“I fell in love with a beautiful teacher. Her name was Najela. I courted her for two years and I asked her to become my wife.”
Emma heard Khalid’s voice quaver and noticed how he fought unknown emotions, his hands opening and closing around the heavy ceramic mug in front of him. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to soothe away the grief she saw clearly etched in his face. But Emma said nothing. She allowed Khalid to get hold of himself so that he could continue his story.
“Najela and my sister Kinah were the best of friends. And why wouldn’t they be? They were both American-educated and trained in education. Najela graduated from Harvard and my sister from Princeton. They were working with my father to help set up village schools for boys and girls. I was away working for the U.S. Army and they were frequently up in this area while I flew Apaches in the southern region of my country.”
Emma steeled herself. She leaped ahead and figured out that Najela was dead. At Malik’s hands? She hoped not. Her heart cringed inside her chest. “Go on,” she urged him, her voice tense.
Nodding, Khalid swallowed hard, took a drink of his coffee, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then took a deep breath and released it. “I was on a mission with the U.S. Marines in the south when I got word that Malik had captured Najela in one of the villages.” His voice became low and strained. “By the time I was given orders to fly north to the village, Malik had repeatedly raped her and then he … slit her throat. I found her in a mud house that had been abandoned by the family who lived there. All I found … was her …” And he closed his eyes for a moment, reliving that nightmare afternoon.
“I—I’m so sorry,” Emma whispered, caught up in his anguish. Without thinking, she reached across the table and touched his hand. And when she realized what she’d done, Emma quickly pulled her hand back. No officer should be seen initiating such an intimate action with another officer. Turning her focus back to Khalid, she thought she saw tears in his blue eyes for just a second. And then, they were gone. Had she imagined them? Emma chastised herself for losing her standards.
“Malik hates anyone and anything who tries to improve upon the villagers’ lives,” Khalid continued, his voice rough. “As I said, he’s sworn vengeance against my family because of my father’s generosity to the villagers.”
Emma considered his heavily spoken words. “And is Malik out there right now? Will he be our enemy as you and Kinah set up this mission for those same villagers?” A cold chill worked its way up her spine as she saw his expression still and become unreadable.
“Yes, he is our nemesis. You need to know that this mission is dangerous so that you remain on guard. Your CO was correct in telling you I am a marked man. You will be marked too, Captain.”
Eyes rounding, Emma sat up. “Aren’t you afraid, Captain Shaheen? He’s already killed one person you loved. You could be next.” Suddenly, Emma wanted nothing to harm this man who had a vision for the girls of his country. She could see his sincerity and the heart that he wore openly on his sleeve. Khalid was priceless in her world because few men could be so in touch with their emotions and share them as he just had with her. Brody had never opened up like this. Not ever. And it threw Emma.
Khalid said, “Rumi would say a real Sufi laughs at death. A Sufi is like an oyster—what strikes it does not harm the pearl within.”
Considering the saying from the thirteenth century, Emma grimaced. “Sorry, but I’m not in agreement with Rumi. I don’t feel I could be at peace if someone raped and then murdered my fiancée.”
“I understand,” Khalid said. “You have lived in our country where the threat to your life exists every day.” He opened his hand and gestured around the room. “Afghans have been at war with the Russians. Now, we have the Taliban. Do we want to live this way? No. Do we dream of a peaceful life? Yes. I don’t expect you, Captain Cantrell, to believe as we do. Najela was Sufi. I know in my heart of hearts that throughout her terrible last hours she felt compassion for Malik. He’s a man so filled with hatred and vengeance that I’m sure that her compassion only made him want to harm her even more.”
Shaking her head, Emma muttered, “Well, I sure wouldn’t be thinking peaceful and loving thoughts if that dude was doing that to me. I’d be looking for any way to protect myself and kill the bastard.”
Giving her a slight smile, Khalid nodded. “Sufis are misunderstood even by our other Muslim brethren. In fact, those who choose jihad and become terrorists hate us as much as they do the so-called infidels.”
“Which is why Malik hates you?” Emma wondered.
“He hates my family for many reasons and has sworn vengeance against each of us. In part, because we are Sufis and believe in tolerance and generosity toward others. The fact my father is worth billions of dollars makes Malik hate us because he was raised in poverty. He didn’t own a pair of shoes until he was eleven years old when the Taliban leader recruited him.”
Suddenly, there was a deafening explosion outside. The sound and reverberation slammed into the room. Instantly, they both dove for the deck, hands over their heads. Emma hissed a curse. Tiles from the ceiling fell around them as a second explosion shook Ops.
“It’s the Taliban,” she growled, getting to her feet. Automatically, she pulled the .45 pistol from her belt and ran to the door. Swinging it open, Ops looked like a beehive that had been overturned.
Shaheen was at her side, looking down at her. Emma’s face was set and her gaze aimed at the windows outside. He saw one of the helicopters burning, the black smoke roiling and bubbling skyward. “Do you get attacks often?”
Grimly, Emma moved toward the center of Ops. Pilots and crews were hurrying out the doors, armed and ready to fight. She knew from being here over a year that such attacks were sporadic. “No,” she snapped, moving with everyone else toward the doors. “Come on, we need to help the fire crews.”
Khalid didn’t know Camp Bravo as she did. He trotted across Ops and found himself outside with her. Emma’s eyes were searching the end of the runway and she pointed in that direction. “That’s one of the places they hit us. They sit in the brush beyond the runway and lob RPGs, rocket propelled grenades, this way.”
Khalid noted a squad of Special Forces speeding away in a Humvee, armed and ready for battle. He wanted to protect Emma. It was his natural reaction. Telling himself she was a warrior like him, he kept his thoughts and his hands to himself. She was all business now. Another crew rolled up in a fire engine and began spewing foam over the burning CH-47 transport helicopter, already a total loss.
Emma turned. She was glad she had her Kevlar jacket on because gunshots were suddenly being traded at the end of the runway. “Come on, this is under control.
No sense standing out here like targets.” She gestured toward Ops again.
Shaheen wasn’t so sure, for a minute longer, he watched the Special Forces from the Humvee spraying the bushes where the Taliban had been hiding. “Do they get inside the camp?” he asked as he followed her into Ops.
“Not so far, but we’re always watching.” Settling the .45 back into the holster on her waist, she added, “We’re never safe here. Let’s get back to discussing the mission, shall we?” Emma stopped and poured herself another cup of black coffee from the urn at the side of the Ops desk. Khalid did the same and they returned to the meeting room.
There were several enlisted men in there. They’d already picked up the ceiling tiles that had dropped from the explosion, so Emma thanked them
