Emma scanned the room and looked approvingly at Kinah. “This is a wonderful space. It’s as good as new. How are the kids doing?”
“They are learning to read and write not only in Pashto, but in English. I have told them that English is the accepted universal language for our globe. They must learn it in order to grow.”
Emma nodded, glancing toward the books, the chalk, the crayons and at the children’s art that adorned the walls. “Good. That’s a wise move. Little kids are sponges and it’s the right time to teach them foreign languages.”
Kinah counted heads and then gave the children an unexpected recess, much to their delight. They would get fifteen minutes to go out and play. The classroom fell into silence as the last child left and closed the door. Kinah sat down at her desk and gestured to Emma to take a seat on the wooden chair next to it.
“My brother looks very happy, my sister. Have you two been growing closer as friends?”
Emma cleared her throat and sat down. “Yes and no. The military doesn’t foster much else between officers other than follow the Code of Conduct. Fraternization is not allowed.”
“Yes, that is what Khalid said.”
The door opened. It was Benham, the thirteen-yearold orphan.
“Mem sahib, come quickly!” he called urgently. “There is a baby goat stuck in a thick bush down on the side of the hill. We need your help in order to free it.”
Kinah frowned. “But, Benham, where is the boy who tends those goats? It is his job to free it.”
“No, no, mem sahib. This baby is far down the hill. Fahran and I can hear it bleating. It is in trouble! Can you help us? Please?” He gave her a pleading look.
With a sigh, Kinah got up. “Very well. I’m such a sucker for babies who get tangled up in all that brush.”
“I’ll go with you,” Emma said, rising. She pointed to her flight uniform. “I can probably thread those thickets a lot more easily than you can in your robe.”
Grateful for the company, Kinah nodded. They followed Benham out the door. He led them down behind the classroom. Emma saw nothing but a lot of thick green bushes. Some were two or three feet high and others, six to ten feet high. She saw holes in the ground where brush had been blown away by Apache rockets earlier. The wind was breezy as they stood on the lip of the hill. It was a steep, rocky descent. Benham scrambled like a mountain goat in his new leather shoes down the reddish slope.
“Come, come!” he hollered enthusiastically, waving them to follow him.
Emma heard a faint bleat. It was way down the hill. She wore a .45 strapped over her Kevlar vest across her chest, and she swept the area critically for enemy. Yes, Malik and his men had just been cleared, but Emma sensed the enemy was never very far away. Malik was a coyote. Looking over at Kinah, she saw the woman scowling.
“Over here!” Benham called pleadingly, as he slipped and slid farther down the rocky slope. “You don’t want the baby goat to die, do you? I’ll need help!” He slipped in between two thick bushes and disappeared. The goat bleated again.
“Let me do this,” Emma said, holding out her hand as she took a step down onto the narrow, sliding earth and rock. “You stay up here, Kinah. You’ll just get in trouble with that robe you’re wearing.”
“Are you sure, sister? This isn’t the first time I’ve helped untangle a baby goat or sheep from that awful brush.”
Grinning, Emma slid farther down the slope, arms out for balance. “My turn.”
“Be careful…”
“Don’t worry,” Emma muttered, sliding and correcting constantly, “I will be.”
Kinah noticed the other orphan, Fahran, suddenly appear out of the brush. He was farther down from where Benham had disappeared. His face was white and he seemed frightened. Kinah waved to him and called, “Emma is coming to help you. Just stay with the baby. She’ll be there in a moment.”
Fahran looked back toward the brush. He clung to a branch in order not to fall farther down on the steep talus slope. He opened his mouth and then shut it. Then, he looked at Emma who slid down the slope toward him. Dust rose in her wake. Rocks tumbled all around where she placed her flight boots. More than once, Emma fell on her butt, got up, dusted herself off and kept moving toward where Benham had disappeared earlier.
“It’s all right,” Kinah called reassuringly to Fahran. The ten-year-old orphan had a soft spot for all babies, animal or human, she had discovered. Maybe because he had lost his own family, he was sensitive to the plight of others. Fahran clung to her gaze as if she were going to cast him off some day, but Kinah always reassured him that she would be there for him. “Emma is coming! Just stay where you are, Fahran!”
