Operation: Forbidden Read online

  Once Rasa completed delivering their breakfast, Kinah called her over, stood up and gave the housekeeper a warm hug and thanked her. Rasa was bright-red, obviously uneasy and quickly scuttled back to the safety of her kitchen.

  Kinah sat down. “You see, women like Rasa deserve more from life than having acid thrown in their face by those bastards.”

  Emma nearly choked on her eggs. Kinah’s language startled her.

  Khalid groaned again and gave Emma look of apology for his sister’s bad language.

  Kinah merely laughed and ate heartily.

  Emma bowed her head and ate her food. She felt caught up in a whirlwind in Kinah’s presence. But it was a good one. Now, she grasped Khalid’s worry for his fierce, passionate sister. And given that Asad Malik hated this family, Emma understood why. If Malik ever encountered Kinah, it would be a battle of life and death. Kinah was no wilting lily. She would fight to the death rather than allow Malik to rape her, cut her throat or throw acid in her face. No, Malik would have met his equal and Emma bet that Kinah would win the day, if not the war itself.

  Chapter 5

  Emma tried to still her excitement and fear as she piloted the CH-47 toward their first village. The vibration rippling through the bird soothed her. The April morning was crisp and clear. They had left Bagram with boxes of educational supplies. In the rear, on the nylon seats along the fuselage, sat Kinah. The load master, Tech. Sgt. Brad Stapleton, all of twenty-two years old, also sat in the back. He would be responsible for unloading their supplies once they arrived at the border village. To her left was Khalid, her copilot on this mission. They had just flown past her black ops base camp, and were now heading toward Asmar and then on to their final destination, Do Bandi.

  Asmar was a larger village on a dirt road and further away from the border with Pakistan. Do Bandi was closer to the border and had been protected by A-teams, army Special Forces comprised of ten men. These teams lived in the village, rotating out every thirty days when a new team came in to replace it. Khalid and Kinah felt this village was safer than most and a good one to cut their teeth on. Emma couldn’t disagree. There were a lot of logistics and this was their first trial-and-error run.

  “Do the village elders know we’re flying in this morning?” Emma asked Khalid over the intercom.

  “Yes. The A-team stationed there received permission from the chieftain two weeks ago for us to visit him.” He flipped her a thumbs-up with his gloved hand. “It’s a go.” He grinned.

  Khalid reminded her of an excited little boy. Emma wasn’t sure who was more anticipatory: him or his restless, dynamic sister, Kinah. Neither had barely slept last night, they were so “charged up and ready to rock ’n’ roll,” as Khalid had put it this morning over breakfast. Emma had slept deeply and had had torrid dreams about Khalid. As a result, she’d awakened this morning in a sour mood. How to keep her boss at bay, do her job and not get involved were her logistical problems to solve.

  Emma took the CH-47 down to one hundred feet as they approached the first range of snow-covered mountains. They would fly nap-of-the-earth, skimming at that low altitude up, down and around through mountain peaks and passes in order not to be fired upon by the Taliban. Any helicopter that didn’t do this type of herky-jerky flying was a sure target for a Taliban rocket. Emma loved flying by the seat of her pants in the hulking, slow transport. The helo was sluggish, but it was steady beneath her hands, which gripped the cyclic and collective. Her intense focus was on skimming the earth and not getting nailed with a rock outcropping or brushing too close to a granite wall with the tips of the helo’s rotors.

  By the time they reached Do Bandi, which sat down at the north end of a narrow, green valley, the armpits on Emma’s flight suit were wet with sweat. Her heart pounded, adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream. Every time she had to fly nap-of-the-earth, the percentage of a crash rose exponentially. It was life-and-death flying, as she and her cohorts called it. But there was no other choice, was there?

  As Emma brought the transport in for a landing outside the village, the twin rotors kicked up thick, choking dust that billowed hundreds of feet into the air. A huddled group of elders hid behind the mud huts to protect themselves from flying dust and debris. The CH-47 hunkered down and Khalid quickly shut down the engines. Emma saw the A-team coming out of the shadows of the line of huts. They were the first to approach. Emma ordered the load master over the intercom to open up the helo.

