25
To Bernadette, being on the other side of the law was never pretty. She’d taken many people into custody. Sometimes it was rough when the person resisted, but most often, it was a matter of restraining and placing the person somewhere to calm them down.
None of that happened with the Afghani Police. From the moment she was thrown in the back of the truck, she was treated like the most dangerous criminal on the planet. They manhandled her out of the truck at the police station and pushed her down the corridors as if she’d committed the worst crime in the world.
They stopped at a solid wooden door, opened it, and threw her inside. The room was dark, only a small ray of light shone from the outside through a slit in the window.
“Damn it,” Bernadette said. “I don’t think I’ll be getting a phone call.” She crawled to the wall, put her back against it, and sighed.
A voice out of the dark said, “You are English?”
Bernadette turned to the voice, “Hi, I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
“My name is Safiya Durani, and you are?”
“Bernadette Callahan.”
“Why have they arrested you, Bernadette Callahan?”
“I have no idea?”
“Oh, yes, you do, the first thing you need to know is that you are a woman. As a woman in Afghanistan you have already committed a crime.”
“And that is?”
“You have not been born a man,” Safiya said with a dry laugh.
“From what I’ve seen so far in this country it does seem a definite disadvantage. So, Safiya, what have you been arrested for?”
“Mine is the worst of all crimes in Afghanistan…”
“You were the one that murdered the last police chief?”
“No, worse, I have been accused of a moral crime.”
“And, that is?”
“I am, or was, a professor of English studies at the university. My husband is also a professor there. His brother is a low life rat who wanted to have an affair with me. I told him I would have nothing to do with him, he went to the police, told them I had committed adultery with him…and here I am,” Safiya said with a sigh.
“What about a lawyer, your due process under the law? When will your case be heard?” Bernadette asked.
“I will be shuffled off to prison and the court, which is often made up of a bunch of imam’s who will hear the case in six months or a year from now. In the meantime, I will remain in prison.”
“What about your husband, can’t he intervene on your behalf?”
“His brother, my accuser, is a very powerful man in the government. If he is not careful in his protests on my behalf, his brother will ensure that he meets with an unfortunate accident.”
“His brother would kill him?”
“Yes, that is what they call the triangle of love in English literature, is it not?”
“Yes, I’m a police detective back in Canada and I’ve seen more murders over love than just about anything else.”
“Are you the fiancé of the man that stole the robe of Mohammed?”
“Wow, word gets around. And no, he did not steal it. I think someone is framing him for the theft.”
“I like the word…framing. In English it sounds like someone is mounting a picture. You think then, your man is innocent?”
“I know it, I just haven’t been able to prove it yet.”
“Inshallah, you will be able to do so, Bernadette Callahan…”
The door opened to reveal two policemen. They walked into the room and hauled Bernadette to her feet.
“Looks like I’ve been invited for my interview. Good luck Safiya.”
“The same to you, Bernadette Callahan.”
Bernadette got only a quick glance of Safiya as light flooded the room. She was a beautiful woman from what she could see in the blinding light and what was revealed of her face under her hijab. Dark blue eyes, milky white perfect skin, full lips and dark hair that showed itself in one wisp from her head covering. Safiya had the curse of being too beautiful and the desire of her husband’s powerful brother. To Bernadette it was if she’d stepped into a medieval kingdom, but with modern weapons of destruction.
They marched her down a long hallway and into the police chief’s office. She was placed in a chair with the two officers on each side of her.
Khan sat at his desk. He took a handful of pistachio nuts from a bowl, cracked one, and began to munch on it while he stared at her. Bernadette stared back.
“You seem to think this is a joke,” Khan said as he swallowed his nut and cracked another shell.
“Do you hear me laughing?” Bernadette asked.
“I could have you shot, for what you have done.”
“And that is what exactly?”
Khan brushed the shells off his desk and picked up a disk from beside his computer. “I found this on my computer after you left my office with your CIA friend. You want to tell me what you learned from my files?”
Bernadette shook her head. “I know you hear this a lot, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You are working for the CIA. You know I cannot touch them, but you, you are nothing. I can throw you in my cells forever. Your Canada government is too weak to touch me. They will make protests and nothing will happen. You will sit and rot while they write letters to our president. The rats in my jail will crawl over you night and day.”
Bernadette sat quietly and took a deep breath. This was the time to not show fear or say too much. She’d broken many a suspect the way Khan was acting.
“I’m sure you hold the power to do what you wish with me. I am only telling you that I did not place the device you have in your hand on your computer, nor do I know of any files that you are speaking of. I will be happy to enquire with Ms. Lackey of the American CIA when I see her.”
“You will not be leaving here until you give me information,” Khan commanded.
Bernadette had a sinking feeling. None of this was going well. Her thoughts raced to a way out. She couldn’t call Lackey at the embassy; she would deny any knowledge and leave Bernadette hanging. The CIA could never be accused of spying on the police they were supposed to be working with.
