Kate's Gifts

  “If you’re referring to the body found upstairs, we have not confirmed a nationality, let alone an identity. You’ll be able to see him at the morgue. If he turns out to be yours, you can be assured that we will do everything we can to help the Afghan authorities bring you and the Russian people justice in this horrible crime.”

  “This is an outrage!” Yuri shouts.

  Bob pulls his aside, “It’s an active crime scene, and we have to limit access to avoid contamination. I’m sure you understand.”

  Hassan’s men carry in a stretcher and place it on the floor. He looks over the mess, trying to decide where to begin. Finally, he settles for just pulling the body off the bed. It is the last thing he ever does.

  In the lobby, everyone drops to the ground as the room shakes from the concussion of the explosive above. Edwards and McDowd land across from each other, face to face. Both men can accurately guess what happen, and gauge how lucky they are.

  Seeing the yellow fireball rise from the hotel’s top floor down the street, Ish smiles as he pulls his white Mercedes into the busy Kabul traffic.

  Chapter 10

  Woodcrest Road

  A gentle frost has come overnight and the first rays of the rising sun have turned it into glistening gold. Kate lives for her morning runs, but today’s chill reminds her of the coming winter and the darkness that will soon to be joining her.

  “Thank God for Saturdays.” It will be a busy and important one. She reviews her day yesterday, which had been easy, just dealing with paperwork. “Easy,” however, depended on how you look at it. It can be inspiring to see how her clients managed to survive their situations at home. It can also be heartbreaking. So many families wrecked by the combination of culture and substance abuse. She’s seen how kids grow up too fast, becoming adults before their time. “But for the grace of God,” she huffs.

  The sun has taken off the chill now, and the light is brilliantly setting off the spectacular fall trees. Her pacing is good, even breaths, steadily increasing as she prepares for her route’s big hill. Now she prays. The gratitude always comes first.

  “Thank you for the gifts you have given me all these years. The gift of salvation, the gift of sobriety, the gift of my loving boys. I am so thankful, Lord, but the gift of free will I must give back to you, for it is destructive in my hands. God, please, help me be deserving of your grace, relieve me of the burden of self, and grant me the knowledge of your will for me. Let me hear your voice, see your signs, feel your presence, and guide me away from the darkness, and to your loving light.”

  She finally crests the top, once again amazed by how prayer makes things so much easier, and for this too she gives thanks.

  “Downhill from here.”

  A half block from home, she slows to a walk, bringing her to the end of her daily five-mile run. Strolling up the flagstone path, past her dazzling array of potted mums, Kate finishes her communion.

  “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Thy will, not mine, be done.”

  “The courage…”

  Standing in front of her house to cool down, she takes in the morning, so crisp and fresh, beauty she can recognize only because of the gift she’s been given. Recovery from addiction is not all that different from having a near death experience, and with it comes a new appreciation of life. Her reality exists on different level than most, one in which faith has been transformed into conviction and where miracles are as commonplace as sunrises. A feeling of warmth washes over her. In this moment, she feels connected to her surroundings, to the universe…

  “You’re here,” she whispers, the words carried off on the breeze.

  Opening the front door, the scent of the brewing coffee throws her off. During the week, she sets the timer so it is ready when she comes in. Today she finds Tom at the kitchen table eating Froot Loops, strangely awake for a Saturday, and she knows why.

  “Wow! Thanks for making coffee, sweetie!” she says. “And what’s this?”

  An envelope lies on top of the machine, addressed to MOM.

  “I don’t know,” Tom replies.

  She opens it. It is a card with Snoopy hugging his little bird pal Woodstock on the cover with some corny cliché inside. “Dear Mom, we love you and are very proud of you. Happy anniversary! Love, Tom and Robbie.”

  Kate goes over and kisses Tom on the head. “Thank you, sweetie!”

  “You’re welcome. Keep up the good work,” he says, but despite the smile she can tell something is bothering him, and she knows what it is. They hadn’t talked about the 7-Eleven.

