Veil of Silence (6 page)

“Sir, I was instructed to keep certain people apprised of Captain Gagliano’s testimony.  This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with this investigation.”

“She fraternized with the enemy,” he pointed out angrily.

“She was captured by the natives and kept prisoner for these five years.  She was raped and beaten by these people.  That was not fraternizing.  She was kept against her will.  She tried escaping on several occasions and ultimately made it.”

The colonel was not pleased with a mere captain pointing out these facts.  He wanted to spin it in his own way.

Ultimately, neither of them would have a choice in what would happen.  The ambassador, a nice man by the name of Tudor, came to them.  “My people tell me there is an increase in activity around the embassy.  I would like it if your people,” he indicated the colonel, “would take this investigation to your base.  I hear from your people,” he indicated the captain, “that the best course of action would be to get her to the States.  What is the plan?”

Captain McKellan nodded.  He too had heard about the civilians and knew it was time to move her.  They’d have to be quick about it as the colonel and his people wanted access to her.  The civilians, if they were Zabi and his people, would want her desperately, especially her son, Amir.  It wasn’t lost on him that the name Amir meant king in their language.  He started to make arrangements, and quickly.

CHAPTER FIVE

“I don’t know that I can,” she shook her head as she backed away from what he had told her, from the concept.  “The last time I was on one of those things, it crashed.  That sort of thing stays with you.”

“We believe your husband–”

“He’s not my husband!” she said vehemently, correcting him.  “He was my torturer, my warden.  I was his concubine, his slave, a mere servant.”  The anger in her voice was obvious.  She’d been getting braver day by day since she felt safer.  She wouldn’t feel truly safe until she was on American soil in the United States.  She glanced at the children playing so innocently with toys they would never have seen in the hills of Afghanistan.  They hadn’t been deprived—none of the children of the village had been—they simply hadn’t known anything else.  It wasn’t that the American way of life was better…just different.

“We have to get you out now,” Mr. Wynn told her, trying to be diplomatic.

Marsha nodded mutely.  She knew that.  She’d have to swallow her fears, and there were many of them.  She had to get herself and her children to safety.  Zabi must not be allowed to find her or the children…
ever!
  If he got hold of the children, they would disappear into the caves in those hills and she would never see them again.  If he got hold of her, death would be preferable to what he would do to her.

“Would you be able to identify your…” he started to say husband again, reconsidered, and said, “captor if we had a picture?”

“Is Zabi outside the gates?” she gasped, her hands starting to twist in her lap.  The fear was real.  He or his family would come for her if they could.  Had they figured out where she had gone?  Of course they had.  They weren’t stupid, merely uneducated.  She looked around fearfully, wondering at the security here in the embassy.  They were sitting in the gardens, watching the children play.  It was a lot more relaxed than the offices where they had interrogated her, much to their mutual frustration.  There were things that she just wouldn’t, or couldn’t, say.

“We aren’t sure,” Major Scott told her.  “There seems to be unusual local activity on the streets.  We aren’t sure if it’s the same people, but I don’t believe we should take chances.  We want to get you out now.”

“How?”

“I told you,” he reminded her gently.  He understood.  She had to have fears from the previous crash.  It was certainly reasonable.

She swallowed, realizing she had no choice.  A mob, even one that they might be able to muster, would stop a car if they suspected that Zabi’s ‘wife’ was inside with
his
children.  While she was certain she would be under military escort, she didn’t want anyone else to die.  Enough had already died trying to protect her.  She remembered a couple of the men from the helicopter crash that had survived before she passed out.  After trying to fight off the ‘rescuers’ who had happened upon the crash, they had disappeared.  She barely remembered the first rapes.  She’d been numb by the crash, stunned by her capture, and she blocked out the way they treated her and the other captors until they disappeared.  She’d been in this stupor until she realized she was taken into the hills to become one particularly nasty rapist’s ‘wife.’ 

“Can you be ready to go within the hour?” Captain McKellan confirmed.

