I looked around again. “I’ll tell you after we leave this place.”
“Still the glass-half-empty guy,” she sighed.
“Yeah, well, it is what it is.” I squatted before her.
Mary Beth tilted her head. “I’ll be surprised if he makes it through the night.”
“I have faith in you.”
“It’s not up to me,” she cooed, looking down at the bundle in her arms.
“The way I see it right now, as long as we keep this kid alive, we’ll stay alive.” I stood, hands on hips, taking her gaze with me as I paced the room. “We leave in the morning, no matter what.”
“What? Why?”
I turned to her, my eyes meeting hers. “No matter what,” I said firmly. It was her mission, but I had just taken control of it.
“Okay,” she said, almost as a question.
“We can come back later if we need to check on him, but we have to leave in the morning,” I insisted.
Mary Beth contemplated what I was saying, chewing on her lip before nodding.
“Good.” I stepped back to her and looked down. “And I want Abraham staying with you, too. I’ll make sure they bring three toshaks in here.” Before she could question as to where I would stay, I added, “I’ll be close by.”
Mary Beth nodded again.
I glanced down at the child and drew in a deep breath before exhaling. Then I turned and left her in the small room, in the mud adobe home of a Taliban mullah, in a small Taliban village in the mountains of Afghanistan.
Chapter Forty-Two
My request for three toshaks for the team was promptly met. Abdullah and Abraham slept in an area just outside the room in which Mary Beth stayed. No one else had entered it since we arrived, I’m sure for fear of their lives. Me? I made myself scarce, as I went to the truck to get both my knives. I packed the sack I brought with clothing, several MREs and other pre-packaged food items, then slipped it over my shoulder and carried it with me everywhere I went.
Darkness followed soon after I climbed from the ice-riddled Unimog. I had calculated that it would take us at least four or five hours to get back to our village, and that was without precipitation. My goal was to get there, leave the three of them, refuel and head back to get Mikey. Now I just had to find him. I anxiously waited for Abraham to return from his little excursion with his new friends. And yet, when he finally walked up, he didn’t even stop or acknowledge me. He walked past me without a word.
I glanced into the street to find his friends sauntering past, eyeing me with confusion and resentment. I was the enemy. It didn’t matter if they thought I was a doctor or not. I wasn’t Afghan. I wasn’t Muslim. Therefore, I was the opposite of everything they believed in. It was a learned attitude, and unless they stepped outside of their world, that would never change.
I walked into the street and turned in the opposite direction from where they were headed, casually looking around. There were only a handful of people visible. Everyone else was in their homes, hiding from the cold, or the strangers, or the disease, seizing whatever excuse they needed to stay inside and stay warm. Small plumes of dark smoke curled up from every mud home around me. At the end of the street, I turned and walked the other way. I arrived by the sheep pens where I had sacrificed two of them just days before, so that I could make a phone call. There were now even fewer in the pen, but not so few that the people wouldn’t have meat for the rest of winter. When I glanced down, one looked up at me and bleated.
“Don’t get too friendly,” I said to it. “You might be next.”
I walked to our vehicle like I had a purpose, climbed inside and then watched the village through the window. Contemplating. Had it been anyone but the mullah’s son, they wouldn’t have bothered coming to get us. I picked up the bread Abraham had left on the seat and began to eat it. Slowly the windows became so fogged that I couldn’t see out of them. I climbed down and walked back to the mullah’s home for a quick check on Mary Beth and the boys. Without saying a word to any of my team, I repeated my routine of walking the street, out to the dump and open-air bathroom. And just to keep things real—occasionally—I peed. I needed to establish a pattern for anyone watching so that when I was hiking through the town, it wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary.
I stopped on my last pass, at the building where the satellite phone had been. I knelt in the courtyard, curiously inspecting the walls where some of the stone had fallen away, trying to appear intrigued. After studying it closely, I stepped back into the street and once more walked into the mullah’s house. This time, I pulled Abraham aside.