  “Mom, you really freaked me out the other night.”

  Kate smiles. “What do you mean, honey?”

  “Come on, Mom, you almost killed that guy!”

  She sits down with her coffee across from her son. “I was protecting you and your brother.” She states as a fact. “I will do everything and anything in the world to do that.” She reaches for his hand, which he gives her.

  “I know, Mom.”

  Then she breaks the solemn mood. “Besides, what good is being a third-degree black belt if you never get to use it?”

  “Yeah, but…” He stops, considering what he wanted to say.

  “But what, Tom?”

  Tom focuses on his Froot Loops. “It looked like you enjoyed it.”

  A wave of regret pushes her back silently into the chair.

  When he finally looks up at his mom, shame has saddened his face.

  “Ohhh, honey . . .” Kate isn’t sure what to say, at first feeling wrongly accused, but then humbled and disturbed over what her son had seen. His sensitivity and ability to read people has improved.

  “Would that be a bad thing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes. I did, and I’ll tell you why. I felt empowered. I was scared at first, afraid for you guys, especially after Robbie knocked over that bottle, but after things started happening, it was an adrenaline rush. It felt good.”

  “You could have been shot!”

  “Maybe, but so could’ve you, or Robbie, or the rest of them. I had surprise on my side. It was instinct. I felt that God was moving me.” She lets that sink in for a minute.

  “Does that answer your question?”

  “I guess,”

  “Good. After all, honesty is the best policy.”

  She changes the subject, and with it the mood. “So, what do you want to do in class today?”

  “You’re teaching?” Tom reacts with surprise.

  “Sensei Michelle asked me to fill in for her, so I said sure.”

  Just then Michael shuffles into the room, totally disheveled and most likely too hung over to sleep. Tom takes the cue from his mom’s suddenly darkened mood and leaves the room.

  As Michael fumbles for coffee, she chuckles snarkily.

  “What’s so funny?” he grumbles.

  “Late one?” Kate says with a cheery tone.

  “The budget is due,” he says.

  “And you were working on it in a bar?”

  “We brought it in,” he says with an edge. “What’s going on, something I should know about?”

  “You have no idea what today is, do you?” Kate says with pleasant sarcasm.

  “I’m really not in the mood for twenty questions.”

  “It’s my anniversary,” she says. “And here you are, hung over and still smelling like booze.”

  She sees the anxiety hit him. “You can’t hold it against him. He isn’t like me. I can’t expect him to understand,” Kate tells herself.

  It is Kate’s sobriety date, ten years without a drink, and a major milestone for a person in recovery, especially since at one time ten minutes seemed like an eternity.

  “Shit! I’m sorry. Congratulations, honey. Tonight we’ll celebrate,” Michael says, giving her a hug. His breath makes her recoil, but it is the slight, yet unmistaka
ble scent of another woman that makes her sick.

  “Okay,” Kate says, now understanding why his hugs lately have seemed so empty.

  Chapter 11

  Tehran

  “Come to prayer, Come to success, God is great! There is no God but God,”

  The Muezzin calls to the faithful of an upscale suburb of Tehran. For some, it is time for prayer. For others, Allah is found in sweets and tea. His friends wasted no time in getting him on a flight. Sami would have liked to freshen up after his long trip, but his hosts are anxious to receive him and his information. Only after being ushered into the pleasant reception room of the mansion does he realize the depth of the shit he’s stepped in. Few of the seated clerics in the room notice Sami, but those who do show their contempt. This chills him more than the air-conditioning, and he is sweating like a pig.

  One of the younger clerics stands and greets Sami with a smile. “You must be Mr. Faquir! Welcome, I am Hamdi. I want to thank you for coming. We know you have had a long trip. I promise we won’t keep you long.”

  Hamdi leads across the room to another set of doors. He won’t be joining the group.

  “It is indeed a blessing from Allah that you have given us this extraordinary information. My friends have told me all.”

  “May he be praised,” Sami agrees.

  “And your fee is so modest, as opposed to that of the infidel’s.”