  “I’m bringing down the ramp,” Stapleton told her. “A-team is approaching on the starboard side.”

  “Roger,” Emma murmured. She heard the grating roar echo through the helo as the ramp began to descend. The helo vibrated and groaned.

  Khalid unstrapped. He wore a Kevlar vest and a .45 pistol holstered across his chest. Grinning, he felt higher than a kite flying off a hill in Kabul. Kite-running was something he’d done as a child. He’d never won, but the exhilaration of flying a kite and then chasing it was always thrilling. That was how he felt now: anticipation and joy.

  Pulling off her helmet after unstrapping, Emma quickly ran her fingers through her flattened hair. She’d tied her shoulder-length hair into a knot at the nape of her neck. From her right thigh pocket she pulled out a dark-green silk scarf known as a hijab, to wrap around her head. The hijab was a sign of respect to the Muslim Afghan people. Women did not go out into public without their heads being covered. She didn’t mind fitting in, although Emma found it ironic in another way. Here she was, a modern-day combat helicopter pilot wearing a .45 strapped across her chest and a delicate, feminine scarf. It was April and cold so the scarf would keep her head warm.

  “Ready?” Khalid asked, switching everything off in the cabin. His job as copilot was to power down the helo after it landed. His hands flew across the console, flipping switches and turning off the radios.

  Emma turned in her seat. The groaning ramp came to a rest in the dirt with a “clunk.”

  “Ready,” she said. She gave Kinah a thumbs-up, which meant it was all right to unstrap. The woman smiled and nodded, quickly removing the harness and getting to her feet. There were about fifty boxes in the hold of the transport. Only about half were actual school supplies. The rest were donations from America of clothing and shoes for the children. There were also medical items for the A-team sergeant who was responsible for the health of the villagers. Penicillin and other antibiotics were treasures out on the frontier and Emma knew their worth was as gold to the Afghan leaders. Antibiotics were desperately needed by all border villages, but few ever received them. Death by infection was a common way to die, unfortunately.

  Kinah walked down the ramp. She was dressed in a black wool robe with a bright red hijab over her thick, dark hair. She shook the hand of the captain of the A-team and then walked quickly toward the wall of old men, the elders of the village.

  Emma could see her breath and knew that at this altitude, the temperature was still at freezing. She would be glad to see May arrive and warmth grudgingly coming back to these mountain villages. She had pulled on her thick, warm green nylon jacket and left it unzipped in order to reach for her .45 in case she needed it. Although Khalid felt this was a highly secure village, no one took it on faith. The Taliban had made repeated attacks on it, only to be repulsed by the A-team stationed here. The BJS Apache combat helicopters spewed out their bullets and rockets at the enemy when called in by the A-team to chase them away.

  Khalid came to her side as she stood just below the lip of the ramp. “Come, let me introduce you.”

  “Kinah already has the elders smiling,” Emma observed, giving him a slight grin. “Your sister should run the United Nations.”

  Khalid laughed heartily. “My sister is a one-woman army, no question. She’s like a laser-fired rocket—she knows her destination and nothing will stop her from reaching it.” Khalid walked toward the huddled group near the huts. “I love my sister dearly. I worry about her, though. She disdains having guards to protect her.”


  Emma nodded. Today, Kinah had ordered her two Afghan guards to remain in Kabul. She did not want them near her on this first, important step of their education mission. And worse, Kinah would remain behind in the village after all the supplies were removed by the load master and the A-team members. She saw the worry banked in Khalid’s eyes. Border villages were not safe and they never would be until the Afghanistan government turned its eyes and heart to them. These villages took the brunt of the Taliban attacks.

  Emma stood at Khalid’s side as he greeted the village elders in Pashto. She was glad she could understand what was being exchanged. There was much hand-shaking and touching of cheeks between Kinah, Khalid and the elders. Khalid ensured that Emma was introduced and she went through the same greetings with the elders. She could see that hope burned bright in their aged eyes. Not only was this village receiving protection from the A-team and the army from the air, but medicine was now available. The next step was education for their children. Emma knew that Afghans fiercely loved their children and wanted only the best for them.

