Operation: Forbidden

“No, no,” Khalid said, trying to muster a smile, but failing. “You need to understand the heart of our mission. By knowing what the foundation is, you can appreciate our fierce passion for our people.” He held her forest-green gaze. The noise on the tarmac surrounded them. He gestured for Emma to follow him into the Ops building where there would be a room where they could talk.

Emma followed Shaheen. More and more, this felt like doom to her. She was falling fast and she needed to focus on her work. Inside Ops, the captain found an empty room. They went in and closed the door. There was a rectangular table, reports scattered across it along with pens. Emma took a seat and he sat down opposite her after pouring them some coffee.

Taking the lead, Emma folded her hands and met his stare. “My CO told me you were a marked man. I want to know what that means since I’m putting my butt on the line here.”

“I have an ancient enemy,” Khalid began, “his name is Asad Malik. He was born in Pakistan, along the border in the state of Waziristan. Malik was very poor, and with the Taliban, who make a permanent home in that border state, he found his calling. My father’s family are Sufis. They know that education is the door to all fulfillment of a person’s dreams and goals. My father has considerable wealth, and he poured it into the border villages of our country a long time ago because the so-called central government of Afghanistan ignored them.”

Brows drawing downward, Khalid said, “Malik rose to become a very powerful Taliban leader. He is heartless and ruthless. He began attacking villages to which my father was trying to bring schools and education. There were many pitched battles over the years, and Malik swore to kill every member of my family.”

Emma gasped. Although she knew revenge ran deep, the admittance was still shocking. “What?”

Shrugging, Khalid said, “Malik is not a Sufi. He is a terrorist at the other end of the Muslim religion. Our beliefs swing from an eye-for-an-eye attitude to one of spiritual connection with Allah.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I am Sufi. Malik is stuck in a state of twisted hatred and revenge. It would not matter what religion he embraced, he would practice what he is, despite it. He has perverted the Koran for his own goals.”

Emma nodded. “Yes, every religion has its fanatics. In my year here in Afghanistan, I’ve lived among the Muslims and I find them incredibly generous and caring.

They aren’t the terrorists that the world thinks. They believe in peace.”

“Yes, we are peaceful,” Khalid agreed. “It will only be through our daily life that we show the Muslim religion is not one of terrorism.”

“It’s a PR game,” Emma said. “And I agree with you, people are educated one person at a time. Religion doesn’t kill. It’s the individuals within any religion who choose to interpret it according to their own darkness and wounds.”

He gave her an intense look. “I have truly made the right decision in asking you to be a part of our mission. I like your free-thinking policy.”

Emma tried not to be swayed by his compliment and felt heat enter her cheeks. “I try never to judge a person. I let their actions speak louder than their words.” The intensity of his gaze made Emma feel as if she were unraveling as a woman—not as an officer—to this lion of a man. She mentally corrected herself once again: there were no lions in Afghanistan. Instead, Emma regarded him as the rare and elusive snow leopard that lived in the rugged mountains of this country.

“My death dance with Malik,” Khalid continued, “took on new dimensions two years ago. Malik stalks the border like the wolf that he is. He continually attacks and kills the villagers who try to better their lives in any way. It is how he stops my father’s generosity to lift the poor up and help them succeed. Malik does not care about such things.” Taking a deep breath, Khalid continued, his voice strained. “I fell in love with a beautiful teacher. Her name was Najela. I courted her for two years and I asked her to become my wife.”

Emma heard Khalid’s voice quaver and noticed how he fought unknown emotions, his hands opening and closing around the heavy ceramic mug in front of him. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to soothe away the grief she saw clearly etched in his face. But Emma said nothing. She allowed Khalid to get hold of himself so that he could continue his story.

“Najela and my sister Kinah were the best of friends. And why wouldn’t they be? They were both American-educated and trained in education. Najela graduated from Harvard and my sister from Princeton. They were working with my father to help set up village schools for boys and girls. I was away working for the U.S. Army and they were frequently up in this area while I flew Apaches in the southern region of my country.”

Emma steeled herself. She leaped ahead and figured out that Najela was dead. At Malik’s hands? She hoped not. Her heart cringed inside her chest. “Go on,” she urged him, her voice tense.

