by Gennita Low
Dirk’s head appeared from the top bunk. “Have you actually looked at Picasso’s paintings, man? Big headed, one-eyed, weird shit.”
Mink reached out and touched Lucas’ stitches. “Geniuses are never appreciated,” he said absently. “Hmm. Soft.”
“Hey, you’re making me nervous,” Lucas growled, elbowing him away. “And stop pulling on the stitches.”
“I’m barely touching them. Heightened sensitivity. The bruising looks normal, though. Did you take the drugs the doc gave you?”
Lucas shrugged. “He said, if the pain was getting to me. It wasn’t.” It was just a knife wound. No big deal. He’d had injuries worse than this one. “Slept like a baby.”
“Actually, you didn’t,” Dirk said. “I heard you tossing and turning quite a bit.”
“Yup, me too,” Mink agreed.
“What are you guys, my babysitters?” Lucas waved them away. “That Afghan insider’s words got in your head, clowns.”
Mink pointed a finger at him. “I’m watching you closely today, pal. I know how you are. You’ll fall over before you admit you’re in pain.”
Lucas got off the bunk. Mink knew him too damn well. “Yeah, yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m putting on some clothes and heading off to look for food. You two can squabble about who gets my big balls when I die from this little scratch.”
He stalked off, feeling restless. He hadn’t lied. He did sleep. Just not fitfully. But he’d always had a difficult time going into full relaxed mode after a night of action so a bit of tossing and turning in bed didn’t bother him one bit. It wasn’t as if the bunk bed was as comfy as, say, Kit’s bed.
Kit. Hmm. He was hungry for Kit. He wondered what she was doing right now. She did mention being out on an interview job where there were no hotspots for texting. Too bad. He had the sudden urge to ask her what her bed looked like.
He grinned. Now, he wouldn’t mind having his abs and other body parts checked out by that woman. She had the most arousing way of smoothing her hands up and down his body. Half massage, half teasing promise. She had first done that to his back, from his shoulder blades all the way down his ass and over the back of his calves. Then, when he’d turned over at her soft request, she’d done the same to his front side, from his pecs, down his tightened ab muscles, over the top of his thighs...and then her mouth had come down between his thighs and...man, now that woman was Picasso with her mouth and tongue. Lucas growled again. Dammit, he was going to walk around with a telltale hard-on with two concerned bros at his heels.
Coffee. Lots of coffee and some protein. That was all he needed.
Fortunately, Dirk and Mink dropped the subject and went about like they normally did, bickering and talking about plans. There were a few other people eating with them and he chose to ignore the little digs about their adventure under the damned hen house. The moment the Stooges joined their table, a few of them started sniffing the air and plugging their noses, complaining about the odd stench.
One of the men clucked like a chicken and the others laughed.
“Pussies,” he said mildly, as he started spooning food in his mouth.
Being alive was good. He could deal with a few good-natured funning from guys who had gone through a firefight with him, no problem. It was healthy just to let loose for a bit, even a few minutes, because too soon, one would be back on alert, taking care of the business of war. So he appreciated whatever time there was that gave these guys to hang and be human, and if it was his friends’ and his balls they wanted to bust this morning, well, his were plenty big and they knew it.
“I’m still wondering about that strange dude with us at the end. You know who I mean,” one of the men on the boat crew—Callahan—said, salting his food with the exuberance of a man who didn’t think much about high blood pressure. “Wonder what else he gets out of it.”
“What do you mean?” Lucas asked. “What are you doing, trying to ferment your breakfast?”
The other man grimaced. “Hey, just trying to make my food edible. Anyway, about that dude. You know how these double agents are. They don’t do nothing for free.”
“I don’t think he’s one, though,” Mink said. “More like, undercover.”
“Yeah, he seemed pretty calm through all that commotion on the boat, like he’s familiar with big caliber guns shooting around him. I’m just curious, that’s all. Not used to Joint Missions with so many different sides. Usually, we just pick you crazy SEALs up or drop you off, that’s it. This time, we have to transport those female agents around too. Kind of effed up, if you ask me.”