“What if I just tell you that I did hear from my friend at the CIA that they may have some information, but that they were not able to get any clear answer from the information they received.”
Khan smiled and cracked another pistachio nut. He took the nutmeat and squeezed it between his teeth. “So, you admit you know something of the theft of my data?”
“No, I only said I heard about some information, not the same thing,” Bernadette said. She realized she’d just backed herself into a corner. Damn, a total rookie mistake.
“If you heard something, then you know what they are up to. You know they took files from my computer. You were in on this,” Khan yelled, pieces of nut spewing from his mouth.
Bernadette breathed deeply and watched Khan escalate into a frenzy, how could she tell him they’d viewed the CCTV footage and found nothing there? Maybe Lackey hadn’t shown her everything on the file. Maybe she’d set Bernadette up to take the fall in case Khan found out his computer had been accessed.
“Well? What do you wish to tell me or do I send you off to jail?”
“What am I being charged with?”
Khan shrugged and wiped the pieces of nut from his mouth. “It doesn’t matter, I can put theft, I can put obstruction of police, I can put nothing and say you are person of interest in my investigation. It will all be the same.”
Bernadette knew there was no way out. She was trapped. Anything she told Khan of the tape she’d seen would mean nothing to him. She was going to be sent to prison no matter what she said.
“I guess I’m ready to become a guest of your prison,” Bernadette said. “Do I get to make a phone call before I’m sent away?”
“Of course not. You are in Afghanistan. You think this is something like your Canada or in America? When
you get to prison, bribe one of the guards, and you will be able to make as many calls as you like. Until your money runs out.” He repeated his words in Afghani to his men. They laughed loud and hard.
Bernadette was pulled out of the chair and taken down a hallway and several flights of stairs. A door opened and she was pushed into a large holding cell with a crowd of women.
Safiya walked towards her. “I see my sister Bernadette Callahan has come to join us for our journey to the prison. I take it that your interview did not go well?”
Bernadette smiled at Safiya. “Not my best, but I think the result would have been the same no matter what I said. Khan wants me in jail.”
“You are right. The Afghani prison system is the way the men hold power over the women here. Even if we are given a release order from prison, unless a husband or male relative comes to collect us, we have to stay. Some women are there for years as their husbands or brothers are mad at them and they cannot leave.”
“My God, that sounds archaic,” Bernadette said.
“Yes, it has been this way since ancient times, and we seem powerless to change it. Maybe in time, inshallah, we will change it.”
Bernadette looked around the room. “Are all these women being sent to prison for moral crimes?”
“Many of them. Some have committed a ‘zina,’ which under Islamic law is illegal for women to run away from home from a forced marriage. If they are raped and have an involuntary pregnancy, they have committed a crime, and are sent to prison with their child. The child is then sent back to the families when they are five years old.”
“And if the family doesn’t want the child?”
“You have seen the many children in the streets of Kandahar? Many of them are orphans, released from the prisons,” Safiya said.
“This is sad,” Bernadette said looking around the room.
“The worst thing is, that the women accused of moral crimes will be sent to prison with women who have committed real crimes. You see that woman in the corner with her head down? She is a violent one.”
“What did she do?”
“She is a convicted serial killer. Together with her three brothers, the police found they had murdered over one hundred people in and around Kandahar. She was the victim of much abuse by her brothers from a very young age, she ended up doing their bidding by attracting men and women into their ring of death.”
Bernadette looked in the direction of the woman. She swayed back and forth. A strange sound emanated from her mouth that had something between an animal and human noise.
“I think I’ll stay clear of her.”
“Yes, and there are several other women here who are petty thieves but several who have murdered their husbands when they could not take any more abuse,” Safiya said.
“I think your zina law could use some divorce laws and lawyers,” Bernadette said. “You’d save the prison system from overcrowding. And some Afghan men might live longer.”
Safiya nodded. “Yes, our system of ancient laws has placed us in a strange pattern of behavior.”
The doors opened, and guards came in shouting.
“It is time to board the bus,” Safiya said, “Follow me.”
They were herded out of the room and onto a green prison bus with bars over the windows. Each prisoner was handcuffed to the seat in front of them; Bernadette and Safiya were seated together. The muttering serial killer was placed at the back with two guards beside her.
The bus lurched forward, leaving the police compound with two police trucks as an escort. Bernadette watched out the window. Children and women looked up at the bus from the streets. Their faces looked blank, as if they’d accepted the fate of the women passengers. Perhaps they had relatives or mothers who were in the prison they were being sent to or feeling lucky they were not on that bus.
Bernadette tried to steel herself for what was to happen next. She’d visited prisons many times in her years in the police force. There was a culture there. You had to fit into it and never stand out. A person who stood out had to either take over as the leader or be taken out. Her objective was to survive until she could get release and look for Chris again. She felt the CIA documents in her coat. She needed to keep them safe and hidden.
