Writing Forbidden

Forbidden is a story unlike anything you've read. I make this claim as its setting is in the Middle East. The two main characters are resisting the temptation to fall in love. Captain Khan is Muslim and doesn't need another complication in his life.  He's busy dodging his enemies, including a crooked Police Chief.

Eliza MacKay is a foreigner under house arrest in Captain Khan's police station. She is battling with more than her attraction to the handsome police captain. She needs to find a way back to Canada before Captain Khan discovers her true identity.

Below is a draft of the first several chapters. Forbidden will be published in 2014. If you wish to know more about this amazing thriller, contact the author at:

featherstone.author@gmail.com

Forbidden

Eliza could hear the soft moans coming from Captain Khan’s small bedroom. He was alone. The frustrated man sought release from the primordial ache, the need to sew his seed, if only into the folds of his bed’s linen. Moans became grunts and a rhythmic breathlessness. As she listened to him her body responded. She fought to suppress her body’s traitorous urging to go to him. The captain was handsome enough, but thankfully his permanent scowl had dampened thoughts of seducing the man. Besides, he was Muslin. It was forbidden to have physical contact.

 As his body’s urgency soared toward its climax, he barely suppressed the song of his ecstasy. She worried that the men in the compound might hear him and would conclude that he had taken advantage of having her for his pleasure. That would bring her into the red zone of risk. She could be considered available for the taking. His cries went on to a muffled fever pitch.

Her body convulsed in response to the sensual sounds. She gripped her pillow and moaned into the feather stuffing. Tears welled into her eyes; she hadn’t been with a man since the death of her husband four years and three months ago.

 He couldn’t have known that if he’d simply touched her shoulder, she might have been tempted to follow him to his room. She ached too, but simply to be embraced, held firmly, reassured that all would be made right, and soon she would be allowed leave Arab soil. Eliza thanked God and all the saints that she knew, and offered gratitude to any others that were unknown to her that Captain Khan had remained true to his faith, seeing her as a mere woman to whom he was bound by Islamic and civil law to protect.

A short time earlier, he had returned to his dark apartment above the police station, and as usual it was about five o’clock in the morning. He and his police force had made certain the dissidents who stalked the dark streets of the old city were arrested, or killed. Those who escaped Hashim’s lethal enforcement of the law retreated to their lairs.

Without turning on the ceiling light, he’d walked quietly to her cot in the sitting room, briefly making sure she’d not run off. She’d feigned a sleeping pose. He muttered under his breath in his foreign tongue, “Cursed witch.” He bumped into a chair she’d moved and uttered profanity in clear English, “Fuck!”

 Eliza had a good understanding of the Arabic language - basic knowledge of what a tourist typically should know, plus the ability to educate a few of the locals on first aid. She’d added curses to her vocabulary of the difficult language. One needed to know when a stranger was smiling and welcoming but uttering obscenities while shaking your hand.

The captain spoke English fluently and with a British accent. Yesterday, a day when he was more amiable, Captain Khan had said that he’d been educated in London. He’d graduated from university as a civil engineer. When he returned to his homeland with a young wife and two children, his government needed men to protect the security of the people more than use for a civil engineer. Two years ago, his wife retreated back to England. The children remained with him. The conversation abruptly ended.

She sighed deeply as she lay under her blanket. According to Islamic law, he had sinned, several times, starting with the curses and ending with the cries of ecstasy. His usual dark mood would deepen and he would probably see her as the cause of Allah’s displeasure with him. He would need to do several kaffarahs as compensation.

He hated having his privacy invaded. She was well aware that the police chief had demanded she be kept out of sight, preferably in one of his holding cells. “They are no place for a lady,” Captain Khan had said to her. “You will stay in my apartment so long as you conduct yourself with the utmost respect and modesty.”

Her space had been precisely defined. She was not to trespass into his bedroom. The captain had not made any offensive or threatening advances toward her and he had ordered his platoon to keep their distance. He had placed a cot for her against the wall farthest away from the door to his bedroom.  A bathroom was down a hallway. His apartment's furnishings were old, functional and clean.

