Morgan never met a child she didn’t like, Jake decided. Or maybe, her beauty, kindness and generosity left an indelible mark in each child’s memory and that attributed to her popularity. That was probably closer to the real truth. He was grateful to see her interact without any of her defensive walls in place. Morgan was vulnerable and open with the children, her maternal side showing. Clearly, they loved her, their eyes bright with affection, wriggling like excited puppies, happy to see her once again.
Their collective focus shifted to a tall, thin man in his forties. Hamid had a long black beard peppered with gray. He wore a cream-colored wool cape, baggy black pants and a black turban on his head. His light brown eyes sparked with welcome. Jake got ready to make the customary greetings with the Pashtun leader.
“Welcome,” Hamid intoned, giving the greeting in Pashto to them.
Morgan wasn’t surprised when the leader stepped forward, placed his hands on her shoulders and fondly kissed each of her cheeks. She did the same, having great respect for the Afghan leader.
Hamid greeted Jake and shook his hand.
Reza approached and greeted the elder with respect, as well. He seemed surprised as Hamid extended his hand to him, his face alight with pleasure at being recognized by the village elder.
“Will you do me the honor of coming to my humble home?” Hamid asked Morgan and Jake. “My wife has known of your coming for a day, and she has been working with all the wives of the village to greet you properly with good Afghan food.”
Morgan glanced over at Jake, and he nodded. “We’d love to, Hamid. Lead the way.”
Chuckling, Hamid said, “Oh, you lead the way, Wajiha. You know this village as if it were your own.” He opened his hand and made a grand gesture toward the rutted road.
“It is an honor,” Morgan whispered, meaning it. As she walked past the elders, she was joined by at least ten children who all wanted to claim her hands and escort her to the elder’s home. They laughed, skipped and clung to her clothing. One little girl, no more than four, ran up to Morgan, arms open, begging her to pick her up.
Morgan instantly recognized the child. “Duniya! Where have you been?” she asked, leaning down and scooping the terribly thin child into her arms.
Duniya laughed, threw her arms around Morgan’s neck, kissing her cheek again and again. “My mother is coming, Wajiha. We missed you! We’re so happy to have you home!”
Touched, Morgan settled the small girl against her hip, giving Duniya a kiss on the noggin. “Were you out in the fields?”
“Yes. We heard shouting. My mother wouldn’t let me run across the fields.”
“Wise choice,” Morgan murmured, rubbing her hand gently down the child’s back, feeling her protruding ribs. “There’s buried IEDs out there. You have to be careful, little one.” Morgan spotted Duniya’s mother standing between two of the mud homes, a shy smile of welcome on her darkly sunburned face. Morgan lifted her hand in greeting to the mother, Roya, whom she was close to.
“Do you have candy for me, Wajiha?”
Chuckling, she said, “Yes, I saved some for you, Duniya.”
“Ohhhhh, good! Thank you, Wajiha. You are truly an angel! Mama prays for you every day in her prayers.”
Morgan squeezed the girl gently and said nothing. As she looked around her, more and more of the village’s children had returned, and they were a ragtag group hollering around her, the older boys racing up and down the street, proclaiming Wajiha’s return. Happiness flooded Morgan’s heart as they made their way to a three-story mud-and-stone home where the leader of the village lived.
Morgan gently placed barefoot Duniya on the ground. She dug into a pocket in her H-gear and produced two Butterfinger packets for the shy little girl with the long black hair. Duniya held out her hand to receive the gift.
“One is for you. And one is for your mama,” Morgan instructed her, giving her a kiss on the head and gently nudging her toward her waiting mother on the other side of the street.
“Thank you, Wajiha. I love you!”
Straightening, Morgan smiled softly as the child ran like a deer to her mother’s side, giving her the candy. Roya’s face brightened with surprise, a smile of thanks coming to her oval face. Morgan lifted her hand and then returned her attention to Hamid.
Jake followed the entourage of six leaders and Morgan into the three-story house. On the first floor there was a large central room. The dirt-packed floor was covered with beautiful Persian carpets. The wife and daughters of Hamid enthusiastically welcomed them. Hamid asked them to sit on either side of him, at the head of the jirga, or meeting. It was a place of honor. Women were not to attend an all-male jirga but Hamid wanted Morgan at the meeting.
