Ajani and his two henchmen ducked and dodged as they ran under the faded white towels, the stained underwear, and the tattered thwabs, all flagging surrender. The three men rumbled down the narrow alley between steep, bricked walls, anxious to grab up the American Roo and her two Joeys. Safeed had just stepped into the alley and heard the three men running flat-out before he saw them and quickly locked his door. He looked up across the way, cupped his hands, and yelled, “The boys! Jinny get the boys.” Like a marshaller trying to corral a Boeing 747, Safeed stiff-armed the sky–both hands flagging a warning–and yelled again. He gave up the plea and raced to the courtyard.
Asad jumped up and helped Asif to his feet. “Safeed, you scared us. What’s wrong?”
“Gotta go. Gotta go. Gotta grab you up and go.” Reaching down, Safeed scooped up the startled children—one under each arm—and, “Whoa! Jinny! It’s you.” Gun in hand, she had skipped down two or three steps at a time and beat him to the building’s arched front entry.
“Take Asif. Come, we must hurry.” Short on breath but not resolve, Safeed steeled his aching muscles and led the way. Asad rode piggy-back and out loud tallied their progress up the stairs. “. . . thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three. Down, please.” Like a well-trained elephant, Safeed collapsed to his knees, enabling his mahout to dismount; but unlike a docile pachyderm, Safeed lacked a thick skin; worry lines furrowed his brow.
Asad let Jinny and her mount cross the threshold and then, without assistance, pushed closed and secured the door with the wooden wedge. “Mama, why did we run? Who’s chasing us?” cried Asif.
Safeed raised a finger to his lips, put his ear to the door, listened, and then listened some more. Finally, he stopped holding his breath and said, “I heard boots running this way through the alley, but nobody’s coming up the stairs—yet. Maybe I’m paranoid, but . . .”
Jinny reached out and pulled the boys close to her legs. “Paranoid about what? What’s going on?”
“Our village . . . well . . . the municipal building and shops are on fire.”
“What? When? Why?”
“Six U.S. Army vehicles drove through the Pass and arrived here early this morning. They’re parked in the village square for now.”
“My people, and you didn’t tell me while you were here for breakfast?”
“Let me finish. They aren’t your people. I’m still gathering what you call intel. Early this morning I hoped and prayed they’d just keep going, but then we heard shots. It’s been a busy morning, and now I fear Karim has men out looking for one or both of us. Hopefully, they haven’t spotted you, yet.”
“Who’s looking for me? And who’s Karim?” Jinny demanded while fingering her new bandage and nervously trying to re-stick it to her cheek.
Asad nudged his brother. “I smell smoke.” Asif tucked himself beneath his brother’s arm. Safeed stepped back and pushed his back against the door.
“I promised to protect you and I will. Come, let’s keep watch while I fill you in. Stay low.” The four duck-walked or crawled to the window and peaked over the sill into the empty courtyard and alley below. Seeing and hearing nothing, each turned around, sat on the floor, and backed against the wall—Asad and Asif nestled on either side of Jinny. She drew her semi-automatic, racked a shell into the chamber, and set the weapon in her lap. “So, what’s going on? Now I smell smoke, too. “
Safeed reeled forward to his knees, rattled off words as fast as film being spooled to the floor by a fast-forward projector, and then started to get up. “I must go.”
Jinny grabbed him by the sleeveless, ribbed undershirt. “I didn’t understand a word you said. Sit. You owe us an explanation. In English.”
Safeed sat, elbows on his knees, and spread his fingers across his face before taking a deep breath and capsulizing the day’s events. He purposely omitted mention of his courageous rescue of Alim. Once his homogenized update had been shared, Jinny patted his arm and betrayed what she’d intended to be a silent sigh. “You are right. You must leave. Now.” Still eyeing the wedged door, she picked up the semi-automatic. “Safeed, we owe you, big-time. Be careful. Thank you for all you have done for me, for us. Come boys, it’s time we made our way to Karachi.”
Safeed looped arms with Jinny and anchored her to the floor. “To these boys you are a lighthouse on a storm-tossed sea, but I think you have not thought through this plan of yours. Have you taken into account that the port of Karachi is 1350 kilometers south of here, and that you have but a pair of two legs each?”
Pulling away, she answered, “Yes, I know that. We will stay out of sight and hike south, parallel to the road. Hopefully we’ll find some friendlies. With God’s help we made it here. With God’s help, we’ll make it there, but I need forty feet of rope. That would have to come from you.”