Without prodding, he began to whisper. “He is in a building by the trash.” I remembered seeing the smaller structure but because of the lock, wrongly assumed it held munitions.
“Did you get a good look at him? Does he look injured?”
“They poked sticks at him, and he took them away. Then he said some words I couldn’t understand. He was very angry.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds like Mikey.” Good. That probably meant he was alert. I patted Abraham on the back. “You did good, Son,” I said proudly. I leaned closer to him. “Did they say what they were going to do with him?”
“Something about trading him for money. Only their phone stopped working, so they haven’t been able to talk to anyone for a few days.”
I grinned. Maybe no one had figured out that the SIM card was missing. “Please don’t say anything to anyone else about this. Not even Miss Mary Beth.”
He hesitated, and reluctantly nodded.
I patted his back again and went to check on Mary Beth and the child. She looked up as I appeared around the curtain, and I raised my eyebrows. She shrugged in return. ‘Nuff said. I turned, stepped back to the front of the building, and stood in the courtyard. Well, Mary Beth said she believed in miracles. I hoped she was praying because we definitely needed one about now.
Chapter Forty-Three
Darkness soon covered the town like a heavy blanket, the moon and stars hidden behind thick gray clouds that lingered, threatening to unload on us at any moment. Unless you knew the paths by heart, you’d get lost. Thankfully, by now, I’d traversed them dozens of times as I walked from the mullah’s, to the truck, to the dump and back.
The last time I checked on Mary Beth and the child, his fever had broken, and he had taken some liquid. His mother still refused to nurse him, afraid she’d catch whatever ailment he had, so, he’d only been fed water. But something was better than nothing. The town mullah had returned only twice to check on his son, I guess to see if he was still alive—neither time speaking to Mary Beth.
There had been no one on the streets for hours now, so I drew in a deep breath and made my way to the trash heap again. The last couple of times I lifted my tunic to pee, nothing came out. I was merely going through the motions for anyone who might be watching. This time I stood directly beside the building. When I was pretty sure no one was around I tapped on the wood. There was no reply, so I knocked again. Silence. Once more. I heard and felt a boot to the wall and chuckled to myself. Well, at least he hadn’t lost his fight.
I looked around then moved to the only door. There was a small square cut into the bottom where food was pushed through. I dropped the bag full of provisions and kicked it into the opening. After several moments, I heard him call out in a loud whisper.
“Who’s out there?”
I looked around before dropping to the ground and peering into the dark structure. “How ya doin’ Soldier?”
“Cap? Is that you?”
“Listen up, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does this building have a floor?
“No, sir.”
“Are you mobile?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you think you could push this thing over?”
There was silence as he assessed the request. “I should be able to. But it will make an awful lot of racket.”
“Okay, we’ve got to get you o
ut of here, but it’s not going to be easy. You need to put those clothes on under whatever they’ve got you wearing. It will keep you warmer, but when you get out, ditch the outer clothes where they can’t find them. You need to blend in.”
“Yes, sir.”
I heard a noise and shushed him as quietly as I could. I quickly pushed up to stand and then flattened myself against the wall. A few moments later I could hear someone relieving himself on the other side of the building, followed by the sound of snow crunching beneath his shoes as he walked away. However, I waited several more minutes, after I heard a door closing in the distance, before lowering myself to the hole again.
“I’m leaving in the morning, first light. You’re going to have to stick it out one more day, Soldier. Tomorrow night, after the sun goes down, give it at least two or three hours until you know everyone’s asleep, then tip this puppy over and ride it down the hill, climb out and head west. I put a compass and matches in your pack, along with a knife and a few MREs. The coordinates of where I’ll be waiting for you are engraved on the compass so don’t lose it.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be waiting for you there.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Sergeant?”
“Glad you’re alive, sir.”
“Me, too, Mikey. Me, too.”
