Veil of Silence (7 page)

“Captain Gagliano, ma’am,” the corporal made it sound like an apology.  “Your escort is here.  I have this for you,” he said, showing her a bottle of infant drops.  She frowned until he explained that they would help make the children sleepy for the next stage of their trip, especially if Amir acted up again.  “My wife has used them to help with the air pressure on their ears.”

Marsha was pleased and thanked him for his foresight.  She couldn’t tell him that the child wasn’t upset by the air pressure, but by the noise.  Neither of them had any experience with such mechanical wonders.  These were the things out of children’s nightmares.

“These men will go with you,” the corporal explained.

Marsha looked up at the two men, dressed as any young Afghan male of good means would be.  Their semi-Western-styled suits had more traditional Afghan clothing underneath, the combination a common sight with Afghan males.  Her heart was in her throat and she took a protective, if unbalanced step in front of her children.  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

“The major thought that you would look less suspicious if your escort looked like locals,” the corporal explained.  “Pete and Johann will escort you to Europe and possibly back to the States.”

“How ya doin’?” a Texas drawl greeted her as the very Afghan-looking man, who introduced himself as Johann, stepped forward to shake her hand.

“I’m Pete,” the other very dusky-looking man greeted her and held out his hand to be shaken.  It was firm, it was moist and, if she wasn’t mistaken, it was gay.  She eyed him, wondering how she had spotted it after all these years.

“If you are seen traveling with these two men and two children it will be less noticeable,” the corporal explained further.

Marsha nodded.  It was actually a rather brilliant, if simple plan.  “When is our flight?” she asked, looking around.

“Now,” Pete told her as he held out an elbow for her to take.

“No,” she told him as she declined to take it.  He cocked an eyebrow in her direction.  “I must walk behind you two as befits a good wife,” she explained.  “You two must appear to be ignoring my existence.  Maybe look back now and then, even appearing a little angry at how slow this mere woman and the children are.  If the children like you, maybe carry them now and then?”

The men nodded, understanding more.  Everyone who came over here got a crash course in the culture, but until they experienced it or actually saw it, it was just hearsay.  She had provided invaluable information for their plan to work.  They had to get her out of Kabul.  It had been explained that Captain Marsha Gagliano and the intel her brain held, might be valuable.  Their job was to get her home safely.

They escorted her, Johann’s back turned, but glancing back frequently and showing exasperation as a husband or other male family member might do.  Pete brought up the rear, looking for any problem that might arise.  They walked along the edge of the buildings and then across the tarmac to a plane sitting there waiting for passengers.  She shepherded her children along behind Johann, not looking up as they were taken into the plane first, up the walkway from under the plane, and seated.  She put Bahir in the seat by the window and Amir in the seat in the middle.  She herself sat on the outside.  She felt safer doing that.  The two men took seats across the aisle from them with room for three more on the far side of them.  Both looked at her with questions in their eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” the steward asked solicitously, his accent was decidedly French.  These were VIPs who had been ushered onto the plane before anyone else.  He would make sure they were taken care of.

“Could you bring me a little bit of 7-up for my tummy?” she asked, still not looking up so he could see her face.

“Yes, madam, right away,” he told her.  He asked the men across the aisle and they both turned him down.  He was back in minutes with a can and a cup. 

Marsha waited until he had gone back to the galley to await the other passengers.  She pulled the tray down on the seat in front of her and put the cup and can on it.  She popped the top, glancing over in time to see her children fascinated with the sound.  She kept herself from smiling as she began to pour the soda into the cup.  The bubbles rising and clinging to the sides of the cup were fascinating to them.  She reached into her pocket and pulled out the drops.  After reading the label, she squeezed some into the cup of soda, using the eyedropper to stir the concoction.  She handed the cup to Bahir.  “Drink only half.  The rest is for your brother,” she warned the little girl.

“Ohhh,” she sighed blissfully at the strange, lemony taste.  Marsha hoped the medicine hadn’t tainted it. 

“Mine,” Amir demanded in Tajik as he watched his sister enjoy the beverage.

“Wait your turn,” Marsha warned him in English.  She wouldn’t put up with some of the behaviors that had been acceptable back in the tribe.  Male arrogance was encouraged at an early age.  Some tempered it with respect for women.  Some, like Zabi, let it go to their head.

Bahir dutifully drank half, maybe a little more.  She was surprised and delighted at the burps that came up.  Marsha gently helped Amir to drink the rest, bending painfully on her protruding stomach as she reached.  He got some down his chin and she carefully wiped it away.  She could hear them opening the doors for the rest of the passengers.  She wanted no one to take notice of her and the children.  Finally, Amir was finished.

“More?” he asked hopefully and then looked disappointed as his mother shook her head.  Turning resentfully, he looked out the window of the plane at the activity below them, the baggage handlers, and the other airport personnel.

Marsha sat back in her chair again and sipped at the remaining soda in the can.  She hoped the bubbles would settle her own stomach.  The baby was kicking in protest.  Her nerves, her stress, everything was upsetting the little one and she rubbed her stomach before putting her hand down.  She wanted no one to realize she was a pregnant woman traveling with two children.  The two swarthy men traveling with her would help her façade.

Pete got up as the other passengers began to board the plane and came over, leaning down to whisper in her ear.  “I want to be sure that they know we are together.  Is there anything I can do?”