  “I am a humble man, in the service of our merciful God.”

  “The rewards are bountiful for those who follow his way,” Hamdi beams in agreement.

  One of the men who had driven Sami hands Hamdi a folder, which he leafs through as they walk.

  “These instructions seem quite simple,” Hamdi remarks. “Once we are assured of Allah’s direction, how long will it take to see results?”

  “I am told from seven to fourteen days, no longer. That is the timeline.”

  Hamdi closes the file with a smile. “Excellent!”

  Now Hamdi shifts to a slightly more serious tone. “On a personal note, Sami, there is something that concerns us.”

  Sami doesn’t like where this is going. “Please, how may I be of service to Allah?”

  “I will be frank with you Sami,” Hamdi sighs. “We are aware of your indiscretions.”

  Sami’s eyes widen as the double doors open before them. Two men, covered in black from head to toe stand waiting. On their foreheads are headbands that read in classic Arabic the Islamic creed. “There is no God but Allah and Mohammad is his prophet.”

  “I pray Allah will have mercy on your soul, Sami.”

  The men set upon him, but Sami resists. The blabbering pleas build as he runs around the room to avoid capture, his sweaty skin preventing them from getting a grip. When they grab him by the shirt, Sami manages to slip out of it, making the scene all the more ugly. As much as he would hate to admit it, Hamdi can’t help being amused.

  They corner him, but Sami is a big guy, pushing them away. With a sigh, Hamdi returns to the large room as his fellow Council of Guardians members begin to make their way to afternoon services, discussing Allah’s gift of free will. The moment he closes the door, a shot rings out, followed by a heavy thud.

  Chapter 12

  Kabul

  Darkness has fallen on Char Qala, and McDowd and Bone’s unit have just set up a parameter around Sami’s shop. They are all simmering after the hotel explosion and Hassan’s death, and trying hard to stay focused. The ideal time for this kind of operation would be around two or three in the morning. Now the whole neighborhood is beginning to pull up chairs to watch the show.

  Bone cringes when he sees Captain Taylor waiting with Lieutenant Dobson at the door as they drive up with Edwards.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. Who will explain why we have raided an empty store?” Taylor asks with annoyance.

  “Good evening to you, Captain Taylor,” Edwards smiles. “I want to thank you for your help, and lending me the excellent assistance of Sergeants McDowd and Washington. Your fine skills have obviously rubbed off on these men.”

  McDowd catches Dobson rolling his eyes as Taylor cuts Edwards off.

  “Enough, Edwards.” Taylor drones. “You’ve nearly gotten them killed.”

  “That was my fault, sir,” Bone says.

  “Bullshit. You’re a cop Washington, not a spy or an EOD. Now let’s get this over with fast,” Taylor says as he scans the gathering crowd. “The natives are getting restless.”

  The Explosive Ordinance Disposal team has been hard at work, given what happened back at the hotel. Silly string has been sprayed all over the shop to find trip wires, followed by a pass from innocent-looking golden Lab with a gifted nose for nitrates named Gunner. Even after getting a clean bill of health, the place still has the crew on edge. It’s Freaks who hits paydirt first. He whistles them over, and then pushes the refrigerator out of the way with surprising ease, revealing a narrow staircase. McDowd shouts down in pashto for anyone in there to come out, but there is no reply. With a wink, Freaks readies a flash bang grenade, but Bone shakes his head. Instead he cracks a light stick and tosses it down the stairs. He hesitates, not liking the idea of going first.

  “Here,” Freaks says handing him a can of silly string.

  “Thanks,” McDowd smiles. “This makes it all better.”

  It’s a short descent into the basement room. After a quick scan, he shouts, “Clear!” The sweeping flashlight beam adds to the eerie touch to the green glow of the chemical light as it reveals a collection of children’s pictures stuck to the walls.

  “Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” Bone exclaims. “Would you look at this shit!”

