Glancing down at the luminous dials on her watch, she saw it was 0400. Daylight would come soon. Breathing hard, her heart still pounding, she halted in front of Barnes, who was coolly dropping an empty magazine and slamming a new one into his rifle.
“Everyone okay?” Cali demanded, her voice husky with adrenaline.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, pushing the night goggles to the top of his head. “Everyone’s fine. No wounds.”
Cali heard the thud of heavy footsteps behind her. Twisting, she saw Major Trayhern barreling out of the darkness. He had a pistol in hand, and unlike her, he’d had the smarts to put on his flak jacket.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, sliding to a halt in front of the group.
“Bandits, Major,” Barnes drawled. “They were just snooping around and testing us. They probably wanted to see if we had security out here.” Chuckling darkly, he looked at his comrades—Bobby Mills, who was thirty years old, and Gabe Willis, a year younger. Both had served with him in the Corps and were sniper trained. “I think we shocked the shit out of ’em,” Barnes said, laughing softly.
“We saw them approaching from the south,” Mills told Pete and Cali. “We waited until they got close enough for us to put bullets in front of their horses.”
“Yeah, there were about fifteen of ’em,” Gabe said, his soft Kentucky drawl belying his tension.
“Any casualties?” Pete demanded, looking to the south. The darkness had swallowed up the bandits. The plain was quiet once more, and it was colder than hell out here, almost freezing, he realized. Worriedly, he looked at Cali, whose face was etched by shadows in the grayish light. Her hair was mussed, her eyes narrowed and her mouth set. Noticing she wore a quilted jacket, he asked, “You got your flak vest on under that thing?”
“No, I don’t. I forgot to have it hanging on the back of a chair near my bed. Next time,” she told him brusquely. Even in starlight, Cali could see Pete’s reaction. Did she see concern burning in those slitted eyes? Or anger? She wasn’t sure about anything except the adrenaline making her heart hammer.
“You could have been hurt,” he said, his voice heavy with warning. “You know better, Ms. Roland. This isn’t the only third world country you’ve worked in.”
Ms. Roland. He’d called her Cali before. Yeah, he was pissed, all right. “Save your scolding for another time, Major. I’m fine.” She glared at him, furious that he would dress her down like a child in front of her security team. And she wasn’t about to tell him about the bullet that had nearly hit her.
“Things will get easier once that fence is in place,” Barnes said soothingly, running a clean cloth down the stock of his rifle. “That was just an advance team to see if we had security. So don’t get uptight just yet, Major. This kind of thing will go on all the time out here, so you might as well get used to it.”
Cali saw Pete scowl at Barnes, his mouth thinning. Then he glanced around the darkened plain. “Okay, let’s get back to our trailers. Barnes, we’ll review security later today. We may need more hardware. You did good under the circumstances.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cali turned and walked away, fuming, her pistol in her hand. She wasn’t wearing her holster, either. Was Trayhern going to dress her down for that little infraction, too? Halfway back to her trailer, she heard someone jogging after her. Trayhern, probably to give her a lecture on desert safety. The sky was brightening above the mountains, and she could see his facial features a little more clearly. He looked concerned.
Pulling up next to her, he murmured, “I shouldn’t have chewed you out like that in front of the security team.”
“They work for me, Major. I’m number two person at this site.” Her nostrils flared. Cali glared and she glowered at him as they walked on across the desert. “Next time you have anything to say to me in the way of criticism or critique, we do it in private, not in front of my employees. Got it?”
“It won’t happen again.” Okay, so he had that coming. Jet lag combined with the unexpected attack and deluge of adrenaline through his groggy system had made Pete forget himself for a moment.
Cali bridled beneath his stubborn look. He said the words, but she could tell he wasn’t sure about it. Trayhern was infuriating! She halted at the corner of her trailer. “Midday, the fencing material arrives here at the site. In the meantime, I’m going to introduce myself to the regional warlord, Sheik Baider Hesam. He’s got a small place in a village less than a mile from here.” Cali pointed northeast. “I need workmen, and that is my priority for today. I can’t hire anyone without Hesam’s blessing.”
