The Puppetmasters (23 page)

T
HE EARLY
A
FGHANISTAN DAY BROKE
with bright sunshine and the promise of a most interesting day. Kendall had tossed and turned through a good part of the night, falling into an exhausted but restful slumber several hours before dawn. As she lay on her small bed, she recalled the particularly disturbing cries she had heard the night before. A young boy was being whipped for stealing bread from a Kabul market vendor. He was undoubtedly one of the thousands of homeless children who could be seen on the streets of Afghanistan.

At the height of the war with the Taliban, and after three decades of continuous war, there were fifty to sixty thousand homeless children in the streets of Kabul alone. In the ensuing years, through the newfound and exploited Afghanistan resources of oil and natural gas, plus international donations, nonprofit organizations, and the United Nations programs—using outreach workers—hundreds of millions of dollars were earmarked for the children. Programs were set up to get the children back to school and provide housing, play areas, and other shelters. Modest schools were constructed. But the best of intentions would never eradicate the entire problem.

Kendall wondered what this young boy’s story was. In her uninformed, naive mind, she told herself that he was probably a hungry orphan who hadn’t eaten all day. As she lay on her bed, she could hear his high-pitched screams for
Allah.
She would have been very surprised to learn that this young thief was a former child soldier forced into the Afghanistan subculture of
Bacha Bazi.
This dark world of sexually exploiting young boys by local police and powerful warlords, including the Taliban during its day for its own amusement, had been a part of the subculture for so long that the practice of these “dancing boys” was still continuing to this day.

Kendall had just cracked the surface of the horrors of Afghanistan. She would soon see firsthand the extent of wretchedness this country held for its citizens and surrounding lands.

To deaden the sounds of the boy’s screams, she had finally resorted to rolling into a fetal position, putting her hands over her ears, and pulling the one shabby blanket over her head. Yes, she told herself again, she would put her all into the plan in the morning. She would not look back but would throw herself wholeheartedly into Rashid’s exit strategy by using all the skills she had learned in the past few weeks.

There was a soft knock on her door. She rose and opened the door, and there stood the young stable boy, Poya. He ran many errands for the palace and was often seen with Rashid accompanying him on one of his tasks. This time he was carrying a breakfast tray. Poya was now twelve years old and without family. When Rashid came upon him one day a couple years ago and saw those big, dark, mischievous twinkling eyes, he couldn’t resist helping the then ten year old. Poya was a happy child, and about as loyal a friend as one could ask for.

He was a great jokester and loved to pull pranks on Rashid. Rashid had come to love the little guy with the big, round eyes, and to trust him implicitly. Poya never questioned Rashid. He knew that Rashid would never harm him or put him in harm’s way.

One day shortly after going to work for the Shazebs, Poya was at his usual post at the palace stables. The Shazeb grandchildren—Saaqib’s children—wanted to go riding. Poya saddled up two ponies, and the children began to ride them around the corral. One of the saddles broke, came loose, and slipped off the pony, taking the child with it. The child fell off and broke his arm. The nanny was terrified she would be whipped, and blamed it on Poya. Rashid had just arrived at the palace, and he came running when he heard the high-pitched screams, shrieking sounds from the nanny and the child’s mother, and Saaqib’s irate voice.

When Rashid got there, he quickly sized up the situation. Saaqib was about to strike Poya with the nearest object he could lay his hands on, a priceless antique bronzed statue. Rashid grabbed the statue and shouted, “No, Saaqib, the statue! Your father would be angry.” Saaqib came to his senses and realized he wouldn’t want to risk his father’s ire. He was relieved and thankful that Rashid had stopped him. But his eyes darted back to Poya, and he grabbed the young boy by the arm. “Come with me!”

Rashid stopped him and asked to see the still-wailing child who had fallen. He shushed the child with his gentle ministrations and soothing tones. The child stopped screaming at once. Rashid had a little medical knowledge and could see that the break was not bad. It just needed a quick x-ray to confirm the exact location of the break and then the arm measured for a cast. Rashid explained this to Saaqib and, with a twinkle in his eye, he turned to the tearful boy and said, “You will be quite a hero, young man. You will get a wonderful cast on your arm for all to see what a warrior you are.”

The child was now content and happy to be seen as a hero. Rashid offered to take the boy and his mother at once to the nearby military infirmary. He also stated emphatically that he had noticed a weakening of the saddle strap a week ago and apologized profusely for not saying anything; that it was certainly not Poya’s fault, and, if anything, he—Rashid—should be blamed.

Mollified, and now tired of the entire scene, Saaqib grunted his acceptance of Rashid’s generous offer. He whirled around, muttered a few choice words about wailing women and children, and went back to the palace offices, but not before sending a withering look Poya’s way. The young boy visibly shrank.

From that point on, Poya was eternally in Rashid’s debt. There was nothing Poya would not do for Rashid. He viewed the older man as honorable and kind … and quick thinking.

Kendall saw that there was a lot of food on the tray … way too many fruits, nuts, and breads for her to eat. She asked Poya to join her. His eyes lit up, and he nodded shyly. He eagerly took a piece of bread and a handful of grapes. She motioned him to sit beside her, and they chatted. Kendall drew him out by asking the name and pronunciation for the various fruits and nuts on the tray, and the furniture around the room. As she stumbled over the unfamiliar words, he laughed at her poor or incorrect pronunciation. She, in turn, had him repeating various English words, and was pleasantly surprised at how many words he already knew … obviously due to Rashid’s careful tutelage.

