by K. D. Lamb
Rashid knew that Babar was very valuable. He pointed out that Babar was their only asset. He asked the elder if he could exchange a week’s stay for Babar. The old man couldn’t believe his fortune. He agreed, and not only let them stay there, but brought them a hot meal. Kendall felt sick to her stomach when Babar was led away. She’d become very fond of him. Even the funny noises he made. She’d miss him.
Rashid could see the expression on her face. “Kendall, he’ll be fine. He basically saved our lives. The chowkider thinks we’re the most foolish young people he’s met in a long time. I’m sure he feels guilty that he’s taken advantage of us.”
“What did you call him?”
“He’s a chowkider … a caretaker. Apparently, he checks on this place every day for precisely the reason we’re here. A lot of people try to move in here.” He grinned, “Well, we just rented it for a week.”
In the morning, the two rose early. Rashid knew of an Internet café where they could use a computer. He wanted to check the news and look for the best way to exit the country. He was feeling relieved they didn’t have Babar with them any longer. The soldiers were most likely looking for two people and a camel. Now, with Kendall fully covered, she could walk freely around the city. He was the one who needed to stay out of sight.
He was very glad he remembered the computer chip that had been inserted in his back just under the skin a few years ago. It had taken some convincing for Kendall to agree to remove it yesterday morning. But there wasn’t much blood, and the deed was done. He took a rock and smashed it. He didn’t think the records could be recovered from the Afghan government’s computers, and even if they were, the late President Shazeb had not exactly been communicative about his paranoia that his family might be kidnapped.
Kendall and Rashid walked through the open market. At one stall, Kendall asked if they could stop and buy some fresh fruit. They walked a few streets further and encountered the Internet café. They weren’t sure how helpful it would be, but both got on separate terminals, with Rashid helping Kendall maneuver through the Afghan keyboard. He kept looking around and was very worried the soldiers would check the café. They agreed to stay for only twenty minutes so as not to raise any suspicions. Kendall didn’t know who to send a message to that could help them here. She took a chance and sent an email to the only person who might possibly understand what she was going through … Paul Fields. She knew he had an admin who monitored his emails. She hoped there wouldn’t be too much of a delay. She made it short and to the point.
Paul, Need help. In Mazar-e-Sharif with R. K
When she looked up, the proprietor was staring intently at her. Of course, he couldn’t see her eyes or face under her full head cover. She nudged Rashid’s elbow and hissed that the café owner appeared to be monitoring their emails and maybe even keystrokes. By now, the shopkeeper was interested in both of them. As he picked up the phone, Rashid jumped up and ran to the front desk. He grabbed the receiver from the man and yanked the phone line right out of the wall. The proprietor backed up against the wall, terrified he was about to be shot. With that, Rashid and Kendall burst out of the café and zigzagged their way back to the mosque ruins.
While Kendall would be fine, he knew he had to change his appearance. He had Kendall cut his beard as close to his face as possible. The only implement he had was an old, crude, rusty, dull scissor. Under his breath, he said a little prayer for steady hands for Kendall. Afterwards, he changed his clothes to the pajama-like garment and wore the Kufi on his head and sandals on his feet. Kendall scrutinized his new look and decided he would escape notice.
When the chowkider came by to check on them, he sensed they were in trouble. He was a kindly soul, and Rashid was afraid the old man would be severely punished or even killed if he was caught helping them. Rashid took a chance and explained their predicament in somewhat cryptic terms. He said they needed a way into Uzbekistan and didn’t have the proper documentation. The caretaker, a romantic, decided this young couple had run away to marry, and were hiding from their families. He remembered the days long ago when he was in love and forbidden from marrying a girl from the wrong tribe. His heart was broken and though he vowed to make it happen, her family moved away and he never saw her again. Just remembering that heartbreak brought tears to his eyes. He was determined to help this poor young couple. He even thought that maybe they hadn’t married yet. How scandalous, he thought, but terribly romantic.
