“My son is in the nest of these madmen!”
During the grilling Yousef put her through, Rebecca was able to make some startling revelations.
“Why were you in the Khar hospital with the terrorists?” Yousef asked her, mentioning that people she had been with did not care about their women, well or sick. Yousef had always been puzzled when Rebecca said she accompanied Gulnoor, who was ill.
“Tell me exactly how and why you made the journey there?” Yousef asked,
“I first met Gulnoor when I was at the Kabul hospital with Ron,” Rebecca replied, The memory was vivid and surprised her. “Yes, her brother brought her in; she had breast cancer and was in a bad way. I took care of her that one time. She was a gentle, sweet person, but the brother; he was something else!”
“So, you treated her in Kabul once,” Yousef urged her on. “When did you see her again?”
“I don’t know,” Rebecca frowned, trying to sweep the cobwebs from her mind.
“Think about it, Rebecca,” pressed Yousef. “You did meet her again since you admit she was with you at the Khar hospital.”
“We were on our way to treat patients at a border hospital,” she recalled. “I saw the brother then; after our convoy was blown up, he took me to their mountain camp. I found out that his name was Mullah Shaheen; he was the leader of Talib-e-Azad. I was told his name at the hospital when he bothered Megan…poor Meg….”
It was not easy for her to talk about the bombing, and she always skimmed over that part of her ordeal.
“Who all was at the mountain camp?” Yousef asked.
Rebecca named the men as she had done before, and the names tallied with Salimuddin’s account.
“Ahmad was among the children; I got on well with them, I remember…they were very sweet, especially Ahmad.”
“Excellent,” Yousef said encouragingly. “So, you saw Gulnoor next at the insurgents’ camp?”
“I suppose so,” she shrugged. “She was nice to me, and I tried to relieve her pain; I said she must see a doctor or else she would not survive.”
“Who did you tell, Rebecca?” Yousef asked.
“I told her brother, the mullah.”
“You saw how they treated their women like goods,” Yousef prodded. “Surely, your advice didn’t bring a dying woman to the Khar hospital?”
“I don’t know. The brother and sister were close; they’re twins, you know,” she looked confused, searching for answers. “Gulnoor was nice; she comforted me after the beatings; I called her Baaji; that means big sister.”
“Beatings?” her interrogator looked surprised.
“Yes. I tried to escape three times, and they dragged me back and lashed me with a thick knotted rope as punishment,” she said. “Once, we came down to a local store for medicines, and I tried to pass a note to the counter clerk. They saw me, and I got a lashing for that too!”
“Was that when you came to Khar?” Yousef asked.
“No, that was a small town close by,” she said slowly. “The Khar visit…”
“Yes, tell us about the Khar visit; tell us who brought you there and who you traveled with.” Yousef coaxed the information out of her, and she answered his questions carefully.
“So, you walked down a ravine where a car was waiting for you? You then drove straight to the hospital?” he asked.
“Yes, no… We went to Ammi’s sister’s house first, where we spent the night,” Rebecca recalled. “We visited the hospital the next day; that’s when I saw Aisha and Zeina with their flyers, and I called out to them. Abdullah took me back to the camp…”
“You’ve done well, Rebecca,” Yousef was pleased with the new information. “So, tell me; you all went straight back to the camp from the hospital?”
“Yes…but we first dropped Gulnoor at Ammi’s house, and then came back to the camp.”
“Why didn’t Gulnoor go with you?”
“Her chemotherapy needed to start, and we had appointments for tests and the treatment; the doctor told her to come back in a couple of days for the test results and to start treatment. She was also frail…”
“Can you identify the location of Ammi’s house?” Yousef was quick to pounce on this information.
“I saw the address on the gate; 112/2 Hali Road,” she smiled. “I’m surprised that I remember this detail so clearly when the rest is such a blur.”
“The mind plays strange tricks on us,” Yousef smiled at Husain Sahib knowingly. “You’ve remembered more than before; well done and thank you.”
They now had a residence in Khar to stakeout for possible activity. Someone from the group had to come back for Gulnoor.
