Allure of Deceit (33 page)

The informant would have done little to help Blacker. The Soviets were already withdrawing from Afghanistan, and Afghan politics were in turmoil. With the Islamists taking control, he wanted Zahira to leave the country. But he was ailing, and Zahira comforted her father until the end.

She did not tell him that her sponsor had canceled her scholarship, prohibiting her from returning to Moscow to conclude her studies. She was a sham, not a doctor, and the conclusion of the classical Greek oath haunted her. “If I fulfill this oath and do not violate it, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and art, being honored with fame among all men for all time to come; if I transgress it and swear falsely, may the opposite of all this be my lot.”

The shame of failed rationalization was more disturbing for the educated.

In embarking on a medical career, much like bearing a child, an individual must be hopeful rather than dwell on potential disaster. The hardest part about choosing whether or not to abort is that one cannot reverse the decision. A mother must live with the consequences and hope that she can survive the unending series of possibilities that tease the mind. Did the woman or her child miss a life of misery or joy? Caregivers like Zahira could not answer the question, and such is a woman's torment.

Paul was livid to hear that Zahira had done no family planning. “You have not handed out the contraception or helped with childbirth?” He slammed his hand down. “I believed in you. I brought you the computer, the BGAN terminal, the GlobalConnect equipment so that you could connect with other programs for support. What the hell have you been doing?”

She waited for patients, but the rumors about a night of mischief were pervasive. Blacker's men and their wives whispered, and nearby villagers despised her, associating her with an abortion, a fire, and the destruction of a family that left a void in the region for marauders to fill.

Shame and dishonesty with one patient destroyed her confidence. The villagers did not want an abortionist or a charlatan in their midst.

“You don't understand,” she said bitterly. “Abortion is evil until a woman needs one, and then her need is the exception. They pass their shame onto me.”

Paul took a deep breath before swinging hard at the side of her head, knocking Zahira to the ground. “I risked my reputation on you. Damn you, I needed you.”

Stunned, Zahira lay on the ground. She did not move. She deserved the blow. She loathed herself for not telling the girl the truth.

Paul crouched, and she prepared for another strike. Instead, he reached for her hands and lifted her, placing her in the chair facing the computer. “I need you.” His voice was soft, resigned, and he asked if anyone had ever seen the stash of old medical supplies. She shook her head.

“Perhaps this can still work.” He was anxious and prepared for the scheduled Skype call. Hurrying, he set up his laptop on her desk and explained what Zahira needed to say. He would introduce her to the woman in charge of GlobalConnect, and Zahira could describe dozens of mothers who over the years had benefited from her work delivering healthcare in the remote region. Together, Paul and Zahira would dispose of the old medicines and supplies.

“All you have to say is that family planning prevented economic disaster in this area,” Paul explained. “You explain how I have supported you. You tell her about a few patients. You have records, but promised patients not to release names or other details. If you are believable, then I can promise more funding. You can leave this place to forget and atone.”

Telling her story to Paul did not end the pain of years of lies—not that she had ever lied to donors. They accepted her limited skills and made assumptions, anticipating that village women would be eager for care. At least she could stop lying to herself.

Paul wanted more lies for the woman who controlled GlobalConnect. Zahira needed his help to leave Afghanistan with her daughter. Zahira worried about the questions. Her records were a product of her imagination, and a skilled physician would likely detect more hope than truth.

“You don't have to show records, and she'll expect your patients to deny receiving treatment,” Paul said. “Don't worry. Caring too much makes people stupid.”

CHAPTER 26

Saddiq hurried in his search, trying to ignore the plush carpets, sofas, and pillows; the sparkle of electric lanterns hanging in the air and glassware and figurines lining the shelves—all in a warm house that lacked the odors of cooking, wood smoke, or musty dirt floors.

The place was like an enchanted setting in a story, overwhelming the eye. He forced himself to ignore the trinkets—all except a tall brass vase that he could use as a weapon. His priority was to find at least one other exit, in case someone suddenly entered the home. The house was traditional, on a much larger scale than his family's home, with more rooms and intricate hallways. He had no idea how many might live in the place too silent for its size, and anyone could be waiting.

First, he checked the two massive living areas, one for men and the other for women, though he couldn't tell the two apart. He was cautious and paused at each threshold before swiftly crossing the room, keeping an eye out for possible hiding places while hoping that a guard did not wait to slice at him with a knife.

Soon after he exited the second living area, a strange and terrible shrieking started up behind him. “
Kee! Kee! Kee!
” “Who? Who? Who?”

He wanted to run, but the room's windows were high and small, designed to prevent unwanted peering yet also eliminating easy escape. Clutching the vase, ready to defend against an attack, Saddiq turned and saw nothing in the dark hallway. He dared not proceed.

Then a large black bird strutted away from the shadows. “
Kee!
”

A myna. Saddiq wasn't sure the bird understood, but he tried a friendly response. “
Kee
,” he whispered. “
Khoda hafiz
.” “Allah protect you.”

The bird bobbed its head, as if appreciating the response, and quietly followed Saddiq. One set of rooms led to a closed interior courtyard. A dead-end. Another doorway connected to the kitchen area, a separate building, with an exit to the rear.

The next room had an elegant carved table. Set before one of the ornate chairs was a group of small plates and elegant utensils, the kind used by foreigners for eating, or so his father had once explained. A tall rack contained numerous bottles with amber, garnet, and clear liquids gleaming in the low light. Beverages of some sort. Backing away, Saddiq searched for the sleeping areas, but the first two doors he opened were rooms used for storage, packed with boxes of all sizes.

