Veiled Freedom (34 page)

One of the female shapes had scattered with the children, but the taller one first stiffened and then turned around. “
Mr.
Wilson, did you have to scare everyone half to death? And just when I'd finally talked Farah out of her burqa. Now look what you've done.”

Steve felt apologetic as he took in frightened faces sheltering behind partly raised mud walls. The other female shape stood her ground staunchly at Amy's back, but her headscarf was snatched tightly over her face so Steve could catch no glimpse of her features. “Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

Amy's indignant look offered no forgiveness as she called to the children in soothing Dari, “Don't be afraid. He won't hurt you. He is one of the foreign soldiers here to protect people. You go on home now, and I will see you next time,” she continued as timid heads, then bodies, emerged from behind the mud bricks.

Behind the two women, the children scattered. The other kite flyer with his blue and yellow structure in hand disappeared with it down the street.

Amy turned back to Steve. “What are
you
doing here? And how did you know it was me anyhow?”

“I'd know you anywhere, Amy Mallory.”

Maliciously watching red rise to her cheeks, Steve pulled a hand radio from his belt. “Phil, Steve here. Everything's fine, just a bunch of kids playing. I'll be back shortly.”

Returning the radio to his belt, Steve relented. “Actually, I can't claim clairvoyance. It was your boots. At least you're consistent.”

Amy's glance dropped to the trim walking boots protruding under the dangling tassels of her long shawl. “They're the best shoes I've got for walking in all this dirt, unless I switch to plastic sandals like the local women.”

“You want to tell me what you're doing here on foot and alone?” More sternly, Steve went on. “I thought we'd already had this conversation.”

An impish smile offered no repentance. “Well, you did suggest we start a project in this neighborhood. Kind of hard for you to object when we take you up on it. Those were some of the project kids you scared away.”

Amy briefly outlined the literacy and feeding outreach. “It's just down the alley in that big compound. We've finished for the afternoon, so some of the kids decided to show me how they fight kites. And I'm not alone. This is Farah, one of my helpers from another project.”

The other female moved closer now that she'd seen Amy's ease with this foreign and armed stranger, but she still hadn't lowered her scarf for Steve to see if she was young or old.

Amy looked at Steve speculatively. “And if you're not clairvoyant, you must be here because we were making so much noise. So am I right in guessing one of those palaces over there belongs to my landlord?”

“That's right.” Steve pointed out Khalid's mustard yellow monstrosity. “And don't think you're going to get off that easily. You did hear that blast not fifteen minutes back? It happened to be a suicide bomb, and not the first in the last day or so. Alone or not, you shouldn't be out on the streets like this.”

“Yes, I heard the explosion,” Amy said calmly. “But it was nowhere close. Whatever you think, I'm not careless of my own safety or Farah's. The bombings have all been downtown where there are valuable targets. No one's going to waste one on a dirt-poor neighborhood like this. I've seen plenty of other women, expat and Afghan, burqa or not, on the streets. I'm aware there's always some risk. But I'd rather focus on the fact that at any given moment, the odds are I'm safe enough.”

Steve studied Amy with exasperation. He hadn't seen her since that abortive party that had ended for him on the MOI roof. Nor except in passing had she entered his thoughts.

She looks happy,
he thought with irritation. The hazel eyes Steve had last seen shimmering with unshed tears still held some of the wide-eyed pleasure with which she'd been watching the kite battle, her expression a smiling serenity that made Steve want to shake some sense into her.
So Afghanistan hasn't wiped that look off your face yet.

“And it's my job,” he said grimly, “to focus on the fact that at any given moment you may not be.”

At Amy's startled look, he amended, “Any generic person, I mean. You may not be a target here for a suicide bomber, but there are always sneak thieves or just a man with mischief on his mind who sees you as an easy mark. Where's your driver?”

“Jamil took our other personnel and equipment home. Farah and I are riding with Becky Frazer, an American nurse who helped us do a vaccination campaign this afternoon. She's giving a lift to some of the women with babies. Her van was full; hence the kite lesson.” Amy smiled. “But Becky should be back pretty soon.”

“Pretty soon isn't good enough,” Steve said flatly. “Give her a call and let her know she doesn't need to pick you up. I'll run you home.”

“That isn't necessary.”

Reading rebellion in Amy's stiffening shoulders and glare, Steve said even more flatly, “That wasn't an offer; it's an order. I couldn't live with my own conscience if I left you here and something happened.”

Amy looked at him thoughtfully, then wrinkled her nose in reluctant acquiescence. “Well, since you put it so nicely.”

As she reached for her knapsack, Steve added, making some effort to modify his tone from command to request, “From the car, please.” He glanced around the empty lot with its partially erected walls. There was nothing in the small faces still peeping from a safe distance to rouse alarm, but Steve didn't like the openness. He'd lingered in plain view too long. “Let's go.”

Amy and her companion followed him through the alley and back to the car. Phil eyed the unexpected passengers with undisguised curiosity as Steve ushered them into the backseat but made none of the droll comments Steve could see rising to his lips.

“Phil, meet Amy Mallory.” Steve climbed into the car as Phil started the engine. “Amy, may I introduce Phil Myers, part of Khalid's security detail. Amy's American, heads up an NGO called New Hope that's renting one of Khalid's properties over in the Wazir. You know the one,” he added significantly. “Do you remember where it's at? We're going to give these two ladies a ride home.”

Amy caught the significance in Steve's tone. Was there some history she was missing beyond their client's ownership of the New Hope rental? At least he hadn't brought up how they'd met. Phil Myers looked to be a few years older than Steve and less severe. Amy liked his smile, the lack of self-consciousness about his scars that must hold their own story.

