a dog around. We have a few base mongrels that we feed, but they’re wild and you can’t pet them. I’m always leaving scraps outside my tent for a black dog that comes by every night looking for something to eat. If I try to walk toward him, he takes off at a run and disappears. I’ve learned to put the food in a pie tin, close up my tent and not try to befriend him.”
“Ah, you are a true lover of animals, too. That speaks highly of your heart, Captain Cantrell.” Khalid’s job in the front seat was to keep watch on the two video screens in front of him. There wasn’t much chance of attack at this altitude, but you could never quite relax on the job. He was intensely curious about Emma, but hesitant. She was a by-the-book military officer. Giving her a rose had been a misstep. Khalid had hoped it would open a door to signify a good, working relationship, but Emma had taken it all wrong.
Worriedly, Khalid realized he’d set them on an awkward course with one another. And he desperately needed a woman pilot who could fulfill his vision to inspire the little Afghan girls. How to fix what had already gone wrong? She didn’t sound very interested in his dog story, either.
Brows dipping, Khalid asked himself why he was so interested in Emma. She was a tough military combat pilot. Her record showed her abilities and fine skills. He got the feeling she really didn’t like him at all and was just tolerating the situation. Maybe it was the attack this morning that had set her off. He shrugged his shoulders to ease them of tension. He simply didn’t know how to deal with Captain Cantrell. Most people melted beneath his charm and sincere smile. But all it did to her was make her retreat, becoming stony and unreadable. As his U.S. military pilot friends would say, he’d blown it.
How to repair things between them? He’d spent years in the States being educated. He knew Americans. Khalid sighed. Emma made him feel like a joyous young man. That wouldn’t work here. Khalid turned his attention to the screens and did an automatic scan, looking for possible SAM missiles. Taking a deep breath, he hoped what he was about to say wouldn’t turn her away from him.
“I did a little research on you, Captain. Your family has a history of service,” Khalid said.
Something had told her that as easy-going as Khalid appeared, he was a man who researched the details of any situation.
“Yes, the Trayherns have given military service to their country since they arrived here two hundred years earlier. My mother, Alyssa, was a Trayhern before she married Clay Cantrell, my father. It’s a tradition for the Trayhern children, if they want, to go into the military of their choice and serve at least four to six years, depending upon whether they are officers or enlisted. We’re very proud of our family’s service and sacrifice,” Emma said tensely.
“You should be. I’m very impressed, Captain. That’s very Sufi-like, to serve others. My Irish mother would say it is what you owe to life. That we all owe others. We can’t live life alone or separate ourselves from the poor and suffering.”
Emma moved uncomfortably around in her seat. Talking to Khalid was like a minefield. She didn’t really want to know anything about him. All she wanted was to do a good job on this mission and then get back to base camp, her military record clean once more. Clearing her throat, she said, “She sounds like a wonderful, giving person much like my mother, Alyssa.”
“My mother has red hair and brown eyes,” Khalid informed her. “She’s an obstetrician and she has set up clinics throughout Afghanistan with the help of her church’s ongoing donations. She has spent from age twenty-eight to the present here in Afghanistan. The good she has done is tremendous. I think you must know many Afghan women die during childbirth. Most women have an average of seven children. And one out of eight women dies in childbirth. Very few villages have health care available to them.”
“That’s so sad,” Emma said as she banked the Apache to start a descent into Bagram. They had left the mountains, and now the dry, yellow plains where Bagram air base sat spread out before them. “I can’t believe how many women lose their lives. It’s horrific. I heard from Major Klein, my C.O., that there are Sufi medical doctors who have devoted their lives to the villages along the border.”
“Ah yes,” Khalid said, brightening, “Doctors Reza and Sahar Khan. I’ve met them a number of times. My mother works with them through her mission. They are truly brave. Because they are Sufi and giving service and trying to help the border villages from the farthest south to the farthest north of our country, the Taliban constantly tries to kill them. The only way the Taliban keeps hold over our people is through fear, retaliation and murder.” His voice deepened. “Reza and Sahar have a strong calling. As Sufis they render aid and help wherever they can. Reza is a doctor of internal medicine and surgery. His sister, Sahar, is an obstetrician. I cannot tell you how many women’s lives she has saved. They drive a Land Rover that is beaten up and very old. I have offered to buy them a new one, but they said no.”
“Why?”
“Because it would stand out like a sore thumb and the Taliban could find them more easily. In January of each year they start in the south of Afghanistan and then they drive along the border from village to village offering their medical services for free. By the time June comes, they have reached the northernmost part of our country, and they turn around and drive back down through the same villages. Each village gets visits twice a year, except of course, the most northern one, but they stay two weeks there to ensure everyone in that village is properly cared for.”
“Who funds them?”
“I do,” Khalid said. “I also coordinate with several American charities who give them medical supplies. Money’s only importance is how it is spent to help others.”
Emma said nothing, easing the Apache down to three thousand feet. “That’s gutsy, and talk about sacrifice, those two doctors should get medals of valor.” Obviously, this officer was generous with his money. Brody’s bragging came to mind. Was Khalid bragging to impress her? Something told her he was, and she became even more wary.
Snorting, Khalid said, “The central government refuses to acknowledge their sacrifice to our people. They aren’t very happy about Sufis, either. They barely tolerate them.”
“Why are Sufis so targeted?” Emma asked. She saw Bagram air base coming up. It was huge and lay on the flat, dirt plain with Kabul about ten miles away. The city glittered in the sunlight. Kabul wasn’t that safe, either. The Taliban had infiltrated the city and it was dangerous for any American, military or civilian, to be there without an armed escort.
“What mystic group hasn’t been a target?” he asked rhetorically. “Ah, Bagram is below us. We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes.”
She heard veiled excitement in his voice. Emma paid attention to the air controller giving her landing instructions. Tension accumulated in her shoulders. She really didn’t want to go to Shaheen’s home. It felt like a trap to her, but Khalid was her boss. If he wrote her up for a glowing commendation after this six-month gig, she’d have a revived military career in front of her. And Emma wanted nothing more than to expunge that black eye she’d given to the Trayhern family, once and for all.
“Come,” Khalid said, gesturing toward a large parking lot inside Bagram air base. “My car is over there.”
The roar of jets taking off shook the air until it vibrated around them. As Emma walked at Khalid’s side, her bag in her left hand, dark aviator glasses in place, she felt nervous. At the Ops desk where they’d filled out the required landing flight forms, everyone seemed to know him. He had joked and laughed with many of the enlisted personnel behind the desk. His sincerity and concern for each of them was obvious. Emma saw how every man and woman glowed beneath his charisma.
