Operation: Forbidden. Lindsay McKenna
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.