Lindsay McKenna - Operation - Forbidden

“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. Brody Parker had done that, too. It seemed people who weren’t as rich as he was were always enamored with him. Emma had realized later it had been because they knew he was rich.

As she walked down the line of cars, Emma reminded herself that Khalid was dangerous to her heart. He was far too likable a person. Frowning, she saw him take keys from his pocket and click them toward a Land Rover. The vehicle was a dark-green one that had plenty of dents and scrapes all over its body. In fact, there was a lot of dirt and mud on it, too.

“Hop in,” Khalid invited, opening the rear so they could throw all their flight gear into the back.

Emma slid into the passenger side and put on the seat belt. The dashboard was dusty. She wondered if Khalid’s home looked like his car.

Tension thrummed through Khalid as he drove through the security gates of Bagram after showing his identity card. “Have you been in the city of Kabul before?”

Emma watched him drive with care. “Yes, I have, but only with an Afghan escort on a day trip. When I fly in here, I remain on base for safety reasons.” He looked around constantly. In fact, they both had their side arms on the seat between them. She knew attacks were frequent in Kabul. The road leading up to the base was asphalted, but soon they were on another highway with plenty of potholes to dodge. Heavy traffic came and went from the busy main air base that served the country.

“Not many Americans wander off Bagram,” Khalid murmured, nodding. “And with good reason. They are targets. One day I hope that our country will be free of the Taliban and you can see the beauty of it.”

Emma was as alert as he was, keeping a hand on her .45 pistol. Too many cars were attacked by the Taliban. That Khalid was a marked man only increased the chances that they could be attacked.

Khalid motioned with his long hand toward the city. “My parents’ villa is on the outskirts, upon a small hill ringed with thick, almost impenetrable brush. I also employ guards at the base of the hill.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, anyone who is rich is an automatic target. But you will be safe at our compound. Ten-foot-high stucco walls completely surround our home. It’s all one story so that it is hidden behind the walls. There is a metal gate at the entrance and a guard is always on duty. Each window has an ornamental grate across it to prevent break-ins. The front door is wrought iron, too.”

“I don’t know how anyone could live this way,” Emma muttered. She saw Khalid give his characteristic shrug.

“We have generations of Afghans with PTSD, post traumatic stress disorder. We all have it,” he said, glancing at Emma. “It’s just a question of how bad it is and how much of your life it stains.”

Shaking her head, she said, “I’ve always valued being born in the U.S., but after being over here and seeing the poverty, the murders and constant threats that your people live under, I feel very, very fortunate in comparison.”

“Yes, I was grateful for my years I spent in your country,” Khalid said. He swung off on a dirt road that led up to a small knoll in the distance. The road was rough and rutted because of the spring rains. “The seven years I spent there Americanized me a great deal.” He flashed her a sudden grin. “I really miss American French fries.”

For a moment, Emma’s heart melted. His smile was dazzling and she felt the full effects of it. “You seem very Americanized. Your English is flawless and you use our slang, Captain Shaheen.”

Khalid drove around some potholes, the ruts deep, dry and hard. The Land Rover crept forward. “I love America. I love what she stands for. I want my people to have a democracy just like yours. While I studied at Princeton, I truly understood what democracy was for the first time. I brought my passion back here and Kinah and I have worked ever since to bring our country closer to that vision we hold in our hearts.”