When Ron’s father arrived at Chief Naseer’s house the next morning, he held Rebecca tight for a long time as both silently remembered the person they had loved and lost.
“Politics can be dirty. All I ask is to be careful,” Mr. Clooney began, now more like the CIA professional that he was. “You have all created lots of attention in the area. Some of it might be unwarranted. You have in your midst, the daughter of a high-ranking military officer, who also happens to be closely related to the Saudi king.”
Five pairs of eyes turned to Zeina, and Ismail could not help but smile to see her shrug at the mention. Nothing fazed her, but the recent confrontations had left Ismail with no doubts about the danger. However, he had discussed the situation with the others, and none of them wanted to go. Ron’s father did not agree.
“There are elements in the Pakistan army who deal with terrorists to keep their borders safe; we know they go through extreme lengths to control the volatile situation. This cooperation is vital to the U.S.. Your presence here is putting a strain on resources and a target on the backs of people around you. You are all in greater danger than you can imagine. Rodrigues has been transferred and will no longer work with you. I suggest you all leave now that Rebecca has been recovered and is well enough to fly,” Clooney advised, and Chief Naseer nodded his head in agreement.
“We’ll continue our search for Ahmad ourselves,” the chieftain said. “You have helped greatly; maybe now it’s time for you to go home to take care of yourselves.”
“There’s no accountability here; I don’t have to tell you this; you have lived through a terrible ordeal; you’re fortunate to be alive and back with your family. You saw what happened to Ron,” the CIA officer looked at Rebecca specifically.
“It’s for Ron that I need to have closure, Mr. Clooney. I need to get justice. I hate what Mullah Shaheen and his people have done. I have to avenge Ron’s death and stop them. I promised Ron that,” said Rebecca as her eyes filled up. “I’d never be able to be at peace with myself if I ran away right now. Chief Naseer and his family have put their lives in jeopardy to save me, and I owe it to them; and to my dear Ahmad, to help bring him back to his family even if it means I’ll be a human guinea pig. I hope we have enough time.”
“And I promise to do everything I can to get the Talib-e-Azad; I owe that to Ron too,” said Clooney softening up a bit. “But our job will be so much easier with all of you out of harm’s way. We already have drones and satellites working for us to patrol the mountains. It won’t be long before we locate these people.”
“Mr. Clooney, my son, is in the nest of these madmen,” the tribal chief looked worried. “Please promise that you will not do any bombing in the area and endanger his life.”
“The objective is to bring your son home, Naseer Sahib,” Clooney replied. “Believe me, I have lost a son and would do everything under my control to bring your son safely back. We have worked closely for the past five years and know we are both men of our word. Please convince your guests to return to their homes and let us deal with this difficult and dangerous situation, without unnecessary complications.”
The meeting ended with no resolution; the Faineys and Phil wouldn’t leave without Rebecca, and Ismail and Zeina would not leave without Phil. The ultimate decision rested with Rebecca, who steadfastly stated she wasn’t going without Ahmad. Clooney arranged for someone to come to the Chief’s house to sweep the place for bugs, and so far, it was clean.
Aisha helped with the classes at home whenever she was around. They had just finished the classes for the day. The lesson today was taught by Chachi, Aisha’s widowed aunt. It had been about their history, and the girls were discussing it.
After handing out the assignments, Aisha plopped down next to her friend Wafa, who was talking with Sultana, their neighbor, and they were huddled together in a corner.
“My uncle, Afzal, thinks that the Taliban will bring the lost glory back to our lands,” 15-year-old Sultana was saying. She was beautiful with long dark hair, which she plaited into a neat tail that reached her shapely hips. Aisha envied her plump figure. But, her words bought a look of concern on Aisha’s face.
Seeing the questioning eyes of Wafa and Aisha, Sultana quickly added, “I don’t agree with him. He made me leave school. That’s why I’m here.”
“I saw your cousin Kamal on Sunday at the market,” said Aisha, who still made her rounds in the town looking for news of Ahmad. “He was with Mullah Jamali’s people; he didn’t even acknowledge me, though he saw me.”
“Well, that’s for respect because you’re grown up,” Sultana added, laughing. “Yes, he has been acting strangely, but that’s the way he always is!”