“When are you going to see him?” Pete saw the banked anger in Cali’s narrowed eyes. As a manager of people, he knew better than to have handled the situation with her as he had. And if he’d thought she was going to be soft because she was a woman, he could see that wasn’t true.
“Sooner rather than later. I’m going to have my driver, Hakim, take me over at 0800. I’m taking my general foreman, Ray Billings, with me, as well.”
“I’d like to go with you.” Pete saw surprise flare in her eyes, quickly replaced with irritation.
“If you want to join me, we’ll pick you up five minutes earlier at your trailer.”
Nodding, Pete said, “Sounds good. How many men do you think we’ll need to install the fence?”
“We’ve got several miles of fencing to erect, Major. Even though it’ll happen in stages, we’ll need a large crew initially, a smaller crew for long-term modifications and additions.”
Ouch. Okay, it was no longer “Pete,” but “Major.” Well, he’d burned a bridge with Cali, hadn’t he? The woman was as hard as the granite slopes of the Hindu Kush. He had no one but himself to blame for her tough facade and detachment from him now.
“I’ll bring my interpreter with me.”
“I’ll pick Ahmed up at his trailer,” Cali said.
“Thanks. In southern Afghanistan, we always brought gifts to the head men when we paid an official visit.” Pete sought her opinion, hoping to defuse some of her anger toward him. “Do you know what’s appropriate up here?”
Cali softened toward him, seeing he was scrambling. “My company did some research on this sheik. He likes the Wild West of America. I’m taking him a Comanche war ax from the mid-1880s as a gift.”
Pete nodded. “Good idea. I don’t have anything to give him.”
“Then tell him you have a gift on its way. You can figure out what he’d like and get it here pronto. Hesam enjoys surprises. Good ones, that is.”
“Okay, thanks for the advice. I’ll e-mail my father and see what he can scrounge up for me.” Knowing there was nothing else he could do, Pete said, “I’ll see you at 0800.”
It would be too soon as far as Cali was concerned. She gave him a brisk nod, did an about-face and climbed the steps to her trailer. Good riddance. In college she’d been one of the few women in her class working on a civil engineering degree. When no one was looking, the male students had often tried to shame and humiliate her with sexual harassment. She never took their guff, and she wasn’t about to take Trayhern’s, either.
THE SUN WAS BRIGHT, the cloudless sky a deep turquoise as Hakim drove the Land Cruiser toward Pai Tawa, the village where Hesam lived. Cali sat in the front seat, the map across her knees. They were like a cork on an ocean, bumbling along at twenty miles an hour over the deeply rutted dirt road. In the back seat was the major with his interpreter, and Ray, her general foreman. Although the village was less than a mile from the site, it seemed to take forever to get there. She’d sent Hakim ahead at 0600, to make sure the sheik would see them at such an early hour. Normally, business was not conducted until the midafternoon, but this couldn’t wait.
Cali heard Pete talking to his interpreter. He was having him write down questions to ask the sheik. Earlier, Pete had tried to make amends to her by handing her some warm toast with butter; a breakfast gift of sorts. Surprised by his gesture, she’d eaten it. Most of the bosses she’
d worked with wouldn’t have been so conciliatory. Cali could forgive, but not forget. Unsure of what to think of Trayhern at this point, she wondered how the audience with the sheik would go.
“Do you have any experience with men like Hesam?” she finally asked, turning to look at him.
Pete lifted his head. “A little. We had to deal with the tribal leaders in the border region where my company was stationed. Why? Do you have suggestions?”
Good. He wanted her advice, and she was glad. Cali had been in the Middle East for many more years than he had. She eyed the well-groomed interpreter next to Pete. She didn’t know why, but she just didn’t trust the bearded young man. Compressing her lips, she said, “If you want, follow my actions. Once we enter Hesam’s house and get to the room where he holds his audiences, you might want to introduce yourself.” She glanced again at Ahmed, who was scowling at her. “Your interpreter should then take over and begin translating. Hesam knows some English, but we’d be better to speak to him in his language to ensure there are no misunderstandings. Right now, we need his blessing, his support and his men for our site.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Cali found herself unable to protect herself from Pete’s boyish smile. A sudden vulnerability melted his outer demeanor, and she marveled at how much younger he looked. All that starch and military toughness dissolved in an instant. This was the man she was drawn to—that little boy with delight and impishness dancing in his eyes.
