one another. I’m hoping that with five hundred horse soldiers in the valley, Malik will think twice about doing what he just did to that village.”
“Malik’s not dumb. He’s a cagey fox,” Nike agreed. “He’ll probably shift his force north or south of Zor Barawul.”
“Yeah,” Nike said unhappily, “to Do Bandi, another of Khan’s villages he’s sworn to protect.”
“At least we know the players,” Nike said, lifting the cup to her lips and sipping. After she set the white mug down on the table, she added, “And Khan is a pretty good guy. Maybe Zor Barawul will get the peace it needs in order to really establish that school for the girls and boys.”
Emma lifted her fingers and crossed them. “I hope so.”
“You going out there tomorrow?”
“Yes, with Khalid. Kinah’s in the village and we’re bringing in a dental team for the children.”
“You’ll probably meet the colorful Khan, then. He’s supposed to be arriving there by tomorrow morning, from what I understand.”
Emma at his side, Khalid stood by the ramp of the CH-47 as Chieftain Jawid Khan, astride his prancing white Arabian stallion, rode up. In his hands, he had a box of dates from Saudi Arabia, one of Khan’s favorite delicacies. The forty-five-yearold chieftain was tall and erect in the saddle. He wore a dark-green robe embossed with gold threads. The geometric designs across his powerful chest and sleeves emphasized his authority. On his head was a turban that matched his intelligent forest-colored eyes. Khan’s beard was trimmed and neat but showed silver among the black hair. Khalid smiled to himself. Khan was from a thousand-year-old family line that had ruled this part of Afghanistan. The man was married and had ten children. The last twenty years of his life, he’d lived on horseback and fought, first, the Russians with the Mujahadeen, and for the last ten years, the Taliban, whom he hated with equal ferocity.
The stallion snorted and danced to a stop. It was decked out in a dark-green leather bridle and martingale, with gold tassels sparkling in the morning sun. The entire village of Zor Barawul had come out to welcome their leader and his five hundred horsemen now surrounding the entire mud and stone village.
Khan’s narrow face broke into a smile. He’d lost one of his front teeth many years ago to a bullet that had grazed his mouth as he’d charged up a valley to destroy a Taliban machine-gun position. The bullet had chipped the tooth, but that hadn’t stopped him from continuing the charge up the hill. When the fight was over and won, Jawid Khan celebrated with his men. He’d had his second-in-command, Naraiman, pull what was left of the tooth without any anesthesia. Out here there were no painkillers. Khan’s men had roared and cheered as Naraiman used a pair of rusty old pliers to get the job done. Khan knew men would only follow a leader who didn’t show weakness to pain or suffering.
Dismounting with a flourish after two of his soldiers ran up to hold the stallion’s reins, Khan grinned widely. He opened his arms toward the lean pilot in the dark-green flight suit. “Khalid, my brother!”
Khalid bowed his head to the mighty warlord and handed him the box of dates. “My Lord Khan. Welcome.”
Khan looked at the dates and grinned. He handed them to another awaiting soldier. “Brother, you look well.” He moved forward, kissed each of Khalid’s cheeks and then shook his hand. Then, he turned and studied Emma whose red hair flashed like fire in the morning sunlight. She wore a hijab to match the color of her hair. “So, who is this beautiful red flower?”
Emma held out her hand to the warlord. She murmured the usual words of welcome and expected him to shake her hand. Instead, after giving her the formal greeting, Khan swept forward and kissed each of her cheeks, denoting that he considered her a trusted friend, not just an ally.
Breathless, Emma felt the soft brush of his beard against her cheeks. The man was very good-looking, despite the gap in the front of his upper teeth. His skin was darkly tanned, the squint lines at the corner of his green eyes deep and fanned out. Khalid had warned her that Khan was a flirt with all women, whenever he could get around Muslim law. In his position of power and authority, he regularly broke Muslim customs.
“So, Captain Cantrell, you are more beautiful than the stories that are carried to me.” Khan stepped back and grinned up at the tall Afghan pilot. “Khalid, you are a blessed man.”
“I think so,” Khalid said with a slight bow of his head. “Come, we have gifts for you, my lord.” He led Khan to the rear of the helo. “We have five hundred pounds of grain for your horses. We’ve brought in a pallet of five-gallon plastic jugs of water.” Khalid knew that in this desert, food and water were scarce for man and animal. It was a worthy gift for the warlord, who appeared properly impressed.
“Very good, Khalid!”
“And,” Khalid said, walking up inside the helo and bringing out a gunny sack that he held gingerly, “a special gift for you.”
“Eh?” Khan’s thick black brows rose as he took the gunny sack. Bottles clinked inside. “Is this what I think it is, brother?”
“It is,” Khalid said, smiling. Khan had gone to school in France. He had a degree in Business Administration. While there, Khan had acquired a taste for good burgundy. Oh, Khalid knew that Muslim law forbade the drinking of alcoholic beverages, but that had never stopped Khan. “There are six bottles of burgundy in there, my lord. I think you will enjoy tasting them. A little reminder of France.”
