Beyond the Checkpoint

by Addison M. Conley

  Bobblehead said, “One more thing. We all know feminists and lesbians go hand in hand.” He winked at Ali.

  “Attention on deck!” Hernandez snapped to attention as the commander of the Combat Engineer Battalion entered.

  Ali straightened her back. NSA’s JETT was her primary customer, and all other units were secondary. Her agency occasionally directed her to work on the Engineer missions. The Engineers always showed appreciation for her work and respected her. The Army Brigade, which controlled the Ops Center, was a toss-up. Lieutenant Hernandez and a few of his cronies treated her like a private and tried to push her around. Sitting with them was like sitting in no man’s land.

  “At ease.” The Engineer Battalion’s commander waved his hand for them to sit and strolled in her direction.

  Please have an assignment for me and get me out of this ragtag bunch of misfits.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Clairmont.”

  “Sir.” Ali tipped her head. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have a team traveling at the end of the month to Baraki Barak to inspect a construction site and school. They’ll hand out gifts to the children.” He smiled broadly. “I’d like to extend an offer for you to accompany them.”

  Her muscles tightened. That’s several hours northwest of Gardez.

  The commander handed her a photo of smiling children around a soldier.

  You’re here to make a difference.

  “It will give you a sense of the local population and a better appreciation of our humanitarian mission.”

  “That sounds like a good trip, sir. Thanks for the opportunity.” The checkpoint memory from two years ago flashed in her brain. Toughen up.

  “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Dan Galvarino.”

  A stocky, dark-haired man shuffled towards her and stuck out his hand. Ali eyed his pointed beard. She stifled a laugh as a vision of a gnome popped into her head and shook his hand.

  “Dan’s retired Army with a specialty in counter-IED cases. He’s a civilian with JIEDDO and helping us out with threat assessments over the next couple of months. I’ll leave you two to chat.”

  When Ali had been stateside, she frequently interacted with explosives experts and analysts from the Joint Improvised Explosive Device Defeat Organization. This was the first time she had met a JIEDDO analyst in Afghanistan.

  “May I call you Ali?” She nodded. “I sent you an email with an attachment. Let’s pull it up.” He started going into every minuscule fact about the trip.

  “Coming to the promotion party, Ali?” One of her teammates called out.

  “After I finish with Mr. Galvarino.” The words were barely out of her mouth, but he resumed discussing the tedious details.

  “May I?” He pointed to the mouse.

  “By all means.” God, I hope he speeds this up. Her workstation was in the back corner of the room, and the entire row had left. If he tries to put the moves on me, I swear I’ll…

  Her concentration snapped to crystal clear sharpness. The security papers that she had electronically signed last week were displayed on the screen—a project involving top-secret, code word material.

  “And here’s something you might find interesting.” Dan clicked on another link.

  A letter with the director’s seal appeared on the screen. The first line read, Mr. Daniel Galvarino is your contact for the special project. She read on, but the last couple of lines jumped out at her. Mr. Galvarino is the conduit for higher-level support. For security purposes, you will not know the others involved. Her eyes glanced down at the NGA Director’s signature.

  She swallowed. “So, you need help, and it involves IEDs?”

  “Essentially, yes. As we go along, I’ll fill you in. Anyway, when you’re not busy and want to relax, I suggest putting on your headphones and watching an entertainment video. I think you’ll find the actors most interesting.” He pulled up her email list and clicked on a new message from the director. A video popped up with the director’s face. “Just watch it when you bored, and no one’s around to bug you.” He pulled at his beard, intently studying her.

  “I understand. Maybe you should consider this.” Ali bumped him and pushed herself in front of the keyboard and typed This trip? How important? Ali hesitated, then typed: I don’t like extensive travel. I’ll do some, but…

  He pulled the keyboard away from her and typed: Checkpoint. Vicki Abbott.