She nodded mutely.  “May I go?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“You may, Captain,” the major said formally.  He wondered if she would ever be the same.  Would she recover some of the spark that had been Lieutenant Gagliano?  He realized she had no recollection of them meeting before.  At one time, he had actually worked with her, but that was long ago.  He hadn’t been a major then.  He’d already recommended psych evaluations based on what Captain Lamar had said.  She needed help.  He had also put forth paperwork for a female obstetrician and gynecologist to meet her when she landed back in the States.

“Do you think she will lose it?” Wynn asked them after she took the children and shut the glass door behind her.  He indicated her mental state as he made a whirling motion next to his head

“I think that woman is made of sterner stuff than most,” the captain commented in response.

“How will you get her out of here?”

“I’m going to fly her commercial.  They won’t be expecting that.  It may just save some of our men.”

“How can you do that?  Won’t they be watching all the airports?  They’ll expect, being in the military, that she will fly out on one of our transports,” the major protested.

The captain nodded.  “That’s exactly why I won’t.”

“What’s your plan?” Mr. Wynn asked.

“I still have some details to work out,” he told him, not trusting the State Department man in the least.  He didn’t have to tell him anything.  They had cooperated to interview Captain Gagliano, but there was only so much he was willing to share.

* * * * *

Marsha gathered the children close and told them a fantastical tale of two small children that were going to fly in a big bird.  She’d shared such tales before, but she hoped it would ease their transition into flying in a helicopter.  The noise would be horrific.  It was like nothing they had ever known.  She herself had willingly hopped into a UH-1, a relic of the Vietnam War that seemed to remain in production to this day.  The engine problems had begun after they were in the air for a mere half hour.  Going down wasn’t from rebel forces attacking the bird, but from a mechanical error.  It was no one’s fault.  The hell that Marsha had experienced afterward, she could lay clearly at Zabi’s feet.

Marsha was told by Linda that Major Scott had requested that she dress in the clothes that had been left for her and the children.  By guessing their sizes, someone had managed to purchase them current and westernized clothes.  Marsha would be wearing military clothes.  It was laughable as she tried to close her pants over her big belly.  The t-shirt looked grotesque.  The children, however, looked endearing in their jeans and t-shirts.  A big yellow sponge was on Amir’s shirt and a stereotypical Barbie on Bahir’s.  Marsha didn’t know what to do with their Afghan clothing.

“Take that in here,” Linda offered, showing her a duffel bag.  “You may need them later.”

Marsha took her advice, even packing the black burqa and the chador, as well as her more beautiful silk ones in gray with black patterns on them, carefully folding them against wrinkling.  She remembered when she saw the material that Zabi had acquired, either by trade, barter, or theft.  She’d been thrilled when Malekah announced that she would make the required garment so as not to shame Zabi at the celebrations they would be attending.  Marsha had smiled inwardly as she felt she got the better outfit.  Nothing could make Malekah look attractive.  If Marsha had made any gesture of pleasure or gratitude, the bitter woman would have made sure that the outfit would have somehow been ruined. 

She packed the children’s traditional outfits more willingly.  These had been made by Zabi’s mother, Aadila, a crafty old bird who fondly adored her only grandchildren.  She didn’t like Malekah, had wanted Zabi to put her aside in favor of a younger woman.  This captive, this American woman, had given him prestige when he announced his intention to take her as his second wife, and this only after he realized she was pregnant with his child.  He anticipated a son off this healthy female.  He had been disappointed in the female child she bore him.  His anger had continued to the point that a miscarried son had taught him an invaluable lesson.  The birth of the long-anticipated son meant his legacy would live on.  He was sure this latest pregnancy was another son.

Marsha was ready much sooner than the major had anticipated and Linda led her through the embassy to the roof.  She heard the chopper blades long before she saw them.  The noise was rather deafening and she could see the fear in her children’s eyes.  She faked her own happy face for their sakes.  She could feel the sweat that had broken out on her body.  Her forehead was beading up, and not from the extreme heat in this country.  “Remember?  The big bird?  We’re going to
fly
,” she told them excitedly, hoping to fool them into enjoying the ride.