  “This must be the party room,” Freaks says, looking over the bed, boom box, water pipe, stash of liquor and children’s toys. He picks up a stuffed Sponge Bob doll and imitating the cartoon character’s voice, he says to Mayo, “Aw, Mr. Crabs, you gave me crabs!”

  “Not from me, laddie, ye musta got’em from Squidward,” Mayo replies in a brogue.

  “A picture is worth a thousand words,” Bone says, plucking a Polaroid off the wall and handing it to Taylor, who passes it to McDowd. “Now we have face to go on.”

  A smiling young boy posed with a fat, bald, middle-aged Arab man. The wall is covered with them. Different kids, same guy.

  “And a name, Samir al-Faquir,” McDowd says, reading some paperwork.

  “Let’s see if we can get anything from the street,” Bone says as he takes pictures from the wall. “The neighbors will get a kick out of these.”

  “Don’t we have better things to do than chase pedophiles?” Taylor asks in frustration.

  “May be, Captain, but we still have that dead Russian and the possible Iranian connection,” Bone says.

  “Killed for kiddy porn?” asks Dobson.

  “I doubt it, unless this guy rented the place out to big wigs,” Edwards says.

  “Blackmail?” McDowd offers.

  “Possible,” Bone says flipping the mattress, revealing what looks like a diary. “Well, looky here! Dear diary!”

  It’s too good to be true.

  “This might give us something.” He hands it to McDowd, knowing he can read the language.

  McDowd leafs through it. “Yup, a diary, all right. This will be interesting.”

  He gets to the last page. It ends in a single word, written in English.

  “Katrina.”

  Chapter 13

  Kreichek and Hutnikov leave Sasha’s apartment, passing a group of armed Dark Claw International contractors on their way in. Kreichek says hello, but Hutnikov, carrying a box, just scowls at them.

  Given Sasha’s usual lack of hygiene, Kreichek had expected his place to be a shambles, but instead he was struck by the incredible neatness, everything in perfect order, almost as if it was ready for snap inspection. There had been more to the man than the hopeless drunk, after all. They’d done a pretty good job of tossing the place, with Hutnikov adding a
little gratuitous destruction. Regardless, there is nothing to be found, and that doesn’t make Yuri happy.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me!” he speaks loudly over the phone, causing Kreichek to move it away from his ear.

  “We got out just before the Americans came. We were a little rushed, but we have his personal papers and the like.”

  “Bring them here.”

  Hutnikov passes Kreichek the photograph they had found, a graduation picture of Sasha Malekov’s class at the Red Army Military Law Academy, the GRU officer’s spook school. It was easy to find Malekov among the proud young faces. Hutnikov pointed to the instructor next to him.

  “No wonder you kept him around. You taught him at the academy,” Kreichek says.

  Yuri pauses with surprise. “It was a different time in a different world.”

  “Perhaps his death is related to the past, not the present.”

  They can almost hear Uncle Yuri thinking that over.

  “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, get back here and make room for him in the freezer.”

  Yuri hangs up as they begin to complain. He is looking at the very same picture, framed on his desk. “You were quite the group, the best the Soviet Union had ever produced,” he tells them. “Especially you,” he says to the solitary woman in the shot.

  Not many were still around. Afghanistan, the Russian White House Coup, and Chechnya had thinned the herd. A few threw in with mobsters and did quite well. Most had vanished. Now Sasha was dead, and Colonel Yuri Petrovich Dimitriov of the SVR is left to figure out why.

  “Something in the past,” Suddenly a wave of anxiety hits him, nearly causing him to drop his butt.

  “Holy God, no!” He looks back at the picture. “That’s crazy,” trying to shrug off the thought, but he’d best eliminate this possibility. He calls an old friend in Moscow.

 

  Chapter 14

  Char Qala

  A little Raven UAV buzzes low over the street, annoying the onlookers, but the sound is a comfort to the troops keeping watch outside the shop. The model airplane on steroids is less of an attention getter than a chopper, but it’s almost as good a surveillance platform. After a final pass, it dives back up into the darkness. It can see just about everything, but it is only as good as its operators.