  A chill rippled from her core to her extremities. Her thoughts raced. What the fuck do they hope to achieve by sharing my personal info? Are they trying to test if I’m too soft for the job? She looked away and took a drink of water. Am I? The dreadful flavor assaulted her taste buds. She swallowed it down in a hurry.

  “Ali, I hope some of the trips have impactful results, but I can’t predict that.” He lowered his voice. “I will try to keep things to a minimum. If you can improve a case in any way, I just want to hear about it, especially if you think something isn’t being done the right way. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and leaned on the desk.

  “Between the Army and being a govie, I’ve deployed eight times. It’s never easy, and nothing is ever forgotten. No project or feeling is insignificant.”

  She clenched her jaw. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Ali, there’s nothing wrong if you’re having difficulty completing a tough assignment. Just give a shout, and I’ll see what I can do. One team, one fight. It makes all the difference.”

  She grasped his outstretched hand. His touch was gentle, but she squeezed hard and met his gaze. “I never leave a task hanging.”

  “Ohhh, I don’t doubt that for one minute.” He grinned and squeezed back.

  A week later, Ali was crammed inside an MRAP traveling to the school. Her body armor felt heavier than usual, and she couldn’t get comfortable. With her shirt soaked, nothing else was being absorbed. Sweat trickled down her back.

  God, it’s so fucking hot in here.

  The convoy stopped, and the soldier closest to the door said, “Just a minute, while we set up security.”

  When the guard shouted, “All clear,” she scrambled out. She breathed in the cooler air while ignoring the stench from the nearby open drainage ditch.

  The four MRAPs were positioned around the building perimeter in such a way as to defend as well as make an efficient retreat. She eyed the M249 SAW carried by one of the guards.

  Damn, these guys don’t mess around.

  After settling matters with the Afghan construction supervisor, it was time to visit the existing school. Ali was shocked. From the exterior, the school resembled a group of abandoned warehouses.

  Inside the courtyard, thick wooden slats covered the building’s only two windows. Light blue paint was chipping off the cement walls, and larger pockmarks were here and there. She walked by a wall with deep indentations from small arms fire. The only decorations on the building were slogans, which Ali assumed were religious or political. The ground was barren and sandy.

  How can this be a school? It’s devoid of warmth.

  They broke open the boxes and waited for the children. A woman entered, dressed in a traditional hijab, a black skirt down to her ankles, a navy-blue blouse, and a denim jacket. She motioned, and a line of young boys shuffled in wearing blue jeans and sweatpants. Some wore T-shirts with slogans in English. Their eyes tentatively scanned Ali and the soldiers.

  Ali turned to the soldier helping with the boxes. “Their clothing seems unusual for a rural village outside of Kabul.”

  “Yes. Many of the boys at this school only have one parent. A few are orphans. Even if they have a family, they don’t have much. Every now and then, we distribute clothes, but today will be the most popular since we only have toys. There’s nothing like a kid’s smile.”

  “Yes, indeed.” She wanted to scoop the boys in a big hug. “Where do the donations come from?”

  “Mostly churches or private citizens.”

  A flawlessly dressed young girl bypa
ssed the boys and moved to the front of the line. Ali took in the white cotton blouse and a blue denim skirt with red flowers. A white bow adorned her neckline, and her hair was in pigtails with small white barrettes. She carried a large pink backpack twice as large as her torso. Ali wondered how it didn’t pull her over.

  The interpreter cupped his hand over Ali’s ear. “The teacher is the wife of the ruler of the local governing council. The girl is their daughter and doesn’t go to school here.”

  “Is this strictly a boy’s school?”

  “Schools in the countryside are usually segregated by gender. By custom, men only teach the boys after the fifth grade. Of course, Kabul is different.”

  The soldier added, “During the Taliban rule, females of any age weren’t allowed to attend school. Women could not teach.”

  Ali stifled a gasp.

  The interpreter gestured, and the little girl stepped forward, eyes down, face solemn. Ali gave her a small bear and candy. The little girl said thank you in Dari and finally peered into Ali’s face. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth turned from a quizzical twist into a smile as she recognized that Ali was a woman under the clunky helmet and body armor. They gazed at one another.