Lucas’ ear pricked up. “Transporting them? Up and down the river?”
“Yeah, and at low speeds. They had their high-tech binoculars out looking for something or someone. Like I said, effed up.”
This was all said quietly among them, since they were giving opinions about higher command. Lucas hadn’t questioned the presence of Vivi and Amber, but he remembered how uncomfortable his team had been when they had their first Joint Mission experience with Vivi and her outfit. Not that they were women, because capable women in combat situations were fine with them, but because they were so damn secretive and no one appeared to know what they were up to. Hell, Vivi’s role during their Joint Mission in Asia almost gave his two commanders simultaneous heart attacks when they found out. Too late, by then, of course, thanks to the wily woman who had known to keep her plans close to her chest until it was too late.
Lucas had admired the bold plan, though. Vivi had brought her A-Game, letting the team do their job while she accomplished her mission. He liked her very much and she’d gained enough respect that neither he nor his team had even thought about what her role was in this particular mission. But, of course, the boat crew hadn’t met her or Amber Hutchens before, and they’re showing the same signs of uneasiness about working with strange people from outfits they’d never heard of.
Lucas thoughtfully studied the men as he chewed and swallowed his food. “Our team has worked with them. They’re very capable,” he finally said. “Whatever they’re up to, they know what they’re doing and won’t jeopardize your lives unnecessarily. They weren’t sight-seeing, I bet.”
“I know they’re scouting or looking for someone or something, but out in the open like that? Dangerous,” Callahan said.
“Yeah, they’re great looking women, but we aren’t looking for hood ornaments for our boat,” another of the guys chimed in.
Lucas grinned. Oh, man, Vivi V-Z and Amber Hutchens were going to have a fit if they knew they were being seen as hood ornaments. He felt compelled to defend them. It was his duty, since they were both, respectively, wife and fiancée of his commanders.
“One of them is actually an experienced tracker,” he said. “She’s probably looking for something that had to do with routes. As for the other, the first time I met her, she was disguised as an old lady and arresting military personnel left and right. I didn’t even know that old lady was her when I met her again. Trust me, dudes. These women know what they’re doing.”
“Yeah,” Mink agreed. “There are more of them too. All deadly, like Bond chicks. They all snare men like they snared our commanders.”
The guys at their table snorted and laughed some more.
“If you’re reporting back to your C.O.s, I’ve nothing against women in the military. These two, though, are more CIA-type, all closed-mouth about their agendas,” Callahan said, “and you know how much they don’t share.”
Lucas nodded. CIA tactics had backfired before because of its nature of not sharing vital information about their work at the most frustrating moments. “Agreed. All I can say is Admiral Madison is trying to change things by opening up different channels, using other networks. You guys know we lost some SEAL brothers precisely because of an operation that went FUBAR and it was all due to bad information, deliberately fed by rats in the CIA.”
“Who doesn’t know about it? The shit hit the fan last year and was all over the papers.�
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Lucas nodded again. He should know. He’d had a hand in the capture of Gorman, the traitor who had been selling secrets for ten years. There was a huge scandal in D.C. and heads were still rolling.
“Action speaks, right?” He asked. When the others nodded, he continued, “Then, look at what’s happening. Mad Dog made a promise to get things done right. He’d gone to DC and headed up some independent hearing, spending all this time back home to get those bastards who are responsible for not just our brothers’ lives, but so many others, by selling information and moving weapons to our enemies. Since he’d started pulling in these independent contractors and double checking information feeds, Mad Dog had scored us Dilaver, the main guy who had our SEALs killed. The Joint Mission netted us a kill and several important caches of weapons that had been missing from our storage facilities. Success and survival. That’s all I care about, dudes. Fuck the paperwork and passing around of useless info.”
“Hear, hear!”
“Amen.”