He told Rashid that he knew of a “safe house” where they could arrange travel into Uzbekistan … probably via the upgraded rail system. He assured them he would go at once and speak with the owner.
Kendall fretted the whole time he was gone. She paced the dirty floor of one room after another. Finally, she stopped in front of Rashid. “I don’t see why we couldn’t just walk across the border during night time.”
He laughed and sadly shook his head. “First, there’s no cover or place to hide. The land from here to the border—some thirty-five miles—is completely flat. It’s a steppe … a grass-covered plain. That’s a long way out in the open. Even Omar’s troops know we wouldn’t be that foolish.
The chowkider was back within an hour. He had a wide grin on his face. He explained the arrangement, and they walked to within fifty yards of the normal-looking inauspicious mud-brick house. Rashid insisted on leaving Kendall at the market to watch from afar while he checked things out in the “safe house.”
The two men disappeared inside the little house while Kendall casually perused the display items at a tourist kiosk just down the way. As she gently stroked a lovely polished lapis necklace, there was a huge blast that knocked her flat.
She scrambled to her feet and turned to look at the little house down the road. It was gone. All that remained was dust and debris that settled all around them. She suddenly realized that someone was screaming. It was her! People rushed to her and asked if she was okay. She had no idea what they were saying. She was scared and alone now. She pushed the well-meaning arms away and ran for her life. In the frantic chaos and aftermath of the explosion, no one noticed the woman running down the street and into the noble shrine and famous Blue Mosque.
She didn’t even know how she got there. She seemed to have been propelled in that direction. As she approached the famed Blue Mosque in the center of the city, Kendall noticed there was a crowd of women in the courtyard. She realized she could easily blend in. So, she joined the throngs of females. She didn’t know it was Wednesday … ladies day at the Blue Mosque. There were many groups of women huddled around picnic lunches. Kendall sat on a stone bench and stared at the hundreds of white pigeons and the beautiful blue mosaic tiles that comprised the mosque’s exterior.
Her mind was racing, but most of all, she was in shock. Rashid was dead. Her Rashid, who she had grown close to and literally depended on for her very survival. What was she going to do? She was too afraid to go back to the old mosque where their possessions were. But she had no choice. She knew that Rashid had money in the bags. If she could at least locate some of his Afghani, she would be able to buy food and maybe even go to a hotel. She no longer cared if she was caught. She was tired of running, sickened by all the death and brutality, and, most of all, heartsick that Rashid was gone. She sat on the bench by herself for an hour.
She sobbed uncontrollably. Finally, there were no more tears. There was movement all around her. The women were leaving en masse, and men were entering the courtyard. She looked around, and no one paid attention to her. She got up and realized she was extremely hot and parched. She slowly and cautiously shuffled her way back to the mosque ruins. She circled it three times before she had the courage to go inside. Even then, her movements were tentative as she poked her head inside the familiar dingy walls.
Kendall swiftly made her way to their belongings, and she rummaged through Rashid’s things, trying to remember where he stashed his Afghani. She found it in several pockets and quickly stuffed it into her pockets. She had a flat purse-like musli
n pouch strapped onto her front. It easily fit behind the cumbersome robes. She stuffed as much Afghani as she could into the small bag. Lastly, she took one of their travel bags and filled it with a few items of clothing, some food, a knife, and the handgun and extra ammunition. She slung one of the water bags over her shoulder and, carrying a blanket, headed to the opening of the mosque.
Her head was clearer now that she’d been forced to focus on her task at hand and organize their belongings into what could be taken and what would be left behind. As she reached the doorway, she stepped out into the bright sun. Something metallic reflected in her eye and temporarily blinded her. She blinked and dropped her goods.
