Unexpected Oasis (2 page)

Instead I look out the window. Carts of goods line the streets—scarves, fruit, meat, jewelry, tires. It's a scene straight out of Aladdin, although I don't see Jasmin in her see-through harem pants and barely there top, only women in burkas.

The honking of the SUV horn and abrupt deceleration startle me out of my thoughts. Double D is leaning across the console, his massive hand on the horn. "Get these clowns out of the way!"

Up ahead, traffic is gridlocked. I think I see that goat…

The horn goes off again. "C'mon!"

"Relax," Trey says. "It'll clear in a minute."

"I don't fucking have time for this." I stare in horror as Double D shoves open the passenger door and steps out of the truck. Like if he leaves the safety of the vehicle, his head will explode or something.

Nothing that dramatic happens. He waves his hands around, a motorbike scoots out of his way, and then he helps push a stalled car off the road.

"Everything under control?" Conrad asks. I can tell he's trying to sound authoritative, but he looks like he's about to pee himself.

"Perfectly," Trey replies calmly. There's an edge to his voice. I can't tell if it's because he's nervous or annoyed Conrad questioned him. I'm guessing, and hoping, it's the latter. "Just a little traffic." He taps the horn gently and Double D looks up from where he and two Afghans have finished pushing the car to the side of the road. He nods, shakes the hands of each man, and heads back to the SUV.

Traffic is already whizzing around us when he climbs into the passenger seat.  He smacks the dashboard. "Let's hit it!"

I have to admit I feel relieved as we start moving again. Being immobile felt so…vulnerable.

The rest of the drive is thankfully uneventful. The busy highway disappears and we enter a vast expanse of brown, rocky nothingness. Five minutes later we pull up to a huge steel gate guarding what looks like a huge, walled fortress.

CHAPTER TWO

M
erritec Village on the inside looks like a cheap resort in Florida and nothing like I expected. For one, there's grass. Huge squares of green cut with sidewalks and dotted with young palm trees. While I wasn't expecting grass, I'm appreciative. It's oddly comforting.

I was told I would likely be living in a converted shipping container, but with the exception of a few large metal buildings, all the buildings I see are made of cinderblocks and painted white. Rows of doors line several of the buildings forming the perimeter of the grass courtyard, and I assume it's the housing.

Beyond the farthest building, I can see a basketball and volleyball court. The setting sun reflects off something in the distance and when I squint I realize it's a pool.

It really does look like a cheap motel.

With the chaos of the highway well behind us, I'm finally able to relax. Two locals rush up to the vehicle when we step out. I'm not surprised; I knew the compound employed local Afghans for domestic chores. I am surprised I'm a good two inches taller than the men.

Double D hands one my suitcase. "B9," he says and the man scampers off with my bag. He reaches for Conrad's massive duffle.

"No, no, no." Conrad rushed over, waving his hands frantically. "I got it." He turns to the Afghan. "I'll get it."

The man glances at Double D, who shrugs, and then walks away.

The last thing I worry about is how Conrad is going to get his bags back to his room. I'm dying under all this weight.

"We can take these off now?" I've already removed my helmet and unbuckled the front of my vest.

Trey nods and takes my helmet. I run a hand quickly through my hair to fluff up any compression. Once a sleek bob, it now brushes my shoulders haphazardly. At least I dyed it back to my natural brown. Those gorgeous highlights I used to pay a fortune for would have looked like a greasy mess with the amount of sweat pouring from my scalp.

"You need any help?"

"I think I have it," I say as I attempt to shrug out of the vest. It's more awkward than I anticipate and I don't get it the first time.

He reaches over and grabs the edge of the vest, effortlessly lifting it over my head.

"Thanks." I try to keep the irritation out of my voice. I'm not annoyed he helped me. I'm annoyed I'm a helpless weakling. Strength and fitness used to be one of my assets.

"They
are
heavy," he repeats, tossing the vest and helmet into the back of the SUV and then turning his attention to Conrad also struggling to get out of the vest.

Obviously they aren't heavy for Trey.

