One Child (34 page)

Chapter

64

Kandahar City

Kadir smoothed the wrinkles from his shalwar kameez with his good hand. His appearance was important. He wanted Tabraiz to think highly of his choice of families - that he had made a good decision in picking Halima to live in Peshawar. So many young girls in Kandahar, and Tabraiz had seen the most potential in Halima.

Kadir could barely hide his pride.

His happiness was tempered with apprehension. Would Halima enjoy living so far from her family? Would she work hard enough to satisfy her wealthy sponsors, and would she do well in school? He knew his daughter - how hard she worked and how well she negotiated with the traders in the marketplace. She always came home with more onions and tomatoes than she should. Maybe the traders liked her - maybe she was good at bartering. He didn't really care. His daughter was competent and intelligent. That was all that mattered.

When she returned as an educated woman, her world would be so different. He pictured her standing at the front of the schoolroom, writing the alphabet on the blackboard, the children watching her with respect and adoration as they learned their lessons. The pride returned, and his chest puffed out slightly as he envisioned her.

Halima climbed the staircase leading from the courtyard to the lone room the family called home. She stood quietly in the doorway.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes, father." She looked down at her clothes, at her new blouse with embroidery on the sleeves, intricately stitched, with red, blue and yellow thread. The design was abstract, but beautiful. To cover her legs, she wore loose white pants, comfortable for traveling. "Do I look alright?"

Kadir sized up his eldest daughter. Barely twelve years old and already a woman. A pretty one with a wonderful future and a thoughtful smile. He focused on her eyes, hazel more than brown, and saw the determination. "You are perfect," he said. "Absolutely perfect."

She blushed slightly, then said, "I'll check on Aaqila and Danah. They're playing in the courtyard."

Kadir reached out and picked up a ratty knockoff watch he had found almost three years ago. Despite a cracked glass front, it kept good time. It was five minutes to seven. "I have a taxi picking us up at seven o'clock. He will drive us to Ahmad's house and your sisters can wait there while we meet with Tabraiz Khan."

"I'll make sure they're ready," Halima said. She retreated back down the stairs.

Kadir rose from his cushion. His joints ached with arthritis and sharp barbs of pain shot through his knees and fingers. This was the tangible pain, but it was not the most intense. Sending Halima away - selling her - was infinitely more agonizing.

He glanced back at the threadbare room knowing it would soon be only a memory. He thought of their new lodgings, bought with the money from the Pakistani. Twenty blocks closer to the market and almost twice the size, with a separate bedroom for the younger girls. He wasn't sure whether he should be proud of his new home or if he should hate it.

It had come at such a high cost.

He put one foot forward, then the other. He reached the top of the stairwell and started down. The journey he had both hoped for and dreaded had begun.

* * *

Kandahar City

Tabraiz met with the swarthy man and his two accomplices at ten minutes to eight. They were armed with Kalashnikovs and had revolvers tucked into their belts. Tabraiz handed the man the other half of his fee and reminded them no shots were to be fired unless someone was shooting at them. They disappeared behind the rocks, close to where the exchange was to take place.

Twenty-five minutes.

He placed a call to Kunar on his cell phone. "Is the diversion working?" he asked.

"Exactly as planned," Kunar said. Crashing sounds emanated from the phone. "Farouk and his team are busting a drug dealer. I called in his location and the whole department ran out the door and raced up here. We're on the north side of the city. Even if they knew you were in the city and what was happening, they could never get to you in time."

"Well done," Tabraiz said. "Expect a bonus soon."

"Thank you, Tabraiz Khan."

Tabraiz hung up and pocketed the phone. The ANP were busy, the sun was moving close to the western horizon and his backup muscle was in place in case something went wrong. A block to the north was a car, waiting to take them across the border into Pakistan.

Everything was right. All he needed now was the girl and her father. And he knew they were coming. He slowly walked to the top of the rise, looked about, then headed down the hill to the meeting place.

* * *

Kandahar City

"They're finished. Let's get out of here,"
Andrew
yelled. He entered the Stryker through the rear hatch and
Russell
and Bobby followed. They left the hatch open to allow the air to circulate.

"It took forever to get all those medical supplies loaded on the truck. Are we going to make the FOB before dark?"
Russell
asked.

"Shit." Bobby leaned back against the metal sidewall. "You shouldn't ask that, man. Like sayin' he's got a no-hitter goin' into the bottom of the ninth. You're jinxin' it."

"Jinxing what?"
Russell
asked.

"Getting' back inside the wire."

"Ahh, I don't want to do that,"
Russell
said. He was absolutely serious.

Andrew
chimed in. "We'll make it. We're at the southern edge of the city and we'll be on the highway in no time. They've just finished sweeping it for IEDs. We're good."