Bahir was excited.  The story was coming true!  Being older, she understood more of what was going on.  Amir was terrified.  He hung back until Marsha had no choice and scooped him up to carry him to the chopper.  Her body protested.  One baby in her stomach and another being carried in her arms was too much for her beleaguered back.  She took it slow as she tried to hold Bahir’s hand and carry her duffel bag.

“Good luck,” Linda shouted over the noise as they came out on the roof. 

“Thank you for everything,” she shouted in return, blinking back tears from the dust that the chopper stirred up. 

Linda watched as the pregnant woman, her children with her, hurried toward the open door of the chopper.  The child in her arms was screaming in terror.  The little girl looked on eagerly at the adventure.  A man dressed in battle fatigues stepped forward to take the duffel bag and help the passengers into the plane.  He scared the toddler in her arms further as he looked so odd with his helmet and earphones.  He shut the sliding door behind himself as he too climbed aboard. 

Marsha felt dizzy.  She couldn’t believe she was in one of these contraptions…again.  The baby kicked painfully.  Amir was screaming his head off.  She sat down and grabbed a set of earphones and placed them over the toddler’s head.  He stopped screaming almost immediately as the noise was blotted out, then he looked about in wonderment at the strange contraptions.  She quickly eased him off her lap and onto a seat by himself, buckling him in.  She put Bahir into another seat and buckled her in, giving her a set of ear-phones too.  She smiled toothily, her baby teeth shining brightly against the brown of her skin.  Marsha sat back.  The kicks from within were making her stomach hurt.  She buckled herself in and put on her own set of earphones.

“Okay?” someone called into them and she gave him a thumbs up.  She didn’t feel like talking.  She was too ill and was hoping she wouldn’t vomit.

She closed her eyes and felt the sickening lurch that meant they were taking off.  She quickly opened them to watch the children’s reactions.  Bahir’s big brown eyes were wide with excitement.  She didn’t look scared, which was a relief to her mother.  She looked down at Amir and he was playing with the earphones, the muffling of the noise enticing to him.  He had felt the lurch, but didn’t really pay attention to it as he wasn’t looking out the windows.  Marsha leaned back and closed her eyes again.

It didn’t take long and they were already landing.  The corporal who had jumped in with them escorted them into a hangar, carrying her duffel bag.

“Do you have a change of clothes in that, Captain?” he asked her.  “Do you have local clothing?”

“Why?” she asked, curious.

“You are to change into it if you do,” he told her.  “We’re getting you out of here anonymously.  Do you need a burqa?  A chador?  How about the children?”

“No, I have what I need here,” she indicated the duffel bag.  Now she understood why Linda had told her to pack everything.  She was grateful that someone had washed the garments as they’d been full of dust from their harrowing escape and no amount of smacking would release it all.

The corporal gave her privacy, leading her to a small, anonymous office while she changed out of her ill-fitting military clothing and into the beautiful Afghan clothes.  She hid the children and herself with the absolutely ugly and all-encompassing burqa.  She was grateful it wasn’t the kind that had a net across the face, but was sure if Malekah had thought of that, she would have insisted that Mahsa, meaning Marsha, wear one.  She was careful to attach the chador across her face, leaving only her eyes visible.  Next, she covered up Bahir in another burqa she had stolen from their camp.  She’d chosen it because its size allowed her to hide the child.  Most children, most female children, didn’t have to wear these black robes until they became teenagers.  This one was a pale blue color.  Her tiny daughter didn’t look odd in it and it hid her features well.  Next, she put the one on Amir.  Zabi would be furious if he knew that
his
son was wearing ‘women’s’ clothing.  Anything that impinged on his masculinity was a threat.  She hadn’t understood that at first.  Most of the men in the village were decent, but Zabi took much pride in his claim on the American woman.  She’d found later that many had recommended that she be returned, but he had kept her for her ability to fight, for the fact that she had been overcome, that he owned her, and that she’d given him his long-sought-after children.  Once she gave him a son, he wouldn’t have let her go unless in death.  Amir didn’t want to go back in the burqa because it was too hot.  Marsha had finally calmed him after his terror flying in the helicopter, but the big tears were still obvious on his small face.  She laughed and cooed with him, tickling him, trying to distract him as she dressed him.  There was a knock on the door.