She scolded herself, reminding herself it would be a huge mistake to get personally involved with her boss. Giving him a slight, one-cornered smile, Cali turned back around. She was eager to create a working alliance with Sheik Hesam.
As Cali exited the car, she put a scarf on her head out of respect for Islamic traditions. According to her information, Hesam was pro-American, and that was good for them and the project.
“WELCOME, WELCOME,” Sheik Hesam said with a flourish. Seated against richly brocaded cushions, the leader made an impression of opulence and poise.
Ahmed, the interpreter, hurried ahead of Cali and Pete. He bowed and offered salutations in Pashto to the forty-five-year-old sheik. The translator then gestured grandly toward Pete, who had taken off his cap and left his pistol outside the room with the two sentries.
Sheik Hesam nodded deferentially to the major and motioned for him to sit to the right of him, a position of honor.
Pete was shocked and unhappy that his translator took over. Cali’s advice had been correct. This was a gaffe and Pete tried to keep his irritation toward Ahmed in check. Pete touched his head and then his heart as he bowed to the warlord. Cali entered next, followed by Billings, who carried the gifts to be given to the sheik. Pete tried a bit of Pashto with Hesam, whose dark brown eyes gleamed with pleasure over the greeting.
While he went through the formalities, Pete took note of the leader’s physical traits. Hesam was lean, about five foot nine inches tall. His tobacco-brown skin was weathered, with deep wrinkles around his thin mouth and broad brow. His neatly cut, black-and-gray beard emphasized his square face. The warlord wore a yellow turban, loose brown trousers, a long-sleeved white shirt that fell to midthigh and a black leather belt studded with silver and lapis lazuli cabochons.
As Pete sat down next to the powerful tribal leader, Cali waited patiently.
Pete understood that ordinarily women were not allowed in the same room with men when business was conducted. For whatever reason, Hesam didn’t object to her presence. In addition to her normal construction clothing, Cali wore a dark green silk scarf that matched her eyes perfectly.
She murmured a greeting in Pashto to the sheik, who beamed in return. Her husky voice sounded lyrical, and Pete was impressed with her fluid delivery of the language.
Cali came forward and bowed deeply to Hesam. She handed him a small wooden box. “Figs from Bahrain, my lord. I hope you and your family enjoy them.”
“Ahh,” Hesam said, eagerly reaching for the carved box. “Figs. Thank you.”
Smiling, Cali answered, “You’re welcome, my lord.” She turned and reached for the second gift from her foreman, Ray Billings, who had come in on her heels.
Hesam was clearly delighted when he opened the long, rectangular oak box and saw the Comanche war ax. For five minutes, Cali politely answered his many questions about the piece.
“Sit here, next to me,” he finally urged her, pointing to the pillows on his left. That, too, was considered a position of honor. He asked Billings to sit to Cali’s left, and treated him with equal graciousness.
Cali noticed how Ahmed positioned himself in front of the tribal warlord to translate for Pete. The damned interpreter had screwed up the entire protocol and she was furious with him. Hesam could speak English, but perhaps not so much so that they could carry on a coherent conversation. She knew Ahmed felt strongly that she, as a woman, should not be in here conducting men’s business. Tough shit. He could glare all he wanted at her and it wasn’t going to do him any good. Cali wasn’t easily intimidated by such men. Besides, she’d just scored some important points with Hesam by bringing him the figs and the war ax.
In her opinion, Ahmed had not served Major Trayhern’s interests at all. Pete had forgotten to tell Hesam that his gift was coming in another week or so, but the translator had bungled the important protocols in regards to this meeting. Why had Ahmed screwed her and Pete like that? Was he ignorant of local customs?