“Seeing that you’re tight with River Devil, and he speaks highly of you, I’ll take your word about those indie contractors’ capabilities,” Callahan said with a smile. “I still can’t see them jumping into the arena, weapons a-blazing, though, so can’t even imagine how Mrs. Zeringue could have been with you guys during your stint in Asia, mowing down Triad brothers.”
Lucas exchanged glances with Mink and Dirk. They were all remembering Vivi’s herd of goats and how she had single-handedly divided a contingent of trucks in half for the SEAL team. They started chuckling.
“Callahan, you have to see it to believe it,” he told the guys as he downed the last of his coffee. Pushing back his chair, he stood up. “I expect we’ll be needing your assistance again soon.”
“Yup. We’ll get wet and party, as usual.”
Lucas grinned. Damn river cowboys. They loved their boat and they loved to make a hell of a noise while in it. If he hadn’t made it in BUD/s, he’d have tried to make it into the Special Warfare Combatant-Craft boat teams. An SWCC was in the league of Rangers, Green Beret and the SEALs, after all.
“Tell Devil to give me a buzz,” he said.
“Gotcha.”
He, Dirk and Mink walked off, with Mink grabbing a handful of cookies and popping a couple into his mouth. The rest he put in his pocket.
“You’ll just get cookie crumbles if you’re keeping them for later,” Lucas said.
“Oh, like it’s going to be still there later,” Dirk said. “Mink has the sweetest tooth this side of the world, man.”
“Sweetest mouth,” Mink corrected. “Sweetest tongue too, I’ve been told.”
“Cumber’s got the biggest balls. You’ve got the sweetest tongue. I must be the one with the longest dick.”
Lucas snorted. “There, we’re set to please all the ladies.”
“Talking about ladies, you didn’t sit in the corner passing love notes with Kit this morning. What’s up with that?” Mink asked.
Lucas gave Mink a sideway glance. “Maybe you’ve got the nosiest nose.”
Dirk threw back his head and laughed. “Maybe you should shut that sweet mouth or you’ll also get the blackest eye.”
Mink popped another cookie into his mouth, crunching it noisily. “Maybe you two are just jealous because I’ve got the nicest—Morning, Sir!”
They all stood at attention and saluted Lieutenant Commander Jazz Zeringue. He returned the salute. His wife, Vivi, was with him, dressed in camis.
“Good morning, Ma’am!”
“Stooges,” he said, his grin betraying his amusement. “You know your voices carry down the hallway. I’m sure Vivi is thinking your looks are all you guys talk about.”
“Our apologies, ma’am,” Mink said.
“No need. We women enjoy your male banter,” Vivi said, smiling.
“Going off already, Ma’am?” Lucas asked, eyeing the small suitcase Jazz was carrying.
“I have to pick up somebody and then I’m off.”
“Last night’s little melee brought out all the tribal family branches looking for that girl. Vivi wants to get to her before they do. I’d like the three of you to come with us. While she’s doing her thing, I want you all to get to talk to some of the men there, see if you can get any info about the Cob’s network. I’m going to talk to the jirga.”
The jirga was the elected tribal heads. Getting on the jirga’s good side was always the key to cooperation with the tribal families. Right now, they needed some of them to look away while they conducted some searches for the stolen Stealth parts.
“Aye, sir! We’ll meet you outside with our gear.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kit had done her research for their investigative report. Intellectually, she understood the concept of swara. In this part of the world, the Pashto people had a custom called pashtunswali—taking revenge to maintain honor. This was viewed as justice.
Their investigation into the Pashto singer’s death report was based on the suspicion she was murdered because of this custom. She had publicly divorced her husband a year ago and went back into performing publicly, something deeply conservative Afghan and Pakistani men deemed as unseemly. Therefore her death came as no surprise to many people here. Although she was an immensely popular singer, the opinion that her murder was justified was accepted, with little moral outrage.