The small sitting room included a threadbare blue and gold paisley print sofa and a kitchen if it could be called that. There was a two burner electric hotplate and a small fridge, a few dishes and cutlery, an old scarred wooden table and a couple of chairs that had been repaired several times. Clearly, he used the apartment mainly for sleeping between shifts, his being the night shift – a long fourteen-hour night shift, though he was required to be available twenty four hours a day.

Being an unwanted guest in his sacred space and in a land filled with unique strict mores and laws was daunting. Though Eliza had respect for the Islamic moral conduct for women, she drew a line in the sand at some aspects.  She had a blue silk headscarf tucked in a pocket of her pants if it was absolutely necessary that her head be covered, but putting it on would wake up her claustrophobia demons.  She was grateful that women seldom wore the burkha which had been demanded by the fundamentalists.  She wore loose- fitting white cotton long pants with a voluminous shirt that reached well past her butt.

Even so, her clothes failed to hide the fact that she had a tall, slim, curvaceous body. When the hot wind teased at her clothing, men stared. She kept her silky strawberry blonde hair in a long French braid. Keeping her hair away from her face accentuated her large green eyes. By the end of the day, though, much of her hair escaped its entrapment and clung to the sweat around her neck as the heat rose. She was considered a beauty, even at 36 years of age.

In a few minutes he would walk to the bathroom and perform ablutions, the required ritual cleansing. Then, as usual, he would kick her bed to wake her and demand she wait in the stairwell while he performed the sunrise prayer, the first of the five daily prayers, bowing and lying prostrate on the floor in the direction of Mecca.

At last she heard him shuffling toward the bathroom.  A breeze from the open window carried the scent of his clothes toward her.  The distinct smell of gunpowder and blood nearly made her gag.  Once he had closed the bathroom door, she quickly got up and retrieved the clothes she had been wearing for the past five days.  This morning she would be dressed before the rude kicking of her bed.  She winced at the foul smell of her own shirt.

In her bare feet she scurried to the apartment’s door and sat down on the landing of the dark stairway.  At the bottom was a hallway that led into the captain’s office, the training facility, the secretary’s office, the administration offices and a general purpose room for the police constables.  She had left his apartment door slightly ajar so she could know when the prayers were finished.

She began to shiver as she waited on the cement steps.  The stairwell was dark except for the sliver of light that escaped through the apartment door.  Crumpled paper, cigarette butts, and dirt littered the stairs.  No, the officers were not about to do “woman’s work”.  She had gotten used to the smell, more or less.  Men’s lockers could be foul-smelling but these stairs were miles beyond the odor of sweat and decay of dead skin cells. She looked down at her feet, which were turning blue and leaving traces of her footprints in the step’s dust.  Oh, she moaned in her mind, what I would give for a warm bath.  The showers the Captain allowed were limited to five minutes of lukewarm water, heated only by the day’s burning sun.

Hashim’s prayers were more fervent this morning.  Begging forgiveness, she thought.  She huddled over her knees, arms crossed across her chest to try to conserve the warmth of her body.  Why the hell do I keep forgetting my coat?

She also wanted to scrounge through the baggage of the dead Americans and see if there was anything she could use.  Perhaps she would find a book to read, or a cell phone among their belongings.  If she could make just one phone call to her boss in Edmonton, this nightmare would end.  Someone would come to her rescue.

She blew warm air into her cold hands.  It would take another couple of hours before the morning sun would chase off the bitter cold of the night.  It would take something greater to remove the cold stares she received from Captain Khan’s men.

The chanting had stopped.  Cautiously she stepped to the door and nudged it open a few more inches.  He was gone.  The sitting room was hers until he got up in the mid-afternoon, or early afternoon if he had an appointment at Police Headquarters with his boss, Chief Ramzi, the Chief of Police.

After a meeting with the Chief Ramzi, yesterday, he had called her into his office. She hoped he had good news.  His glum expression dashed her visions of being escorted to the airport. He informed her that release of any information concerning the massacre was forbidden. The identity of the killers was still unknown.  He further explained that Chief Ramzi would inform him of a ruling concerning her at a later date.