Marsha shook her head.  Already, passengers were coming down the aisle looking for their seats, and Pete was in the way.  Reluctantly, he returned to his seat as people couldn’t get past him in the narrow aisle.  Repeated requests to “Excuse me,” in various Afghan and European dialects had him glowering.  He turned the glare on her once he sat down again, hoping people would get the hint.  What people saw was a woman in a black burqa with two small children beside her.  Both children were looking anxiously out the window and this made more than one person smile.  It would be assumed they were both female children as they too were covered in the light blue outfits.  Although a lot of children were allowed regular Afghan clothing, it wasn’t unheard of for some religious sects to hide their daughters under the all-encompassing clothing, even from an early age.  Marsha kept her head down, only glancing at the children as they enjoyed the sights outside the window.  She realized, not only would the plane ride be a first, but even something as simple as a window was a novelty.  They’d experienced a window in the jeep, some in the embassy, and now the one on the airplane.

“Moray, is this like the story?” Bahir asked, a bit too loud.

In a quieter voice, Marsha shushed the exuberant child, but assured her it was.  She saw the telltale signs of sleepiness coming over the young girl.  Already, Amir was blinking heavily.  He was fighting it though, as there was too much activity going on outside and passengers were streaming into the plane.  Slowly, he was losing the fight and Marsha caught him before the plane was fully loaded and he began to fall asleep backwards in his seat.  She turned him, buckled him in, and stood up to look for a pillow.

“What are you looking for?” Pete hissed from across the aisle.

“Pillows, maybe blankets, for the children,” she told him.  He unbuckled and got up to look. She sat back down, looking down at her hands as she waited.  Pete went through two overhead compartments to find what she was looking for, holding up a couple of passengers who were waiting to go down the aisle.  He ignored their mutterings and handed Marsha the requisite items.  She glanced up for only a moment and her heart nearly leapt out of her throat.  She thought she recognized someone waiting in the aisle.  She quickly averted her eyes, turning her back as she positioned a pillow under Amir.  She flung the blanket over the little boy, knowing he would probably sweat under the blanket and the burqa he was wearing.  For the moment, he was hidden from the passenger as they made their way past her seat once Pete had sat down again.  Marsha swiveled and, making eye contact with Pete, she glanced at the passenger who had just gone down the aisle, her head cocking that way to indicate he was of some importance.  Pete understood immediately and glanced down the aisle to take note of where the man sat.  Marsha turned around again and got Bahir settled in her seat.  Using the blanket as a second pillow for the young girl, she soon had her settled.  By the time the plane took off, both children were sleeping, blissfully unaware of the drama going on around them.

The preflight checklist was going on with the stewards.  Stewardesses were not allowed on planes in this male-dominated area of the world.  Announcements were made in Dari (the Afghan version of Farsi).  Under the announcement, Pete hissed, “What?”

Marsha shook her head as she answered, “I think he looks familiar.”

That was enough for both Pete and Johan to be on alert about the passenger she had tagged.

Marsha sat back.  There was nothing she could do but wait.  The lemony drink had helped her burp up some of her anxiety, but a whole new set of anxious thoughts assailed her as the plane began to roll away from the terminal.

CHAPTER SIX

Since there was nothing that Marsha could do about the passenger, she sat back in her chair and tried to rest.  Her thoughts were chaotic.  She decided to think about what might be waiting back home for her.

Heather had been such a wonderful wife.  Had she waited for her?  She wanted desperately to see her…to know.  The major hadn’t known and calling her hadn’t been an option.  Had it really been only one week since she entered the embassy?

She thought back as the plane began to roll onto a runway in preparation for takeoff….

“I’ve decided I’d like to get married,” Marsha told Heather.

Nodding slightly at the news, her girlfriend asked, “Anyone particular in mind?”  Heather’s eyebrows went up at the question, waiting impatiently for the brunette’s answer.

“Well…” she drew it out.  “I thought you, silly,” she answered with a grin.

With a whoosh, she released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding, smiling in return.  “That’s good.  I’d hate to think I’d invested all this time in this relationship and in training you without reaping the benefits and getting you in the end.”

Marsha laughed at the ‘training you’ line and took the dirty blonde in her arms, looking down at her with an affectionate grin.  “It’s not you that gets me,” she told her sincerely.  “I get you,” she said reverently as she leaned down for a well-deserved kiss.

A short time later as they came up for breath, Heather thought to ask, “Now that you have told me that we are getting married, don’t you think you should tell your family?”

She hesitated.  She hadn’t thought of telling her family.  She blanched as she realized the enormity of that task.  “Do I have to?” she whined slightly in jest, her forehead resting on her girlfriend, now fiancée’s, forehead.

Nodding slightly, Heather’s forehead causing the taller woman’s forehead to bob up in synchronicity, she answered, “I think it’s time that you tell your family that you are gay.”

Swallowing slightly, she asked, “Do they
have
to know?  Can’t I let them guess?”

“Well, when you walk down the aisle and I follow along next, don’t you think they might clue into the fact that you are marrying a woman?”

“I don’t know.  Some of them are pretty obtuse.  They may think you are just one of my bridesmaids only with a better gown…” she grinned at the thought.

“I think you are going to have to come out to your family,” she told her.

Marsha lost her grin and the playfulness she had felt up to that point.  “Why don’t we just elope and tell them afterwards?”

“Kinda defeats the purpose of inviting all our friends and family to our wedding,” Heather pointed out.

“They don’t
have
to know,” she pointed out in return.

“I want a big wedding with the white dresses, my father walking me down the aisle, and the celebration of our love.  I’d kinda like you to be in attendance.”

“Your father is dead,” she pointed out.

“That’s irrelevant to the point I am making.  I want a wedding, in a church, with everyone there…including
you
!” she used her forefinger to point at her fiancée’s nose.

“Then I guess
we
are going to have to tell my family that I’m gay,” she conceded with a long drawn-out sigh.

Shaking her head, she backed away slightly.  “Nuh uh, it’s your family.  You break the news to them.”