Sean Cortez had told her he wanted to dig deeper, to get the investigative piece to resonate about culture and deep tribal beliefs, and how change was difficult for Pashtun women. The topic was a timely one because of the recent push by Afghan and Iranian women for small changes, such as driving a car by themselves and even getting an education. Also, the one incident of the girl who had bravely fought against her elders because she wanted to go to school had made international headlines. Sean wanted to show more, to get the readers’ imagination fired up about how these women were committing acts of bravery everyday by doing what would seem normal and mundane for those living outside this culture.
Kit was just as eager to use their Internet radio program as a platform for international women’s issues and had studied her butt off on the subject. However, no amount of research prepared her for the words pouring out of Minah’s mouth.
The girl looked so young. The matter-of-factness with which she told her story was chilling and disquieting. The first part was how she became a young bride. Her brother killed a rival tribal family’s son. They wanted his death avenged and she was given as payment to stop more bloodshed. She told them that one day, when she was playing with her toys, her mother had sat down and told her she was going to be a bride of swara, as payment for her brother’s crime. She was to be held in dishonor for the rest of her life and must prepare her life as someone on whom her new family would look down. For the rest of her life, she would be a reminder of the member who was lost and would be treated accordingly.
She stopped every minute or two so Joanna could make a quick interpretation and give Kit time to ask questions, but Kit found herself turning away to hide her tears. She felt so sad for the girl and helpless regarding her plight. Besides the interview, what could she do?
“What do you want to do now?” she asked, through Joanna.
The reply was quick. “Go to school, like Malala Yousafzai*. I want to drive a car.” Minah patted her chest. “I want to be me.”
Kit nodded. Such simple answers, yet so many obstacles. Her mind was working furiously, laying out any options for the young interviewee. Could she perhaps make her the focus of the article and get international attention for her plight, just like Malala? But it had to be done quickly because of her circumstances.
The laptop buzzed an incoming signal. Sean must be checking in. Joanna leaned over and clicked open a window on the screen. Sean’s face appeared, slightly blurred from the bad lighting and odd angle from his tablet.
“I’m not too far away but the jirga is insisting I talk to them first. You need to ask about the husband or intended. Not sure whethe
r they’re formally married or not,” he said.
“Okay,” Kit said.
“I’ll check in now and then. The jirga’s information is useful too.”
He cut off before she could reply. She turned to Minah. “Your escape,” she said, trying to lead the girl to the ceremony itself. “Tell me how it was possible. I’d imagine it must have been very difficult to run off.”
“I thought so too, but it was actually quite easy,” Minah told her. Her voice became excited, her gaze animated. “There was this man from the other family. Unlike the others, he was kind to me. He gave me something to eat, asked how I was. I told him I didn’t want to be there because everyone hated me. I wanted my toys. I wanted books. He was very kind. He brought me a book and then he asked me how good I was at climbing ropes.”
Kit frowned. “Why did he ask you that?”
Minah shrugged. “He came one more time after that and told me if I wanted to run, I must follow his instructions. He said, when things go crazy during the peace agreement ceremony, when my family and my....” She paused, looking away for an instant. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “When my family and the other family come together, there would be a lot of things happening. He asked me to keep looking at the wall to the back and when I see a rope coming down, I was to wait until the men climb down. Then when everything is happening, I can climb up and make my way down to this camp.”
Kit and Joanna exchanged glances. “He gave you all these instructions,” Kit reiterated. There was something more happening here than just a peace agreement between two tribal families. When the girl nodded, she asked, “What about the men climbing down from the wall? Were they your friends?”
The girl shrugged again.
When she didn’t say anything, Kit tried a different question. “So, from your story, this man who helped you. Did he have a name? No? Okay. He obviously helped you, right? So what did these men do for you?”
“They were men with weapons. Many of them. There was a big fight. Bang! Bang, bang, bang! I wasn’t afraid. I’ve heard guns go off before. My mother has shot guns before too. Big. Men. Big. Guns.” She said the last four words in English and looked at them proudly.