Nodding, Khalid swallowed hard, took a drink of his coffee, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then took a deep breath and released it. “I was on a mission with the U.S. Marines in the south when I got word that Malik had captured Najela in one of the villages.” His voice became low and strained. “By the time I was given orders to fly north to the village, Malik had repeatedly raped her and then he … slit her throat. I found her in a mud house that had been abandoned by the family who lived there. All I found … was her …” And he closed his eyes for a moment, reliving that nightmare afternoon.

“I—I’m so sorry,” Emma whispered, caught up in his anguish. Without thinking, she reached across the table and touched his hand. And when she realized what she’d done, Emma quickly pulled her hand back. No officer should be seen initiating such an intimate action with another officer. Turning her focus back to Khalid, she thought she saw tears in his blue eyes for just a second. And then, they were gone. Had she imagined them? Emma chastised herself for losing her standards.

“Malik hates anyone and anything who tries to improve upon the villagers’ lives,” Khalid continued, his voice rough. “As I said, he’s sworn vengeance against my family because of my father’s generosity to the villagers.”

Emma considered his heavily spoken words. “And is Malik out there right now? Will he be our enemy as you and Kinah set up this mission for those same villagers?” A cold chill worked its way up her spine as she saw his expression still and become unreadable.

“Yes, he is our nemesis. You need to know that this mission is dangerous so that you remain on guard. Your CO was correct in telling you I am a marked man. You will be marked too, Captain.”

Eyes rounding, Emma sat up. “Aren’t you afraid, Captain Shaheen? He’s already killed one person you loved. You could be next.” Suddenly, Emma wanted nothing to harm this man who had a vision for the girls of his country. She could see his sincerity and the heart that he wore openly on his sleeve. Khalid was priceless in her world because few men could be so in touch with their emotions and share them as he just had with her. Brody had never opened up like this. Not ever. And it threw Emma.

Khalid said, “Rumi would say a real Sufi laughs at death. A Sufi is like an oyster—what strikes it does not harm the pearl within.”

Considering the saying from the thirteenth century, Emma grimaced. “Sorry, but I’m not in agreement with Rumi. I don’t feel I could be at peace if someone raped and then murdered my fiancée.”

“I understand,” Khalid said. “You have lived in our country where the threat to your life exists every day.” He opened his hand and gestured around the room. “Afghans have been at war with the Russians. Now, we have the Taliban. Do we want to live this way? No. Do we dream of a peaceful life? Yes. I don’t expect you, Captain Cantrell, to believe as we do. Najela was Sufi. I know in my heart of hearts that throughout her terrible last hours she felt compassion for Malik. He’s a man so filled with hatred and vengeance that I’m sure that her compassion only made him want to harm her even more.”

Shaking her head, Emma muttered, “Well, I sure wouldn’t be thinking peaceful and loving thoughts if that dude was doing that to me. I’d be looking for any way to protect myself and kill the bastard.”

Giving her a slight smile, Khalid nodded. “Sufis are misunderstood even by our other Muslim brethren. In fact, those who choose jihad and become terrorists hate us as much as they do the so-called infidels.”

“Which is why Malik hates you?” Emma wondered.

“He hates my family for many reasons and has sworn vengeance against each of us. In part, because we are Sufis and believe in tolerance and generosity toward others. The fact my father is worth billions of dollars makes Malik hate us because he was raised in poverty. He didn’t own a pair of shoes until he was eleven years old when the Taliban leader recruited him.”

Suddenly, there was a deafening explosion outside. The sound and reverberation slammed into the room. Instantly, they both dove for the deck, hands over their heads. Emma hissed a curse. Tiles from the ceiling fell around them as a second explosion shook Ops.

“It’s the Taliban,” she growled, getting to her feet. Automatically, she pulled the .45 pistol from her belt and ran to the door. Swinging it open, Ops looked like a beehive that had been overturned.

Shaheen was at her side, looking down at her. Emma’s face was set and her gaze aimed at the windows outside. He saw one of the helicopters burning, the black smoke roiling and bubbling skyward. “Do you get attacks often?”