Jake noted that Hamid gestured for Morgan to sit at his right hand. That was considered the most important place to sit next to the leader. She waited until he had sat cross-legged on the pillow before sitting down next to him. Jake was familiar with Pashtun customs and fitted easily into the ceremony.
The women served the three of them first. They brought silver trays with bowls of cool water and a towel beside it. Jake appreciated the gesture. They’d ridden all day, sweated and smelled like hell. There were no showers out here. No water to take a dip in, but the bowls of water were a start.
He remained patient, knowing it would be a while before they got around to discussing Sangar Khogani. Did Hamid have any updated information? Jake hoped so, but patience was the key. Afghan jirgas were long, with many cups of tea in between serious conversation.
Chapter Eight
Near sunset, Morgan and Jake strolled through the village. He needed to acquaint himself with the two hundred people who lived within the five-foot mud walls that protected them. Morgan showed him the only gate in and out of the fortress. The heat of the day was easing, but sweat ran freely down their faces as they walked outside the massive wooden gates that were always manned by a young boy during the day and an armed farmer at night.
“Up there,” Morgan told him, pointing at a twelve-thousand-foot mountain rising to the south of the village, “is where the boys herding the goats the other day saw Sangar Khogani and his men.”
Jake studied the rocky slopes of the mountain, which were part of another chain farther to the south. He had a map in hand, studying the terrain of it against what he saw. Over the years since 9/11, SEALs had done much of the updating of mapping terrain in these isolated regions. Their work, combined with updated satellite imagery, gave him a much better picture of the Hindu Kush in this area. “That’s a rugged mother of a slope,” he said.
Morgan rested her hands over the waist belt of her H-gear. “Yes, it is. The boys take the goats up there on five different paths across that slope. It’s steep but not impossible.”
“I hate working at twelve thousand feet. It sucks oxygen-wise,” he grunted, studying the map again.
Morgan continued to look around. The Afghans were coming in from the fields to the west of the fortified village. They were done for the day. All the men wore sandals. The soles were fashioned out of cutting up old car tires, wood or anything else they could find. Nothing was wasted out here. They carried a rake, hoe or shovel across their shoulders. Older boys also accompanied their fathers into the fields, learning agricultural practices to keep their crops alive.
The big problem was that Khogani and his men rode through every three months during the dead of night. His men would plant IEDs outside the gate and in their fields. Her mouth twitched. Her hatred of Khogani was intense. He never left her mind. All Morgan had to do was see the ten children in the village who had lost legs to his IEDs or see the sadness in Reza’s eyes, and she wanted the bastard permanently removed from this planet.
“Okay, I’ve seen enough.” Jake looked over at Morgan. She seemed far away, unreachable. “What are you thinking about?”
“How badly I want Khogani’s head.”
“These people have really suffered under him,” Jake agreed, turning and walking back to the
gate.
“I want to call in Captain Shaheen’s charity organization. His wife, Emma Trayhern, who used to be an Apache combat pilot, now flies a CH-47 for their organization. I want to ask Khalid to bring in a medical and dental team to the village tomorrow.”
Jake slowed his pace, considering the request. “Isn’t that dangerous? Khogani’s been seen up there. He’s well-known to kill NGO teams coming in to help a village.”
Morgan shrugged. “I’ve worked with Khalid and Emma before. They’re U.S. Army and a little wiser to how things work around here. Emma can get flyovers by an Apache gunship, so she knows whether it’s safe to land or not. Khogani isn’t going to show his presence when an Apache is around.”
“Aren’t you afraid it will chase him off?”
“It might draw him in. In which case, we’ll be able to find him easier. There are a lot of people in the village who need medical attention.” She rubbed her sweaty brow. “The Apaches might be able to spot him. You never know. They have all kinds of avionics equipment, including thermal imaging to seek out human body heat. If he’s still around, it might pin him down and help us pick up his trail.”
“As long as it doesn’t slow down our operation.”
“It won’t,” she assured him. “We were planning on staying here for two days anyway. With Khogani being sighted, we have to get satellite flyovers and drones on station 24/7 to see if they can find him and his men. That can take twenty-four hours or more.”
