“My training has prepared me for this.”
An agonizing month and a half had passed since Mr. Franklin had promised Phil that he would consider his request to form a search party to find Rebecca. He had still not decided. Phil’s impatience was hindering his focus, and he was hopeful when Mr. Franklin summoned him for a meeting.
“Phil, we may have some news about your friend,” announced Franklin as soon as Phil entered his office.
“Really? Is she okay?” asked Phil intently, feeling his pulse quicken.
It seemed Mr. Franklin was taking his time trying to figure out the right words, and Phil managed to wait, watching the principal closely for any other clues about the news. Tall and with receding hair, the man never failed to remind Phil of his father.
“Mr. Rodriguez, the UN representative in Pakistan, got a tip-off. The US Army was questioning a Taliban prisoner, and during the process, there was a mention of a girl that matched Rebecca’s description at a Jihadi training camp belonging to Talib-e-Azad. The timing and area also align.”
“I’ve heard of the notorious Talib-e-Azad; is she safe?” There was fear on Phil’s face, but Mr. Franklin shook his head.
“Sorry, Phil, but we’ve nothing more than that. Mr. Rodriguez said the jihadis are like nomads; they’re constantly moving. The mountainous terrain in the area makes it very difficult to trace people who want to hide.”
“But the authorities are looking for Rebecca?” asked Phil desperately.
“They certainly are, along with our people; Rodriguez is onto it,” said Franklin. “He knows this other border tribe in Pakistan who is also interested is smoking out this group. I believe they have their problems with the leaders. This tribe has its own Lashkar, a local army, and is willing to work with us to find the camp. Because we have been actively following the case of Rebecca, Mr. Rodriguez contacted us.”
“Sir, I thought that Rebecca would be in Afghanistan. If we’re working with Pakistan, does that mean she’s in the area between the two countries, that no man’s land…,” Phil searched for the term and his principal helped him out.
“FATA, the Federally Administered Tribal Areas,” Mr. Franklin said. “That’s how Mr. Rodriguez explained it to me. It takes a lot of time for the tribal leaders to trust foreigners, but Mr. Rodriguez has built a good relationship with them.”
“Sounds good,” said Phil. “So, when can I go?”
“I think we might arrange something,” hinted Mr. Franklin with a smile.
“Yes!” Phil punched the air. He had not experienced a moment’s peace since his friend had been missing. While it was heartening to know she was still alive, he worried about the conditions of her confinement. The fact that a massive international effort was working toward her release did not ease his anxiety. He had to go to Rebecca and get her out as soon as possible.
“Have you thought about who you’d like to take with you?” Franklin interrupted his thoughts.
“I think it should be someone who knows the people, someone who can relate and understand them. And at the same time, they must be strong enough to face problems.”
“Go on,” encouraged the older man.
“It should be someone with an Islamic background. And, ideally, I’d like to take two people, a guy and a girl. I should have a girl, especially with Rebecca there, and since menfolk might not be allowed in some places. I’ve been thinking of Zeina.”
“A good choice. And who else?”
“I’ve also been considering Ismail. He knows a lot about the war and the issues there. He’s a living encyclopedia about events in the Middle East and the Afghanistan-Pakistan region. And I think he’d know how to communicate with the locals too.”
“Very good. Shall we ask Ismail and Zeina to join us?”
Phil smiled and nodded, pleased he made the right choices and delighted to have some concrete steps towards finding Rebecca. Mr. Franklin made a phone call, and soon Zeina and Ismail joined them. The four of them settled around the round table in the corner of Franklin’s office.
“I’ve got a possible mission for you two,” Mr. Franklin posed, looking first at Ismail and then Zeina. “Or should I say, a mission impossible? Phil has made a special request for this assignment; you might have already heard about it. He has asked that you both accompany him. I suggest you think this through carefully before you decide and let me have your answers. I’ll understand if you can’t do it, and I can very well have someone else take your place. Be aware of the dangers; this mission will require all your training, experiences and much, much more.”
The principal looked them all in the eye, and the students did not waver.
“There has been some news about Rebecca Fainey, Phil’s friend, who has been missing for more than a month,” Mr. Franklin explained. “She might have been spotted. We’ll be working with local authorities and tribes, as well as our intelligence to find Rebecca.”
Phil stared at Ismail and Zeina to see how they would react to being asked to join the rescue mission. Ismail had his usual severe expression on his face, which Phil thought was a good sign. Zeina looked a little thoughtful, but that was typical of her; she would have to weigh every aspect of the case besides her capabilities before she made any decision. Phil knew she was a strong character and would do her best to be able to make it, if possible. He kept his fingers crossed.
