Caught In The Crossfire: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery

by Lyle Nicholson

  “There was a gun on the floor. I could have done something,” Reza said.

  Bernadette shook her head. “It’s never that simple. If there were many Taliban in the room, you would have died with the others. The time to stand and fight is not always clear.”

  “Thank you, Bernadette, I hope I will know when the time comes on our journey.”

  “You are coming with us?”

  “Yes. Jason told me you are going to the west to find your fiancé. You will need my services. I will go with you,” Reza said bowing his head.

  “I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, Reza.”

  Reza smiled. “It is the will of Allah that will keep me safe, but I thank you for your offer.”

  Jason came back to the car. Reza got in the front and Bernadette jumped in the back. Jason threw the car in reverse and spun it around, heading the other way down the street.

  “I’m going to get us to a safe house I have,” Jason said. “I have provisions stashed there for our journey. I hope you got some good intel from your CIA friend.”

  “She gave me everything: the village, it’s Azau in Farah Province, and the amount of people and the names of the villagers.”

  “Did she give you name of the warlord or tribal leader that runs the village?” Jason asked.

  “Yes.” She pulled the sheaf of papers out of her inside coat pocket and leafed through it. “Here it is. Ramin Rasul. Does that sound like someone you’ve heard of?”

  “Oh my god,” Jason said, almost swerving the car into a market stall. “He is one of the toughest warlords in the western provinces. He is also a personal friend of our imam, Sardar Agha.”

  “Is he one of those child molesters, like that jerk, Mirwais?” Bernadette asked.

  “No, he’s hardliner. A real Muslim’s Muslim and he’s a Taliban. But he could be in league with anyone who furthers his hold on his territory.”

  Reza looked over his shoulder to Bernadette. “It seems like we are looking to have a bit of hard luck on our journey to find your Chris.”

  “Why is that?” Bernadette asked.

  “The tribe or clan of Ramin Rasul is very fierce. The International Fighters thought they had fought them into submission, but that is never the case with them. They will lie down, but they will never die. They are an offshoot of the Durrani Pashtuns tribe.”

  “How many different tribes are there?” Bernadette asked.

  “There are major ones, like the Baluchis, Turkmens and Aimakes, and dozens of small ethnic, like the Jats, who are gypsies. One of my Hazara friends told me of a tribe called the Dumdor, dum means tail, in Dari, I believe. He may have been right—there is no reason that, with cousin marriage, some would develop a tail,” Reza said.

  Reza continued in a serious note. “It is impossible to tell the exact boundaries of a tribe, since they break down into sub tribes. They learn to fight each other for dominance over the land as their clan grows”

  “Kind of like the Hatfield’s and the McCoy’s of the West Virginia in America,” Bernadette said.

  “I don’t know who that is,” Reza said.

  “They were two clans that were at war with each other for years,” Bernadette said.

  “Yes, I see,” Reza said, shaking his head. “But you must understand, some of these tribes, they have been at war for centuries.”

  Jason turned the Camry into a narrow laneway besides a building and stopped. He jumped out, pulling a canvas awning over the back of the vehicle. They looked like a market stall had just covered them in.

  “We’re here,” Jason said.

  Bernadette got out of the car, following Jason into the building with Reza behind her. They heard the shouts of Almas as he came racing around a corner. He jumped into Bernadette’s arms.

  “I am here, I am here,” Almas said.

  Bernadette hugged him hard. “Yes you are Almas. I am so happy to see you.”

  “I here, I here, I happy…” Almas said.

  “That’s all the English I had time to teach him,” Jason said. “The rest is up to you.” He motioned for Bernadette to follow him into the other room of the building. “Follow me and I’ll show you what our trip is going to be. Not quite the Michelin Guide trip, but it will be interesting.”

  27

  Bernadette stood beside Jason as he spread a large map out over a table. He pointed to the different sections and placed some markers on the map for reference.

  “Here we are in Kandahar and our first destination is the city of Farah,” Jason said with his finger on the destination. “It’s only three hundred forty-nine klicks from here, but it’s got Taliban checkpoints as we get close to the city.”

