Someone shouted something in a dialect Jenna didn’t understand.
Farzad spoke again in Dari. “It is a meeting of only married women discussing childbirth. It’s of no consequence. If you have questions, you should call The Lion.”
Then Sayah’s husband spoke. “Friends, we have no disputes between us. Come. Let us drink tea together.”
The silence stretched on, Jenna’s pulse ratcheting.
Men’s laughter.
The rumble of engines as the intruders drove away.
Jenna exhaled, smiled. “All is well.”
A moment later, Farzad knocked on the door. “Miss Jenna, it is time to go!”
Farzad, an Afghan of Tajik heritage who had trained and worked with U.S. forces, had been head of the clinic’s security unit for the six months that she’d been here. She trusted him with her life. If he said it was time to go…
Jenna embraced Sayah, thanked her for her hospitality and kindness, and urged the women to share what she’d taught them today. Then she gathered up her anatomy chart and other materials and wished the women farewell.“Khoda hafiz.”
May God protect you.
A chorus of good wishes followed her out the door, putting a knot in her chest. In the six months she’d been here, she’d come to love Afghan women. She’d never met people who were more welcoming than they were. In six months, they had taught her so much about generosity, hospitality, and resilience.
Had she taught them anything today?
She had no way of knowing.
Jenna hurried with Farzad through the cold to their vehicle. “Who were they?”
“Militia.” Farzad opened the rear passenger door for her, rifle slung over his shoulder. “I’ve seen their leader before. He’s Uyghur, a foreigner. I don’t trust him. Never trust the motives of a man who won’t share a cup of tea.”
If Farzad didn’t trust him, neither did Jenna. “Let’s get back to the hospital.”
2
They drove through the gate at Kazi Women’s Hospital just after sunset, Jenna breathing a sigh of relief as the heavy panel of steel closed behind them. Snow was beginning to fall and—
What the hell?
An armored Land Cruiser sat in the courtyard.
“That’s not Afghan Security Forces,” Farzad called back to her before she could ask, shouting so that she could hear him through the Plexiglas that separated the men in the front seats from any women who might ride in the back.
“Is it militia or Coalition?” Jenna called back.
She had yet to run into the Polish troops that patrolled the province.
“I don’t think so. Stop the vehicle.”
The driver stopped just as a man stepped out of the Land Cruiser. Tall and dressed in khaki pants and a parka, he looked military to Jenna. She’d bet her life he was armed.
“Stay here, miss.” Farzad climbed out, weapon in hand, and closed the door behind him. “Salaam aalaikum.”Peace be upon you.
“Wa’alaikum salaam.”Peace be upon you, as well.
The man returned the Arabic greeting, then broke into flawless Dari. But there was no way he was Afghan. He had no beard, his jaw square and clean-shaven. His short hair gleamed blond in the headlights, and he stood at least a head taller than Farzad, who was taller than most Afghan men.
“I’ve just been to pay my respects to The Lion of the North,” he told Farzad. “Abdul Jawad Kazi sends his wishes for peace and health to you all.”