“Both of you are aware of the religion and culture in the country,” continued Mr. Franklin. “And you may know the language or can pick it up because of your background. Phil is going to be the odd man out, but his connection with Rebecca is crucial.”
Mr. Franklin smiled at Phil’s eager face beneath the mop of blonde hair. “We might have to dye your hair black, Phil; although the people of that region are fair, and many have light eyes and hair, a blond-haired person would stand out.”
“Whatever it takes to get Rebecca back!” Phil laughed along with the others.
“Let me know as soon as possible whether you wish to accept this assignment,” the principal looked closely at the two people Phil had chosen.
“I’d be honored to be a part of this task,” confirmed Ismail. “Count me in, sir.”
“Let me run this by my father first, though I’m pretty sure I’m in too,” Zeina added.
Later, Zeina would tell Phil she thought it was scary, but she knew her unique identity and background made her an ideal candidate, and she was determined to rise to the occasion. She would talk to her father that night, and she was confident that she would be able to convince him.
“All right then,” said the principal. “I’ll give you 24 hours to confirm your decisions, and please, do not hesitate to step down if you feel it’s not the right project for you.”
“When can we leave?” Phil asked.
“If everything goes well, you’ll be leaving in about a week,” Franklin replied. “Mr. Rodriguez, the UN field agent in Pakistan, will fly in to accompany you back and provide whatever support you need. We’ll have three orientation sessions for you; in the meantime, study all you can and get ready.”
“Sir,” interrupted Ismail, looking a little confused. “I thought Rebecca was in Afghanistan. Why are we going to Pakistan?”
“An excellent question, so let me make the situation as clear as I can; as I did with Phil,” he said as he opened a map to support his explanation. “You see, this is where we lost Rebecca, and this is the border between the two countries. Straddling the Afghanistan and Pakistan border are tribal regions that are fiercely independent. This region is called FATA, an acronym for the Federally Administered Tribal Area. The area is officially a part of Pakistan, but the tribal lords there consider themselves autonomous. The people there are of the Pashtun tribes, which reside in both Afghanistan and Pakistan. These people usually have the freedom to travel between both countries. The latest intelligence suggests Rebecca is on the Afghan side. Since the CIA agent Clooney and the tribe that you’re going to work with are in Pakistan, you’re going there first. Once on the ground, you’ll have a clearer picture of what’s going down there.”
“Yes, sir,” confirmed Phil confidently. “We’ll find Rebecca and get her the hell out of there!”
Zeina had two hours to finish her work and make it in time for her evening Shaolin Kung Fu workshop. Their trainer, whom she called Bruce Lee, was a no-nonsense guy who made latecomers stand on their heads for 10 minutes. As she hurried out of the campus, she made a note of what she needed to do. Picking up her laundry was bottom of the list, and talking to her father was at the top.
On the narrow road leading to the nearest village, Zeina passed a fishing community. She liked to watch the men busy with their nets and boats. Today she had no time, besides it had turned hot; she was glad she had her scarf and sunglasses to protect her. She took a sip from her water bottle and called the house phone in Riyadh. Nancy, their Filipino maid, answered and said her father was home, freshening up for dinner. Zeina left a message for him to call her back.
She was so glad she had left her life there, even though now she had to do everything for herself. It was so much better to be independent rather than sit at home, doing nothing. She could not resign herself to a life in which the only goal was to wait on one person who thought no end of himself. Her two-year marriage to Bashir had been a disaster. She may have tolerated the boredom, but his verbal and physical abuse was a deal-breaker. Her divorce had hurt the family, but she made her choice and was ready to deal with the consequences. She sighed as she shielded herself from the sun and walked fast towards the center of town.
The main street of Nancowry had about four leading stores where everything she needed was available. The cheerful shopkeeper at the convenience store-cum-café greeted her with a beaming smile. Zeina told him what she wanted, and while she waited for her things, she glanced around the shop. She saw a few senior boys and a couple of people from her year and, then she spotted Ismail, engrossed in a book. He looked serious as if he did not want to be disturbed, so Zeina decided that was what she was going to do.
“Hi, Ismail,” she greeted him.
He looked up and acknowledged her with a nod, most probably hoping she would go away. He was engrossed in a book about environment and energy.
“For a project?” persisted Zeina.
Ismail sighed, making Zeina smile inwardly. He looked up again and closed the book.
“No, just for fun.”
Zeina was not sure whether that was sarcasm, but she ignored his comment. Just then, her phone rang, and she waved to Ismail, answering the call as she walked to the counter to pay her bill. It was her worried father. She then wondered whether she would have been better off talking to her mother. It was too late now.