He glances over his shoulder. "D, you want to take Ms. Ellis to her room?"

"Sure thing."

He leads me across the lush courtyard, along gravel sidewalks lined with blooming rosebushes and flowering bushes. Past Guinea hens searching for insects between blades of grass, until we arrive at a solid white door labeled "B9". He unlocks it and pushes it open, handing me the key.

"Take a load off," he says. "Tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred we'll reconvene for a security debriefing in that building." He points to one of two large square buildings across the grass lawn from my new home. "In the conference room. You can't miss it."

"Thanks."

"If you need anything in the meantime, security is in that building." He moves his index finger to a smaller building set away from the cluster.

I step through the open door. Being alone is calling me. "Thanks again."

"And if you're hungry, cafeteria is there. Dinner's at eighteen-hundred, but you can grab chow any time you want."

I nod. I have no idea where he pointed. I assume it's one of the big square buildings. I'm sure I'll figure it out. It's not like I'll get lost. Besides, my appetite has been pathetic for months. Strong and fit has turned into skinny and shapeless.

"So you have everything you need?"

Either he's being very polite or I'm the first woman outside of a burka he's seen in months. I take another step into the room. Again, I'm reminded of a cheap hotel. There's a bed with an awful, thin comforter, a desk, a dresser, I see the door to the bathroom, but that's about it. All that's missing are a couple bad paintings on the plain, white walls.

"I do." I turn to face him, my hand on the door. "Again, thank you so much."

"Anytime—"

I shut the door on his sentence.

Once the silence of my empty room greets me, the realty of my situation finally body-checks me. In an attempt to escape my problems I've run away…to Afghanistan. I'm trapped behind thick walls behind chain-link fences behind guards with machine guns in a three-acre prison.

Falling onto the bed, I succumb to tears held back for days. If I can just get through the next six months I'm sure everything will be okay. Just six measly months…

~

I wake up the next morning with swollen, puffy, bloodshot eyes. I look like someone socked me a good one…or two. The bathroom sink sputters when I open the faucet and then trickles out in a meager stream. The tepid water does little to hide my puffiness, so I dab on some concealer, comb mascara over my eyelashes (like that will somehow disguise the red), and brush my hair so it's as much in my face as the style allows. Thank you overgrown side swept bangs.

When I step into the conference room, I keep my gaze directed at the floor. And then busy myself arranging my organizer when I sit. From the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of Trey hooking a laptop up to the projector and two other men that must be members of the security team—judging by how big and beefy they are. Trey's gaze flicks toward me and I suddenly find my notepad
very
interesting.

Conrad sits beside me. Out of habit I glance at him and then wish I hadn't. "I take it you found the rock slab they call a mattress here as uncomfortable as me," he says. "I barely slept."

"Oh. Yeah. Completely uncomfortable." Actually, I hadn't noticed. But it's a great excuse for why I look so haggard. I silently thank Conrad for the idea.

The projector flickers on and the overhead lights dim. An aerial photo of our compound jumps onto the pull-down screen at the front of the room. Trey begins to narrate behind me, describing security protocol, guard towers, rotation duty, political climate of the land outside the compound walls (Indian Territory as it's called), even the basic compound schedule.

Even though I only hear about half of what he says, I focus on the images with unwavering intensity. The half I do hear is only partially absorbed. I know it's important, but at the moment I can't think about any of it. It's too much. I trust Trey and Double D and the rest of the security team. I just want to get to work and not worry about little things like I.E.D.s and how much blood you have to lose before you're really in trouble.

After the debriefing, we're escorted to the office by one of the security guys Trey introduced, Two Bit or something. It's open-air office space. No cubicles, just a bunch of desks arranged around the perimeter of the room. A conference tables sits in the center. There are no windows.

I see my name on the nameplate on an empty desk in the corner. It isn't a permanent, engraved nameplate, but a piece of paper slipped into a plastic sleeve. For some reason that makes me feel better. The nameplate is temporary and so is this assignment.