  Khalid turned to Emma. “Would you like to work with the wives of the leaders to distribute the clothes and shoes?”

  “Of course,” Emma said. Behind the elders was a group of their wives dressed in burkas, only eye slits to see through. The burkas were only worn outside; in their homes, they came off. Emma went and introduced herself. She led the four women to the supplies being stacked outside the CH-47. There were fifteen boxes of clothes and shoes. She watched as the women reverently touched the cardboard boxes. Their voices were low and filled with excitement.

  Khalid was busy for the next hour. It was important to get the helo unloaded and back into the air. They couldn’t remain on the ground for fear of a Taliban attack. He’d lost sight of Emma, who had gone into the village with the women. The elders had chosen an empty mud hut for the school, which was where Kinah had gone with the boxes and many curious, excited children.

  Finishing up, Khalid walked down the rutted main street with huts on either side. A donkey pulled a creaking cart, the owner walking beside the gray beast. He was heading down the slope below the village in search of firewood. Dogs barked and ran excitedly up and down the street.

  Khalid remained anxious since the Taliban were always nearby; it was just a question of when they would sneak in to try and attack these good people. Leaping over several ruts, Khalid walked to the house of the chieftain, sure that Emma would be there. The children were all lined up at the door, giggling and expectant. Some of the children had shoes, others didn’t. Mothers with their wriggling, restive children stood patiently, hidden beneath their burkas, waiting for their turns to get their children fitted for shoes.

  Khalid squeezed through the door, and Emma realized how handsome he looked. His short black hair was mussed, giving him a boyish look. She forced herself to remain neutral toward him by repeating Brody’s name in her head.

  “Ready?” Khalid called to her over the noise of the children. The wives of the leaders had opened many of the shoe boxes. A child sat in a chair as the mother tried on pair after pair until they found the size to fit her child’s feet.

  “Yes,” Emma called over the din. She turned and warmly thanked one of the wives and told her she had to go. The woman smiled and pressed her burka-covered cheek against Emma’s. One thing Emma had learned was that if one could befriend Afghan people, they were loyal to the death. A fierce love welled up in her chest. These villagers had courage to survive despite the terror of the Taliban always skulking nearby, hidden and deadly.

  “How about a quick lunch at your base camp?” Khalid suggested on the way back to the unloaded helo.

  She shrugged. There were so many fine lines to walk with him. Emma knew if she turned him down, he might get upset. For a C.O., an invitation was often an order. “Sure,” she said.

  “It’s not a death sentence,” Khalid teased her as they walked shoulder-to-shoulder down the main street. There was such struggle in Emma’s face, and he tried to put her at ease.

  “Captain, you have a dry sense of humor,” Emma said.

  He sighed and pressed his hand over his heart. “I’ve been so charged,” he admitted, wishing for some relaxation between them.

  Though she felt bad, Emma forced herself not to feel sorry for him. Khalid was her boss, pure and simple. She wanted high marks from him after this six-month gig. He obviously saw her reluctance.

  Khalid performed the mandatory walk around the helo, part of his copilot duties. He would look for anything loose, oil leaking or flight surfaces that weren’t secure. Emma went directly to the cockpit. Sitting down in the right-hand seat, she got ready to perform the takeoff check list once Khalid finished his inspection tour outside the CH-47.

  For the next five minutes, they were too busy to talk. Khalid called the black ops base and let them know they were taking off. Sometimes, an Apache helo would escort them, but today, there was high demand up north near Zor Barawul. The Taliban had launched another offensive against the village and it was currently being repulsed by a lot of air power. Their next stop tomorrow was that very village. Danger was always near.

  “So,” Khalid said as he sat opposite Emma in the chow hall back at base camp, “what would you tell the little girls about yourself?” He was obviously casting around for a way to ease the tension between them.

  Emma had lifted her fork halfway to her mouth and stopped. She had spaghetti with meatballs. Khalid had the same, adding four pieces of buttered garlic bread, as well. She frowned momentarily, ate her food and considered his request. His question seemed innocent enough.

