by Bob Hamer
With a huge smile, Yasir said, “You hid them here the last time. You should be less predictable.” He grabbed a glazed doughnut as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “The child will be here soon.”
“That is most excellent,” said Wadi.
“She is deserving of the best care, and I am glad to get her into this country,” said Yasir.
Wadi took a cigarette from the pack lying on the table. After lighting it and taking several puffs, he said, “Her father served the cause well. He was a respected leader whose death was tragic, a wasted death for a man who should have been martyred. We are fortunate others have assumed his responsibilities. Did the doctor have many questions?”
“No,” said Yasir. “He was most grateful for the donation and agreed the child was in need. As you suggested, we can exploit this situation in the future.”
“Yes,” said Wadi. “We will be able to use the children to bring in that which is needed for the cause. I did not want to attempt such, this first time.”
“You are right. It is much too early,” said Babur.
Wadi confirmed his initial plan. “Let us offer several more cash donations as we bring our children over. Let everyone in power become comfortable with our apparent concern, and then we will use this to our advantage.”
The four men laughed.
Rising from his chair, Yasir took two more doughnuts from the box. “I have customers to see. I will call you later.”
Chapter Eighteen
Caitlin pulled up to the small market and turned off her engine. She waited a few seconds before exiting her car. The extra moments gave her a chance to survey the scene. It was an action that became second nature being married to an FBI agent. She had to admit it wasn’t a habit she employed when exiting her car in Thousand Oaks or Beverly Hills, but this neighborhood screamed “rising crime rate.” A quick look around revealed the residents agreed. Wrought-iron bars on the windows and doors of every house in sight were not installed because a recent issue of Home and Garden called it “a must-have decorative item.”
Hearing and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she hopped out of the car and headed up the sidewalk toward the partially opened steel grate door marking the entrance to the neighborhood convenience store. The door, as well as the exterior of the stucco building, needed a coat of paint if for no other reason than to cover the graffiti.
Caitlin had been to the market once before to speak with Jaana’s mother when Nahid had been unable to attend the parent-teacher conference. She was hoping Nahid was working this afternoon.
The store was small with only a few rows of shelves filled with a limited selection of grocery items. Behind the counter were every brand of cigarettes and cheap liquor desired by the neighborhood. Had it not been for liquor advertisements, the walls would have been bare.
The store appeared empty. There were no customers, and no one was behind the counter. A chill ran down Caitlin’s spine, and fear began to envelope her. She turned her back to the front counter as she looked around, seeking any sign of life in the dimly lit market.
“Yes, can I help you?”
The gruff, heavily accented voice startled Caitlin, who jumped and turned to see a short, Middle Eastern man with dark hair, leathery skin, and a full beard, entering from a doorway behind the counter.
“Oh, you scared me,” said Caitlin.
The man offered no apology and repeated the question, “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I am looking for Nahid,” said Caitlin.
“She is not here. What is this about?” His penetrating, dark, deep-set eyes were less than welcoming.
“I am Caitlin Hogan, Jaana’s teacher, and I was hoping to speak with Nahid.”
Zerak wiped his hands on his worn apron and extended his right hand across the counter. His hardened demeanor softened immediately. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Hogan. My wife and my Jaana speak of you often. I am Zerak, Jaana’s father. I am so glad to meet you.”
Caitlin, still trying to compose herself, shook his hand and hesitated briefly. “Jaana hasn’t been to school for the past week, and I wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“You seem very nervous, Mrs. Hogan.”
“When I walked in and saw no one in the store, I was afraid something was wrong,” said Caitlin.
“It is okay. I was just in the back for a minute. I saw you through my office window.”
Zerak pointed to a small pane of one-way glass, not much larger than a basketball.
“How kind of you to check on my Jaana. She has not been well. The doctors are running many tests. The medicine is not working. I know she would love to talk with you. Let me call her and you two can talk.”