The convoy rounded a corner onto a wide street and stopped. There was much shouting from the Afghan Police. Bernadette looked up to see two American army tanks and an old Toyota Camry blocking their path.
26
The police on the bus started yelling. The women put their heads down. Bernadette raised her head to see what was happening. A policeman slapped her in the head, yelling at her.
“You must keep your head down, my sister,” Safiya said. “The guards are very excited.”
Bernadette put her head down. She was sitting in the seat beside the window. She moved over slightly so she could peek out the side. Two men walked towards the bus. She could see one was Jason the other was Reza with a megaphone in his hand. He lifted it to his mouth and began speaking to the police.
“What’s he saying?” Bernadette whispered to Safiya.
“He says that the police have a prisoner they want. If they deliver her—it’s you Bernadette—they will let them proceed without harm.”
The policemen on the bus erupted in shouts and curses. The man in the lead police truck threw up his arms. He had his handgun in one hand, pointed at Jason and Reza threatening to shoot them.
Jason rose up one hand. A spray of machine gun fire erupted from one of the tanks. It hit the engine of the first truck. The policeman hit the ground as the police on the bus spread-eagled onto the floor. Their curses took on a more muted tone.
Reza came over the megaphone again. This time he sounded more calming.
“What’s he saying? Bernadette asked.
“He says they must understand the tank will put an artillery shell through the truck next. They do not need to be harmed, if they release you now, they can go to their evening tea. If not, the tank will usher them into paradise where they can meet Allah.”
“I had no idea Reza was so poetical in his speech,” Bernadette said.
The police on the bus started to argue, one ran off the bus to consult with the officer, then ran back on the bus and began discussing the situation with the other policemen.
“What’s going on?” Bernadette asked.
“The guards are debating how they can give you up and not be destroyed by Khan when he finds out what happened.”
“He would murder them?”
“This is a metaphor. They think Khan would fire them all and their lives ruined. He would make sure they never worked in the police force. They’d end up in the Afghan Army where they’d have to fight the Taliban. Many of these men are cowards who only know how to push women around.” Safiya said.
The megaphone sounded again. This time Reza’s voice sounded quite loud and commanding.
“What now?”
“He’s telling them their time is up.”
A rhythmic sound came from Reza’s megaphone.
“Is that counting down I’m hearing?”
“Yes, it is, I suggest you put your head lower, there could be some explosions.”
Bernadette dropped her head below the seat. All the women did the same. The policemen muttered back and forth on the floor.
A policeman yelled from inside the bus.
“It’s okay,” Safiya said. “They are going to give you up.”
A policeman came behind Bernadette; he unshackled Safiya’s cuffs and then took off Bernadette’s and motioned for her to get off the bus. This time he did not touch her—he was apologetic in his actions.
Bernadette grabbed Safiya by the arm. “I want you to come with me, and as many of these women that you think we can take with us.”
Safiya put her hand on Bernadette’s. “My dear sister, if I were to come with you, I would be a fugitive. Kandahar is not safe for women right now. You go, we will be safe in prison. I wish you a safe journey and, inshallah,
you will find your man and the robe.”
Bernadette hugged Safiya and got off the bus. The doors of the bus closed, its engines revved and it sped off down the street with police following in the remaining truck. Some of them stared at Bernadette as if she was the vilest criminal they’d ever seen.
Jason approached her smiling. “Sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner. Mohammed told me he was surrounded by police and couldn’t do anything. The only good thing is this police convoy to the prison leaves every day at the same time. You’d think these guys would learn.”
“And your tank escort? How did you round up this kind of heavy American hardware?”
“Oh, these guys?” Jason said pointing with his thumb and fist over his shoulder. “I did some sniper work with their unit back in the day. I was able to save a lot of their hides and they returned the favor. Now, I got to say my goodbyes to them.” He turned towards the tanks.
Bernadette walked to the Camry to see Reza there with the megaphone.
“I want to thank you for coming here. This was very dangerous,” Bernadette said. She wanted to hug him, but placed her hand over her heart and bowed to him.
Reza adjusted his glasses and put the megaphone in the car. “Jason called me last night. He told me the police took you. I could not let that happen after what you did yesterday with the boy.”
“What do you mean?”
Reza took off his glasses and wiped them slowly, bowing his head. “You had the courage to save the boy. When I came home last night I saw my own boy. He is the age of Almas. You stood up with your courage to help him…save him.”
“I couldn’t do anything else. It’s just how I’m wired, Reza.”
“I know, I see that in you.” Reza raised his head to put on his glasses. His eyes were moist. “I told you I escaped from the Taliban when they killed my fellow teachers—I hid under a desk.”
“That’s the same as escaping in my books,” Bernadette said.
Caught In The Crossfire: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery Page 12
