Operation: Forbidden. Lindsay McKenna

flown to Bagram. She stowed her bag in a side slot of the combat helicopter. Mounting the helo, Emma was strapped into the back cockpit in no time. She tried to ignore Khalid’s charisma as he climbed into the cockpit in front of her. The sergeant helped her and then tended to Khalid’s needs. A sudden shiver of warning went up her spine. The whole base was on high alert because of the attack.

      Looking around, lips compressed, Emma saw the remains of charred, still-smoking helicopter that the Taliban had destroyed with a grenade launcher. To her left, several Humvees contained Special Forces who were still looking for the terrorists who committed the offense. Something was wrong… .

      Malik lay on his belly, the binoculars to his eyes. He studied the Apache combat helicopter, more interested than usual in the pilots. Actually, one pilot. A snarl issued softly from between his full, thick lips. Allah had blessed him! There was his sworn enemy, Khalid Shaheen, in the front seat of the Apache. Mind spinning, Malik watched intently.

      So, Shaheen was back in the northern provinces? Malik had his spies and they kept him somewhat updated on his enemy’s whereabouts. The last Malik had been told, Khalid was in Helmand Province flying Apaches against his brothers in the Taliban. Malik knew where Shaheen lived in Kabul. He and his upstart, rebellious sister, Kinah, could be found at their family home from time to time. Was that where he was going? A hundred questions ranged through Malik’s traplike mind.

      “My lord,” Ameen whispered near his ear, “it’s time to move away. Troops are coming.”

      Malik growled a response; he didn’t want to leave, but he knew he must. Those ground troops would have dogs with them and dogs would find them. Tucking his binoculars away, he got to his feet.

      “Where to, my lord?” Ameen asked.

      “A change of plans,” he told the teenage soldier. “We’re going to Kabul… .”

      Thirty minutes after completing the flight check list, Emma had taken the Apache off the tarmac. The shaking and shuddering was familiar and soothing to her. She’d felt the Taliban nearby. She’d not seen them, but she instinctively knew they were close. Emma wondered if Khalid was testing her flight skills. After all, he’d been in Apaches for four years and she had only one year of combat beneath her belt.

      At eight thousand feet under a sunny April-afternoon sky, Emma relaxed to a degree. Still, she was tense about going to Shaheen’s home. This was out of normal military protocol. She had no experience with Afghans except in the villages, and Shaheen was much more powerful than those people who survived in the wild mountains along the border.

      “Do you like dogs?” Khalid asked through the intercom.

      Emma scowled. Now, what was this all about? Shaheen had the ability to rock her world. “Dogs?” What did dogs have to do with them? It was the last conversation she would think of having with this pilot. If nothing else, Khalid was turning out to be one surprise after another.

      “Yes, dogs.”

      “Why are we talking about them?” Emma demanded, automatically looking around outside the cockpit.

      “So you will be well-prepared when I open the door to my family’s villa. My father raises some of the finest salukis in the world. Two years ago, he gifted me with Ayesha, a female with a black coat, white chest and cinnamon-colored legs and underbelly. My father gave her to me shortly after Najela was murdered. The dog helped me in ways I can’t explain. She gave me back my life and brought me through the darkest tunnel with her love and devotion.”

      Not wanting to be swayed by his words, Emma swung her gaze across the instrument panel out of ingrained habit. The chances of attack were minimal, but she never completely let down her guard. “I’m sure I can handle your dog,” she said, laughing. “Hey, it’s kinda nice to have a dog around. We have a few base mongrels that we feed, but they’re wild and you can’t pet them. I’m always leaving scraps outside my tent for a black dog that comes by every night looking for something to eat. If I try to walk toward him, he takes off at a run and disappears. I’ve learned to put the food in a pie tin, close up my tent and not try to befriend him.”

      “Ah, you are a true lover of animals, too. That speaks highly of your heart, Captain Cantrell.” Khalid’s job in the front seat was to keep watch on the two video screens in front of him. There wasn’t much chance of attack at this altitude, but you could never quite relax on the job. He was intensely curious about Emma, but hesitant. She was a by-the-book military officer. Giving her a rose had been a misstep. Khalid had hoped it would open a door to signify a good, working relationship, but Emma had taken it all wrong.

      Worriedly, Khalid realized he’d set them on an awkward course with one another. And he desperately needed a woman pilot who could fulfill his vision to inspire the little Afghan girls. How to fix what had already gone wrong? She didn’t sound very interested in his dog story, either.

      Brows dipping, Khalid asked himself why he was so interested in Emma. She was a tough military combat pilot. Her record showed her abilities and fine skills. He got the feeling she really didn’t like him at all and was just tolerating the situation. Maybe it was the attack this morning that had set her off. He shrugged his shoulders to ease them of tension. He simply didn’t know how to deal with Captain Cantrell. Most people melted beneath his charm and sincere smile. But all it did to her was make her retreat, becoming stony and unreadable. As his U.S. military pilot friends would say, he’d blown it.

      How to repair things between them? He’d spent years in the States being educated. He knew Americans. Khalid sighed. Emma made him feel like a joyous young man. That wouldn’t work here. Khalid turned his attention to the screens and did an automatic scan, looking for possible SAM missiles. Taking a deep breath, he hoped what he was about to say wouldn’t turn her away from him.

      “I did a little research on you, Captain. Your family has a history of service,” Khalid said.

      Something had told her that as easy-going as Khalid appeared, he was a man who researched the details of any situation.

      “Yes, the Trayherns have given military service to their country since they arrived here two hundred years earlier. My mother, Alyssa, was a Trayhern before she married Clay Cantrell, my father. It’s a tradition for the Trayhern children, if they want, to go into the military of their choice and serve at least four to six years, depending upon whether they are officers or enlisted. We’re very proud of our family’s service and sacrifice,” Emma said tensely.

      “You should be. I’m very impressed, Captain. That’s very Sufi-like, to serve others. My Irish mother would say it is what you owe to life. That we all owe others. We can’t live life alone or separate ourselves from the poor and suffering.”

      Emma moved uncomfortably around in her seat. Talking to Khalid was like a minefield. She didn’t really want to know anything about him. All she wanted was to do a good job on this mission and then get back to base camp, her military record clean once more. Clearing her throat, she said, “She sounds like a wonderful, giving person much like my mother, Alyssa.”

      “My mother has red hair and brown eyes,” Khalid informed her. “She’s an obstetrician and she has set up clinics throughout Afghanistan with the help of her church’s ongoing donations. She has spent from age twenty-eight to the present here in Afghanistan. The good she has done is tremendous. I think you must know many Afghan women die during childbirth. Most women have an average of seven children. And one out of eight women dies in childbirth. Very few villages have health care available to them.”

      “That’s so sad,” Emma said as she banked the Apache to start a descent into Bagram. They had left the mountains, and now the dry, yellow plains where Bagram air base sat spread out before them. “I can’t believe how many women lose their lives. It’s horrific. I heard from Major Klein, my C.O., that there are Sufi medical doctors who have devoted their lives to the villages along the border.”

      “Ah yes,” Khalid said, brightening, “Doctors Reza and Sahar Khan. I’ve met them a number of times. My mother works with them through her mission. They are truly brave. Because they are Sufi and giving service