Emma disappeared into the brush. The shrubs were long-armed, poking at her, and the leaves swatted her face. Breathing hard, she watched where she put her feet. She could barely see anything, the brush was so thick. The goat bleated frantically now, but she couldn’t see him, only hear him.
“Benham?” she called.
“I’m here, I’m here,” the boy’s voice drifted toward her.
“Keep talking so I can find you!” Emma called, holding up her arm to protect her face from thick foliage.
“You’re coming the right way,” Benham shouted. “Hurry, hurry! The baby goat is bleeding! You must rescue him!”
Groaning, Emma threw caution to the wind and crashed forward through the brush. She heard the baby goat. It was shrill and bleating, as if completely frightened out of its wits. “Damn goats,” she muttered.
Just as Emma turned around to avoid a huge group of limbs and allow her body to create an opening, a man’s hand grabbed at her shoulder.
Emma was jerked hard into the brush. Grunting and terrified, she looked up to see an Afghan soldier grinning at her. His fist was cocked, and it smashed down into her face. The moment his fist connected with her cheek, Emma felt an explosion of pain. And then, darkness.
“Khalid! Khalid!” Kinah screamed as she ran down the street toward the helicopter.
Khalid jerked around. His sister was white-faced, her eyes wide with fear, her hands above her head to get his attention.
As he handed the load master the supply list, Khalid stepped off the ramp. What was wrong?
Kinah raced to him, out of breath. “Khalid, something terrible has just happened!” She rapidly told him the story.
Frowning, Khalid knew that slope was precarious and steep. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes,” Kinah sobbed worriedly, “I kept calling for Emma. She never replied!”
“What about the boys?” he demanded, feeling sudden fear.
“They’re gone, Khalid!” Kinah pressed her hands to her mouth, tears streaming from her eyes. “Oh, brother, I think Emma has either been killed or taken prisoner by the Taliban! Otherwise, she would have returned my calls and the boys would have reappeared.”
A cold terror bolted through Khalid. There was no way to get a horse down that slope. He ordered Khan’s soldiers to get off their animals and follow him. As he raced down the center of the village, his throat ached with fear—fear for Emma. Khalid jerked his pistol out of the holster.
Kinah watched from the top of the hill as Khalid and fifty of Khan’s men searched every inch of that slope over the next half hour. She had directed them to where she last saw Emma, and they had literally torn the shrubbery apart looking for her.
After a frantic search across the slope, Khalid scrambled back up the hill. He was breathing hard, his face a mask of fear. “I’m going to call this in to our base,” he told Kinah. “Emma is gone.”
“Oh, no…” Kinah moaned. She grabbed Khalid’s arm. “I’m so sorry, so sorry. I should have known it was a trick. This is Malik’s work. He’s used the two orphans to lure Emma into their trap. Oh, Khalid, why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I recognize this was a trap? What will they do to Emma?” Her eyes were wide with terror.
Khalid gulped hard and pulled loose from his sister’s grip. “I’ve got to go. I’ll get back to
you as soon as I can. Use the radio I left with you if Khan’s men find anything or if you hear anything from a Taliban envoy.”
Kinah gulped and rasped, “Yes, yes, I will, my brother. This is terrible! Emma’s in danger!”
She was in more than that and Khalid knew it as he raced down the dusty road toward the helicopter. His mind spun with what had to be done first, second and third. His heart was pounding in agony. Oh, Allah! Emma is a prisoner of the Taliban! He knew it in his gut and heart. Najela’s dead body swam in front of his eyes. Running up the ramp, Khalid snapped orders to the load master to get the supplies out of the helo pronto. Fifteen men from the village raced forward to follow him.
With a steady voice, Khalid talked to BJS 60 ops, telling them everything. A CH-47 did not have infrared or television cameras. He couldn’t just lift off and fly around to try and find Emma and her abductors. He’d have to wait until an Apache was free of other duties to fly over here to begin a search pattern or he’d be shot out of the sky.
As he sat there in the cockpit of the helo, Khalid felt as if his whole world had turned black. Fear gripped him. Instinctively, Khalid felt this was Malik’s work. The man was a sly enemy. And despite Jawid’s best efforts to purge the valley of the Taliban, Malik had somehow managed to avoid detection.