Two Bit introduces us to the project manager, John Smith, and then leaves. John is an average looking, overweight, balding, fifty-year-old man with glasses. He's wearing a faded polo shirt with a stain on it and khakis that have seen better days. Business casual would be a loose interpretation. Which is fine by me since I only brought one pair of pumps. At one time I wouldn't have dreamed of wearing the same shoes five days in a row, but lately I've been throwing my dry-clean only designer clothes into the washing machine.

After a brief introduction to the rest of the office, where I awkwardly wave, I'm escorted to my desk and then thankfully left alone to organize my workstation and sift through the hundreds of unopened emails sitting in my inbox.

I work through lunch, and pretty much stay glued to my desk chair until my stomach finally demands I put something in it. It's a little after six p.m. and the cafeteria is bustling with people, their voices all mish-mash into a din of indistinguishable noise.

Without looking at the tags, I scoop some food onto my plate from one of dozens of warming trays and seek out an empty space on one of the long, plastic tables. The scene reminds me of high school: the IT guys huddle together at the end of one table, the drafters, the engineers, and of course, the security team. I make the mistake of looking their direction once, but when my gaze unexpectedly meets Trey's, I decide to avoid that side of the room for the duration of my meal.

Unlike the sixteen-year-old oozing insecurity beneath my mature exterior, I'm happy to be the loner chick that sits alone.

Unfortunately, Conrad feels the need to join me.

"What a day," he says.

"Yeah it was exhausting. I can't wait to get back to my room and veg out with a movie." Hint, hint. I'd like to be alone.

He doesn't pick up on it. "I guess they've got a great movie room here. Any movie you want. It's next to the rec room."

He rambles on while I eat my meal. I mostly ignore him, muttering the appropriate "mmm-hmm" and "oh yeah?" when necessary, but really, I don't absorb much.

I'm finishing up the last of my meal when he says something that piques my interest. I set down my fork and look at him. It's the first time I've looked at him since he sat down.

"You what?" I ask.

"I hope they have the same amenities at Site J."

"Why?"

"I'm scheduled to relieve the project manager. I leave tomorrow."

Site J is a remote, classified location. I'm vaguely familiar with it only because I'll be working on the project, but I don't know where it is and I don't know exactly what it is. As a civil engineer, I deal with prepping land and underground utilities. What they put on said land after I finish with it could be a warehouse for the slaughter of kittens for all I know.

"Wow." The idea of leaving the safety of a confined compound and going into Indian Territory, as Trey described it, freaks me out. "And you're okay with that?"

"Of course." His pale face scrunches up in a condescending expression. "As long as they pay me enough. I'm not here to absorb the local culture, that's for sure," he adds with a chuckle.

Coming here pretty much doubled my salary. But the money means very little to me. Escaping my past is much more valuable.

And I'd love to absorb the local culture—if there wasn't a strong possibility of a beheading by hostiles. 

I scoop up my plate. "Well, you're a bigger man than I am." Conrad looks confused as I rise. He either doesn't comprehend my joke, he doesn't realize I'm joking, or he doesn't find it amusing. Maybe all three. I don't care.

"Good luck." I've had about all the socializing I care to handle and after dumping my dirty dishes in the bus tub, make a bee-line for the exit. I have every intention of heading straight for my room. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

I'm stopped by the largest speed bump around. Double D stands between me and the door. "A group of us are heading to the pool to soak up a little summer fun if you'd like to join."

Jesus, a pool party?

"Thanks, but I'm still a little jetlagged…" Actually, the three days I spent in Dubai in a posh hotel room more than took care of the jetlag.

"Well if you change your mind, the pool's by the basketball court."

"Maybe another time."

Or never. Whichever comes first.

He doesn't press and my path to freedom opens up. For some reason I decide to do something completely stupid. I turn around.

And once again runs right into Trey's dark gaze. It's from across the room, but it's still intense.

Oh holy hell.

I can't get to my room quickly enough. Nor can I help but wonder if Trey will be at this
pool party
. Not that I'm going to go—I don't even have a swimsuit.

That night, on the most ridiculous whim, I order one off the Internet. Even if I never use it here, I'm sure I'll take vacation someday.