Forged in Fire (Delos Series Book 3) Page 9

  Matt’s heart clenched. “I wouldn’t be surprised. How is she today?”

  “I’m having one of our Afghan widows take care of the baby today. I know Aliya was responsible for her baby sister when she lived in the village, but the child needs a breather. Right now, she’s eating breakfast with all the other children. Then we’re putting her into our school.”

  “Sounds like a good distraction,” Matt agreed. “What’s on the agenda today?”

  “The children will go out to the playground at ten a.m.” She looked out the window. “If it doesn’t rain.”

  “It might, but weather in Kabul is never a sure thing,” Matt agreed.

  “Isn’t that the truth? Dara is holding a clinic for pregnant Afghan women today, so it’s going to get very busy starting at nine-thirty a.m.”

  “Are you expecting a lot of women?”

  “Oh my, yes. There’s a charity Christian hospital in Kabul that takes care of them, too, but there aren’t enough doctors to help them all. Dara takes recently born babies and their mothers. We send the pregnant ones over to the charity hospital.”

  “Okay. Who will be at the gate to let them in?” Matt knew they kept that main gate locked at all times to stop thievery, or worse, an attack by the Taliban.

  “Mohammed. He’ll be at the gate from nine-thirty a.m. through three p.m. His job is to take the name of each mother and child. Callie will be directing them to a special room here, where they’ll wait to see Dara.”

  “Okay. I’ll just do my normal duty unless you need me somewhere else.”

  “Just having you around is a godsend,” Maggie said, her voice suddenly emotional. “I know Dara’s worried about security when she’s here, and I don’t blame her. Most people aren’t used to the levels of potential danger that hang over us day in and day out.”

  Matt rose, feeling new respect for Maggie. “Well, in my book, you’re one ballsy woman.” He grinned.

  Laughing, Maggie shooed him out of her office. He closed the door so that she could work in peace and quiet.

  Down the hall, he heard the squeals, laughter, and high-pitched chatter of the children as they filled their bellies with a healthy morning breakfast. Matt checked in on two examination rooms and saw that both were empty but ready for the next patient to arrive. There was a gurney in each room, medical equipment on the counter, and an overhead light, with a spotless white tile floor.

  Maggie ran a tight ship here at the Hope Charity. Matt had seen at least four Afghan widows quietly moving like ghosts around the place yesterday, working with the children. Here, they wore only a hijab—a headscarf—and a long woolen dress that brushed their slippers. At least these widows got fed and cared for while here.

  Matt knew that becoming a widow could mean death for an Afghan woman and any children she had. Many villages could not afford to feed a widow and her kids because they only had enough food for their own families. It was a brutal situation.

  He moved silently from room to room. All were empty because the children were in the kitchen. This morning, when he’d met Dara and Callie at the B-hut to take them to the chow hall, Dara had worn her hair down. He wondered if she was doing it for him. It warmed him to believe that she was. The intimate look she gave him whenever they encountered each other stirred his body and gripped his heart. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Although they said nothing in front of Callie, Matt sensed that Dara had not backed off accepting his request that they go to the Eagle’s Nest that night.

  He knew that could change in a heartbeat, so he tried not to get his hopes too high. But never had he wanted a woman more than her. Today, she wore a red sweater with a long-sleeved white tee beneath it. Red was definitely her color, bringing out all the caramel streaks in her blond hair.

  Peeking around the corner of the kitchen, he saw the four long wooden tables and chairs filled with hungry children. It was a busy place, the fragrance of oatmeal in the air. Each child was enjoying a glass of milk and a large bowl of hot cereal. All of them, Matt knew, had come from villages where food was always scarce, so this breakfast had to seem like a feast to them.

  He saw Callie and the four widows moving among the children, helping here and there. The cooks in the kitchen, two other Afghan widows, were busy handing out more oatmeal as some of the children went back for seconds. The large, warm kitchen was a natural place for the children to fill their tiny bellies for the first time in their lives. Just watching this scene made Matt feel good.