“Rope? Rappel to the ground with two little boys? Surely you jest.”
Asif was about to speak up in defense of Jinny’s plan, until Asad squeezed his shoulder and said, “Shh. Listen and learn.”
Safeed turned to peek out the window. “Jinny, you need a new set of eyes. Mine.”
Agitated, she replied, “New eyes? What do you mean? You haven’t seen Mama’s refrigerator door, have you?”
“Your Mama’s what, you say?”
“Never mind. I’m not blind to the hazards. I am a soldier in the United States Army and sniper qualified, if you didn’t know.”
“Don’t get defensive; just hear me out, and then if you still want to leave, I won’t stop you.”
“You couldn’t stop me.”
“You are probably right. But if I could, I wouldn’t. I value your freedom of choice as much as you do.”
“Go ahead then, I’m listening, but don’t forget the village is burning down.”
“Very well,” he said, climbing to his feet, bracing himself, and extending a hand. Safeed felt like soft toffee being pulled in two directions at the same time. He stood eye to eye with the beautiful American and mumbled, “All I ask is that you see your options through four eyes—yours and mine.”
The lights blinked on. Center stage and seated at an oval table, Caleb and Gemma clasped hands and glimpsed eternity. One plus one equals one.
“Jinny, are you listening?”
“Yes, go on.”
“My plan has not been fully coordinated, and I have yet to report to our patriarch, but . . . “
“Patriarch?”
“Yes, our patriarch—Abdul-Akim. Though he is halt and going blind, God enables him to see around corners. Together we scheme to deliver you to your people. Well, perhaps there is a better word than ‘scheme,’ but you must not leave; not yet, please, I implore you.” Safeed had momentarily forgotten the fire; he had forgotten the missed funeral; he had forgotten the man who had occupied his bed; he had even forgotten Gharam and Dalal.
Taking Jinny by the shoulders, he kissed her on each cheek. His heart skipped a beat. Hers did not. A swallow dislodged Safeed’s prominent Adams-apple before he disclosed: “This village harbors many secrets. I have hiding places about which no living person knows excepting myself, Abdul, and my sister, Gharam. The time has come for you to see one such place.” Safeed abandoned the hope that Asad and Asif would continue watching the alley. He led the refugees to the tall hutch on the narrow wall and reached into the cupboard below. Click. “Help me push.” Shoulder to shoulder and with some effort, they slid the cabinet laterally about fifteen inches, exposing an enclosed, triangular space behind. Mouths dropped open. Safeed slipped through the small opening and disappeared behind the cabinet.
“Come in, all of you.” All four easily fit into the space and circled a vertical length of pipe, anchored to a bracket above and disappearing through the floor beneath. “If we lift out two pieces of the floor,” Safeed said, pointing to a small finger hole elongated at one end, “you will see that the pipe runs, unobstructed, all the way to the ground floor.” The boys squealed with delight.
“What’s at the bottom?” asked Asad.
“The pipe is screwed into an end-bracket on the floor. Here, help me lift out the flooring, but be careful, it’s a long way down.”
“How do you get outside?” added Asif, substantially less enthusiastic than his brother.
“When you slide to the bottom, you will see a hinged hatch. It opens to the courtyard.” Safeed led them from the secret room to the window and pointed down behind the old Olive tree.
“I can’t see it,” Asif quailed.
“Even from the courtyard it just looks like part of the wall, but it can only be opened from the inside. Any other questions?” Jinny and the boys were at a loss for words. Safeed continued, “Mother and Father moved into this apartment when we arrived from Iran. My twin sister and I lived across the hall. Father was concerned about how to get the family out of here in the event of a fire or an attack. This was his solution.”
“Ingenious. . . How did he get the black pipe down the hole?” asked Jinny.
“Working together, we installed it in three sections.”
Jinny mused, “It reminds me of my third-grade class’s visit to our firehouse back home in Abilene. When the alarm went off, instead of running down the stairs, the fire crew slid down the brass pole to their gear and waiting engines.”
“Tell me more some other time.” Safeed—anxious to leave and knowing that his audience hung on every word—concluded, “At each coupler you’ll have to pause and re-position your hands. It’s not something you’d want to do every day.” Asad disagreed, but like a crippled lamb caught in a bramble bush, Asif tugged on Safeed’s hand.