Grimly, Emma moved toward the center of Ops. Pilots and crews were hurrying out the doors, armed and ready to fight. She knew from being here over a year that such attacks were sporadic. “No,” she snapped, moving with everyone else toward the doors. “Come on, we need to help the fire crews.”

Khalid didn’t know Camp Bravo as she did. He trotted across Ops and found himself outside with her. Emma’s eyes were searching the end of the runway and she pointed in that direction. “That’s one of the places they hit us. They sit in the brush beyond the runway and lob RPGs, rocket propelled grenades, this way.”

Khalid noted a squad of Special Forces speeding away in a Humvee, armed and ready for battle. He wanted to protect Emma. It was his natural reaction. Telling himself she was a warrior like him, he kept his thoughts and his hands to himself. She was all business now. Another crew rolled up in a fire engine and began spewing foam over the burning CH-47 transport helicopter, already a total loss.

Emma turned. She was glad she had her Kevlar jacket on because gunshots were suddenly being traded at the end of the runway. “Come on, this is under control.

No sense standing out here like targets.” She gestured toward Ops again.

Shaheen wasn’t so sure, for a minute longer, he watched the Special Forces from the Humvee spraying the bushes where the Taliban had been hiding. “Do they get inside the camp?” he asked as he followed her into Ops.

“Not so far, but we’re always watching.” Settling the .45 back into the holster on her waist, she added, “We’re never safe here. Let’s get back to discussing the mission, shall we?” Emma stopped and poured herself another cup of black coffee from the urn at the side of the Ops desk. Khalid did the same and they returned to the meeting room.

There were several enlisted men in there. They’d already picked up the ceiling tiles that had dropped from the explosion, so Emma thanked them and, once more, she and Khalid were alone. They pulled their chairs to the table and sat down. Her heart pounded and she felt tense and on guard. As she sipped the coffee, she hoped it would soothe her jangled nerves.

“Will they attack more than once in a day?” Khalid wondered. He found himself drowning in her dark, forest-green eyes, fraught with care and concern. If he read her correctly, it was concern for his welfare. That touched and warmed his wounded heart. There was something ethereal about Emma. Was it how her mussed red hair curled slightly at her temples? Was it her huge green eyes fraught with compassion? Or those lips that reminded Khalid of a rose in full bloom? His inspiration to cut the first red rose of the year from his family’s garden hadn’t gone as he’d hoped. “Well, let me lay out some information to you on Operation Book Worm,” he said, returning to business.

Asad Malik crept away from the end of the runway with his men. Bullets were singing around them, but he knew from long experience that the Special Forces couldn’t see them and they were firing blindly into the thick brush. One day, when there was time, such brush would be cleaned away. He had ten men with him. They continued to work their way through the heavy brush, their AK-47s and grenade launchers in hand. Smiling to himself, he congratulated them in a whisper on destroying one of the helicopters. It was a good day!

Dressed in baggy brown trousers, a crisscross of wide leather straps containing bullets across his chest, Malik did not think this attack was done. No. He would wait, skulk through the brush with his men and wait on the other side. Malik knew this forward base was vital to the war effort by the infidel Americans. Until lately, he’d not had enough money to buy more grenades and bullets. Now, he had a new donor from Saudi Arabia who had given him millions to support the Taliban effort.

Grunting and breathing hard, Malik knelt, hidden. He waited for his ragtag group of nine other men to catch up with him. Most were barefoot, their clothes thin and threadbare. They were all skinny, their cheeks sunken, for coming here had been hard on them. Malik usually worked other areas, but this base was crucial to the American mission and he’d wanted to strike the head of the snake finally.

“Everyone all right?” he demanded roughly as they sat in a semicircle around him. “No wounds?”

“None, my lord,” one of the bearded men spoke up.

Malik grinned. “Good. Now, let’s sneak around the other side of the runway. Knowing the infidels, they’ll think this attack is over.”

There were soft, knowing chuckles from the men, all of whom nodded their accord to follow their charismatic and brave leader.

“Come!” Malik whispered harshly, lifting his hand and moving forward. “I want another helicopter,” he snickered.

Emma could see the burning intensity in Khalid’s blue eyes as they narrowed speculatively upon her. They’d just finished off their coffees and got down to the business at hand. She felt giddy and thrilled with his interest in her. Sure, he respected her as a professional, but she sensed something deeper. Sternly, she chided herself for thinking he was drawn to her.