  “Why so many Taliban?” Bernadette asked.

  Jason winked at her. “They took the city of Farah back in October of last year. They’ve got the police and the government holed up in the center of the city trying to hold out, but it’s not looking good.”

  “How do we get around it?”

  “We don’t, we have to go through it, because if we go around, we are in barren countryside. The Taliban will suspect we’re up to something. I got us some fake Afghan ID papers, and you Bernadette, sorry but you’ve got to do the burka thing again.”

  “Damn, I hate that thing. Will I be heavily armed once again?”

  “I will load you up with so much firepower that you will be one hell of a battling burka…if that’s what you want.”

  “I’m in,” Bernadette said with a small smile. “What’s the distance to our next objective?”

  “Assuming we get out of Farah, we have only a seventy klick trek to Anar Darreh on pretty crap roads.”

  “Is that town under Taliban control too?” Bernadette asked.

  “Not yet,” Jason replied.

  Bernadette let one eyebrow arch as she looked at Jason. “You’re awfully cool about this. It seems the situation is compounding by the hour.”

  Jason shrugged his shoulders. “This is Afghanistan. The Taliban have taken or been pushed out of every city in the country. They make it their goal to mount a spring and summer offensive. Right now, they are trying to hold onto what they have during the winter season so they use the bases to strike at Kandahar and Kabul, but as long as the Americans are here with their airpower, they can’t hold onto anything for very long.”

  “And what if the Americans ever pulled out?” Bernadette asked.

  “This place would fold so fast you’d be hard pressed to get a flight out before the Taliban hit the gates. Of course, they’d have to come through some tribes that hate their guts, but that’s the way it is here.”

  Bernadette shook her head at Jason’s candor. “So, we get passed Anar Darreh, how far to our little village and objective?”

  Jason looked down at the map. “It’s only fifty klicks outside of Anar Darreh. There’s a small river to cross, and little mountain pass to get over but if we make no wrong turns and stay away from the Iranian border, we’ll be fine.”

  “The Iranian’s, how close are they to Azau?”

  Jason pointed a large finger at the map. “They’re almost kissing distance. One wrong step and we cross the border. The Iranian special units have been posted along the border. They don’t like what’s going on in Afghanistan now. There’s a rumor they could come over the border to keep things under control for their Shia compatriots.”

  “Sorry, what now is a Shia?”

  Jason picked up a bottle of water and took a drink. “In the Muslim’s, there’s two groups, the Sunni’s and the Shia’s. Almost like Catholics and Protestants. They view the succession of Mohammed differently.”

  “That sounds like most Christians and the succession of Christ. So much confusion, sad to know they caught some of our bad ways.”

  “Well, they did it on their own. Afghanistan is mostly Sunni, and Iran is all Shia. Most of the Muslims in the world are Sunni, the Shia make up only twenty percent,” Jason said.

  “Hmm, I’m wondering if the Iranians are fe
eling threatened with all the unrest here in Afghanistan?” Bernadette remarked.

  Jason rolled up the map. “Could be, then I’ve been here for many years, just about anything seems to set the people off here.” He stuffed the map into a case. “You know there was a tale about Alexander the Great. His wife asked him how things were going in his conquest of Afghanistan. He sent her back some dirt and told her to spread it around their home in Greece. She did that. Soon every one of the staff in their villa was fighting and quarreling. She asked Alexander what the reason was. He said, even the dirt is angry and causes fights here.”

  Bernadette sighed. “Yes, I think that sums this place up. Now, I need to find the facilities to take some kind of a shower. I smell of prison.”

  Jason pointed her in the direction of a crude washing facility. It was toilet with a hole in the floor. Beside it was a cold bucket of water with soap. Bernadette stood to the side of the toilet, being careful not to step too close to it or smell it. The soap had a pleasant rose water smell. She doused a rag in the bucket, lathered some soap on the rag and did a quick bucket wash.