  The girl turned to leave, and Ali held up her hand. “Wait a minute, I think there is something else in here for you.” The interpreter translated while Ali rummaged through the box. The girl gingerly took the coloring book and box of crayons. Her mood brightened as she flipped through it. Ali never witnessed such a wide grin on a small child.

  In a heavy accent, the teacher said, “I’m Rafia Shirzai, and this is my daughter, Jaleela. Thank you for your kindness.” The woman gently pulled the girl away from the table and handed her off to a conservatively dressed younger woman.

  The younger woman peered at them. While her face was ordinary, her eyes were a piercing green that shone brightly even from several feet away. Ali instantly thought of the famous National Geographic cover from years ago. Beautiful, but full of sorrow.

  “Ziba is the child’s nanny.” The interpreter whispered in her ear again. “In Dari, her name means beautiful. She would be a catch as you would say in America.”

  After opening the last box for the few that remained in line, a somber-looking boy with the most beautiful auburn hair stepped up. Reddish freckles brushed over his nose and cheeks, and his eyes were a soft brown.

  “Truck please,” he said in English.

  “I’ll try.” Ali didn’t think any more were left but did her best rummaging through the box. Heartbroken, she handed him a bag of candy and a plastic dinosaur.

  One of the other soldiers walked up holding a toy pickup truck and handed it over. “Last one, buddy.”

  “Thank you.” Before leaving, he flashed them a radiant smile. “May the Force be with you.”

  Ali’s mouth hung open. “He’s seen Star Wars?”

  The interpreter shrugged. “International films were brought into the country, but the Soviets stopped imports. The Taliban were ruthless. They imposed a death penalty if anyone was caught with Western media. Some movies survived and were hidden. It’s likely his parents lived in Kabul at some point. That’s probably where he saw the movie and learned to speak English so well.”

  The teacher thanked the group and ushered the children away.

  “Let’s go.” The soldier waved his arm and walked them toward the MRAP. “Please take my seat. It faces backward but has a good view out the window.” The soldier shrugged. “Well, the best this monster has without sitting in the front.”

  “Thanks.” She strapped in and stared through the thick metal slats. They were designed to minimize the impact of a rocket-propelled grenade. Supposedly, the slats would cause the rocket to explode a few inches outside of the reinforced glass causing the glass to fracture and absorb the shock rather than shattering and allowing the rocket inside.

  Through the slats, the sights of a battered country passed before her. Young children played in the streets next to an open sewer, and trash was strewn about. The amount of rubble was staggering. When the driver slowed for the traffic, she saw an entire wall of a tall apartment building missing. Twisted metal rods and concrete dangling in thin air. Unlike Kabul, she didn’t see much grass. The few trees seemed to cling precariously to the soil like the people clung to life.

  American TV showed a smattering of damage. Ali doubted the average American understood the magnitude of destruction. Rubble was everywhere. Ali tried to comprehend the psychological devastation.

  No one back home worries about a mortar leveling their house…the torment when a family member disappears for no reason—forever. Americans didn’t have to worry about their children being recruited as suicide bombers.

  Ali slumped back and closed her eyes. The dust will wash away, but I can never wash away what I’ve seen.

  Chapter 17

  August 2010 – Maryland

  Lynn led Deb straight to the bedroom, spun her around, then shoved her onto the bed. She crawled up on Deb and quickly unbuttoned her blouse.

  “Oh God, you’re an animal tonight.”

  Lynn’s only response was to force Deb’s bra up exposing erect nipples, which she ravished. Her hand slid under the skirt. She pushed the lace undies aside, then inserted two fingers. Lynn didn’t hold back. She pumped at a rhythmic pace. Feeling the last waves of Deb’s orgasm ripple over her fingers, Lynn withdrew and rolled over onto her back.