As the older contractor reversed down the dirt street, Amy dug out her cell phone. “Becky?”

“I was just about to call you. Did you hear that blast? I'll be back to get you as soon as I can. Meanwhile, you need to get off the street and out of sight.”

As she'd offered, Debby Martini's American acquaintance had stopped by last Friday to pick Amy up for the English-language “gathering,” as the weekly worship service was euphemistically dubbed. Becky Frazer proved to be a small, thin woman with graying blonde hair and a brisk but kindly competence. She was also the first woman Amy had ever seen driving in Kabul, maneuvering a minivan through the congested streets with a practiced aggression that made Miami traffic look easy.

The gathering was larger than Amy expected, a multinational cross section of Kabul's aid and diplomatic community. That they met on the Muslim sabbath made sense since Sunday was a workday for expats as well as Afghans. That in this “fledgling democracy,” even foreign Christians couldn't openly hold a church service would have shocked Amy a few weeks ago. Now it just saddened her.

The worship time and potluck afterward had banished Amy's feelings of isolation. Better yet, Becky had promptly volunteered a vaccination program, both at New Hope and the neighborhood outreach. Next on Amy's wish list was a clinic for the New Hope women. Maybe even that trauma counseling she talked about.

“You don't need to come back,” Amy said now. “Someone stopped by and is giving Farah and me a ride.”

“You shouldn't be picking up rides. Do you know how many kidnappings there's been?”

“Don't worry. He's an American, and I've met him before.”

Before Amy could say more, Steve reached over and plucked the phone from her hand. “Hi, Becky Frazer. Steve Wilson here. I'm a contractor with Condor Securities. . . . Yes, I heard the blast. . . . I'll make sure Amy gets home; you just get yourself indoors and safe.”

The man had hearing of a bat as well as memory banks that filed every data scrap he heard. Handing the phone back, Steve drawled caustically, “Your friend's got more sense than you do. She'll give you a call when she's safely off the street.”

Resisting a sharp retort, Amy turned instead to Farah, huddled beside her, shawl-enveloped head pressed to the window where the mansions bordering their neighborhood project were rolling by. Was she frightened since she couldn't understand the English conversation?

But as Amy squeezed Farah's arm through the heavy winter cloak, her swaddled head swiveled from the window, and Amy saw that her blue green eyes peeping above the scarf held no fear but eager delight.

She's enjoying the adventure.
Emotion tightened Amy's throat, admiration for the indomitable spirit of this Afghan girl. Would Amy have had the courage to run away from an arranged marriage at thirteen? to cross this country alone and without a penny in her pocket?

Gently, Amy tugged Farah's scarf down from her face, revealing the dimpled smile underneath. After a moment's resistance, the teenager let the scarf fall, lifting her tousled head proudly as she turned her gaze again to the world passing outside.

Soon Phil Myers pulled up to the New Hope compound. Steve climbed out to open the back door for his passengers. Farah scurried inside as soon as the gate opened but not without a shy smile and murmured “tashakor.” The front courtyard was noisy with the shouts and laughter of playing children, and Farah was barely inside when a gaggle of small girls pounced on her, sweeping her away with them.

“Thank you for the ride.” Amy hesitated on the threshold. “Would you like to see what we've done with our project? And your friend, of course.” Her eye fell on the automatic weapon slung over Steve's shoulder. “That is, if you wouldn't mind losing the gun. We have a houseful of women and children now.”

Basic courtesy necessitated the invitation, but Amy hadn't expected Steve to slide the M4 immediately from his shoulder. “Thank you. I will come in. I'd like to see what you've been up to.

Steve leaned into the Toyota to speak quietly to his colleague. When he straightened up, he was without weapon or helmet and he zipped his army green parka to conceal his tactical vest. The car pulled away as he stepped inside the compound.

“I sent Phil back to Khalid's,” Steve answered Amy's questioning look. “He'd like to see your project, but policy doesn't permit leaving weapons unattended. Our team house is in this neighborhood, so I'll just walk over when I'm done here.”

Uncertainty gripped Amy as Wajid fastened the gate behind the security contractor. Was Steve too remembering the acrimony of their last encounter? Not to mention his last stopover at New Hope.

But he seemed affable enough today as he surveyed the fresh paint inside and out, children climbing over a jungle gym Jamil and the older boys had cobbled together from scrap lumber, others kicking a ball around the dirt patch that had once held construction debris.

“You've been busy,” he commented slowly, and his tone held nothing but approval. “I'd hardly recognize the place.”

“Ameera-jan! Ameera-jan!”

A pack of preschoolers dashed around the jungle gym, an assault of small, warm bodies almost knocking Amy over before they took in her companion. Even without weapons, there was no denying the foreign visitor's tall, powerful frame was a formidable sight, and most scattered immediately. But two smaller girls clung to Amy's winter cloak, bursting into frightened tears. Amy understood their sobbing Dari only because David and Goliath had become a new story-time favorite.

“No, he isn't the giant,” Amy said gently, peeling away their arms. “He's a brave warrior like David who fights bad people. Now go to your mothers. It is time for your bath and supper. Then I will tell you the story of the shepherd boy warrior and the giant again if you like.”

Sidling past Steve, the preschoolers disappeared with more relief than reluctance up the marble steps.

Amy braced herself for Steve's derision. “Sorry about that—again.” She managed a rueful smile. “Personally, I don't find you all that terrifying. But kids here don't see a lot of foreigners, and these especially aren't used to men.”

But Amy could read no mockery in Steve's face nor any expression at all. As she became uncomfortable under his scrutiny, he said quickly, “Hey, I appreciate the character witness. But I was under the impression you didn't speak Dari.”