A distinct ominous tone in his voice made her catch her breath.

She was not under arrest, ‘per se’, but he continued to refuse her access anywhere without police escort.  She was not allowed to venture past the police compound walls or gate.  Her requests to make a phone call to the Canadian consulate were all denied.  In fact, she had not been allowed to contact anyone.  She had been allowed to keep her MP3 player.  Captain Khan had locked up her international phone and iPad in his safe.

Eliza was hungry.  The captain had provided enough food for her meals - coffee, locally baked bread, butter, eggs, cheese, milk, vegetables, rice, nuts, fruit and bottled water.  She rationed the food and the water, keeping her consumption down to the minimum - a good breakfast, then a simple snack every two hours. 

She maintained a strict regime of exercise and meditation in the morning.  During the afternoon and evening she washed, swept, dusted, and cleaned every nook and cranny of the apartment. Today, she planned to expand her cleaning territory to the stairs and hallway. Her psychiatrist had cautioned her to keep busy. Idle time allowed the twisted visions to rise.

Now that Captain Khan was in his bedroom, Eliza washed and tidied herself.  She quietly made space on the sitting room’s floor for her hour-long meditation.

After meditation, next on her schedule was yoga.  Hatha yoga exercised her total being.  After a one-hour session she was so centered and calm that even Hashim’s scowl had no effect upon her.  Doing the yoga positions without the aid of a floor pad created an extra element of risk, and the noise of her sudden falls made the room tremble.

Eliza grinned at the recollection of the morning two days ago when she had fallen hard doing a headstand.   She was successful on the second attempt.  Her loose shirt had slipped down to her shoulders exposing her round firm breasts.  The captain bounded out of his bedroom wearing only his boxers, his AK47 raised to cut down an intruder.  He’d gasped, uttered some unintelligible words, spun around on his heels, and retreated into his bedroom.  She nearly fell, trying to restrain her giggles.  “Good job, girls.”

Golly, she thought, he’s so much like an innocent boy.  When he put on the act of a tough guy, she had learned that her smile could make him stutter, lose track of his thoughts. No wonder he seldom looked in her direction.

The captain stood a good four inches taller than her five foot eight inches.  His cropped dark brown hair and beard outlined his strong facial bones. His eyes were obsidian.  On the rare occasions when he did not wear aviator sunglasses, she discovered the black depths were as soft as velvet.  It surprised her that she found him attractive. Eliza had to admit she was developing an appreciation for the man.  After all, he had saved her life.

Her morning exercise routine stirred her appetite. She could hear the snores coming from Hashim’s bedroom. She got the fry pan and made scrambled eggs, with a combination of peppers and onions mixed in. The water for her coffee began to boil and the buttered the flat bread. Hashim had bought her a jar of blueberry jam. “For good behavior,” he had said yesterday as he set the glass jar onto the old wood table with a smack, and departed back to his office downstairs.

A clean white towel served as a tablecloth. Well, it used to be white. It looked as though it had been used for multiple tasks, perhaps wiping up spills from the floor and soaking up blood from a wound. But it was clean.

She opened the window that overlooked the compound. The view was high enough that she could partially see the cityscape beyond the guarded gate. A park separated the police compound from the busy street a block away. Most buildings were one or two stories, and simple mud brick or concrete. Taller office buildings in the distance, shrouded by smog, dotted the downtown section.

Streets hummed with continuous traffic, dodging pedestrians and farmers. Old men pushed carts of vegetables and fruit, others skillfully herded their goats. Crowds of busy people, mostly men and children, filled the sidewalks from early morning to sundown. Children trotted warily, always in groups. When the midnight curfew arrived, Eliza sensed an uneasy hush enveloped the city.

As she ate her breakfast she listened to the sounds of the waking ancient city. It came to life each morning at five o’clock with the call to prayer. The haunting musical sound of the Muezzin called to the devoted. His earnest supplication reached more than those with faith in Islam. Dogs barked. Even Eliza, who had no religious convictions, was deeply moved by the reverence of Fajr, prayer before the sun rises.