“Can’t Mama, Asad, and me just leave now and come live with you?”
Before Jinny could respond, Safeed looked down, smiled, and replied, “When I leave, be watchful from the window. I will point out the entrance to my home as I pass by. When and if danger approaches, follow Jinny down the pole and run to my door; but remember, you must move as swiftly and quietly as a Siberian Tiger. Be brave.”
Jinny swallowed what she had been about to say and helped nudge the tall cabinet back in place. Then she turned to watch puffs of ominous black smoke billow into the afternoon sky. “Safeed, we will be alright, but the fire is growing. Go . . . and goodbye.”
“Wait! Get down. Someone’s coming.” Dropping as if a rug had been pulled from beneath their feet, they crash-landed, listened, and waited.
“The stairs!” Still on her back, Jinny rotated and pointed her Glock at the door.
Safeed felt himself tightly wedged between pressing obligations as he peaked over the sill. “I think whoever it was stopped in the alley near my apartment. Gharam may be in danger. I must go. You know what to do. Don’t forget your rifle and pack.”
He was right. Seventy yards out, three men hugged a wall. One of them pounded the bricks with fist and cursed, “Crap! Crap! Crap! We’ve been spotted. Back away. . . I said, back away.” Ajani shoved Jabal, who lost his balance and landed on his built-in seat. “That’s one,” Ajani poked a single finger toward Jabal.
“One what?”
“One strike. You got two left.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You’re right, Jabal, mostly you don’t get it.”
Jabal’s tongue slipped and sliced between his lips. “Yes, Ajani. Of course, Ajani. Whatever you say, Ajani.”
“That does it.” The angered lieutenant pulled Jabal to his feet, clenched a fist, elevated a middle knuckle, and double-tapped him in the sternum. Hard. Ajani held up two fingers and shook them in Jabal’s face: “That’s two, rookie, do you hear me? One more and you’re out.” Ajani spat a tobacco, narrowly missed Jabal’s boot, and then wiped brown juice from his own lips. He snarled instructions, punctuating each word. “Here’s what we’re going to do: Circle around the block to the backside of the building, crouch beneath the stairs, and catch whoever comes down first.”
“I have two questions.”
Ajani glared. “Make it quick.”
“If the woman comes down first are we done here? And are you sure she’s an American?” asked Jabal, still nursing his sternum.
Ajani nodded. “She speaks English better than me, and she don’t carry the stink of Sunni.” Indignant, Jabal stiffened, considered his options, and decided to cool his jets. But Seaman’s Cap, offended by the slur, abruptly turned and walked toward the village square.
“D_ _ _ _ _ deserter! Get back here! If Karim were here, he’d . . . where’s my gun?” Ajani had forfeited his self-control, misplaced his gun, and now, was one man short. Fearing failure, he relaxed a fist and wrapped it around the handle of his sheathed, crescent-shaped saber.
A wide-eyed old hussy—yes, that one—thus far undetected by the enemy, quivering and too afraid to bawl, had been watching the confrontation while dusting a shutter slat with her pointy nose. In hard labor on her sister’s lap, and stressed by the tension in the room, a Rhode Island Red’s contractions stopped. Her egg lodged at the point of no return.
Outside the window, Jabal complained, “Face it, coming here was a bad idea. Let’s go back . . .”
Ajani interrupted. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“A chicken!”
Jabal muttered, “No, but you got booze on your breath. That would explain a lot. Now back to the woman. I heard she’s a real looker, eh Ajani?”
Ajani released the handle of his sheathed saber, but his sarcasm sliced both ways. “Yeah, that’s what I told you, a real looker. And you’re a real observer. And I’m real in charge, thank you very much. To Karim, the American is our ace in the hole. When I’m done with her, he’ll kill what’s left over; the Sunnis will surrender, and we’ll do what we came to do. Now, do you think you can button it for a while?”
With a salacious smirk on his face, Jabal followed Ajani around the block. Out of view of the broken window, they entered Jinny’s building and hid beneath the stairs. “Do you want to bet a bottle of beer on who’ll be first to fall into our trap?”
“Now didn’t I just ask you to keep yours shut?”
“Keep what shut?”
“Your trap.” Ajani grumbled. “I already figured out who is coming down first. It’ll be the bald eagle with the neck of a goose . . . worthless scum, hatched in a swamp.”