It sounded reasonable to Jake. “Okay, call J-bad and get Vero to authorize the request. Then give Captain Shaheen a call and see if he’ll bring in the teams.”
“Thanks, Jake.” Morgan gave him a hesitant smile and finally said, “This is one of those rare times I like you. It tells me you really do have a heart.”
Her whispered words made his throat tighten. Jake hadn’t expected a thaw between them, but it had happened. All he wanted right then was to bring a rare smile to her beautiful face. Rolling his eyes, he grinned. “Give me a break, Boland. I’m a nice guy and you know it.”
She couldn’t help melting beneath that sudden, boyish smile and seeing his hard mask drop away. Her heart beat a little faster. “Sometimes, like right now,” Morgan agreed, huskily, “you’re a 4.0 guy.” Four-oh was a Navy expression for someone who was squared away and knew what they were doing.
“God, a compliment from you.” Jake dramatically pressed his hand against his chest. “Next, you’ll be rewarding me one of those Butterfingers you got stashed in your pockets.” He chuckled.
Laughing softly, Morgan said, “You don’t like Butterfingers, remember?” Most SEALs had a stash of junk food in their gear that they would bring over with them. She was sure Jake had packages of his favorite candy, Kit Kat, stored away in his third-line gear, his rucksack.
Shrugging, Jake placed his thumbs in the waist belt of his H-gear. The M-4 was slung in a loop across his left shoulder. They went nowhere without weapons. “I know…but it’s the thought that counts,” he teased, seeing the smile in her eyes. Eyes he could get lost in and never return from. Despite the sweat, the dust, her hair coated with it across her shoulders, Morgan was beautiful.
A deep ache began once more in his heart and lower body, like it always did when he was around her. Jake could never logically figure out what his response was all about. And when Morgan’s lips drew into a soft smile, it made him feel powerful and special. Being with her once again was bittersweet. If only he could have a third chance with her. This time, he wouldn’t screw it up because of lack of maturity, misunderstandings and terrible mistakes he’d made.
Halting at Hamid’s house, they would sleep at different levels within Hamid’s home. Women slept with women. Men slept with men. That was Islamic law. Jake would be on the third floor, Morgan on the second.
Tiredness washed over Morgan. “I’m going to see if I can scare up some water and take a spit bath.” She wrinkled her nose and touched her cheek. It felt gritty beneath her fingertips. “See you tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah. This is an upgrade from the goat barn last night.”
Morgan nodded. “Indeed it is, Ramsey. But I didn’t smell any of it….”
“Classic gotcha,” Jake agreed, grinning. And then he sobered. “You keep the radio on, though?” She and Jake had a headset communications with one another. If something happened, he wanted them to be able to talk to her, as well as react immediately as a team.
Hamid had confirmed things had been quiet at the village for the past month. Jake felt they would be very safe within the walls. As a SEAL, he was fully aware that if Khogani’s men wanted to attack, a five-foot wall wasn’t going to stop them. The wall was a psychological state of mind for the villagers as far as he was concerned, not true protection against the bad guys.
“Yes,” Morgan agreed, patting the radio snapped to her H-gear harness on her left shoulder. “See you tomorrow morning.” She lifted her hand and took the steps into the house.
Much to his chagrin, Jake woke up very late the next morning. It was 0800! Sunlight was pouring into the window of the men’s sleeping room. Hurrying through breakfast, he got his gear, rifle and headed outdoors. The morning was coolish as he loped easily down the road.
Hamid was out and about, and Jake stopped a man with a donkey and cart hauling wood to ask if he’d seen Morgan. The farmer told him she was out in the fields with the elders. Hurrying out the gate, Jake saw the village was up and moving. Women were doing washing outside their homes, children were playing, dogs were yapping and most of the men were already in the fields for the day.
Morgan was standing with Hamid and several other elders at a ditch when she spotted Jake coming around the wall of the village. She gestured for him to come join them. After giving the Pashto greetings to the elders, he came to Morgan’s side.
“Good morning,” she murmured. “You overslept, Ramsey. I didn’t have the heart to wake you at 0530 like you wanted.”
Scowling, he said, “You should have.” When he looked around, Jake saw at least fifty men in the fields, hoeing, picking out weeds or guiding the water from the river down a ditch into the narrow rows to water the corn, beans and other vegetables.