  He found Dara in the third examination room on the other side of the hall, busily pulling fresh paper over the gurney.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, slipping into the room.

  “I’m getting ready for a very busy day,” she said, smiling over at him. “Are you making your rounds?”

  “Yeah. Today’s market day and I get jumpy because that’s when Taliban bombers come into town.” He saw her frown. “And there’s a market a short block away from here,” he said, hitching a thumb in its direction.

  She smoothed out the paper across the gurney, dressed in her white lab coat, the stethoscope around her neck. “I could never get used to being afraid of going to the market. Every woman has to go there to buy her family food. There are no grocery stores. How horrible to live in such fear because of the Taliban.”

  He leaned against the wall, appreciating her blond topknot, which had slipped a little. Dara wore very little makeup to emphasize the clean angles of her face. “Well, try not to think about it too much. You have more positive things to do around here today. I understand from Maggie that you have an avalanche of new mothers and their babies scheduled for today.”

  “Yes.” She pushed several strands off her brow. “Actually, it’s my favorite day. All those newborns—I just love how good they smell!”

  Matt pushed away images of Dara carrying his baby. Too soon, he thought, but the heated bolt was already surging through him. “How many children do you want someday?” he asked her, unable to resist the question. He saw her eyes grow warm.

  “As many as I can afford,” she laughed. “Ideally, I’d like to have two, maybe three. I would want to divide my time between being a pediatrician and mothering my children.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said, still envisioning her with her belly stretched taut, holding his baby. There was no question that Dara would be a wonderful mother.

  “What about you, Matt? Do you ever want a family?” She walked over to the stainless steel counter and quickly brought down items from the cupboard, setting them in order across it.

  “For sure,” he said. And then he laughed a little. “My mother, who’s the biggest mother hen you’ll ever meet, is on all three of us kids to get married and give her grandchildren. And her brothers, our uncles, are constantly asking when we’ll settle down, find the woman or man who steals our heart, and start giving them nieces and nephews.” He grinned just thinking about it.

  “Are Greeks and Turks very family-oriented?”

  “Very,” he said. “My father is big on family, too, so we’re getting it from all sides.” How badly he wanted to take her in his arms. Their kisses last night had brought him torrid dreams. He bit back asking Dara if she still wanted to be with him tonight.

  This morning, she had seemed settled and tranquil. Maybe this was a good sign.

  *

  Dara had just finished seeing her twentieth and last patient of the day when she glanced at her watch. It was four p.m., and her feet hurt from standing so much. However, she felt good, because the new mothers and their babies offered such a lift for her spirits. All the mothers and their children had left, leaving those who lived at the orphanage. She could smell savory odors drifting from the kitchen where meals would be served at six p.m. to the children.

  The noise of the children who had just come in from the playground brought a smile to her face. She walked out into the hall, pulled off her latex gloves, and stuffed in them into the pocket of her lab coat. Her day was finished and she felt
good about it. Matt was walking down the hall toward them, his game face on, as always. He took his security duties seriously and was frequently moving around outside the perimeter of their orphanage, or inside through all the rooms, watchful. He was quiet, like a ghost. She never heard him coming, only sometimes lifting her head from her duties to see him walking past one of her examination rooms.

  The children had quickly funneled from outside and into the common room, where there were books to read, toys to play with, and the four Afghan widows to keep them engaged. Callie was there, too, setting up coloring books with crayons, a favorite of all the little girls.

  Suddenly, the building rocked with two huge explosions just outside.

  Dara’s eyes grew wide, and the children began to scream.

  Matt spun around and raced toward the common room.

  Oh, God! Dara tore after him, and rounding the corner, she saw huge black clouds drifting by the window facing the highway. The children were crying, terrified. Dara saw Callie and the four widows kneeling, opening their arms as the children raced toward them.

  Matt jerked the M4 off his back and yelled, “Get them all to the safe room! Now!”