Khan grinned. He had sent his family to live in France. He left them every spring and returned to them as winter set into his country. No one fought on horseback during the season of ice and snow. In France, his family was out of harm’s way. In the winter, Khan ran several multimillion-dollar businesses in France that kept his family accustomed to their rich life. “Thank you, brother. You make my heart smile.” Khan handed over the gunny sack to another soldier. He gave him orders to take it to the stone house which was always maintained for his visits to Zor Barawul.
Turning, Khan rubbed his hands together. “So, let us sit, have hot chai, breakfast and discuss things.” He turned and gestured toward Emma. “Come, sister. You will join us as we talk strategy against my brother, Malik.”
Emma was shocked by the invitation. Khalid had warned her that the westernized Khan paid no attention to the Muslim law that said men and women should not eat together. She saw Khalid barely tip his head forward. “I’d be delighted,” she told the warlord in Pashto.
“Excellent! Come!” He slid an arm through one of each of theirs and led them through the village. The villagers lined the rutted, dusty street. They cheered their proud warlord, for without him, they would have been destroyed by the Taliban long ago. If no
t for Khan’s threatening presence, his five hundred loyal men on horseback, this village would have been utterly destroyed long ago. They had reason to cheer for their brave and caring warlord.
“And so, Malik attacked with at least two hundred men last night?” Khan asked, popping a date into his mouth. His men hovered nearby. The room had been prepared with expensive Persian carpets and many pillows and the scents of chai, curry and honey filled the air.
Khalid sat in the position of honor to the right of the warlord. Emma sat on the left. “Yes, my lord. And they almost overran us. Our three Apache helicopters made the difference.”
“I wish I’d been here!” Khan said. He smiled over at Emma. “I understand you fly this Apache?”
“I do, my lord.”
“Isn’t that amazing, Khalid? A woman flying a combat helicopter.”
Khalid understood Khan’s amazement. In his country women were kept back from such achievement, something he wanted to change one village at a time by educating the women. Once they were educated, they could take places of more power, and their voices would be respected by the elders. “As you know, women in the Americas and Europe are not held under a man’s thumb.”
Grinning, Khan took a cup of chai from an old, bald man who was his chef. “Yes. One day, brother, I hope to see our women in those powerful machines.”
Emma gulped and hid her surprise. Was Khan that forward-thinking? She stole a look over at Khalid, who seemed pleased. She knew these two men had at least a fifteen-year relationship with one another.
“I believe we will see our women rise to whatever they dream of becoming,” Khalid murmured tactfully. “I hope in another decade, our country can be at peace, not at war.”
Frowning, Khan sipped his chai. “So, tell me of Malik. Give me the details.”
Khalid told him everything. When he was done, he added, “If you are going to stay in this area, it will be helpful. My sister, Kinah, refuses to leave this village until all is in order. We have teachers coming in to teach and they must feel safe here. Otherwise, they will leave.”
“Of course, of course.” Khan handed the emptied china cup to his cook. “But you know I have many villages to protect. I cannot remain here forever.”
Khalid nodded. “How long can you stay?”
Pulling thoughtfully at his beard, Khan said, “Perhaps a month, brother. But I will need your help. I intend to root out Malik from the caves on the other side of this valley. I will not sit idle. And to do that, I need ammunition, food for my men, water and grain for my horses. We will hunt by day and return back here to Zor Barawul at dark.”
“Whatever you need,” Khalid promised, “you will have.” Ammunition for their AK-47s and older rifles was vital. “And we have an A-team who will ride with you. They can call in bombs from B-52s and other aircraft should you flush out Malik and his men.”
Khan rubbed his hands together in glee. “Excellent! We had another A-team ride with us for a month up north and they did a good job of calling in the bombs on the Taliban.”
“Captain Cantrell and I will fly back to the base camp,” Khalid said. “We’ll let General Chapman know what your needs are. It may take three or four days to get in all your supplies….”
“That is fine. My men could use a few days of rest,” Khan said before smiling over at Emma. “We will rest. I will pay my respects to Abbas and the other elders. I will find out Malik’s tactics from them. And then, when you return with our supplies, we can make our plans.”
Getting up, Khalid said, “We’ll leave now, my lord. Thank you for your generosity and food.”
Emma quickly rose, bowed and murmured parting words to the smiling warlord. Outside the rock house, Emma walked at Khalid’s side. The everyday rhythm of the village was once again in place. The children were playing, dogs were barking, women in burkas were hurrying down the street. Several carts drawn by small gray donkeys moved along the main thoroughfare. “Wow, Khan is something else!” Emma exclaimed.
“Yes, he’s quite a colorful character,” Khalid said, smiling. Down at the end of the street sat their emptied CH-47. The load master waited near the ramp. “Khan liked you.”
Emma snorted. “I respect him for what he’s done to try and keep his people in his villages safe.”
“I meant,” Khalid amended, grinning, “he was very drawn to you. I think he was enamored with your red hair.”
Groaning, Emma muttered, “Great.”
Khalid chuckled. “Don’t worry. He knows that I favor you.”