“I would love to speak with her, but I would hate for you to wake her if she is napping.”
“No, no. I am sure she is awake. Step back into my office and we will call.”
Zerak pushed a button next to the register. The harsh buzz signaled the security gate was unlocked. Zerak opened the gate, and Caitlin walked through the narrow opening.
“I hope someday to put in a glass plate to protect me from the robbers. I have the gate, but the last time the robber just jumped over the counter and took the money out of my cash register. It can be very dangerous. Maybe someday I will open a boutique in Beverly Hills.” Zerak let out a big laugh. “Until that day I will keep selling liquor and cigarettes to the neighborhood.”
“The last time?” asked Caitlin. “How many times have you been robbed?”
“I have lost count. I believe four times.” He paused for a second, adding up the felonies in his mind. “No, it has been five. But that does not count the times the children or the people who use drugs steal from the shelves and run out the door.”
Caitlin could only shake her head in amazement. She thought Matt’s job was dangerous; at least he carried a gun.
An elderly Russian woman wearing a muted multicolored babushka shuffled into the store just as Zerak escorted Caitlin into the office.
“Please have a seat. This will just take a minute.”
Zerak excused himself and left Caitlin in the office. She watched the customer through the one-way mirror. The woman’s grocery list was minimal, a gallon of whole milk, white bread, cheap Vodka, and two packs of cigarettes. She paid cash for the Vodka and smokes and used food stamps for the milk and bread.
Zerak returned to the office after completing the transaction. “I am sorry for that.”
“Don’t be sorry. You have a business to run and I am interfering.”
“Please, don’t ever say that. You have been so kind to my Jaana. She speaks of you all the time. I am pleased to welcome you to my store.”
Zerak picked up the phone and called his home number. Jaana picked up on the second ring.
“Jaana, I have someone special at my store who wishes to speak to you.”
Caitlin was focused on Zerak’s face as he spoke to his daughter, and she saw his attention diverted to a customer who had just entered the store. A look of concern registered in Zerak’s eyes.
Zerak excused himself as he handed the phone to Caitlin and walked back out to the store.
Caitlin turned in the worn office swivel chair and peered through the one-way mirror. A rotund, causally dressed, olive-skinned, bald man who looked like an Arab Humpty Dumpty was carrying a brown paper bag. He waddled through the store looking over the merchandise. His breathing was labored, and his chest heaved in and out with every breath. He walked toward the mirror, and Caitlin instinctively retreated, fearing she could be seen through the modified glass. The man bared his teeth and with a toothpick began to remove a rather large chunk of unidentified food material caught between his tobacco-stained incisors. Caitlin was repulsed by the sight but relaxed a bit, knowing she was concealed behind the coated glass.
All this time Cai
tlin had been carrying on a rather quiet conversation with Jaana. The seven-year-old sounded weak, and Caitlin tried to be reassuring, but it was hard to concentrate on the conversation.
As the customer walked back toward the counter, he stopped and with great difficulty bent over to tie his shoe. Caitlin noticed a very distinct bulge in his lower back, similar to what she had seen when Matt was carrying his back-up weapon. She worried this might be a robbery. Without scaring Jaana, Caitlin quickly ended the conversation, promising to visit her at home.
Keeping her composure, Caitlin prepared to dial 911 and took a long hard look at “Humpty Dumpty.” She began jotting down the particulars of his description—height, weight, age, clothing. Just as she started to dial, she heard Zerak greet the man.
“Welcome back to my store, Yasir. How can I help you?”
“So, how much are you paying for a carton?” bellowed the “salesman,” pulling a carton of “American made” cigarettes from the paper bag. Before Zerak could respond, Yasir said, “These’ll only cost you $11.50 per carton. I have the best price and best quality counterfeits on the market.”
Yasir Mehsud had been to the store before. Each time the salesman brought counterfeit cigarettes. The fifty-three-year-old Afghan national regularly tried to peddle his wares to the various merchants in the area.