Jabal chanced another question. “Is he dangerous?”
“Oh crud. When he gets here just trip and throw him to the floor.”
“Then, I got dubs on killing him.”
“You kill him and we’re both dead men. I’m in charge here, and the boss wants him alive. Once he’s delivered, we’ll hightail it back here for the woman. She’s my blue plate special.”
“Yep. Yep. The blue plate special,” enjoined Jabal.
Ajani grabbed Jabal’s arm. “Say, are you mocking me again, boy?” Jabal pulled away and prepared to duck a punch, but then a door squeaked high overhead and both muggers ducked.
“She’s coming.”
“No, he’s coming.”
One hundred and fifty pounds of charity crept on tiptoes down the disagreeable stairs. It was Safeed. He still carried Alim’s knife in his waistband and a keen sense of danger in his stomach. Before the last step down, he paused, heard heavy breathing, and leaped for the door. Tripped by a pilfered army boot, Safeed stumbled and sprawled on his face. A knee stabbed into his back, his forehead jerked up, and a cold steel blade nicked his throat.
“Not one word or you die. Now git up.” Ajani and Jabal each grabbed an arm, jerked him to his feet, cursed him for having no hair to grab, and dragged him through the courtyard toward the alleyway—hoping the sight would chill Jinny’s blood. It did.
“No, no, Safeed, they have you. Duck down boys and cover your ears.” Her wary companions unwillingly hunkered down next to Jinny, who shouldered the rifle in one practiced motion and aligned the scope’s cross-hairs on the back of Jabal’s thick neck. Distance forty yards—angle 50 degrees—wind, negligible—target’s head, but ten inches from Safeed’s. Jinny took a deep breath, let most of it escape, squeezed off a round, and felt no recoil. Jabal’s head imploded like a seedy watermelon on a fence post—128 grains of gunpowder—an easy shot. The muzzle blast rocketed back and forth between the alley walls; and the Rhode Island Red’s egg dislodged and completed its journey.
Ajani fled, but not before Jabal had donated blood to both men and collapsed in a lifeless heap, his arms still twitching. Safeed staggered to his apartment entryway, wiped his eyes clean, looked back at the muzzle-end of Jinny’s smoking rifle, and then disappeared, bolting the heavy door behind him. He clung to the railing with both hands and haltingly climbed up the stairs, alarmed at how weak he felt. His fingers fumbled in a deep pocket holding twelve keys, knowing that but one would unlock the door. Once identified and selected by touch, he encouraged the right key to marry with the receptive Schlage key-way. Once mated, the key eagerly tumbled over on its back, Safeed heard an amenable click, and then twisted the oval knob.
“Home at last. YA LAHWY!” He stared into the business-end of a double-barrel shotgun, pointed by Dalal, who was poised to pull the trigger. Safeed flailed backwards and caught hold of the handrail, which saved him from keeling over and tumbling down the stairs.
Dalal gasped, “Oh, Safeed, I almost blew your head off. And you’re BLEEDING.” She lowered the weapon, but her outcry triggered a reaction behind the barricaded bedroom door. Heavy furniture complained at being shoved aside; the door flew open and banged against the wall. Gharam clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a scream and lunged into her brother’s arms. Now they were both bloody.
“I’m okay. Gharam.” She continued to sob. “Peace be unto you; I am okay, I am okay, dear sister.” His ears still buzzing, Safeed tried to gently rub away the anxious lines drawn on his sister’s countenance.
“Safeed, who did this to you? No, wait. Just sit here and rest while we clean you up.” Still crying, Gharam poured warm water from a white porcelain pitcher into a pan while Dalal tore a stained dishtowel in half. Together they fussed over Safeed, wiped the streaks and spots from where hair once grew, then rinsed the rags and cleaned off his, face, neck and arms. “This tee-shirt must be thrown away, and you have a gash on your neck. Hold still. Do we have access to the hospital? You need antibiotic ointment.”
Safeed pretended he hadn’t heard Gharam and examined the stains on his ribbed undershirt. Alim’s dry blood and mine—comingled—Sunni and Shi’a—brothers at last. Feeling more like a peacemaker, he turned to Dalal. “So, where did the shotgun come from?”
“You must be in shock. I answered that question yesterday afternoon. Should I wag that tale again? Now?” She waited for a familiar sign and got it. “I perceive that you await an abbreviated reply. Yes? “
“Yes. I confess that I have forgotten, but be quick, for I must be about my father’s business.”
“I will say it again. You have been reading too much scripture, cousin. What you need more is to relax a minute. So, relax.” Dalal—gifted with long slender fingers and sleek forearms—forced Safeed gently back onto the chair. “You’re no good to us in heaven, you know? Now, about the shotgun: I climbed to the rooftop undetected by the hooligans.”
“When? Why?”
“Before the funeral and before Alim’s passing.”
“Alim? He’s dead?” Safeed turned and looked into the bedroom. The worn, wrinkled sheets—washed clean, smoothed straight, and tucked around the mattress—reverently confirmed the old man’s absence. “Where is his body?”
Gharam wiped the sweat from her brow, pushed her long black hair behind her shoulders, and tried to console her brother. “He, too, is in God’s hands, dear brother. Dalal and I moved him to the vacant apartment below us until we get more help.”
Dalal added, “We wrapped him in plastic, tied at both ends.”
Safeed hung his head. “Your words bring me no comfort; I deserve none; in my zeal to deliver him from death I assured that he would die . . . and be wrapped . . . in plastic.” There was a long silence. “For now, leave him be, or perhaps I should . . .”
Dalal cradled the shotgun like a baby and calmly counseled, “Now is not the time to ponder that conundrum. Stay put and let me finish the tale. As I was about to say, before the funeral I climbed the fire escape to my rooftop to take Sham some fruit and water, thinking I would gather in my laundry from the clothesline before returning home. I add that the laundry still awaits retrieval; By the time I dare to return, it will be twice dry, but that is of little consequence. I found the soldier lying dead on his back, propped against the parapet, eyes wide open, a bullet hole in his forehead. His trumpet and shotgun lay beside him. Could your American woman have done the deed?”
Before Safeed could reply, Gharam blurted, “Oh Safeed. The woman? Is she dead? Whose blood stains your shirt? Who fired a gun in the alley?”
“Too many questions.” Safeed struggled to gather and contain his feelings, scattered like feathers during a cock fight. “Whose bullet, you ask? It came from a sniper’s rifle—yes, the rifle of the American soldier. Did I tell her name already? It is Jinny. Add mine to the registry of those whom she has rescued. You both know where she and the children are secluded, and now the enemy knows where they are, too. They are trapped up there. For this reason, Gharam, I felt compelled to share one of our secrets with her.” Dalal looked puzzled. “That done, I hurried down the steps, only to be surprised, tripped up, and captured by two ruffians who lay in wait and began dragging me toward the village square. What you see is the blood of an enemy, slain by a sharpshooter’s bullet, and that shooter—God be praised—is Jinny. I do not believe she killed the deserter, too.”
Dalal walked to the alley window and looked down at Jabal’s remains. “So one of your assailants got away? You say this Jinny remains in what apartment? Do we need to fear her? What secret does she possess that I do not?”
“Dalal, I don’t have time for all these questions, but look: Yes, one assailant is dead, and the other one has fled. I fear he’ll soon return with reinforcements. If Jinny and the boys have to flee, I told them how to escape from our old third floor apartment undetected. As I said, you know the apartment–it’s the one with the broken window. Please cousin, please sister, listen for them and let them in.”
Gharam wailed, “Bodies, bodies, bodies. How shall we dispose of the one in the alley? I can’t bear even the thought of looking at him?”
Dalal replied, “I’ll call the fixer. Safeed, go change your clothes.” She leaned out the window, fired off a Gatling-gun-like burst in Pashto, and promptly received a signaled reply from across the way. “It will be done, Safeed.”
He was already in the alley, still wearing the ribbed, sleeveless, bloody undershirt and looking up at his cousin, standing at the bedroom window. “Be sure to listen for Jinny’s knock.”
Dalal returned to the kitchen and, while emptying the tainted water into a bucket, asked, “Help me remember to tell Safeed that Alim went peacefully. He bid me lean near his blistered lips, reached for my arm, and whispered, “Woman, you have the smell of Sunni, but thank you.” He struggled to breathe, relaxed his grip, and then closed his eyes. Personally, I am glad he is gone.”
Gharam locked the door. “Will you stay with me? We can tell Safeed when he returns.”
“Yes,”If he returns. Dalal nuzzled the shotgun against her cheek. The cold steel felt good against her fevered face.