He knew Khan and his soldiers were down in the valley. He picked up the radio and called the warlord. There was no signal. That wasn’t unusual; among the sheer cliffs a radio signal could easily get lost. Khalid wiped his dry mouth with the back of his hand. His heart ached with fear for Emma. Malik would kill her. Worse, he would probably behead her. That was what the Taliban did to infidels. And especially if a woman soldier or pilot was captured, they were broadcasted as examples.
Khalid felt his heart explode with new grief and awareness. For so long, he had tried to tell himself he was not falling in love with Emma. That they were from very different worlds and countries. Yet, he had fallen in love with her! He closed his eyes, his hand pressed to his chest. There was such agony that he could barely breathe. He wanted Emma in his life. For the rest of his life. How could she be gone, ripped suddenly and unexpectedly from his life, from his heart?
Opening his eyes, Khalid felt a new emotion. It wasn’t love. It was hatred. Despite only being half Afghan, the blood of the warrior was genetically as much a part of him as his Irish mother’s side was. His eyes narrowed as he looked out over the green floor of the V-shaped rocky valley. Emma did not deserve this. None of it! She loved the Afghan people and these villagers loved her in return. She had made so many friends. True, loyal friends for life among them. She had done nothing wrong, and yet, Malik had captured her.
Getting up, Khalid cautioned himself to wait. He couldn’t just take off and go find Emma. The infrared on an Apache could spot body heat miles away. It was their only chance to find her. Without hesitation, Khalid skidded down the ramp. The men had made short work of getting the rest of the boxes out of the hold of the cargo helo. His boots created a metallic echo as he left the ramp and stood in front of the men who had finished searching the slope.
One man, who had part of his arm missing, came forward and handed Khalid a green scarf. “This belonged to mem sahib,” he told him. “We found it among the brambles near the base of the slope. There are footprints of five men. And we found where they hid their horses.” He pointed toward the other side of the valley. “We can track them, Captain Shaheen. We have good daylight, half a day. Can we go after them?”
Khalid felt torn. The Afghan warrior in him wanted to leap upon a horse and lead these crafty men who knew how to track in even the worst of circumstances. Yet, as an officer in the U.S. Army, he had to wait for that Apache gunship to arrive. None was available for at least three hours. By then, Malik would escape. Holding up his hand, he told the man, “Hold on. I’ll be right back. Mount up and get me a horse.”
Khalid made a radio call to BJS 60 and told them what was going on. To his relief, Major Klein gave him permission to ride with Khan’s men to start tracking Malik in hopes of finding Emma. She ordered him to take a satellite radio with him so they were in contact at all times. Klein understood there were no Apaches presently available and their only chance to find Emma was to do it the old-fashioned way: with men on horseback tracking their enemy.
Khalid pulled open his helmet bag. Inside was a curved dagger in a leather sheath. He removed it and set it on the seat. Glancing over, he imagined Emma sitting on the other seat. His heart contracted with such anguish that tears drove into his eyes. Khalid blinked them back, forced down all his emotions. He jammed all the extra cartridges for his .45 pistol into the leg pockets of his uniform. He found it comforting to strap on the dagger to the right side of his waist. This dagger had been in his father’s family for eight hundred years. It had belonged to a caliph and had been a present to one of Khalid’s relatives who was a powerful warlord in the region. Touching it, his fingers brushed the jewel-encrusted leather sheath. Khalid silently swore he would use it to cut Malik’s throat.
Chapter 14
Fahran bit down hard on his lower lip. He crouched within a grayish cave that had poor light. For an hour, they’d ridden hard with their prisoner—the woman he and Benham had lured down the slope of Zor Barawul. Frightened, he watched as Lord Malik shoved the woman, Captain Emma Cantrell, off her feet. He hid his face, his back up against the cold, jutting rocks. Fahran felt no pain for himself, but anguish for the semi-conscious woman.
He saw Benham standing near the knot of Taliban soldiers who encircled the woman. Her hands were tied in front of her and she was helpless against the jeering, cursing men. How could he have done this to Emma? How? Tears leaked into Fahran’s eyes and he looked away as Malik lifted the toe of his boot and savagely kicked the woman in the ribs.