She was surrounded by at least ten soldiers … each with his automatic weapon trained on her.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
NSA AGENT FRANK REYNOLDS WAS shocked when he checked on the coordinates signaling Rashid’s position upon his arrival at the office first thing in the morning. There was no tell-tale sign of the young Afghan on the GPS indicator. He rebooted his system several times. It simply didn’t make sense. It wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, but it was frustrating. He called Fields’ office number and left a voice mail. He expected the call back in a few hours. In the meantime, he got busy and made a few calls to his contacts at the State Department and the U.S. Navy. He had started the ball rolling last night, but it was so late in the day yesterday when he made the initial phone calls, that most of his calls had gone to voice mail.
He had one other trick up his sleeve … facial recognition using the latest in thermal imaging via satellite. Using a picture of Kendall Radcliffe, he set the coordinates as the area around Mazar-e-Sharif. Once the satellite found her, he could manipulate the picture to see the surrounding area and people. As the satellite scanned the faces around the city, he went to get some coffee and a danish. When he returned an hour later, his phone was blinking.
Paul Fields was in the office particularly early on Wednesday. He was anxious to do something with the information Maysah Siddra had shown them. He booted up his computer and quickly programmed in the scan for Rashid. He, too, was taken aback when the results came back with no data matching the criteria. He wondered what the hell Reynolds had done. He even imagined that the U.S. accidentally bombed Rashid and Kendall instead of rescuing them.
As he was sitting in front of his terminal, his admin hurried in. He looked up at the sudden motion in his doorway.
“Mr. Fields, Uh, Paul. You’ve received an email from Kendall Radcliffe’s personal email account.”
He was stunned at first, trying to comprehend what the stuttering girl was saying. “What? From her personal account? Hmm, strange.” Then he realized that of course any communication would not come from within the Orion network. If Kendall managed to find a computer, she’d have to use a personal account from one of those free services.
He jumped out of the chair and was by the admin’s side in two seconds. He grabbed the printed document from her hand in such a violent way that it sent her scurrying out of his office in fear. The CEO scanned the cryptic message and was relieved they had made it to Mazar-e-Sharif. They were so close to the Uzbekistan border now. He just knew it was all going to work out fine. Now, if his frat buddy, Frank, could just set the rescue details in motion, they might actually get out alive.
There was a nagging doubt that the message was a hoax. He immediately called Daniel, who walked him through the IP address within the header details at the top of the printed email message. Daniel checked on the sender information and confirmed that it had originated from Mazar-e-Sharif. Fields was relieved. The message had to be authentic. He was in the middle of congratulating himself when the computer whiz kid interrupted him.
“Paul, there’s bad news. It looks like Rashid is dead. He went into a building known for arranging back door exits from Afghanistan. While there, the building was blown up.”
“Shit! I can’t believe it! He made it this far only to lose on the last lap?”
“That’s not all.”
The CEO gulped his coffee and instantly burned his throat. “Damn! What else? Where’s Kendall? Is she still alive?” He was sitting down now, expecting the worst.
“She escaped the initial blast but was found by the soldiers later in the day. She’s been taken to a military site on the outskirts of Mazar-e-Sharif. General Omar will be flown there in the morning and will decide her fate then.”
“Oh, God. I don’t know what would be worse. Being blown up in that building, like Rashid, or having General Omar decide your fate.” Fields paused, thinking back to the days when he saw the general on a daily basis. “Daniel, I can’t begin to describe him. He’s a thug. Scary, brutal, and sadistic. He thirsts for revenge and revels in the punishment. I can’t even imagine what he will do to her.”
“Well, it’s nighttime there now, so we have about twenty hours to make something happen.”
“Thanks, Daniel. Keep me posted.”
Fields sat back in his chair and again was thankful for Prophecy. It had allowed Daniel to keep tabs on the Afghanistan military. Without that, they would never have known what happened to Rashid, and that Kendall had been caught and where they were holding her. He would never feel guilty again for masterminding the wonder tool, he told himself. And then that little voice in his head followed it up with, “So long as it’s only used for good.”