  Instantly, the four widows grabbed the children, herding them out of the common room and toward the most secure room in the orphanage. It was a protected inner room and the least likely to be compromised by an explosion or bullets.

  Dara raced up to him. “Matt, what is it?”

  “The marketplace,” he said grimly. Gripping her arm, he said, “Get to the safe room. I’m going to investigate. Whatever happens, do not leave that room until I return.” He drilled a hard look into her widening eyes. “Understand?”

  She felt the firmness of his hand on her arm. Her heart was pounding with the adrenaline pouring into her bloodstream. “Okay, but—”

  “Dara,” he said calmly, his gaze on the windows, “we’ll talk later. I need to see what’s going on outside.”

  “Weren’t people injured in that blast?” she demanded.

  “I’m sure of it.” He bit back an impatient reply.

  “Then,” she said, pulling her arm out of his grasp, “I need to go help.”

  “No way,” he snapped, gripping her and spinning her around. “You’re setting yourself up to be a target. There are probably Taliban in that marketplace right now, and they could be snipers. You’re going nowhere. There’s a hospital two blocks on the other side of that market. They’ll be sending ambulances and doctors to it immediately, so those people will get the help they need.”

  Dara didn’t like being shoved toward the hall, and she went grudgingly, unwilling to spar with this man whose job it was to protect them. She heard the children in the safe room through the open door. Many were sobbing, and her heart went out to them.

  She hurried to the room, overcome with worry about Matt. He seemed so calm, so collected, but she saw the warrior within him emerge in his no-nonsense bearing. He was now in full combat mode, and it shook her to see him this way.

  At the same time, his new persona made her feel safe, even though she had no reason to feel that way, given the circumstances. And now, Matt was on his way to a marketplace that had just been bombed.

  He could be killed!

  *

  Matt arrived at the marketplace and skirted the gathering crowd. Ambulances were screaming down the highway toward the scene, and despite his civilian clothes, he knew that carrying an M4 was a dead giveaway that he was an American military member or security contractor.

  Rescuers were running from all directions toward the black smoke. Hospital doctors had already arrived, moving into triage, knowing who they could help and who they could not. And as Matt drew closer, he saw many women and some children lying dead or wounded on the ground. It sickened him, but he forced himself to focus on the nearby areas, searching for hidden Taliban and snipers on the rooftops of nearby buildings.

  The smell of the fertilizer explosives used to destroy the market burned his nose, and the smoke choked him until the wind blew it in another direction. The wails of women and terrified shrieks of children filled the air, accentuated by the sirens of ambulances rushing to the chaotic scene.

  Matt worried about a potential second attack. The Taliban often rode in white Toyota Hilux trucks, six or seven of them armed in the truck bed. What he didn’t want to see was one of them careening toward the orphanage only a block away. Matt knew they would emerge from side streets, so he moved away, trotting down the sidewalk toward the orphanage. His mind was razor-sharp, his six senses fully alive. He felt danger, but he didn’t know what direction it would be coming from.

  It was at times of danger that Matt could literally feel a shift within himself, as if his spirit guide, the lion, Aslan, which his mother had named him after, came over him. It was the oddest feeling, but over the years, he’d gotten used to it. Always, as it occurred, the shift made him feel primal, all his senses blown wide open, his hearing better than usual, his senses of smell and sight, and most of all, his survival instinct, accentuated. Matt had never shared this with anyone except his mother. Dilara had said that each of her children had an “angel” with them. He supposed it was akin to the Christian idea of a guardian angel. Only, his was a lion, she had told him once. Whatever it was, it helped him survive. It had helped him keep his team safe out on missions. He could sense danger and where it was coming from before he ever saw or heard it. Matt didn’t care if it was an angel, a lion, or something else. What he did know, from years of experience as an operator, was that it gave him and his team a survival edge. In this case, as he trotted down the sidewalk, his all-terrain radar was on and working for the children and women of the Hope Charity.