"Thank Christ,"
Russell
said. "Last night was a fucking nightmare."

"You should try living on one of the Combat Outposts,"
Andrew
said. "They can get overrun any time in those things."

"Crazy business, this war,"
Russell
said.

The Stryker lurched forward and picked up speed as they cruised through the southernmost tip of Kandahar city.
Russell
pulled his video camera from its case and checked the battery. He'd had it plugged in while they were loading and it was almost full. He wouldn't have to charge it tonight. Straight to bed when they got inside the gate.

Above, the fading light streamed in through the hatch as the sun sank to the horizon.

Chapter

65

Kandahar City

Kadir directed the taxi driver to the nearest street to where Tabraiz was waiting. They turned the corner and cruised slowly down the road that divided the final row of houses from the rocky desert stretching endlessly to the south. Kadir ordered the man to stop, got out and paid the fare. He would take a bus back to pick up Aaqila and Danah from Ahmad's house. The cab drove slowly to the next intersection and turned right, headed back into the city.

Kadir took Halima's hand and squeezed gently. "I'm going to miss you," he said softly. The air was still and there were no other sounds to drown out his voice.

"I'll miss you too," Halima said. "And Aaqila and Danah. Make sure you tell them. Everyday."

He smiled. "I will, Halima. I'll tell them every morning and every evening before they go to bed."

She clutched a tiny bag that contained a single change of clothes. The bright red notebook and flowered pencil her father had given her stuck out the side pocket of the bag. She held her father's hand as they walked southwest, toward the mountains and away from the city. They crested the hill and began the trek down the gentle slope. Kadir scanned the rocks on his right, anxiously looking for the Pakistani. Nothing. They reached the spot where Kunar had instructed them to wait, midway between the rock formation and the edge of the valley, and stopped. The sun had almost disappeared behind the mountains and the oncoming darkness bothered him. A figure emerged from the edge of the valley and walked toward them. He was dressed in tailored pants and a white fitted shirt, with polished black shoes, now covered in fine dust. He smiled as he approached and his dark hair caught the last rays of sun and glimmered in the dying daylight.

Tabraiz.

Kadir felt Halima's grip tighten. He could only imagine what was going on in her mind. The uncertainty of the moment mixed with hope for her future. Kadir pushed back his shoulders and took long strides. This was a proud moment in his life.

They were ten meters from Tabraiz when they heard the low rumbling that resonated off the buildings and floated to them on the evening air. It increased in volume and the ground trembled slightly. Kadir turned to look behind him. He knew exactly what it was. They all did. There was no mistaking the growl of armored vehicles. They were quickly moving closer, and Kadir pulled Halima tight to him and covered her with the loose folds of his tunic. A second later, an eight-wheeled armored vehicle came into view on the hilltop.

He froze. Tabraiz stopped moving. The vehicle rolled to a halt and the dust settled. The air, the clouds, the world - everything was suspended in the moment.

* * *

Kandahar City

Andrew
and
Russell
's Stryker was the lead vehicle in the convoy. The soldiers sitting inside the vehicle could hear the chatter between the commanders coming across the radio. The truck carrying the medical supplies was having trouble navigating one of the bends in the road and needed to back up and make another attempt. The commander of
Andrew
's Stryker came on the radio, telling the others he was continuing to the edge of the city. He estimated it to be two, maybe three blocks.

The Stryker rolled on, leaving the rest of the convoy with the supply truck. Thirty seconds passed, then they took a sharp turn to the right. Their speed began to increase, then the driver's voice came over the radio.

"Checking out some movement to the south."

The Stryker was bouncing more now as the driver steered off the road. They rolled for less than fifty meters, then the driver was back on his mic. "I've got something here, guys. You'd better take a look at this. The action is to the south, halfway down the hill."

Andrew
, Bobby and RJ, the other specialist, checked their guns and exited through the rear hatch.
Russell
grabbed his video camera and followed. Outside, daylight was failing fast. They had precious little time to identify the risks before they were cloaked in blackness.

Andrew
was in the lead and reported the situation over his radio. "I've got two men about eighty meters downhill. One in pants and a shirt. The other guy is in loose clothing. Looks like he's hiding something under his clothes."

"Shit, man," Bobby shot back. "Who knew we were comin' this way?"

"Nobody,"
Andrew
said. "We have a problem." A slight pause, then, "Bobby, head straight down the hill. I'm going around on the east. RJ, take the right side and skirt those rocks."

"I've got them from the turret," the commander said from the Stryker.

"Hold on,"
Andrew
said. If the Stryker gunner opened up with the .50 caliber there would be precious little left of the two men. "We don't need to shoot the crap out of this. Not yet, at least."