His phone rang. It was Frank Reynolds, who didn’t even wait for the CEO to announce himself. He blurted out, “That guy—Rashid Sharif—is dead! His embedded chip no longer works. If they blew him up, maybe that’s why it isn’t pinging anymore.”
“Who the fuck cares why it doesn’t work, Frank?” Fields felt like Reynolds was stalling. “Is that the only reason you called me … to tell me that he was dead?”
The NSA Agent affected a more normal tone. “Of course, not, Paul. I-uh. Oh shit! Your girl’s been captured!”
“Uh-huh.”
“What? You already know this, Paul?”
“I’ve got the same resources as you, Frank, remember?”
“Well, yes, but I thought you only used it for company business, not to gather military intelligence? That’s my job!”
“Desperate times, Frank!” There was a pause while both men calmed down. Fields, having more of a vested interest, spoke first. “Frank, talk to me! What’s being done to help Kendall?”
“I’ve engaged the right people and am waiting for word that a plan is being finalized as we speak.”
“Okay, good! But you know it’s nighttime in Afghanistan? That bastard, Omar, will have her tortured and killed by the end of the day tomorrow. You know he will!”
“We’re watching now, Paul. We can see her. She’s fine so far.”
“You can see her? How?”
“That’s classified, Paul. Just trust me!”
The CEO was incredulous. “After all that we’ve exchanged over the years, you won’t tell me?”
“Not over the phone, Paul.”
Geez, Fields thought. This spying has gotten way out of hand. Since they routinely spied on whoever they wanted to whenever, now they were paranoid that they, in turn, were being listened to and their communications monitored. He was back to despising Prophecy.
Reynolds was pleading with him. “Paul, please trust me that everything that can be done is being done. This whole thing should be resolved within forty-eight hours.”
“Yeah, if she survives. Those bastards! I can’t believe they killed Rashid! He was a decent man and didn’t deserve this. He saved our lives and took a big risk.”
“I know, Paul. Just hang on another day, and hopefully we’ll have some good news.”
“I’m holding you to that, Frank! Later!”
After hanging up, Frank Reynolds felt sick to his stomach. He hadn’t the heart to tell his frat buddy that his military contacts flatly refused to send in a rescue team. The final word was that she wasn’t a high-enough-value asset to the U.S. to risk the ensuing internation
al incident that would surely result from an unauthorized incursion into Afghanistan’s airspace, not to mention Uzbekistan, whose military base would need to be used to stage the mission. With a heavy heart, the NSA Agent turned off his office light and headed home for a good stiff drink … or two.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
KENDALL LAY ON THE HARD stone floor at the 209th Corp of the Afghan National Army base. It was cold last night, and she couldn’t sleep. She knew it was all going to be over soon, one way or another. She didn’t much care either way. Rashid was gone now, and maybe she’d be joining him soon. She regretted that they never got to take their relationship to the next level. He was always so focused on the next step in his plan. He never allowed himself to stop and relax or enjoy his surroundings. She allowed that he seemed to have enjoyed the fishing and the evenings around the campfire. Looking back on the long trip, she wished she could have enjoyed it more too. But the constant threat of capture, the savagery of the desert lands, unfamiliar animals, and the sad people with their throwback lives was a constant source of stress that had ultimately gotten the best of her.
She wished she could have introduced Rashid to her world. Her Seattle … where she skied in the winter and boated in the summer. She never missed Opening Day of boating season the first Saturday in May. This year she had gotten to join the procession of boats through the Montlake Cut that joined Lake Union to Lake Washington. She had been on her friend’s sailboat. It was thrilling as they sailed east under the Montlake Bridge. They had to stay exactly in the middle of the channel, because their masthead just barely cleared the bridge structure overhead. The thousands of spectators who lined the shore on both sides and along the bridge above them cheered and roared as the famed University of Washington rowing teams led the way.