They looked sympathetically at their friend. Recently there had been trouble at Sultana’s house. After her father’s death, things hadn’t been the same. At times, they had heard shouting, which was rare in their usually peaceful neighborhood. Could her uncle Afzal Rehman have had anything to do with the assassination of her father as was rumored?
Mullah Malik Rehman, a tribal elder and council member of the Lashkar and father of Sultana, had been attacked at his home and killed. He had not seen eye to eye with his brother Afzal. Malik Rehman suspected Afzal was smuggling. After her father’s death, this uncle had become the head of Sultana’s family, as was the custom. He was not respected at home, nor among his neighbors. People claimed he worked with the mujahedeen few years ago and was on the armies ”wanted” list.
Sultana was not allowed to go to school now. Her brother Iqbal, Adnan’s geek friend who helped with the solar panels for the fair project, had also been taken out of school to attend a madrassa. Iqbal was seen hanging with his cousin Kamal and his gang of thugs, who were always forcing people in the neighborhood to follow their extremist beliefs. Adnan had tried to reason with Iqbal, and Kamal had shown displeasure and labeled him as kafir and accused him of blasphemy because of his foreign visitors. Aisha liked Iqbal and Adnan and felt very sad to see the strain between the two friends.
The other day, Aisha saw Kamal when she was with Zeina, who was visiting her school. As they left the building, one of his cronies commented on Zeina’s scarf, which did not cover all her hair. Their remarks suggested punishing all the girls with lashes for not wearing burkas. The girls ignored the men, though Zeina secured her scarf. Aisha hoped this was not a sign of a deeper problem with Kamal. Aisha had always respected Kamal like Shahzad as they were of the same age.
“I don’t like the people with whom my brother hangs out. It’s very uncomfortable for me when they come to meet him. I worry about him. Uncle and Kamal don’t treat Iqbal well, and my brother is desperate to stand on his own feet. He had big plans for a solar panel business, but that dream is over now,” Sultana expressed with a faraway look in her eyes, and her two friends could see how much she missed her father and how she worried about her family.
“Don’t worry, Sultana. Things look difficult at times, but everything passes, and let’s hope there are better days to come.” Wafa said putting an arm around her neighbor.
Aisha saw Zeina coming toward them after talking to Chachi. They had become very close, and the girl decided to tell Zeina about Sultana’s apprehension over her uncle Afzal and cousin Kamal. Aisha hoped Zeina would know what to do with this information.
Zeina did know what to do and realizing they had very little time, she passed this information on to Clooney and her host. Clooney and Chief Naseer had been persuaded to let them stay a little longer, and Zeina had borrowed a tiny gadget from the CIA man.
“Tomorrow? Okay.”
“Where? Farm?”
“What time?”
“8:00 a.m.? Okay?”
Adnan heard this over a minute device in his ear. Tucked in his pakol, the cap most men in the region wore, was a tiny recorder. It had been simple; Zeina found her detective in Adnan. He had slid a small bug, which Zeina had given him, into the pocket of the jacket Afzal always wore. With Iqbal, he hung around the man, pretending to be interested in his obsessive theories. Staying close to Afzal, he was privy to all his conversations.
“You better not mess up today when my call comes,” Adnan had heard Iqbal’s uncle caution him earlier in the day. “I don’t want you to hold up the line, so no phone calls for you!”
Listening to the menacing conversations between Afzal and Iqbal earlier that day made him realize how lucky he was to have Chief Naseer for an uncle.
It was the message he had been waiting for; Adnan knew this because Iqbal mentioned his uncle was expecting an urgent call, which was why he was home today. Afzal seemed agitated while he waited for the phone to ring. Adnan had been excited to have the responsibility of spying on Afzal, using what he thought was a new toy. Adnan hid below an open window when Afzal went to his room to answer the call on the landline.
Waiting in the bushes, Adnan felt like James Bond, whose movies he had seen at Sheikh Sahib’s house. He listened and wondered where the mentioned meeting would take place and thought he heard something about a farm. While unsure, they would know soon enough when they listened back to the recording.