When I stood up, I pushed against the building. It gave a little. Surely, a big strong, young buck like Mikey could move it.
Casually, I strode back to the mullah’s and entered the courtyard before crouching down and crawling back into the building next door. I stood up once inside and looked around. I moved through the structure, remembering the path I’d taken before. Only, the satphone was gone. Crap! I looked around, under, on top. Nothing. Just when I was about to give up, I opened the desk drawer, and there it lay, close to where I’d left it before.
I turned on my penlight, replaced the SIM card and then turned it on. I typed in Kevan’s number once more. Then I moved stealthily into the courtyard, hoping that the cloud cover wasn’t going to prevent the call from connecting. I hit send. Hopefully, he would recognize the number and let it go to voicemail, which it did. I listened for the beep. Only before it came, Kevan ended his message with, “Got it, Ro.” I smiled. The message center beeped. I kept the communication brief. Two for extract. Noon. Ro. Coons. Hostiles. When I was satisfied that the message went through I turned off the phone, removed the SIM card once more and then carefully placed it exactly where I had found it.
Quietly, I sneaked back to the mullah’s one last time. When I checked each room, I found everyone asleep, so I stepped back to the front where colorful pillows and blankets were strewn for guests to sit on. I lay down, resting my head on them, set my watch for four hours, crossed my arms, and quickly drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Forty-Four
She was beautiful; her dark hair pulled up to reveal her marvelous, delicate ears. What she wore was simple, and loose. And see through. We were no longer in Afghanistan, but in a house in America. Our home. A suburban husband, looking longingly at his suburbanite wife. She grinned as she lowered the garment over her freckled shoulders, revealing a little more of her milky white bosom, just enough to taunt me even more. When she saw the desire in my eyes, she let it slip from her hands, and it slid in a billowing pile on the floor—though I barely noticed. I took my time moving to her, taking her in with my eyes, and then my hands. I felt her hot breath on my chest; as she looked up at me. “I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you, too.” My hands moved to her face and held it gently. I kissed her firmly, my tongue pressing hungrily through her lips until it danced with hers, our tongues making love before we did. As my hands slid around her smooth, perfect body, we parted. “I love you so much,” I repeated. When she didn’t say anything, I looked her in the eyes again.
She smiled and said, “Everything will be okay.”
I looked at her perplexed.
“Everything will be okay,” she whispered.
I awoke with a start, her hand on my face. “What’d you say?” I asked, confused.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” she whispered, her warm breath against my cheeks.
Groggily, I rose onto one elbow while raising my other arm to look at the time. Then I ran my hand across my face, wiping the sleep away. “The boy?”
“He’s alive.”
“My little miracle worker.” I pulled her closer.
Immediately she leaned her head back, causing me to, as well. We both looked down between us, simultaneously. “It’s been a while,” she grinned mischievously, “but I believe the medical term for your condition is penile tumescence.”
My face got hot as I hurriedly stood, fluffing my tunic and outer garments before turning away from her and walking to the other room. I shone the small flashlight on the wall above where the child slept. Mary Beth joined me moments later.
“He’s not out of the woods, but he’s going to make it.”
“Polio?”
She nodded. “If it is, there’s nothing I can do for him. The damage is done.”
“We need to make him comfortable, and then we need to leave.”
“But—.”
When I turned to her, she understood the seriousness in the tone of my voice and the expression on my face. “Okay,” she nodded.
“The longer we stay here, the more dangerous it is.”
We heard and felt someone enter the room and turned. Mary Beth quickly lifted her scarves to cover her face as she lowered her gaze. The religious leader looked between us, then down at his son, in the shadows. Finally, his eyes settled on me, as Mary Beth meekly walked past us. The room filled with his putrid, sweaty stench. He stepped to the boy and gazed down. He would not pick him up. Most men here didn’t do such things. Familial affection other than that between older men, or woman to woman, was rarely practiced.
“Will he live?”
