I stepped to the first sheep pen I came to, reached over and grabbed a sheep by the wool. It cried out once before I silenced it. I pulled its limp body over the fence and cut off one leg, then another one, and another, until I was dragging a bloody stump through the town, tossing the fresh meat into each yard where a dog dared to start barking. They hungrily accepted my offering— distracted momentarily from my presence.
I continued to glance around. No one stirred; no one was the wiser to my being there. When I neared a building at the center of town, I hesitated. Curiously, I moved toward the structure, then along the wall. There was something different about it. It had none of the familiar items that gave the appearance of being someone’s home: laundry, cooking area, etc. It begged me to enter. Carefully, I opened the door, my bloodied knife at the ready. Tentatively, I moved deeper into the darkness, surveying each room. There were no toshaks, no cooking area—nothing indicating this was a home. When I reached the back of the building, there on a long table, on top of many papers, was a satellite phone.
Now a satphone must have at least 80% accessibility to the sky to work, unfortunately. Like it or not, I had no choice but to go back outside. I turned it on first, waited for the screen to light up, and set the volume all the way down. It took its sweet time. Maybe I could hide it beneath my tented covering. If I drew any attention to myself, I was surely dead. I pulled off my gloves and keyed in an international number. I couldn’t risk calling the base, because I couldn’t erase the contact information. So, I dialed the only number I knew by heart. Kevan Corson’s. When the digits appeared on the screen, I moved quickly back to the small courtyard, my eyes darting about for any sign of people. Quietly, I knelt down, adjusted and extended the antennae as I listened, hoping he didn’t answer and that his recorder would come on. And it did.
Then I pressed seemingly random buttons, praying that I remembered correctly. Dot, dash, dot. R. Dash, dash, dash. O. And so on. I spelled my last name, then the coordinates of where we had picked up the vaccine. Then the damn recorder cut me off, so I had to dial back. When I heard it go to a message center again, I added—ten days. I had to buy myself at least ten days. Dogs began barking at the other end of town, so I raised my head slightly. Someone walked outside, his back to me. When I saw steam rising, I knew he was peeing. I hung up the phone then moved back inside. Before setting it exactly where I found it, I removed the SIM card. Hopefully, they didn’t use it often during the winter, and if they did, maybe they would be stumped for some time as to why it didn’t work.
Carefully, I set the phone back precisely where it had been. Suddenly, I heard something. I froze and listened. I stepped to the wall, making myself as much a part of it as I could. I waited a minute, maybe two. There was no other exit from the room I was in, so, if I were found, I’d be cornered and forced to fight my way out; which would defeat the purpose of my being there in the first place. When I heard nothing else, I walked toward the doorway and glanced down the dark corridor. The outer door was wide open. I moved cautiously down the hall, checking each room surreptitiously, making my way to the entrance. As I turned the last corner, I gasped. A skinny, mixed-breed dog looked up at me. I lowered my hand, and he sniffed, then licked the blood from my knife. Poor thing looked like he was starving. I patted him on the head and moved carefully past him.
When I stepped outside, the snow was coming down heavy and fast. I moved quickly back to the sheep pen and loosened the wire. I needed a way to cover my tracks. And I don’t mind saying, the thought of them spending any part of their day chasing livestock, made me grin. So, I grabbed the first animal I could reach. I only needed one more sacrificial lamb—one brave enough or, stupid enough, depending on your perspective, to approach. I slit its throat, just as I had done the first, leaving it lying there in the snow. The dog looked at me then leaned down and lapped up the hot blood before hungrily chewing on the crimson-stained neck.
It took me a little longer to reach our camper, but I was back before dawn. My feet were freezing. God, I missed my boots. I stopped outside the Unimog, not wanting to open it and disturb the sleep of my traveling companions. So, I leaned against a tree, listening to the snow falling around me. I didn’t dare close my eyes. Just in case. Only a few twinkling stars peered out from around the clouds, the moon no more than a hazy ball of cotton in the sky.
Ten days. Surely Kevan would figure it out. If he didn’t, then I’d just ride out my time until the snow thawed. I peered at the black and white all-terrain vehicle, now a foot taller, thanks to a layer of fresh powder. Mary Beth was so close, and yet so far away. Eventually, I was going to have to tell her what I’d done, and, I was pretty sure she would be ticked. Or maybe she would understand. If not, I’d have to make her understand. I’m a soldier. This is what we do. This is what I do.
I began to pace, walking the perimeter to assure I hadn’t been followed, starting my own sentry shift. I glanced back upward. “I’m not worried. You’ve got my back, right?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
At first light, I had already heated water for tea and warmed the naan on a small skillet onboard. Everyone seemed well rested. Well, everyone except me. I let Mary Beth drive to the next town while I stretched out on the floor in the back on all the cushions and slept. She woke me in time to drive the last few hundred yards to the small village of fewer than forty people. They all happened to be one family, which was common in Afghanistan. Families, especially in rural areas, generally lived close to each other, mostly because they depended on one another for survival.