  Just as he reached the main gate of the orphanage and stepped inside, he heard the roar of several approaching trucks. Locking the gate, he sensed which direction they were coming from. Lifting his head, he watched as two white Hilux Toyotas filled with Taliban, their guns up and ready to fire, shot out of an alley, tires squealing, engine roaring.

  Damn it! He raced toward the playground equipment for something to hide behind and jerked the M4 up, taking off the safety, as the first bullets were fired toward the orphanage. Stucco exploded behind him, huge balls of white powder suddenly erupting outward. A sense of deadly calm came over him, his breathing slowing, his focus solely on the enemy coming their way. A fierce desire to protect those in the orphanage avalanched him, and it turned to a cold, icy resolve to shield those women and children.

  Kneeling on one leg, Matt took aim at the driver. He fired once, watching the bullet shatter the windshield. Instantly, the first truck jerked off the roadway. He watched with satisfaction as it made a sudden ninety-degree turn, flipping the six occupants out of the truck bed. They flew like rag dolls through the air half a block away from where he knelt. Matt waited. He saw the Taliban soldiers hurled into nearby buildings, walls, fences, with some smashing onto the roadway. All of them were either dead or unconscious.

  The second truck slowed, running over several of the soldiers unconscious in the roadway. And then it sped up, six men firing at him, splattering the whole area with bullets. Matt took aim at the driver again, and he found his target. This time the truck was within one hundred feet of the orphanage. It spun out of control, crashing into the building across the street.

  The soldiers were hurled out of the truck bed, slamming into the unforgiving walls. But two of them survived, and he pulled a bead on the first one, who was groggily getting to his feet, lifting his AK-47 toward Matt.

  Matt fired once, and as a Delta Force operator, he didn’t miss. The second Taliban screamed, leaping to his feet, firing wildly at him, racing toward the wrought-iron fence. Coolly, Matt fired. The man went down in a crumpled heap. Jerking his head to the right, eyes squinting, he looked for more white trucks. The only thing he saw now was cars hurriedly turning around to race out of the area. Slowly rising to his feet, his rifle up, a new clip in it, he moved toward the fence paralleling the gate
. There was a green Army truck filled with Afghan nationals coming toward him down the street. Matt didn’t trust them, either, so he moved back to the playground equipment area and waited.

  The truck screeched to a halt, the Afghan nationals spilling out in their green uniforms, their rifles ready. He watched them quickly move to the dead Taliban scattered around the street and sidewalk. An officer with a black beard, his rifle up, spotted him. Matt watched the Afghan officer put it together; he knew that most American charities had security details assigned to them.

  It was foolish not to have guards in this deadly place. The Afghan hesitated and then turned around, heading toward his men, who were checking each Taliban soldier. Some were still alive but badly injured. Matt watched as they kicked the AK-47s out of their hands and then kicked each man violently in the head, instantly killing him. Turning away, Matt walked back into the orphanage.

  The place was silent. He hurried through the common room and into the hall. At the safe room, he knocked twice on the door, a signal that it was all clear.

  The door cautiously opened and Maggie peeked out.

  “It’s over,” Matt told her quietly, looking at all the frightened children’s faces. “Two bombs in the marketplace and then two trucks full of Taliban were coming down the street to attack the survivors.” He smiled a little. “But they didn’t get past me.”

  Maggie became grim and nodded. “This was too close. Thank you for being there to protect all of us.”

  “Look,” Matt advised quietly, placing the rifle on his back, “keep the kids inside, and don’t let them go to the common room. There are a lot of dead bodies out in front, and a lot of Afghan nationals picking up the dead. I don’t think the kids should see it.”

  “No,” Maggie whispered, “no …” She turned, speaking to Callie and Dara. “Let’s take the children into the kitchen. They can’t go out front. Not yet.” And then she spoke in Pashto to the frightened, wide-eyed Afghan widows.