I looked down at his son, whose breathing had steadied. “His chances are better now.”
“His fever gone?”
I nodded.
“So, you can give my son the vaccine now to help him.”
I looked up at him and shook my head slowly. “I’m sorry, but it’s too late.”
He stepped toward me and raised his voice. “You will give him the medicine and make him better.”
Mary Beth peered past the curtain to the room. I tilted my head and shook it ever so slightly until she backed away.
“You said the medicine was the cure.”
“As long as the child receives it before he gets polio. Once he gets polio, there is no cure.”
The man grabbed his beard and pulled, wailing out loud. Abraham and Abdullah rushed in and stood beside me as the young boy began crying himself. Immediately, I turned to the man, asking him to leave, while he continued to cry out mournfully to Allah, grieving his child’s lot in life. Abdullah and Abraham tried to move him from the room as I stepped to the crying child. I reached into the bag, squeezed hand sanitizer onto my hands, since it was as close as I would get out here to sterilization. Then, I put on a fresh mask and gloves. The little boy screamed painfully, having been woken from a fitful sleep.
It had been a long time since I’d held a child in my arms—at least a year, since my sister’s last daughter was born. I changed his filthy diaper, cleaning his raw bottom best as I knew how, considering the cloth was merely wrapped and tucked. Being nowhere close to a Wal-Mart to pick up a box of Pampers, I made do. I ripped off the gloves, re-gloved and carefully lifted the child into my arms, cradling him against my chest. He continued crying, though when I began talking to him, he stopped, listening for my voice. I let him suck on my gloved finger for a moment, but he nearly took the glove off, so I removed it, only to have him start crying again, probably still hungry, since he hadn’t been fed in two days.
I looked around. Where was the mother? We weren’t a babysitting service. We needed to get out of here. I carried him with me into
the other room where the father was still ranting over and over about his son’s illness. He was soon joined by other family members who shared in his misfortune. I finally raised my voice to him. “Hey,” I said sharply, startling everyone, including the child, who immediately stopped crying. I asked the religious leader where his wife was, and when he replied that she was in the other room, I insisted firmly, that she feed her son. When he expressed concern for her health, I assured him that the boy was contagious only to other children, especially if they had contact with his feces.
The mullah left, then a moment later came back, dragging his wife and forcing her to take the child from my arms. I instructed her to feed the toddler, reminding her that she held the nutrients that he needed. Without them, he would most certainly die within days. She hesitantly took her son from my arms and rushed from the room.
I then turned to the man who stared at me, perplexed by my tone. I informed him, quite directly, that we had come to immunize his village, but he had refused. We had come at great risk to our own lives, knowing how people felt about the vaccine; undeterred by those considerations But, now, by having refused our generosity on our first trip, he had put his son, and others at risk. We could do nothing more for the child now. I reminded the man that we came back, even after he had threatened us. And by returning, we had saved his son’s life.
“It’s not too late to help the other children in town so that they don’t get sick,” I affirmed, in Pashto. Or not. It didn’t make me any difference, at this point. When he merely glared at me, I added, “If you want further care for your son, you can come to the clinic, and we can treat him there. But whatever we do will most certainly not cure him. It will only help him, live a more sustainable life.”
I could see the anger in his eyes just before he pointed at me accusingly and demanded that we leave. Immediately.
“Good idea,” I said, in English as I ripped off my gloves and mask. I stepped into the other room, picked up the medical bag, and, reluctantly, put my hand to my chest and nodded respectfully. I motioned to the boys with my head, as they stood there, stupefied that I had not only spoken to the mullah, but to a Taliban soldier as I had. Then we all backed from the room, turned and rushed from the building. I heard the truck engine roar to life as I walked hurriedly toward it, the boys jogging to keep up. There was yelling behind us, but I didn’t look back. The driver’s door flew open, and I jumped in, tossing the medical bag to Mary Beth. The boys quickly climbed in through the passenger door.
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