There were only a dozen children there, and we finished within an hour. We opted to continue on to the next village, instead of staying for the night. The terrain was a little more challenging, but we managed to arrive at one of the largest and most welcoming towns on our list before nightfall. They were all eager to meet the two Americans and the two young Afghan men who accompanied them. They served us a feast of meats, beans, vegetables and bread before offering us warm accommodations for the night. I’ll tell you, I was tempted, but wanted to be close to our gear, just to be safe. Abraham and Abdullah stayed in the village; Mary Beth once more was invited to stay as well; this time with the mullah’s widowed sister.
That evening, as I walked her to our transport for her personal supplies, plus a few gifts she’d brought for the woman into whose care she would be entrusted, I contemplated what I wanted to tell her; needed to say to her. Once inside the Unimog, Mary Beth pulled the scarves from around her face and looked at me, her beautiful smile only making me feel guiltier about what I was about to say. Sensing I was preoccupied, she sat beside me.
“Something on your mind?”
"Last night," I drew in a deep breath before exhaling. “I went back.”
“What do you mean you went back?”
“I sneaked back into town.”
She waited for me to continue without prodding.
“I needed to see if they had a satellite phone that I could use to contact someone back at base.”
Mary Beth chewed on her bottom lip. “Well? Did they?”
I nodded.
She stood. Well, as tall as one could stand in the vehicle without banging her head. “Are you crazy?” she snapped in a loud whisper, not wanting to alert those sleeping nearby. “Had they caught you, do you know what they would have done to you? To us?”
“But they didn’t.”
“But they could have.”
“You’re upset because I might have been caught?”
Mary Beth moved away, only I grabbed her forearm and held her fast. She turned back to me, as livid as I’ve ever seen a woman. And trust me—I’ve made plenty of women mad. “No, I’m angry because you took a chance with all of our lives just so that you could get out of here a few days early.” Her arm jerked from my grip.
I followed her from the truck into the snow as she paced angrily. “Mary Beth,” I began, but she cut me off.
“No, don’t you dare!” Though she lowered he
r voice further, it still held all the intensity it had mere moments before. “Don’t make excuses for your selfishness. You couldn’t wait just a little longer, could you? Was this your plan all along?” she barked.
“No, Mary Beth,” I attempted to reason with her.
“God, I feel so used,” she murmured as she crossed her arms. “You manipulated me. Helping with the generator. With my inventory and with the rebuilding. What was all that? Huh?” she scoffed. "Was that just you going through the motions to impress me, hoping I’d take you? God, I feel like such a fool. You’re such a fraud.”
“Mary Beth,” I tried to interject through her stinging barrage.
She shook her head, turning away. “I knew it was a mistake to trust you.”
“Hey!” I said, loudly, grabbing both her arms, before lowering my voice again. I pulled her behind the truck, so anyone standing outside couldn’t see us. “Everything I did, I did because I wanted to.” I held her firmly, though she refused to look me in the eyes. “Everything I did, I did because I—.” When her eyes moved to mine, I suddenly stopped. “Yes, I wanted to impress you; I admit it. But, I came with you because it was the right thing to do.” I glanced away, but only for a moment. “Do you know how conflicted I am every time I look at you—knowing that I have to leave here? Leave you?”
I released her arms; but she didn’t walk away. She continued to look up at me. “God, you’re so… so frustrating, and unnerving, and surprisingly intriguing. You’re everything I never imagined I’d find attractive or admirable, much less want in a woman.” I growled as I stepped away from her, and then turned back. “But none of that changes why I’m here. I fell out of a damned helicopter on my way to do a job.” I looked her firmly in her eyes. “Nothing has changed, Mary Beth. “I still have a job to do.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she slowly understood what I was saying.
“What? Did you think that I would get well and just walk off the mountain? I’m still here to do a job,” I reiterated. “I was a soldier before you found me. I was a soldier when you patched me up. I’m still a soldier, Mary Beth.” I searched her eyes. “If I were to tell you that I didn’t use this little trip to find a way off this mountaintop sooner, I’d be lying.” I drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “And if I were to tell you that I wasn’t looking for a way to complete my mission while we were up here, that wouldn’t be true, either.”
I saw the hurt in her eyes. “I’m so disappointed in you.” She turned to walk away.
I hurried until I was directly in front of her again. “Me? You’re disappointed in me?” I shook my head. “You’re unbelievable.” I glared at her, angrily. “Pretending like you are innocent in all this.”
Her eyes suddenly showed betrayal and shock.
“You manipulated me from the start.” As she twisted away, I grabbed her wrist and turned her back, holding her firmly. “You don’t think I knew you were playing me all along?”
Mary Beth tried to turn from my grip, but I held her in place.
“You think I didn’t know you needed me to go with you on this little mission trip of yours?” I added sarcastically. “Really?”
She opened her mouth to speak but then, didn’t.
I shook her loose. “You baited me when you said that the drop was scheduled and that usually, you had someone else to go with you.”
Her arms wrapped tighter around her body as she began pacing in a circle.
“I mean, who were you going to get to drive? Abraham? Abdullah? And you knew I wouldn’t let you come out here by yourself. Didn’t you?”