The night finally surrendered to the keeper of the day, the relentless burning sun. Canadian Eliza had no difficulty in adjusting to the extremes of temperature, keeping warm during the near freezing nights, and then dress for the daytime heat, often pushing the fall temperature well above the 80’s F. As traffic kicked up the dust of the cold, semi-arid city, she listened to the horns honking, men shouting, children laughing, gates opening and closing. The aromas of spice and street food vendors selling breakfast blended with the car exhaust, her eggs and blueberry jam on bread. There was an air of expectancy, anticipation, even urgency in the way the citizens walked and talked.

Eliza was mystified how during the fifteen minutes when they halted their activities for daytime prayers, an air of tranquility was palpable. Even those who appeared less faithful and ignored the religious practice slowed their pace. The Muezzin’s melodious voice rose, reminding the faithful of their connection with Allah, of the teachings of Islam, of the gratitude for the blessings of the earth. Everyone regardless of rank, gender, wealth, sins or honor, stood shoulder to shoulder and intoned their praises to Allah, the forgiver of sins, the lord of peace and harmony.

Eliza surveyed the captain’s apartment. He kept his space clean and orderly. The Persian carpet in front of the sofa, the white plastered walls, the windows, and his bathroom – nothing bore the marks of the chaos that permeated his life beyond the door to his sanctuary.

He disliked anything being moved from its “home.” Still, he wasn't anal about all of it. He had accommodated her with a cot, linens, blanket and towels. He set aside space in the bathroom for her toiletries, separated from his on a shelf above the pedestal sink. His toiletries had been shifted over to the shower stall.

He simply shrugged when he found her stuff taking up space in the sitting room. Not that she had much stuff – just her handbag, trauma kit, one small suitcase and a carryon piece. She kept her trauma kit, an oversized orange backpack, within arm’s reach at all times. Her few clothes were folded on a small side table beside her cot. So long as she kept her distance, and respected his private space, he was reasonably amiable. The arrangement worked well enough.

After breakfast Eliza decided to push for exercise time outside the building. She would have to ask the day shift captain, Captain Khizar, if she could walk the interior perimeter of the police compound’s walls. Her gut tightened. Captain Khizar made it crystal clear that he disliked her. When Captain Hashim Khan had introduced him to her, he'd barely acknowledged her and she had detected the grimace on the younger man’s face.

Before descending down the stairs, Eliza made sure her appearance was acceptable, revealing no skin below the neck. Her shirt and pants were loose fitting, concealing her sex. She tied her hair into a ponytail. She considered putting on the scarf to cover her head, but it seemed pointless as Hashim had told her it was required only if she was out in public, beyond the compound's gates.

At the bottom of the stairs she listened for sounds of the men. She approached the captain’s office and sighed with relief to see he had already left. Going down a short hallway, Eliza turned right towards the crew quarter’s door. She hesitated, listening for sounds that indicated the mood of the men. There was laughter coming from the other side of the door. She was in luck. It would only take a moment, she thought, to just let them know where she was heading, a brief walk in the early morning sun.

Eliza knocked on the door, careful that the sound was not too timid but not too demanding either. The laughter suddenly died. The door swung open by a constable, who flashed his handgun toward her head. She stood silent.  Her heart vibrated her throughout her chest. Skilled in hiding her emotions, Eliza looked into the officer’s eyes and raised her hands slowly to indicate she had no weapon. The officer relaxed slightly. An intimidating smirk grew on his face. His weapon was lowered to the level of her chest. The three other men in the room began to gather behind him.

In a trivializing voice, the day sergeant said to the constable, “The whore is mine. Leave her to me.”

The sergeant sauntered up to her and chuckled. His eyes lit up like a child about to open his birthday gift. He lowered his gaze to her Nikes, and then slowly raised his focus to her mid-section, then to her chest. Finally he looked at her eyes. Eliza did not change her expression from that of bland indifference to his suggestive piercing stare.