And then her heart contracted. Was Khalid interested in her or was she imagining things? That couldn’t be. Khalid was the head of the mission and held power over her. His comments would eventually go into her career jacket. Maybe he was this charming with everyone. She couldn’t allow herself to get involved with this intriguing, romantic Afghan warrior. But why did he have to be so damn good-looking? She vowed to savor this rugged male pilot secretly; he’d never know it. She could hide her feelings. For now.

Khalid pulled out a map from one long pocket on his flight suit leg and spread it out before them. He stood up and, using a pen, said, “This is the route we’re going to follow. We’ll move from one village to another.” His index finger was on the map, tracing the small villages along the border with Pakistan. It bothered him that he was drawn to Emma, despite her military demeanor. Khalid refused to put another woman in the gunsights of Asad Malik. It would be too easy to become personal with red-haired, brazen Emma Cantrell.

“For the next six months,” he said, straightening and moving his shoulders as if to shrug off the tension gathered in them, “you will be with me and Kinah, and you will surely be well-educated into our Sufi world. We believe that all religions have a good message for the spirit. My father, who was born in Kabul, comes from a long line of Sufis. My mother, who is a medical doctor from Ireland, continues to this day to be a Presbyterian missionary. She came to this country after she finished her residency in Dublin, Ireland. Her father is an elder in their tradition. And her entire family has been missionaries here in Afghanistan for nearly a hundred years.”

Surprised, Emma’s brows rose with that information. “Then … you’re half-Afghan and half-Irish?” Maybe that accounted for those dancing blue eyes that always had a bit of devilry lurking in their depths.

“I am,” he said with pride. “I am a good example that east meeting west can actually get along.”

“Your religions are so different.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Khalid said, turning the map over. “The Sufis have no quarrel with any other religion in this world. We accept people as they are and respect their beliefs.”

“Too bad that all religions can’t hold the same ideas,” Emma said. She was thinking of the evil Asad Malik.

“That’s why,” Khalid explained, “the jihadists who are twisted and out of touch with true Muslim traditions, hate Sufis and will kill them on sight. The terrorists among those who profess to be Muslim are threatened by the enlightened ways of the Sufi people.”

Emma sat back. “And so you have no trouble being half-Christian and half-Muslim?”

Chuckling, Khalid shook his head. He spread a second map on to the table. It showed close-ups of some of the more major villages along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. “Absolutely none. Sufis honor and respect every religious tradition on the face of our Earth. We believe all paths lead through the heart to the Creator, no matter what name you call him or her.”

Emma watched as he traced a red line around certain areas. “What are those?” she demanded.

“This is Malik’s territory, where he and the Taliban are constantly attacking the villagers.”

Emma got up and leaned over, their heads inches apart as she studied the map. “This guy is big. I know I’ve heard his name.”

“Yes, he’s north of your base camp.”

Emma straightened. “Like you said, we’ll be alert.”

“Agreed,” Khalid said. He picked up the papers, neatly folded them once more and tucked them away in the leg of his flight suit. “So, Captain Cantrell, are you ready to fly back to Bagram Air Force Base with me? We have much to do and there’s so much to show you about our mission.”

Surprised, Emma watched as Khalid stood, lean, strong, his broad shoulders thrown back with unconscious pride. “Bagram? I thought we’d be working here, out of Camp Bravo?”

“Oh, we will,” Khalid assured her. “I’m inviting you to have dinner with me tonight at my family’s villa in Kabul. You may stay overnight. As you know, there are male and female sections to each home. I have had our housekeeper prepare you a room in the women’s part of the house. After we have a wonderful dinner, I will take you to my office and show you Operation Book Worm. I think you will appreciate what I’ll show you. Then, you can grasp even more of the mission and its priorities.”

Shocked by the offer, Emma sat staring up at him. “But …”

“This is a work invitation, Captain Cantrell. I’m an excellent host. It’s easier for me to show you what we will be doing at our villa where it is all stored, than to try and lug it piecemeal back and forth to this camp.”

