Page 37 of Tango

I kept an eye on where I stepped on the familiar terrain. Loose rock and dust were what seemed to make up this part of the country, and I could already feel the familiar scratchy throat was back. I hadn’t even realized it had gone away until now. Funny how much my life had changed in the last few months. I’d missed the dry heat of Afghanistan, but now I found myself missing the cool, crisp, mountain air, the warmth of Shadows, and a certain blonde I couldn’t get enough of.

The smell of exhaust found my nose, and I knew I wasn’t far from town. I checked the time again and realized I was a few minutes early to meet my ride.

Afghans were a punctual people, and because this man was doing me a favor, I made sure to be early. I sought cover as I checked around near where we were to meet.

I could hear voices and saw Ahmad, my driver, was being hassled by another man. They argued in Dari as I slipped on an oversized turban and shalwar kameez tunic that concealed my camo and tucked my helmet into my pack. I stepped out and approached the two men. When Ahmad spotted me, he shook his head carefully for me not to engage, and I stepped back out of sight.

“American, you can come out now. He’s gone.” I snatched up my pack and made quick work of getting in his truck. “Sorry about that, my friend.” He started the engine and smiled as I quickly grabbed the window frame at the huge jerk of the vehicle as he pulled out. “Hungry?” He handed me a piece of bread. I took it to be polite, but I had no interest in eating it.

Though Ahmad was a friend of a friend of Frank’s, I didn’t let my guard down. One hand always stayed on my weapon as I constantly scanned the road ahead and behind.

“The Taliban visit every day now. They take what they want, then leave. Food, clothes, women, and even our…” He shook his head.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I was, but I also knew some towns had it a lot worse. We made our way through the streets as he expertly avoided the vendors, sheep, and the many stray cats that kept an eye out for any type of food. When we stopped for some kids to cross, I noticed one cat wedged in a corner, skin and bones, tongue hanging out, desperate for a scrap of something. I ripped off a piece of bread and tossed it to him. He limped over, snagged it, and pulled it back into his corner.

“You Americans.” Ahmad shook his head. “See that?” He shifted his gaze to the top of a broken wall ahead of us. “They’ve got some of our own kids who watch for them now. Money is everything.” I shielded my face as we passed by the children. “Okay, my friend,” he parked the truck, and I knew exactly where we were, “are you ready?”

“I am.” I placed a hand on his shoulder before we got out and handed him a roll of bills. I knew Frank would be sure he got paid, but I knew all too well the risk he took, and I needed all the friends I could get in this place. He smiled his appreciation and tucked it away. Then we both got out.

He knocked on the door, three fast, two slow, then it was opened by a man who waved us quickly inside. I removed my boots, as was the custom, but hid them under my pack. It wasn’t proper, but I knew my combat boots would stand out like a sore thumb.

I placed my hand on my chest and nodded as Ahmad introduced me. Some of the formalities were dismissed, and I assumed it was because they didn’t want me to stay long. We made our way farther into the house, and I was offered a place to sit. I felt the wind get sucked right out of me as I saw the stain on the rug. Someone had tried to remove it, but I knew it was a bloodstain from Brown.

It was abnormal for woman of their culture to make eye contact, but I felt her eyes on me, and when our gazes met, she didn’t look away. I recognized her, and she recognized me. If I wasn’t sure just then, I was when her two daughters entered the kitchen. Here we all were right where the entire nightmare had gone down.

“I don’t agree with this visit, but my sister wished to speak with you. She can be a very stubborn woman. Also, her husband.” He paused. “Inna Lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un,” rest in peace, “allowed her a more westernized attitude that he felt was good for her.” He gave Ahmad a look and quickly changed from speaking in Dari to Pashtu. “This is too risky.”

“It’s all good, friend.” Ahmad brushed off the brother’s concern, not realizing I understood Pashtu.

It wasn’t lost on me that the brother never offered his name. I understood his fear, but I also felt respect for her husband for allowing her a more modern view. That was rare here and could possibly lead her into danger if she wasn’t careful. I saw her brother’s nervous glance at the door and knew I had to hurry things along.

“Tea?” The woman pointed to the pot on the stove.

“Please.” Dari flowed from my tongue to keep them from knowing I knew Pashtu too. I took pride in the fact I spoke their languages fluently.

We sat cross legged on the cushions, and I was careful not to show the bottoms of my feet. Even though I had socks on, it would be considered rude. The woman was dressed all in black, and the same with her thick eyeliner. She was quite pretty from what I could see of her.

“How may I address you?” I asked.

“Amina,” she said quietly but directly and in English. At her tone, her brother muttered, and she shot him a glance. “My husband was a good man.” She answered my unasked question. “One day, the monsters came. They wanted my oldest child.” Her jaw flexed. “My husband traded places with her. We never saw him again.”

“I’m sorry.” The world was full of all different walks of evil.

She lifted her chin as if to push aside the pain. “What about you? Shall I call you American?” She smiled at her comment, and I knew now was the time to stick with the truth. I needed answers.

“Beckett,” I replied. I pulled my tunic aside and pulled out my dog tags. “Ty Beckett.” I leaned forward and let her examine them.

“Very well, Beckett.” Her accent was thick, but she nailed my name. “I heard you wanted to talk to me about what happened here.”

“I do.”

“My daughters still have nightmares of that day.” She poured me some tea. “The Taliban are feared here, and life is very frightening every day, but the day the American soldier came into my home was a terrible thing. He pointed a gun at me and my children. Another came, then another. Three Americans came in my house, all screaming, but only two left.” Her gaze flickered up to mine as she placed the tea in front of me then pointed at the bloodstain on the rug. “I was left with that and a dead soldier.”

“I’m sorry for how that went down, Amina, and I’m sorry for the trauma it left with you and your girls, but—”

“You are full of sorry.” She smiled, but there was annoyance behind it. “Let’s leave the apologies behind us. Why are you really here?” She lifted an eyebrow as she sipped her tea. “I’m sure it isn’t for the tea.”

I’d planned to ask my questions, dig around, and leave, but I could see that wasn’t going to work. “You need the truth.”

---