The three soldiers spread out and approached the two men standing midway down the hill.
Russell
followed behind them and shouldered his camera. He pushed the record button and began feeding images to his hard drive.
Andrew
was moving quickly now, circling the two men and coming in from below them. He and
Russell
stopped within twenty meters, and the man in the shirt and pants began backing up toward the rocks, his hands out to the side, in plain sight. They were empty - no gun.

"What have you got there?"
Andrew
yelled at the man in the tunic. "What's under your clothes?"

The man yelled back in rapid-fire Pashto. He waved his free hand around wildly and gestured at his midsection.

"What's he sayin'?" Bobby yelled, his M-4 leveled at the man. "What's he sayin'? I don't understand a word."

"It's Dari or Pashto. I don't have a clue," RJ yelled back.

"Shit,"
Andrew
said, watching the man in the shirt and pants slowly recede into the dusky streetscape. "I can't see much. It's getting too dark."

The man in the tunic continued to yell. Frantic. Excited. Manic.

"This guy is freaking me out," RJ yelled. "I think he's got a bomb under there."

"More trouble," Bobby yelled. "I got guys with guns at nine o'clock. At least three. Behind the rocks."

"I see them," RJ yelled back. He jogged down the hill, away from the rocks where the men were dug in.

"Oh...fuck,"
Andrew
yelled. The figures were moving away from them, rifles in hand, the barrels barely visible in the failing light. "We might have an ambush."

"Firing a warning shot," Bobby yelled. He aimed his M-4 low, at the rocks and to one side of the figures and pulled the trigger.

The first three-round burst fired properly. Bobby squeezed the trigger to send a second burst, but a flaw on the inside of the barrel caught the bullet and it jammed in the chamber. The gunpowder exploded with the round still inside the breech. With the bullet stuck and the gun unable to expel the spent cartridge, the trapped hot gases exerted immense pressure on the bolt carrier. It shattered and a chunk of shrapnel flew back, striking Bobby in the right eye and penetrating his brain. Bobby dropped, dead before he hit the ground.

"Shit, Bobby's hit," RJ screamed. He trained his M-4 on the figures behind the rocks. They scattered when they saw the soldier target them. "I got the guys with guns, you take the bomber." He opened fire as the men scampered up the short hill toward the city. The man in the shirt and pants dove over the rocks and disappeared.

Andrew
sighted on the man in the tunic and fired. Two shots. Both hits. The man dropped to the ground and stopped screaming. He lay in a heap, moaning in pain. Silence settled over the scene. The men behind the rocks and the man in the pants and shirt had made the short run to the edge of the city and disappeared over the rise and into the labyrinth of houses and alleys.
Andrew
and RJ slowly approached the crumpled figure in the dirt. They looked for the explosive he had hidden under his clothing.

"I don't see any wires or shit," RJ said as they neared the man.

Above them, the remainder of the convoy lurched around the corner and soldiers piled out. Everything had come across their radios as it played out and they had a grasp of the situation. They ran forward, fanning out to secure the area. A medic headed directly to where Bobby lay motionless.

Andrew
kept his gun trained on the figure lying in the dirt, his finger tight to the trigger. Half an ounce more pressure and a killing shot would leave the barrel. He was ten meters, then eight, then six. Darkness was closing fast, but as he drew closer the scene became visible. The man was on his side, in the fetal position. His head was resting on the ground and his arms were wrapped around something. One of the shots had hit him in the right arm, just below the shoulder. Five meters. Four.
Andrew
stopped, and silence descended on the darkening scene.

He could make out the form of another person curled next to the man. Smaller, with girl's shoes and a scarf wrapped around her head. Three meters. Two. One.
Andrew
stood silently, staring down. A bag was ripped open and clothes scattered on the ground. A red notebook and a pencil lay in the dust. The man was crying, cradling the girl's head in his arm. He was whispering something. A name.
Andrew
knelt down.

"Halima." His voice was a whisper, like a tiny gust of wind.

The girl wasn't moving.
Andrew
's eyes scanned her body. Blood was leaking from her chest and she had stopped breathing. Her eyes were closed and the color was draining from her face. He knew the signs. He'd seen them too many times to mistake what this meant.

"Halima," the man wailed. "Halima."

Andrew
's head dropped onto his chest. His eyes teared up and he let the drops fall on the dusty road. "No," he said. "No, no, no." He closed his eyes and gripped his rifle until his hand went white. "Please, God, no."

He looked up.
Russell
was standing above him, the camera resting on his shoulder. The journalist slowly lowered the camera and touched a red button. The camera stopped recording.

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