  “I’d tell them that my family is a military one,” she said between bites. “Nearly all the Trayhern children serve at least one tour in the service of their choice.”

  “So,” Khalid said, relishing the warm garlic bread, “little girls would think that this career choice is expected?”

  Emma shrugged. “I guess it is. My youngest sister, Casey, wasn’t interested in being in the military. She joined the Forest Service and is a ranger currently stationed at Grand Tetons National Park in Wyoming.”

  “Is she considered an outcast?” Khalid wondered. While he hungered for a more personal connection, Khalid resisted his impulses.

  Emma shook her head. “No, of course not. My Uncle Morgan Trayhern is fine with whatever we kids want to do with our lives. He loves Casey as much as any of the rest of us. His adopted daughter, Kamaria, never went into the military. She’s a professional photographer and was a stringer for a number of top-flight news organizations around the world before she settled down at a Wyoming ranch.”

  “The girls would probably like to know how many children are in your family.”

  Emma smiled and explained. “Let’s see. I’m the oldest. Then came the first set of twins, Athena and Juno. Two years after that, Casey and Selene. There are five daughters in our family. My mother loves the Greek myths so she named each one of us after a goddess. In my case, my middle name is Metis. She was a goddess and mother to Athena. Casey hated her name, Castalia, and so she shortened it to what it is now.” Emma grinned. “My poor dad had five girls running under his feet, but my mom thought it was great,” she laughed. “We’re a very close, tight-knit family.”

  Khalid had watched her relax slightly and dared to ask a personal question. “Are you the only daughter with red hair?”

  “No. My mother, Alyssa, said she has red hair and twins in her DNA. Two of my twin sisters, Casey and Selene, have red hair, too. Athena and Juno have my dad’s black hair. Why?”

  Khalid shared a slight smile with her. “I like the combination of your red hair and freckles. It makes you look like a young girl despite your being a mature woman, Captain.”

  Grimacing, Emma growled, “Don’t remind me!” She sopped up some of the marinara sauce with her garlic bread. “All my life I’ve had to fight that little-girl look. I’ll probably have to have gray hairs before anyone gets that I’m not a teenager.”


  Chuckling, Khalid felt his heart expand. He saw the righteous indignation gleaming in Emma’s green eyes. Her mouth was beautifully shaped. He entertained the dream of someday kissing her, just to discover how soft and luscious she was. What was it about Emma that made him realize he was a man with needs once more?

  As he twisted his spaghetti around his fork, Khalid asked, “They will probably ask if you have a man who loves you.” He knew he was taking a chance with such a question. Emma’s eyes flared with surprise. Khalid added a coaxing smile with his request, and her fine, thin red brows eased. He was glad he could influence her mood. Did he dare interpret that look to mean she was interested in him? Khalid felt torn. Half of him wanted a personal relationship with Emma. The other half did not want to put her life at risk.

  Pushing her plate away, Emma picked up her mug of coffee. “No, not presently,” she slowly admitted. And then the words leaped out of her mouth before she could stop them. “What about you?”

  “I’m like you,” Khalid offered.

  “Because of Najela?” Emma guessed. She saw pain come to his eyes for a moment.

  “Yes. I am just now realizing that I am ready to face life on the personal front again.” Khalid did not say, Because of you, I am inspired not only to live again, but to allow my heart to dream of you….

  Emma didn’t know what to say. Clearly, Khalid liked her. She saw it in his hooded gaze, the desire banked in their blue depths. Paying strict attention to her coffee, she hoped the moment would pass.

  “Now that we’ve started this mission,” Khalid said, “you are welcome to stay as my guest at our home in Kabul. You don’t need to remain here at the base camp.”

  “No,” Emma said with finality, “I want to stay here.” That way, you won’t be so available. She was afraid of herself. Afraid of what she might do because Khalid clearly desired her. The man was more than capable of sweet-talking her into something that couldn’t—shouldn’t—happen. Seeing the regret in his expression, Emma steeled herself against Khalid. The man oozed charm and sensuality.