The bird persisted in tagging along.

Another narrow hallway led to a set of narrow stairs leading to a second floor, but Saddiq decided that the woman caring for the child would prefer sleeping on the main floor and keeping her charge close. Holding the metal vase with both hands, he headed down the hall toward soft light.

The bird cackled in its happy way.

To his left, a room was lit in eerie blue, the glow coming from a box that resembled a small television. Instead of news or stories showing people, an odd pattern of squares repeatedly marched across the screen.

The house showed no signs of a child, no toys, no tiny shoes or clothes, no blankets and dishes with mashed food drying along the sides. The house was too clean.

Perhaps the infant no longer lived at the compound. Or Leila had lied.

Saddiq would have to return to Laashekoh and ask for his father's help. He headed to the end of the hallway and opened the heavy door onto a beautiful bedroom in soft golden light. Instead of a jumble of blankets on the floor, there was a raised bed with a stiff cover of rose silk and intricate embroidery in blue and moss green. Next to the bed was a table with piles of books, and on the other side was a large basket. Holding his breath, he approached the basket. Inside, a baby slept, nestled underneath another cover of embroidered silk, the rose color matching her tiny lips.

Worrying about a safe exit, Saddiq hesitated to pick up the baby. And babies could be particular. She could cry out at a strange touch.

Glancing around the room, he wondered if his niece would someday resent growing up in Laashekoh, where luxuries were few. Girls prized fine clothes, furnishings, jewelry, books, and servants. Possessions were linked with security and routines, and as Thara pointed out, that was why girls worked so hard for a good marriage.

A clanging noise came from the other side of the house. Panicked, Saddiq stretched out along the floor next to the bed. Using the brass vase, he shoved a few boxes aside and squirmed his way underneath the bed. He tugged on the bedcover with one hand, trying to smooth his entry point.

Just in time. The bird cackled, calling out “
Kee!
” Ducking its head low, the bird poked its way underneath the bed, too.

“
Kee
?” he whispered back. He could not turn his head in the tight space and had to stare at the bird and the base of the baby's basket.

Moments later, someone entered the room. Old slippers shuffled toward the child. “Ah, she left the door open, but you are still sleeping.”

The soft whisper was from an old woman. Saddiq loosened his grip on the vase. The feet stepped backward, away from the baby, moving about the room before pausing again near the basket. A smaller set of feet padded behind the woman.

A yellow kitten was curious about what waited underneath the bed. The bird pecked at the intruder, and the kitten yelped.

Suddenly, the stiff cover was jerked away. Terrified, Saddiq held his breath, scrambling to think of an excuse for hiding underneath a strange woman's bed. His mind was blank.

“
Ne!
” The bird screeched and jabbed its beak toward the slippers. “
Ne!
”

Another scream, this one from the woman. Hands swooped down and latched onto the bird's neck, pulling it out from underneath the bed. Flapping its wings, the myna shrieked.

“What are you doing in this room?” The question was vicious. “Why, I should let the cats take care of you!”

A cracking noise, and the myna's wailing went silent.

Saddiq's lungs hurt, and he had to breathe, as slowly and quietly as possible. He waited, but the woman did not kneel. Only the kitten peered at Saddiq, purring and sliding against his shoulder before heading back to pounce on the slippers. “Sleep, Shareen
.
Sleep. You deserve better.” A gnarled hand dipped down, pinching the back of the kitten's neck.

The light went out, the door closed, and the woman left the room.

Saddiq felt safe in the darkness, but that was foolish. He wanted to run, not just out of the house, but away from his stupid ideas. Thara had warned him. His plan was a disaster—entering a woman's room, picking up a baby, keeping her asleep and quiet, traveling late at night, and expecting his parents to express more joy than fury. Taking another few breaths, he tried to calm down before squirming away from the tight space. He decided to leave the brass vase behind and stood.

Amazingly, the baby still slept, and her mouth opened with each soft breath.

Saddiq could run off and leave his niece at the compound. The home wasn't terrible. He could return to Laashekoh and tell his father all he had learned—everything except the parts about entering a woman's bedroom and hiding underneath her bed. His father did not tell his family much about his activities outside of Laashekoh and might already know about the child. For all Saddiq knew, the man could already be arranging the transfer.

The baby would only hinder Saddiq's escape.

But Saddiq's arms moved faster than his reasoning. He stretched the piece of old blanket on the floor and turned to the basket. He pulled back the soft cover and gathered the baby with her blanket, placing both on top of the rag. He folded the gray blanket in half, tying the two ends around his neck and arranging the child like a pack on his back. The girl whimpered softly, but she was covered, and that muffled the noise. Before leaving the room, he bunched another one of her blankets underneath her bedcover. The lump in the basket might deceive anyone who entered the room for a quick check.

His biggest danger was leaving the house, aiming for the soft glow of the living areas at the far end of the hall, and Saddiq was at a disadvantage against any woman or man as long as he held the child. Every step took him away from the bedroom, the house, the mysterious compound—away from being challenged to give an excuse he did not have. He edged out of the room and moved swiftly along the narrow hallway. Near the living areas, Saddiq heard scratching noises on the carpet. Crouching, he slowed his pace to check. Three kittens cavorted about the space. Keeping one hand on the tie around his neck that secured the pack, Saddiq opened the door and stepped outside.

The chilly night air beckoned, offering freedom and promise. Once on the trail, Saddiq and the child would be safe.