In any other situation she would have leaped back and ran as fast as her legs would carry her. In the moment, she believed it was imperative to show strength. Eliza stood her ground but was careful to not challenge the sergeant. His pride was obvious and, if she pushed the wrong buttons, he would instantly secure his ego regardless of any possible fear of Captain Khan.

He had called her a whore, but she repressed the impulse to admonish him. She held her head high indicating confidence, and resisted the urge to put her hands on her hips. That was too aggressive, even suggestive. Body language could defeat her faster than the wrong choice of words.

“My apologies for the interruption,” she said in Arabic. “I'm going for a walk,” she said, turning to the exit door.

The officers chuckled as the sergeant stepped forward and blocked her exit. His face came uncomfortably close to hers. He spoke with a grin, accompanied by the rhythmic flexing and gyrating of his hips. "Welcome. Come in." The three men cheered as the sergeant grabbed her shirt and pulled her into room.

Eliza stiffened her posture. The four men formed a circle around her.  Her heart was pounding madly in her chest. The sergeant lunged toward her. He took her shirt into his fist and in one swift move, ripped it away from her and flung it to the floor.  Her white cotton tank top clung to her body like a second skin. The men gawked at the generous curves of her breasts.

“Stop. Let me go!” She bolted toward the door.

The sergeant rushed toward her.

“No!” Eliza hollered in his Arabic language. Her arms were outstretched to fend off the attack. Her legs were rubber bands, barely holding her trembling body upright.

The officer grabbed the waistband of her cotton pants and gave it a firm yank. It held fast. His grip tore at her skin and she shrieked in pain as she fell to the floor. He pinned her to the floor and placed a hand over her mouth. "Quiet," he growled.

The rest of the men pounced on her, grabbing her arms and legs. Before they got a firm grip on her, she was able to twist and squirm enough that someone lost his hold over her mouth. Eliza let out another ear-piercing scream. Her self-defense training felt useless.

“That’s enough,” one said. “Let her go.” Two men let go of their grip on her legs.

Kicking and biting, she escaped their grip, and once more bounded to the door. She flung the door open. A man grabbed her hair and she screamed again. “If Khan can have her, so can we!”

There was the unmistakable sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs from the captain’s apartment. The men froze. The door flung open, crashing against the wall. Captain Khan stood in the doorway, wearing only his boxers. His AK47 threatened retaliation. The men threw themselves onto the floor.

Eliza knelt on all fours. She gasped for air and tried to stand. Her body shook violently and she tumbled to the floor.

He spit the words out, "What are you idiots doing? Get up, you lowest of low. Up against the wall!"

They scrambled to form a line in front of the captain. Each one got a dose of the disgust that was clearly evident on the captain's face. The men stood rigid, yet breathing heavily. Sweat rolled down their faces. The captain paced in front of the sergeant and his three men. He glanced back at her. “Get your shirt on!” he snarled.

Eliza grabbed the torn shirt and put it on. She managed to stand. Anger and fear fought for dominance over her shaky legs.

“Get out, MacKay!” he hollered without looking in her direction.

She stumbled to the door and slammed it closed behind her. He probably expected her to return to the apartment. Rather than a place of safety, it would feel more like a trap. Eliza walked around to the side of the police building. Suddenly she found herself standing in front of the wall of hell.

The wall still bore the signs of the massacre. Bullet holes and dark red splatter stain on the walls, along with embedded pieces of tissue, told the story in gruesome detail. Eliza slumped against the cement wall, slid slowly to the ground and squeezed her eyes shut. She clenched her fists as her mind catapulted to the night she arrived in the captain’s compound four days ago.

Eliza had met the fifteen Habitat volunteers at the airport shortly before ten at night.  The Habitat leader gathered the group for a brief head count. “We’re here,” he announced, smiling. He had nodded in her direction. “Ah, Mrs. Ramsay, I see you decided to join our group. Nice to see you arrived safely.” He continued to address the group. “We’re the first to start building homes in this part of the country. