First stop, fetching Aliah’s vehicle so we have our own set of wheels.
Second, pulling into her business.
Third, taping our coded message onto the front-facing window, which takes hardly any time at all.
Turns out, so does waiting for whatever happens next.
I’ve barely put away the tape when the bell above the door dings, and in walks retired army captain Sanders Kurtz from No One Left Behind, bearing a plain manila envelope and a very intense look on his face.
ALIAH APPEARS INa matter of moments, two tall glasses of doogh in hand.I pass, already knowing better.Kurtz, however, appears genuinely excited.He murmurs several phrases in what must be excellent Dari, judging by Aliah’s charmed expression.She sets the drink in front of him, fussing with the place settings on the table.If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was flirting.Then again, I don’t know any better.
“New restaurant?”Kurtz wants to know.
“Open eight months.”
“Specialty?”
“Kabuli pulao.”
Kurtz breaks into a broader smile.“My favorite!Two servings to go, please?”
Aliah nods, blushes, nods some more.She heads back to the kitchen.Kurtz takes a sip of his doogh, sighs happily.“You have no idea how much I’ve missed Afghan food since returning.At least Tucson has some options.Several of my military friends are completely out of luck.”
“Do you miss Afghanistan?”I ask curiously.
He takes his time answering.“It’s a beautiful country.Especially Kabul.You can wander through some of the most gorgeoushistoric gardens in the world, while staring out at white-capped peaks.Then there’s the crazy crowded markets, bustling away in the shadows of ancient mosques.I could walk down the same streets every day and still discover something new.It is also, as you can imagine, a complicated country.Where hospitality and hostility have been ingrained in equal measures.Where the Hindu Kush are buried in snow, while the arid plains will bake every last drop of moisture from your body.I met some of the bravest and most loyal people I’ve ever known.And I encountered many whose sole goal was to kill me.So, yes, I miss Afghanistan, but maybe in the way you remember a particularly intense relationship.When it was good, it was really, really good.But when it was bad…”
I nod.
Kurtz sits back.“I’m assuming you still haven’t located Sabera Ahmadi.”
“You assume correctly.”
“Zahra?”
“Safe.Sabera’s husband, Isaad, however, is dead.After being tortured first.”
“Jesus.When?”
“Last night.”
“This is getting dangerous.”Kurtz peers at me intently.“Don’t you think it’s time to leave the investigative work to the police?”
“No.”
“It’s not even your fight.”
“It’s always my fight.”
Kurtz’s eyes widen slightly.He doesn’t seem to know what to do with me.Not the first time I’ve encountered such disbelief, won’t be the last.
“I think,” Kurtz says at last, “you may want to proceed with extreme caution.There’s way more here than meets the eye.”
He slides the manila envelope across the table to me.“I reached out to MI6 as promised.Then, when I walked into my office today, I discovered this sitting on my desk.I’m thinking it’s their way of answering.Perhaps you’d like to pass the enclosed documents along to the proper local authorities.Given American confidentiality laws, this information is above their pay grade.God knows it’s above mine.”
He rises to standing just in time for Aliah to appear with his takeout order.Another exchange of charming grins on his part, coquettish giggles on hers, then he’s headed out the door.At the last moment, however, he pauses, leaning back in.
“What’s with the poster?Looks like a bunch of gibberish, framed by three magic squares?”