“It’s one of the few times you can sleep in. No harm, no foul. I contacted Captain Shaheen and they’ll be here in about an hour with two medical teams.”
“Good,” Jake said, staring up at the huge mountain to the south. His neck prickled with warning. Khogani was up there. He was sure. Watching them? Probably. Turning, he asked, “What are you doing out here?”
“Working with Hamid and the elders. They wanted to know if they could improve their irrigation techniques.” She pointed to the fields. “You see how hard they work to get that water down into each of those rows?”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his chin and studying the problem. Morgan was a civil engineer, which had been her major at Annapolis. It was evident how good she was at it. “Do you have a plan?”
“I think so,” she said, enjoying the moment with him. She pointed along the parallel edge of the long field that was at least a football field in length. “I was telling Hamid if we could get some guys out here to dig another ditch, create a second channel for this river water, that they would have water coming in both ends of every row. That way, when they pulled up the wooden gates to allow water into the fields, it would irrigate twice as fast with a lot less work for the men.”
“I’m impressed,” Jake said, catching her gaze. Her eyes grew warm over his compliment. This morning, Morgan wore the boonie hat that all SEALs wore on an op. She had her SIG riding low on her right thigh, her H-gear on and a shovel in her left hand. The M-4 wasn’t far away from her reach.
“You like the idea?”
“Yeah. It should work.”
Hamid tapped Jake on the shoulder. Jake turned to the elder.
“You need to consider her for a wife, Sahib Ramsey.”
Morgan’s mouth dropped open, and she stared disbelievingly at Hamid, w
ho usually said little. And then she shifted her glance toward Jake. His mouth was still open, too. Laughing, she said, “Hamid, we do things a little different in America. Women aren’t assigned a husband to marry. We choose who we want to marry.”
Hamid smiled a little, stroking his long, well-kept beard. “If you lived here, I would order you to marry this fine man. He would be a good husband for you, Wajiha. He’s strong.” Hamid pointed to Jake’s upper arms beneath his cammie sleeves. “And he has a good heart. What else could you want?”
Hiding her smile, Morgan knew Hamid was giving them high praise. “My Lord Hamid, you are too generous and kind with your praise.”
“Then you will consider my words?”
She gave Hamid a teasing look. “You’re a wily wolf, my lord. I will give it thought.” But nothing more. Jake appeared like a deer frozen in oncoming headlights. Despite his growing beard darkening his face, he was still ruggedly handsome, virile, and appealed to her on every level. Wily Hamid had sensed or seen their connection and camaraderie. Or maybe he saw something neither of them did? That last thought scared the hell out of Morgan.
Hamid grinned beneath his beard and bowed toward her. “You are a fine, fine woman, Wajiha. Any man would be proud to have you as his wife.”
Jake swallowed and struggled to hide his unease. “My lord,” he said, trying to remain serious, “Wajiha is her own woman. She chooses who touches her heart. I’m not that man.” He wanted to be, but he’d screwed his chances up a long time ago.
Hamid nodded. “That is a pity, Sahib Ramsey. You are a fine leader.”
Jake thanked him. He was desperate to get Hamid off the topic. Even worse, Morgan seemed to enjoy his discomfort. So he picked up a shovel. “Morgan, why don’t you go measure the length of the ditch so we can start digging it?”
“Easy enough to do,” she answered. Pushing her shovel into the ground, she picked up a coil of nearby rope.
One of the younger sons of the elders came up and asked if he could help. Morgan said yes and sent him down the field with her holding the other end of the thick rope. In no time, they had a perfect line to build the new ditch. Once the line was created with a bunch of rocks, Morgan came back and picked up the shovel. Wearing Kevlar always made one sweat like a pig because it was so damned heavy. And she couldn’t take it off because they were out in the open. Everything looked bucolic and peaceful now, yet Morgan knew it was an illusion. She gestured to Jake, who was going to walk down to the other end of the ditch that had to be dug. “Hey, Ramsey, why don’t you start at one end with your crew and I’ll start up here with mine? We’ll meet in the middle.”
Down Range (Mills & Boon M&B) (Shadow Warriors - Book 2) Page 8