Caitlin could see Zerak give Yasir a look demanding he terminate the conversation immediately, then said, “Just one moment. I have a visitor in the back.”
Zerak returned to his office.
Caitlin saw he was coming, stuffed the notes in her purse, and started to rise just as Zerak entered the tiny room.
“Thank you for letting me speak to Jaana,” said Caitlin. “I promised her I would visit soon. Maybe tomorrow I’ll bring her some assignments. If she is up to it, she can complete them so she won’t fall too far behind.” Caitlin was nervous and afraid her voice was betraying fear.
Zerak did not appear to notice and escorted her out of the office back into the store.
Caitlin could feel her entire body beginning to shake as the adrenaline pulsated through her veins.
“Yasir, this is Mrs. Hogan, my Jaana’s teacher. She came here to check on my little girl.”
Caitlin thought Zerak took deliberate pains to introduce her. He could have just as easily escorted her out of the store without the formal introductions.
Yasir gave Caitlin an ear-to-ear grin. His yellow teeth made his appearance even more ominous. “This is what makes America great, free education and teachers who look like this. Why would anyone miss school?”
Coming from any other source, Caitlin might have appreciated the compliment. Suspecting Humpty Dumpty carried a gun and knowing he was selling counterfeit cigarettes made her even more anxious. Caitlin returned the smile and exited the store as quickly as possible, hoping she did not arouse suspicion.
Once on the street she took a deep breath and welcomed the cool autumn air on her face. As she approached her car, she reached into her purse for the keys. They had fallen to the bottom of her bag, and the extra seconds it took to fish them out seemed like an eternity. Finally she found them. She pressed the remote and the car doors unlocked. She quickly slid behind the wheel. With her hands now shaking almost uncontrollably, she managed on the third or fourth try to insert the key in the ignition. The car started without a problem and she drove off.
As soon as she was a safe distance from the store, she called Matt’s cell phone.
Chapter Nineteen
When Matt opened the door to the condo, he was greeted by a hug, an extended kiss, and then a two-handed push to the chest. “Where have you been?” demanded a frustrated Caitlin.
“Good evening. So nice to see you, too.”
“No, I’m serious. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon. I even sent you a text message.”
Matt looked at his cell phone. The phone was off. He tried to turn it on but the battery was dead.
“I’m sorry, honey. The battery’s dead. I didn’t even realize it. No wonder Dwayne didn’t bug me all afternoon.”
Matt walked toward the bedroom where he plugged the phone into the charger. Caitlin followed closely.
“What’s up? What’s so important I get passion and a push?” asked Matt.
Caitlin spent the next several minutes describing her experience at the store. She retrieved the notes from her purse and provided details of Yasir’s description, telling Matt of Zerak’s reaction to Humpty Dumpty’s presence.
“Could these be terrorists?” she asked.
“I think that’s a pretty big leap. I spoke with Jaana’s mother at the bowling alley. She seemed sincere.”
“Matt, you didn’t see Zerak’s eyes when Yasir walked in. Zerak did not want me there.”
“If that’s the case, he wouldn’t have introduced you.”
“I think he wanted Yasir to know my name. Matt, I’m sure he had a gun. I saw the bulge, the same bulge when your carry a backup. He’s selling counterfeit cigarettes. I’m scared. Do you think he knows I’m married to an FBI agent?”
“Honey, that’s only something you can answer. I never told Jaana’s mother I’m with the FBI. Have you said anything?”
“No, I’ve never said anything to the children or their parents about what you do.”
Matt took both of Caitlin’s hands. He looked her in the eyes, “Then I don’t think you have anything to worry about. But if it will make you feel better, I’ll look into it.”
“Please, Matt. I’m serious. I think this is important.”
“I do, too. I’ll look into it. I promise.” Matt kissed her on her forehead.