Her dark side looked at other possibilities. Did Kerwin Elliot want Major Trayhern to fail? Was giving him an inept translator a setup of some kind? If Trayhern failed, could Elliot put someone he wanted in this important post, instead? Or was Elliot’s choice of Ahmed predicated solely on political connections?
Frustrated, Cali said nothing. She disliked politics, yet it was a daily part of her job. And since she had nothing to say about the assignment of a translator for the major, she kept her mouth shut. She was in enough hot water with him right now and didn’t want to bring Ahmed’s inadequacies and failed protocols to his attention. Trayhern might think she was just causing trouble. Grimacing inwardly, Cali sat watching Ahmed, her lips compressed.
Hesam set down the box bearing the war ax and addressed Pete in Pashto. “I’m honored to meet you, Major Trayhern. How is your family? Are they well?”
Cali knew this dialogue was a familiar one to anyone in the Middle East. Good manners dictated that two conversants always inquire about the health of family members, first. No serious talk was ever broached until the family was discussed in adequate detail. She listened to Ahmed translate.
“The sheik welcomes you, Major Trayhern.”
Pete nodded and smiled at Hesam. “Tell him, Ahmed, that I’m pleased he would see us. And thank him?”
“Of course,” Ahmed murmured, then turned and rapidly spoke in Pashto.
Cali scowled as she heard him say, “The major is here on business, my lord.”
What the hell was the man doing? Cali almost interrupted. Seeing Hesam frown and stroke his goatee, she felt her gut clench. Not following correct protocol was a huge faux pas. Should she say anything? Maybe Ahmed was just nervous.
Staring at the profile of the young man, she got an uneasy feeling once more, and she wasn’t one to ignore her instincts. Kerwin Elliot had said Ahmed was one of the best translators, so this didn’t make any sense at all.
The door opened, and they all looked up.
“Ah, my wife, Ladan, Major,” Hesam said as a slender woman dressed in a flowing gray gown with a gold-and-red sash around her waist entered.
Ahmed translated, “It is his wife. She brings us sweetmeats and coffee. That is all a woman is good for. Servant duties.”
Cali glared and bit back a retort. If Ladan knew English, she didn’t indicate she’d heard Ahmed’s scathing remark. Hesam’s wife was the epitome of hospitality. The major stared at Ahmed, opened his mouth and shut it. Obviously from where Cali sat, she could see the Marine didn’t like Ahmed’s statement. Hesam, too, sc
owled momentarily and then replaced the look with a private one. Ahmed’s crack was an insult, pure and simple, and he could ruin their budding relationship with one remark. Damn. Ladan had an oval face and light brown eyes that flashed in welcome. Her black hair was tastefully woven in a single braid down her back.
After his derogatory comment, Ahmed stared at Hesam’s wife as she brought in a shiny brass tray filled with delicacies. Behind her, two younger women carried smaller trays.
“And, Major, my two very beautiful daughters, Kimiya and Haleh,” the sheik announced with pride and a welcoming smile.
“These two are the daughters,” Ahmed said, his voice full of distaste.
Cali moved restlessly, anxiously watching what unfolded. The girls, both tall and slender, had dark brown hair and lively, sparkling sable eyes. One wore a blue gown and the other a pink one. When Pete got to his feet, out of deference to them, the sheik looked puzzled. Ahmed said nothing.
“Uhh, you don’t need to stand up,” Cali murmured to Pete. “Just sit there. Hesam’s wife and daughters will give you first choice of the food, but you should turn it down and ask her to serve Hesam. That’s protocol.”
Ahmed glared at Cali, and she glared right back. She’d be damned if Pete would be led into another rude and awkward situation, where Hesam could get really pissed off and throw them out because of continued botched protocols. He was a man of great power and didn’t suffer fools gladly.
As if sensing his faux pas, Pete quickly sat down. The sheik’s wife smiled graciously at him and knelt before him with the tray of dates, figs, yogurt and freshly fried goat meat.
Pete held up his hand and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Hesam, but please serve your husband first.” He gestured toward their host, who sat proudly.
Beyond The Limit Page 5