Emma considered the unexpected invitation and her vivid imagination took off. What would it be like to be with this Afghan warrior? And truly, that’s what Khalid was. She knew he professed compassion and love for others, but her body was not reacting to him in that way. No, she felt a hunger and drive to know Khalid on a much more personal level. How was she going to keep this fact a secret? Looking deeply into his eyes, Emma realized that this wasn’t at all personal to Khalid; it was merely a formality to offer her dinner. After all, Emma knew from experience that all Afghans, rich or poor, would automatically invite her to their home for dinner. It was a custom and way of life in Afghanistan.

“Of course I’ll go with you, Captain Shaheen. I look forward to it.”

Khalid brightened. “Excellent. If there is anything you need to pack in your flight bag before we take off, why not go get it now. I’ll meet you back at Ops.”

Good, he was remaining all business. As she walked with Khalid out of Ops and into the warming sunlight over the camp, Emma couldn’t explain the happiness threading through her. Khalid bowed slightly where the path forked and led to Ops. The fire had been put out on the destroyed helicopter and there was still a lot of activity on the tarmac.

“I’ll see you soon, Captain?”

“Yes,” Emma said, “this won’t take long.” Khalid was all business. All military. That warm smile, those inquiring blue eyes of his were veiled.

“Good, I’ll meet you at our Apache.” He strode confidently back into Ops to file their flight plan.

Shaking her head, Emma trotted down another dirt avenue between the desert-tan-and-green tents. Khalid and Brody had a lot in common, but she’d never spent too much time with a man who had one foot in the east and one foot in the west. The breeze ruffled her red hair as she continued to jog down the dirt path. Making a left, she found her tent and unzipped it. Worry hovered over her. Above all, she had to keep her silly heart out of this. It was bad enough that Khalid was in the active gun sights of Asad Malik, but the Taliban leader would target her, too. In a heartbeat.

As Emma packed essentials into her canvas flight bag, she couldn’t stop thinking about Khalid. He’d loved and lost his bride. That explained why he was still single at thirty, unheard of for a Muslim man. She replayed the grief that was raw and alive in his eyes as he’d shared the tragedy of Najela’s death at Malik’s hands.

After grabbing her toothbrush, toothpaste, comb and brush, Emma quickly finished her packing. She zipped up her flight bag and took her helmet bag off the makeshift chest of drawers. As she headed outside, she felt the sunlight warming up the coolish temperature. She turned on the heel of her flight boot and walked quickly down between the rows of tents. Despite the unexpected Taliban attack an hour earlier, the air was alive with the puncturing sounds of helicopters landing and taking off once more. The smell of jet fuel was always around. Metallic, oily smoke still hung above the camp from the destroyed chopper. The growl of huge military trucks belching blue smoke, their coughs and grinding of gears, filled the air, too. As she jogged across the camp to the control-tower area, Emma’s heart took off.

Why did she feel giddy? Like a school girl who had a crush on the all-star football quarterback? Would she be able to tread on the edge of the sword with Khalid? Separate out her womanly need to know more about him on a personal level from the professional one? Emma wasn’t sure. She slowed to a walk and pulled open the door to Ops. As she moved through the busy building and out the other door to the tarmac, Emma sensed her life was about to change. Forever.

Chapter 3

Emma was surprised that Khalid insisted she be the AC—air commander, on the Apache that was to be flown to Bagram. She stowed her bag in a side slot of the combat helicopter. Mounting the helo, Emma was strapped into the back cockpit in no time. She tried to ignore Khalid’s charisma as he climbed into the cockpit in front of her. The sergeant helped her and then tended to Khalid’s needs. A sudden shiver of warning went up her spine. The whole base was on high alert because of the attack.

Looking around, lips compressed, Emma saw the remains of charred, still-smoking helicopter that the Taliban had destroyed with a grenade launcher. To her left, several Humvees contained Special Forces who were still looking for the terrorists who committed the offense. Something was wrong… .

Malik lay on his belly, the binoculars to his eyes. He studied the Apache combat helicopter, more interested than usual in the pilots. Actually, one pilot. A snarl issued softly from between his full, thick lips. Allah had blessed him! There was his sworn enemy, Khalid Shaheen, in the front seat of the Apache. Mind spinning, Malik watched intently.