Feeling heat tunneling into her cheeks, Emma gave him a dark look. “We’re friends, remember? Not an item.”
Holding up his long, expressive hands, Khalid laughed as they stepped out of the village and onto the landing zone where their CH-47 sat. “Yes, yes, of course.” Emma’s worried look dissolved. Khalid was falling in love with this red-haired woman, with her dancing green eyes. For her sake, though, he had to slow down. She was obviously tense about the possibility of their relationship going beyond a friendship. He’d given much thought to Najela’s murder and now was awakening from his loss. Kinah’s words had shaken him. She had been right: he couldn’t continue to live in a vacuum and ignore his need for a deep, satisfying relationship. Still, Khalid was nagged by Malik’s presence and worried for Emma.
As Khalid entered the helicopter, Emma on his heels, he cautioned himself to remain patient. He had. Yet, he wanted to kiss her again. This time, he would trail a series of kisses from her silky, flame-colored hair all the way down every inch of her body to her toes. Khalid did his best to tuck all his longing away and sat down in the left seat as the copilot. Today, Emma was the AC of this mission. As he slipped into his harness and Emma sat down in the right-hand seat, Khalid wondered privately if she was falling in love with him. Was there hope for them despite this war?
Chapter 13
The early-June weather was welcome to Emma. She pulled off her helmet as Khalid squeezed between the seats and walked toward the opening ramp of the CH-47. The sunlight was bright and she was glad to have her aviator glasses on. Getting up, she set her helmet in the copilot’s seat and smiled to herself.
Ever since Jawid Khan had made his presence known in the southern part of his territory, the warlord seemed to have chased Malik and his men out of the area. Despite Khan’s presence, Emma didn’t trust Malik. He had twenty years of hard-earned camouflage techniques and could dig in, hide and still be nearby without anyone knowing about it. On the other hand, Khan knew how to dig rats out of a tunnel and he and his men had systematically scoured every cave along the other side of the valley, ridding themselves of pockets of Taliban. Khan took no prisoners and Emma saw the fierce horsemen in a completely new light. They were ancient warriors come to life. There was no mercy between enemies. Ever.
Today, MREs—Meals Ready to Eat—oats for the horses and more burgundy for Khan had been flown into Zor Barawul. Pulling the rubber band off her ponytail, Emma allowed her shoulder-length hair to flow free for a moment. She then combed her fingers through the strands and whipped her hair up into another ponytail. She grabbed her green silk scarf and wrapped it around her head. Once it was secured, she set off to visit with Kinah and see how things were going with the school.
There was an air of celebration in the village. A number of children who had been let out of school early were with Kinah, waiting anxiously at the edge of the landing area. The dust had cleared. Khalid worked with the A-team Special Forces soldiers and the load master to remove the supplies from the bird. About fifty of Khan’s horsemen sat just out of range of where their helo had landed, their faces alight with expectation. They didn’t necessarily like the MREs, but it was food. Many times, the horsemen had only meager supplies to last days at a time when out hunting the Taliban. Some days, they had nothing to eat.
Kinah waved and grinned. She refused to wear the burka that the other women of the village donned when outside their house but she wore the hijab. Her bright red scarf emphasized her
black hair and flashing eyes.
“Emma!”
Emma grinned. “Hey, Kinah! How’s it going?” The knot of children remained around her friend. She spotted the two orphans, Fahran and Benham, among the group. Ever since the horrific attacks by Malik a month earlier, the two had seemed inseparable. Kinah had saved their lives and they doted upon her.
Emma handed out candy to the children. Little hands shyly reached out, along with murmurs of thank you. She loved that these children were always polite and didn’t grab a handful of candy and then run off. They knew how to share.
“I’m fine, sister.” Kinah embraced Emma and they shared cheek kisses with one another. “Look at you! How long has it been? Two weeks? And Khalid looks very happy, too.” She gave Emma a sly look. “So, love flourishes, eh?”
Emma stepped back and smiled. “We are just friends,” she emphasized.
“Mmm, friends. Indeed.” Kinah smiled and looked across the sun-splashed narrow valley at the caves that were a part of the rocky landscape. “Friendship is always a good beginning basis for a relationship.”
“It can only be friendship,” Emma said. She fell in step with Kinah, the children providing a phalanx around them as they walked into the village.
“As you say, my sister,” Kinah murmured, a sly smile still lingering across her mouth.
Emma wasn’t taking the bait. She knew Kinah wanted her to fall in love with Khalid and marry him. Emma waved as a number of women in burkas came outside their mud homes to greet them. The village had a palpably, happy atmosphere. It was amazing how the people rebounded once the Taliban threat had been removed. Apaches had flown in almost daily during the first two weeks when Khan had begun to root out Malik and his men from the valley caves. The Americans had worked in concert with the warlord to eradicate the threat.
Kinah stopped at the school, opened the door and stepped inside. Emma followed and so did the curious children. Closing the door, Emma saw that all the bullet holes had been patched over with new mud. The temperature was pleasant, in the seventies and the windows in the schoolroom provided good light.
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