Matt tried to be reassuring, but he, too, was uncomfortable with the events Caitlin described. Nahid’s sincerity notwithstanding, he wanted to learn more about Zerak and the storybook visitor who waddled into the store.
ON THE WAY TO the clinic the next morning, Matt called the office and spoke with Abby Briones, an analyst with the Joint Terrorism Task Force. He relayed as much information as Caitlin provided regarding Jaana’s family, the store, and the incident at the market. Abby promised to do her magic, work up a package, and get back to Matt as soon as she learned anything.
Before arriving at the clinic, Matt stopped at the 7-Eleven just down the street and purchased a six-pack of Coke and more Life Savers.
Three children had already arrived from overseas and were beginning treatment and rehabilitation. A nine-year-old boy from Liberia had been severely burned in a fire caused by a school bombing. Two girls from Afghanistan, one a burn victim and another who lost a leg, were also being treated. More children were scheduled to arrive on Saturday.
Matt helped other volunteers prepare the clinic for the new arrivals. The cafeteria required a second coat of paint, and shelves in the laundry room needed to be built. Matt grabbed a roller and painted most of the afternoon. He smiled as he thought how much he disliked working around the house, and now he was doing what he hated most in the name of God and country. He would have to conceal this part of the assignment from Caitlin. She had been bugging him for months to paint the living room, and he was running out of excuses. Matt and two others finished around 4:00 p.m.
After cleaning up, he walked down the hallway toward the physical therapy room. Omar was working with Shahla, a nine-year-old from Afghanistan, who lost her leg when a land mine exploded.
Afghanistan was a nation at war for three decades. In December 1979, the Soviet Union, in an unprovoked attack, invaded the country. The news shook the Islamic world. The mujahideen or “holy warriors” numbering tens of thousands from such Muslim countries as Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Pakistan, and Algeria rallied to defend the country against the “godless” communists. Before the Soviet withdrawal nearly a decade later, in February 1989, an estimated one million Afghans had been killed and
more than five million fled the country. But far from bringing peace, the Soviet withdrawal threw the country into a chaotic state of civil war in which competing ethnic factions sought control. In 1994 Mullah Omar started the Taliban movement in an effort to restore order and bring sharia or Islamic law to Afghanistan. The Taliban, which is translated as “seekers” or “those who study the Koran,” sought to make a pure Islamic society. To date the experiment has failed.
Matt stood in the doorway and watched Omar as he worked. Matt said nothing and Omar was oblivious to his presence. Omar was very gentle with Shahla. He labored in love as he exercised what was left of her leg, trying to help her maintain mobility and regain strength. Shahla was a good candidate for an artificial limb, and Omar was helping her prepare for that day.
Within a short time Omar turned, as if sensing a presence, and looked at Matt. Almost with contempt in his voice, Omar asked, “Can I help you?”
“No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t spying,” said Matt. As soon as he said it, Matt regretted his use of the word spying. “You are very gentle with your young friend.”
“She has been through a lot. She needs the gentle hand.”
Matt walked in uninvited.
Omar continued to exercise the limb.
“Who is your friend?” asked Matt.
Omar said, “Her name is Shahla. It means ‘beautiful eyes’ in my country.”
Matt smiled and extended his hand to her, but she did not respond. Omar spoke to her in Pashto, one of two official languages in Afghanistan. She extended her hand and Matt took it. But there was little beauty in her dark brown eyes, nor a smile on her cherublike face.
Matt tried to engage Omar in conversation, but he ignored the overture. Omar spoke in near whispers to Shahla, offering her words of encouragement. She sat there as Omar manipulated her limb. Her vacant stare showed no fear. In fact, she showed no emotion.
Matt opened the Life Savers and handed her the roll thinking she would take the top candy. She merely looked at him. He smiled, but there was no response. He took the top one and put it in his mouth, then handed her the roll again. She did nothing. He removed the top candy and handed it to her. She placed it in her mouth and sucked on the candy, still showing no emotion.