  Deb rested her head in the crux of Lynn’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit!” Deb sat up. “Okay, that was faster than what I like, but you’re acting like I just gave you the plague.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m tired, and the drinks at the bar took it out of me.”

  “You had two. By the way, you were in therapy. Are you supposed to be drinking?” Lynn rolled away from her. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Deb got out of bed and started putting on her clothes.

  “Please don’t go.”

  “Why? You know, we used to have great chemistry, but this,” Deb waved her hands back and forth, “was emotionless…I can get more from a sex toy.”

  Lynn stood and touched Deb’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve said that already.” She drew a deep breath and let it out. “You should really discuss intimacy with your therapist, and I’m not just talking sex.” Deb rubbed her hand through her hair. “You’re just…blah and don’t know how to connect anymore. I don’t even know who you are. Do you?”

  “You know I have to be careful—”

  “Don’t blame it on DADT!” She stuck her index finger in Lynn’s face. “Yeah, I’m sure it hurts, but for Christ’s sake, we’re alone. Don’t hide behind that excuse.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “So, what’s her name?”

  “What?”

  “Lynn, cut the crap. Guilt and regret are written all over your face and behavior. I shouldn’t have come over tonight, but I thought you’d snap out of the doldrums, and it’d be like old times.”

  “Ah…”

  “Pleassseeee. How long have I known you? And don’t forget we have a common friend at NSA. So, what’s going on? Who broke your heart? Or were you the culprit?”

  “I screwed up. I’m really sorry that I took advantage of you tonight.”

  “And? I’m waiting. Tell me, or I leave, and I’ll never talk to you again.”

  Lynn hung her head. “There was someone, and I royally fucked that up. She deserves better, and so do you.”

  “You’re not over her, and trust me. Been there, done that.” Deb took her keys out of her purse. “You have a private therapist, so the government doesn’t know you’re gay.” A laugh bellowed out from Deb’s throat. “Although, they’ve probably known for years. Anyway, get the shit off your chest. Even your friends complain about your negativity. There has to be more to life than work. When was the last time you talked with her?”

  “Last week. You’re right, I promise to make an appoint
ment and see her as soon as possible.”

  “Oh my God! I’m not talking about your therapist. The woman whose heart you ripped apart.”

  Lynn cringed. “Look, Deb. I’m sorry again. Can we pretend this didn’t happen?”

  She huffed. “Since we have half a dozen friends in common, I’ll try, but don’t treat me like shit ever again. If your heart’s not into it, then no more flings. I don’t want to be anybody’s second choice. And get some help.”

  When the front door slammed, Lynn fell back on the bed. She picked up her phone and texted. I need an appointment.

  Buzz.

  Lynn responded yes to the first available session. She had not mentioned a name to her therapist, but she had begun to talk about her relationship.

  Still gripping the phone, her fingers quivered as she punched the keys.

  Her name is Ali. I loved her. Taking a deep breath, she tapped the word loved and changed it to love before hitting the send button.

  Chapter 18

  September 2010 – Maryland

  Thud, thud, thud.

  Lynn stretched to lift the shade from the window. The sun was barely visible on the horizon. The bedside clock read 0628. “Oh, this can’t be good.” The pounding started again.

  “I’m coming.” She yelled as she threw herself out of bed.

  She cracked the door and peered at the young sergeant, whose name she could never remember. He cleared his throat.

  “Sorry, ma’am. I know it’s Saturday, but you’re needed at headquarters.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  Not waiting for a reply, she closed the door on him and hustled back upstairs to get ready.

  An hour later, she was waiting alone in the director’s briefing room. It was in sharp contrast to the other times she had briefed key decision-makers when every seat in the room was occupied and the entire brief was broadcast throughout the agency via secure video.

  She walked up to the glass wall and glimpsed down at the agency’s 24/7 Ops Center. It was a perfect bird’s-eye view. Some forty feet below sat the analysts who worked swing shifts. They seemed calm. If there was a crisis this precious minute, they’d be scurrying around chaotically.