They greeted each other, and quickly got past the “how are you? “Zeina knew he was uncomfortably waiting for the bombshell, which she usually threw at him, and she dove right into the issue.
“Abba, I’m going to Pakistan.”
“Really? Why? When?”
Zeina closed her eyes. She had disappointed her father in every way possible. Nothing she did now surprised him.
“Abba, you remember I told you about Rebecca, my friend Phil’s friend who’s in Pakistan, presumably kidnapped? We’re going to the border area to find her,” Zeina explained.
“And you think you can locate her? Is there no military or local police who can do the job? Is there no one else but you to find her? I can send my people there to check,” he rambled on in despair.
Zeina sensed his worry and confusion; to her father, she would never stop being his helpless princess.
“Abba, I can take care of myself,” Zeina emphasized with an inward sigh. “This is what I’m training for.”
“I have enemies everywhere; do you know what they can do to you if they find out who you are?”
“Yes, I’m the daughter of a prince of the royal family who’s also a high-ranking military man, but you know I must make a name for myself. Besides, Pakistan is very friendly towards our government. It’ll help me in the future to be familiar with the situation there.”
“For what, my child? You’ll never be allowed to work in our government!” the man insisted.
“Well then, I must find a place in the world where I’m accepted and appreciated, Abba,” she retorted.
“Have some patience,” the father scolded his headstrong daughter. “The Prince is improving the lives of women; the old ways are changing. Remember, women can drive now.”
“Too slow for me, Abba,” Zeina said.
“Changes are coming slowly but surely to our country. Do not take things for granted.”
“I don’t, Abba, but, back to Pakistan… If I encounter problems, all I have to do is call you, right?”
“Yes, what scares me is that you will not,” he replied. “Remember to be careful there. It was okay for you to have big ideas here as a princess, but over there, that’s another story. I’ll send you a list of my contacts in the area. Meet them and introduce yourself. They can be of use to you.”
“I’ll be careful, Abba, I promise,” Zeina cringed, knowing how helpless she made him feel. “And, thank you for your help.”
Zeina tried to end the conversation before her father went into preaching mode, and she would have to repeat the conversation to her mother, who would have a fit of dramatics. She had informed him of her plans, and that was enough. It would be easier for dad to update mom. She had to pick up her laundry before the shop closed and reach the school on time if she wanted to save herself from Bruce Lee’s punishment.
“I have to go now. But I’ll call you again soon! Love to Amma!”
They said their goodbyes, and she raced to the laundry. On the way back to the school, she bumped into Ismail again.
“Was that your father?” asked Ismail.
“Yes,” said Zeina, rolling her eyes. “But he’s okay; didn’t have too many issues over my trip.”
“Would his opinion have mattered?”
“No, not much,” she sighed flippantly. “Though, we might need my dad’s help over there.”
“You know, you’re lucky to have a caring parent,” said Ismail.
Zeina nodded, now wondering if she had sounded ungrateful when speaking of her father.
“It’s just that he’s very controlling,” she frowned.
“That means he cares,” replied Ismail.
“I guess. How’s your father? Does he try to control you too?”
“I wish he would. I wish I had a father who cared,” Ismail whispered, staring at the orange sky beyond the ocean that signified the onset of another sunset.
Zeina looked at Ismail, seeing his face shining through the evening light. There was sadness there which she had not noticed before.
“I’m so sorry. I guess I do take what I’ve got for granted,” Zeina said genuinely apologetic.
“Do you have a big family?” he asked.
“No, I don’t have any siblings. I wish every day that I had someone to share my parents with,” Zeina replied, hoping her joke would help ease the pain on his face.
“I have three siblings; an older sister who’s married and a younger sister and brother,” said Ismail, already brightening up to Zeina’s relief.
“You do have a bigger family than mine.”
“Yes,” Ismail confirmed as he seemed back to his usual self. “Your father is in the Army? Mine worked for the government too, in a way.”
“Yes, he’s a military man, now attached to Foreign Affairs. His contacts and influence could be useful during the mission. What did your father do?”
“We’re Muslims living in Jerusalem, and our family takes care of the keys to the Royal Sepulcher, the church built in the place Jesus was crucified and buried.”
“Really, how interesting. A Muslim family in charge of the holiest Christian church,” Zeina was surprised.
“Yes, my forefathers must have been excellent diplomats to avoid friction between the different people who worship there. I’ve heard many interesting tales from my grandfather.”
“How fascinating,” and then she realized the time. “Oh my, I have to run. Bruce Lee is going to kill me today!”