  She was reminded of all the times she’d done this by a lake in Northern Canada. A memory of a canoe trip she’d taken with Chris came to her. She’d been washing herself by the lake naked from the waist up. Chris had come up behind her and folded his arms around her. He taken the washcloth and caressed her with it until they’d fallen into each other’s arms, making love on the beach.

  Shaking her head to get rid of the vision she put her t-shirt back on and walked back into the room. Jason and Reza were making dinner. The smell of rice with aromatic spices and goat meat filled the air. They gave her a plate and she sat with Almas on the ground and devoured the meal.

  Later that night, they rolled some bedding onto the floor, threw down blankets, and lay down to sleep. The sound of gunfire and explosions punctuated the night air.

  Bernadette lay there with Almas beside her, wondering if she’d find Chris in this violent country. Lackey had told her she had a death wish in going after him. But she had to find him. She was the reason he’d come here, to prove himself worthy. Her prominence as a detective and his inability to find a job had driven him here. Now, she had to find him to take him back home, even if, as his mother wished, that she was to never see him again. Exhaustion pulled her eyes shut and sent her to sleep.

  28

  Jason woke everyone at 0500 hours. Bernadette rolled off her mat and shook her head. Almas lay there, looking around. He smiled at her and started to speak excitedly to her.

  “What is Almas saying?” Bernadette asked Reza.

  “He said he is happy you are here. When he closed his eyes, he prayed to Allah that he would see you again in the morning. Allah has granted his prayers. He is happy,” Reza said.

  Bernadette tousled the boy’s hair. “I am happy too.”

  She got off the floor and went to the crude room that was called the toilet. Or as she’d named it “hole in the floor room,” did her morning business and washed her hands in the bucket.

  Jason was walking back and forth putting packs near the door. He picked up a machine gun and threw it in Bernadette’s direction.

  Bernadette grabbed it, checking the bolt action and safety. “This is the famed Russian AK-forty-seven?”

  “It sure is. The best weapon the Russians ever made. The thing will fire almost anywhere. It’s the core weapon for the Taliban and the Afghan National Army. Every time the NATO forces give the Afghan’s one of their fancy weapons, they try to lose it so they can go back to that weapon.”

  Bernadette felt the weight and looked down the sights. “Why is that?”

  “The thing just doesn’t jam. You could go through a dust storm with it or drop it off a mountain, its damn near indestructible. You’d have to drive a tank over it to break it.”

  “Is that why you prefer to have it with you?”

  “Sure, that and if you have an AK-forty-seven and every Afghan has one, all you need to do to get more ammo is kill or take it from your enemy. There’s no Wal-Mart or Costco out there for resupply—know what I mean?”

  Bernadette handed the weapon back to Jason. “Sounds good, when do I get one?”

  “That one is yours. I have one for Reza, and one for Almas,” Jason said.

  “Almas, how could he know how to fire one of these?”

  Jason turned to Almas. He said something to him in Afghani, nodding to the weapon. Almas ran to Bernadette taking the gun from her. He racked the chamber, put the stock to his shoulder and smiled.

  “The children learn to fire AK-forty-sevens at their father’s knee. They don’t mess with toy weapons here. Why would you when the real thing is available? If a boy’s father falls, his son picks up his gun and keeps on firing,” Jason said.

  Bernadette looked at Almas. The boy had taken on a new stature. He looked older, more deadly. She took the gun from him and pressed her hand on his cheek. He smiled, turning back into a boy again.

  Jason gave Bernadette a set of army fatigues to put on. They were a bit snug, but she wriggled into them. She pulled a protective vest over that, and then strapped a combat knife to one leg and a Glock handgun to the other leg.

  She took a web belt from the table, attaching two flash grenades and a fragmentation grenade to it. Jason handed her a small shotgun to hide under her burka. She felt ready.

  “Once again, this burka is loaded,” Bernadette said. She adjusted her weapons and pulled the long blue garment over her. “Does anything show?”

  Jason looked her up and down. “No, you’re good to go. I hope I look half as good as you when I put mine on.”