For many moments, she didn’t say anything. When her eyes finally met mine, she replied meekly, “I was hoping.”
“You wouldn’t go into the villages without a man. You couldn’t. So, why didn’t you just ask me?” Now, it was I getting angrier by the moment.
Mary Beth’s eyes filled with tears again as she looked away .
“Was any of it real?” It was now I who paced. “Any of it?” I asked, thinking back to her kiss in the cave. In her home. When she didn’t answer, I shook my head and laughed to myself. “Right,” I added under my breath. I sighed. “So, we’re using each other,” I stated flatly. “At least now we know where each of us stands.”
“Eddie.”
I walked away from her, unable to look at her.
“Eddie!” she called again.
I turned to her. “And for the record, I never lied to you or manipulated you. Not once,” I stressed. “You’re disappointed in me? Well, I’m disappointed, in you, too,” is all I could say as I left her there in the dark. Alone.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The trip over the next two days was painfully quiet. I’m sure that Abdullah and Abraham sensed the tension and didn’t know what to make of it, since they didn’t understand the dynamics of men and women in the United States. Women here were subservient, and their opinions didn’t matter. You treat a woman like that in America, and she’ll more than likely take your head off.
It didn’t help that the next two towns were hostile, and we were met with guns and threats again. The leaders let us know how unappreciative they were of our efforts. And, I guess I should have fought a little harder to convince them to allow their children to be immunized, only, I didn’t care. I considered their mentality as backwoods, backward, ignorant. And if they didn’t care enough about their children to make sure they were vaccinated against one of the most debilitating diseases of our time, who was I to make them? I could tell Mary Beth was discouraged that I gave up so easily, but frankly, I didn’t give a damn.
The last village we arrived at had a mix of peoples. Most were welcoming. Others greeted us with glares and rifles. When we stepped from the truck we were met by some men that I was sure were Taliban. Maybe it was the way they were carrying their weapons or their guarded demeanor. One man stepped forward and passed me, then stopped at Abraham. The two embraced. When they turned, Abraham introduced his uncle to me. Then, we were invited to his home for a meal and a smoke. I nodded and placed my hand over my heart. I remembered our conversations about him and was wary of his invitation. Certainly, he wouldn’t do anything to harm us while his nephew was there.
As he walked past us and led us to his home, we were surrounded by a wall of men. We arrived at a lovely adobe structure with a large courtyard. Mary Beth followed quietly behind us. When we stepped into the building, we were met by older women, who immediately guided Mary Beth away from us and to a separate room at the back of the house. I caught her glancing at me as they led her away and saw only sadness in her eyes. The light that she had come with, the excitement she had for what we endeavored to do, was gone. And I have to admit, it broke my heart.
Abraham and Abdulla excused themselves after dinner, as was the respectful thing to do in the presence of the wiser, older council. A hookah was set up by the town mullah, who was obviously Taliban. He stared at me, not with disdain and hatred, but with interest and curiosity.
“How many children in our country were discovered with the disease this year?”
Crap, I had no idea, so I made up a number. “Two hundred.”
“How many died?”
Where was Mary Beth when you needed her? “Half.”
Slowly he inhaled and then closed his eyes, enjoying the mix of herbs and nicotine.
“The year before, the numbers were much higher. In the entire world, only four countries still have cases of polio. Yours is one of them.” Those stats I did remember from our prior conversations.
Again, the question came as to why a Westerner would want to save an Afghan child. “Why do you care about two hundred children, much less forty?” he added.
“Because they were all someone’s son. Someone’s daughter. If we do not stop this disease now, it will spread farther, and more will die.
“Do you have children?”
“I have no children,” I stated honestly, then immediately wished I had lied, wanting to take it back—thinking t
hat maybe he was feeling me out to see if I was expendable or not. No family meant no attachments.
“But I care for children, and it’s important that each child has a chance to grow to be what is destined for him.”
He took another hit from the hookah. “You believe in destiny?”
“I believe Allah knows all of our fates,” I replied. All the men around us nodded.
“And what if your destiny is to die while you are trying to save our children?”
I looked him squarely in the eyes. “Then I hope that He feels I’ve lived honorably.”
“You are American?”
I didn’t look away. “I am.” Men began yelling and shaking fists, only to be quieted by the simple gesture of the mullah.
“And yet, you come here, knowing that there are men who want to kill you, execute you, in the name of honor?”
My eyes still on his, I answered. “I do.”
“And you come here without weapons; without protection. Many would call that foolish.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
He laughed diabolically. “You have a daring about you—in your eyes. I can see it. A warrior’s stare.”
A moment later he took a long pull on the hookah before handing it to me. Then I felt his eyes—along with twelve other sets—watching me inhale the vapor from the stem without touching my lips to it.
“Or maybe it’s arrogance,” his demeanor changed.
“Allah is our protector, and I am his servant,” I said, without any forethought. Then I suddenly shuddered. I looked down before looking back up at him and repeating, “I’m his servant.”
The Missionary Page 19