Page 15 of Lucky Charm
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Cait took great care with the hot water in the bucket beside her. At the resource level, Afghanistan stayed divided by where water existed to irrigate and where it didn’t. Water wasn’t a free resource in this region, and she wasn’t about to insult her absent host by wasting it. She tore open the surgical pack and scrubbed her hands.
Ali Haquiri’s compound suffered from terminal poverty. The ghost town image hadn’t held. Before she’d gotten in the house, a man appeared from the left side. Whether curiosity or protection, she wasn’t sure. Another man appeared at the door. They wore the same rough work pants and brown coats with black turbans. In the house, there were others.
Through the kitchen window, one of the few with actual glass, the expanse of sparse vegetation and rocky sand spread to the hills. In her narrow view, it seemed men lurked everywhere. The whole scenario reeked of secrecy and creepiness. Whether they were local farmers or Haquiri’s militia, she didn’t know and since none of that was her channel, she didn’t ask. Hunt had taken a brief tour of the house, despite the complaints of their door man, nodded at Carter and said nothing before exiting. Bereft, she’d focused on her patient, her lane, her procedures.
Currently, two men stood in the back courtyard arguing, both dressed in the local attire. One bean-thin, well-dressed man stood with military bearingin front of a heavy-set man. The thin man’s clothes were newer, and his demeanor reeked of power and authority.
She couldn’t understand words, but she sure as hell understood tone. The way they shouted in each other’s faces had her looking back to Carter for his protection. She could see him moving around in the front area of the house, prepping the boy for surgery on his foot, and she forced her nerves to settle.
The heavy-set man grabbed the military man by the coat. The argument hovered on the edge of violence, a behavior that was part Afghan culture and part a byproduct of years of war. These people didn’t understand the first thing about peaceful conflict resolution.
The thinner man noticed her in the window. Her eyes locked with his, and a shiver raced down her spine. Familiarity flashed, but she’d never seen him before. More than fear wafted through her. Malice and evil twisted on his scarred, rough face.
She turned away. She couldn’t rush prepping her hands, but she didn’t have to be an observer to whatever went on around her. Everything in her screamed hurry, but she fell back on her training and reviewed the necessary steps to fix the child’s broken foot and set his leg instead of focusing on fear.
Finally finished with her hands, she carefully rinsed them in a clean pan of hot water and wrapped them in a sterile towel. She couldn’t help checking for the arguing men.
They were close to the kitchen door.
Swallowing a surge of fear, she moved to return to her patient, but not fast enough. The two men came in on a gust of cold air, and she came face-to-face with the military man. Her impression of malevolence notched higher and kept her rooted. Risking a move, she turned her back and exited the kitchen.
The boy’s mother rose from the deep red tapestry rug in what most would call the dining room, though it lacked a table. The rich floor cover didn’t belong in the decrepit, austere room or on the dusty floor. The woman’s deep brown, begging eyes were bracketed by pale skin and drew Cait’s sympathy. Covered from head to toe in a light blue chadaree, she spoke rapidly.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Cait turned to keep the woman from touching her hands.
Another man stepped forward, moving closer to Cait than she would have liked. Turbaned and grim, he nonetheless spoke English and translated for her. “She’s worried about the boy.”
“Tell her not to worry. I’m going to repair the injuries and set the bones.”
“His foot?”
“Is not crushed. His leg is a clean break. His hip appears only bruised. I’ll fix his foot and bind him. She’ll have to take very good care of him after I leave, but he should be all right.” She smiled to transmit her confidence.
The man nodded. “She can do that.” He translated to the woman in gentle tones.
Hope – a universal truth. The woman’s eyes were bright with that emotion.
In any other circumstances, Cait would have been buoyed by the exchange, but as she turned, the heavy-set man from outside came in the room. His unchecked aggression squelched any sense of hope and safety. The woman’s guard stepped in front of her and took the brunt of the murderous words spewing from the angry man’s mouth. The woman dropped to her knees and shifted her gaze to the floor. The translator left the room. Another man took his place.
Where did the military looking man go? Was this horrid man Haquiri?
Seemed that way. The barrage of angry words and the look on his face was nothing she wanted to translate.
Carter called her from the doorway, his severe features a welcome sight. He hadn’t dropped all his SEAL gear in deference to the medical and for that she was thankful. His weapon hung negligibly in his hand. While it didn’t interrupt the barrage of angry words, his presence stopped the man from turning on her. She had no doubt Carter would use weapons without any hesitation. Too bad the sad woman had no defender.
Then Hunt was there.
She took a careful breath and strode in his direction, her confidence faked, her limbs trembling.
“You all right, Doc?” Hunt used a hand to guide her between him and Carter.
“Yeah.” Everything in her released. She wanted to lean against Hunt, embrace his solid presence to calm the shakes. She fisted her hands instead and stepped around Carter to the portable table they’d put in place. Dropping the towel, Carter moved to assist her in donning gloves. She’d operated in many dicey environments around the globe, and this one was no exception. The sooner they could leave the better. This whole plan had been inadvisable from the get-go.
She selected a scalpel, pausing to laser focus on her procedures.
“How long, Doc?” Hunt’s presence at her elbow settled her.