  “What? You’re going to put one on?” Bernadette asked from under the burka.

  Jason winced. “Yeah, once we get into Taliban territory, Reza here is going to be our front man. I can make like I’m a Muslim from Croatia who’s taken up their cause, but they’ll ask too many questions.”

  “I welcome you to the tribe of the battling burka’s,” Bernadette said with a laugh. “Now when and how do we get out of Kandahar?”

  “I booked us a trip out by shadowing a NATO convoy. I know a bunch of guys in the unit. They got some heavy armored units going to Delaram. We hitch a ride on the back of the convoy, then we’re on our own to Farah.”

  “Won’t they think we’re a bunch of terrorists trying to follow them? Especially me in this burka?”

  “Nope, I got it covered. Now, let’s move out. The convoy is moving at zero six fifteen hours from their forward location. We’ve got some city streets to navigate. I’m just hoping warring factions are still asleep right now or have gone to the mosque to pray.”

  As if on cue, the first call to prayer sounded. It was echoed from one mosque to another until the entire city sounded like a wave of clerics calling the faithful.

  “Okay, load up. Once everyone is in the mosques we got a window of opportunity to haul ass,” Jason said.

  “But, I have a problem,” Reza said. “I must pray.”

  Jason and Bernadette stopped in their tracks. They had packs slung over their shoulders, ready for the door. They looked at each other. Dropping their packs, they nodded their heads in agreement.

  There was nothing else they could do. Reza and Almas needed to pray. Jason stared at his watch.

  Bernadette moved closer, and whispered, “Are we going to make the rendezvous with the convoy?”

  “It’s going to be tight,” Jason said as he watched Reza and Almas put down their prayer rugs and begin their prayers.

  Bernadette and Jason stood in the doorway with their gear while the two stood shoulder to shoulder.

  “I’ve never seen this, what does it mean?” Bernadette asked Jason in low whisper.

  Jason looked at the two of them. “This is the fajr, this prayer starts off the day and is performed before sunrise. The first motion is the takbir, worshippers stand with raised hands at shoulder level, proclaiming Allahu akbar, God is great.”

  They watch
ed as Reza and Almas proclaimed Allahu akbar in unison, the little voice of the boy pitched higher than Reza.

  The voices of Reza and Almas rose up softly into the room; it became a beautiful melody as they repeated it together.

  When the prayers were completed, Reza and Almas got up slowly and smiled at Bernadette and Jason. “We must go now,” Reza said.

  “Do we still have time?” Bernadette asked. She looked at her watch. The time was 0545.

  Jason smiled. “Let’s hope Allah will be merciful. And we need to haul ass.”

  They hurried out of the room, throwing their bags in the back of the car. Jason pulled the canvas cover off the car and with everyone inside, he spun the car in reverse.

  The alleyway was vacant. A lone vendor with fresh bread watched the beaten-up car sped down the street..

  The narrow alley opened up onto a large road. Jason stopped, looking left and right.

  “What are you looking for?” Bernadette asked from the back seat.

  “I’m trying to see if the army or police have put up any checkpoints yet,” Jason said.

  “Do you think they’re looking for me?” Bernadette asked.

  “Could be or just their normal squeeze point to rake off money from innocent people,” Jason said. “There’s a saying in Afghanistan, that the ordinary person cannot do anything. But a government person, which includes the military and police can do what he wants—killing, stealing…anything.”

  Reza turned his head. “We often say the Afghan government is a criminal syndicate.”

  “Well put.” Jason nodded in agreement.

  Bernadette leaned forward. “Well, that’s great. If the Afghan government is totally corrupt and the Taliban is corrupt in a different way, how does a regular person exist here?”

  Reza flashed a smile. “This here, in Afghanistan, is Allah’s greatest test. You will see, that Allah will prevail.”

  Jason shook his head, put the car in gear, and turned right. They blew past a police checkpoint that had not set up yet. The policemen were sitting beside their car having their morning tea. They looked up with mild interest at the passing car. They would stop the next one.