Kendall didn’t care for the local sour cottage-cheese-tasting yogurt made from goat’s milk called
quroot,
but Poya readily consumed the raw balls.

He visibly relaxed in her presence and thought this nice, American lady was beautiful and kind. He imagined that his mother—if she were alive today—would have been just like Kendall. She wanted to hug Poya so badly but didn’t dare, fearing she would frighten him off. He beamed up at her, his eyes shining with happiness and the knowledge that he was in safe company. She would also have liked to take a warm, soapy washcloth and scrub his hands and face.
All in good time,
she told herself, but immediately felt regret that there was no time left to help Poya.

Because of his presence at the base this morning in her room, Kendall surmised that Poya was part of the escape plan tonight. After they had eaten their fill, Poya produced a storage bag used for fresh vegetables, and put the remainder of the nuts and bread in it. He then placed it inside Kendall’s bag that was to accompany her later in the day.

As Poya prepared to leave, he confided that Rashid asked him to help the doctor overseeing the sick American today. He was excited to be doing such important work in the infirmary for a day, although he loved the palace animals.
She hoped that came with a shower and fresh change of clothes.
This godforsaken place,
she thought.

Over at the palace, the Head Chef Taheem already had the lambs rotating on the outdoor spit. He had ordered the formal state dinner flatware and china from France to be scrubbed and polished. The linens were being freshened and readied for the immense formal dining room table.

Taheem hummed to himself as he stuffed and rolled onions using his special family recipe. The spiced chutney sauce had been made. As usual, fresh
naan
was baking in the new electric
tandoori
clay oven—or
bhatti,
of which Taheem was so proud. He was excited that he would be working with Kendall in a few hours’ time.

Rashid made a side trip to the military base and stopped to speak with General Omar. He found the general red-faced and scolding a new recruit, who Rashid noticed had a missing front tooth. He looked as if he was going to order a flogging for the young soldier, or at least limited rations for a week. Rashid swore under his breath. He felt like he was always coming to someone’s rescue. But he had to be careful in how he interfered, or it might be seen as a sign of weakness on his part, or worse, obstructing the duties of a superior officer. No one quite knew what Rashid’s rank was. But the fact that he was a favorite of all the Shazebs, even the children, afforded him a great amount of leeway. No one questioned his authority. Besides, he was so good-natured and non-confrontational that most people did not realize he had manipulated them and stopped their barbaric actions. Rashid had saved many a soldier, servant, or government worker from a flogging, caning, or worse.

Rashid vigorously pumped the general’s hand and gave a hearty laugh. The general wondered what all the frivolity was about. He was curious, and the laughter was infectious. He smiled and nodded at Rashid. The younger man explained that he had good news, that there was to be a celebration of sorts tonight at the palace, and that the president was feeling very charitable. The general’s eyebrows rose and he eagerly awaited further details. He pushed the wayward soldier away and ordered him to rejoin his comrades. The young soldier could tell that Rashid was an important man and had certainly a conspiratorial wink. That confirmed the soldier’s thought, and he vowed to pay him back someday.

Earlier in the morning, Rashid had urged President Shazeb to allow the military base to have its own celebration of sorts, complete with barbecued meat, imported beer, and music for dancing. The base would relax its hours for the evening, forego the usual nightly punishments, and allow the men to sleep in an extra two hours the next morning. Shazeb was surprised and quite irritated that the troops would be afforded such luxury. He demanded to know why he should be so generous. Rashid had a moment of uncertainty that this time he
had overstepped his bounds. He was really going to need to talk his way out of this one.

He smoothly explained that since the harvest had been so plentiful, that he should share in the fruits of his enterprise with his fellow countrymen. While it was not practical to share with all of the Afghanistan people, he could at least share with those most important, the military troops who keep his family safe.

The president had reluctantly agreed but was still piqued that he had to be told to do this. He responded impatiently, “Yes, yes, yes. Go tell General Omar that there will be a feast for the troops at the base tonight. That it includes several cases of imported beer from my private stash. You will have to take care of all the arrangements.” Shazeb was feeling his importance and power. He continued, “You must assure the general that this benevolent act is to show my gratitude to the troops for their loyal service.” Rashid wanted to gag at the utterance of the word “benevolent.” He knew that Shazeb was anything but.

As the general and Rashid were discussing the details, a large delivery truck drove up. Rashid nodded towards it. “Ah, here are the goods now.” General Omar quickly waved the truck past the guard gate and followed it toward the Base’s kitchen to supervise the unpacking. In actuality, he wanted a quick look-see to grab whatever succulent he could requisition for himself. Rashid chuckled and shook his head as the general disappeared from view.

Paul Fields had been instructed to remain in his room for the morning. He would be allowed to visit and sit by Carson in the afternoon, but he needed to be ready for the palace affair by 5:30 p.m. when his ride would come for him. He would spend a few minutes with Kendall in the palace kitchen and then join the Shazeb men for drinks at 6:00 p.m. Because the children were being involved in the dinner, the meal would be served a little earlier than usual, at 7:00 p.m., so they could eat, bathe, and be bundled off to bed by 9:00 p.m.