He heard Emma cry out. Suddenly, she went limp within the circle; dirt was smeared across her face and through her hair. Gulping and sobbing, Fahran stood up on tiptoe to see if she was dead. He bobbed his head from one side to another to see if she moved. Oh, why had he been talked into this by Lord Malik? Emma had always been nice to him and Benham. She’d brought both of them special gifts that no one else received. She’d even brought him the pair of fine leather shoes and the socks he now wore with pride.
Guiltily, Fahran gazed down at his shoes. They had been expensive, that he knew. To denote their worth, there was fine leather craftsmanship and colorful stripes on either side. Fahran had never had a pair of shoes in his life until Emma brought them for him. And how had he repaid her? Wiping his eyes, he crept closer. Was Emma dead? Had Lord Malik killed her with his boot? Gulping, Fahran wedged in between two soldiers.
Emma Cantrell lay unconscious within the circle of men, her face dirty and pale. Fahran thought surely she must be dead. His gaze shot to Malik who swaggered into the circle. The warlord’s eyes were black with hatred. He kicked Emma again, this time in the shoulder. She moved like a rag doll, no sound issuing from her slack lips. Benham was grinning like the idiot he was. He liked hurting Emma.
What could he do? Fahran blinked back the tears, for he knew if any of these rugged, hard soldiers saw him cry, they would give him the boot, too.
“Leave her,” Malik boomed. He looked around. “Come, let us eat in the other cave. They will never find us here.” He grinned triumphantly.
The soldiers shouted a roar of approval. This cave was a very secret place and to get to it, one had to follow a series of tunnels. Their horses were tied up in a smaller, nearby cave. They would eat a hot meal, the smoke being carried down into another cave that no one could climb into.
Malik spied Fahran. “You!” he growled, pointing his finger at him. “Take care of this bitch when she wakes up.”
One of the soldiers next to Fahran gave him a pistol from his belt.
Fahran gulped and nodded. “Y-yes, my lord,” he whispered.
Suddenly, everyone was gone. Fahran could smell the wonderful scent of curry on the cool breeze moving silently th
rough the series of caves. He stared down at Emma, who was motionless. Frightened that she was dead, Fahran dropped the pistol onto the dirt floor and knelt at her side after everyone had left.
Gently, he put his dirty hand on her shoulder. “Mem sahib Emma? Are you all right? Please wake up? Please,” he choked in a whisper as he leaned near her ear, “don’t be dead….”
The cave was cold. They always were. Fahran took his jacket, which Emma had brought him, and he carefully laid it across her shoulders and back to try and protect her from the draft. Hesitantly, he touched her cheek. She was so pale. Her freckles stood out in dark-brown spots across her ashen flesh. Terrible memories of his family dying a year ago slammed into him. He had leaned over his mother who was bleeding from the mouth, ears and nose after the bomb had exploded. She too had had her olive skin turn ashen just like Emma’s. Oh, Allah! Emma cannot be dead! Why, oh why had he listened to Benham when he was given the order by Malik to lure either Emma or Kinah down the slope? Benham had swaggered, proud that he, of all people, had been chosen to initiate the trickery.
Malik had told Benham to take Fahran, too. Benham, of course, was in charge, Malik had assured the thirteen-year-old, patting him on the shoulder. Fahran hadn’t wanted anything to do with the plan. Yet, he knew Benham would kill him if he didn’t go along with it. On the way across the valley, Fahran had tried to find a way to detour Benham from the plan, to no avail. Benham had captured a baby goat and tied it in a thicket. He would jab it every once in a while with a sharp stick to get it to bleat. They’d hunkered down with the baby and watched Emma coming their way.
Two of Malik’s best soldiers had then sneaked up and waited for Emma. When she’d gotten tangled in the thick brush, they’d attacked her. In seconds, she had been knocked unconscious. It had been easy to drag her to the horses tied below. One soldier mounted and the other hung her across his horse’s withers. Benham leaped upon his horse and Fahran rode behind him, clinging for dear life as they thundered down a narrow trail that would lead them across the valley to their hidden cave complex.
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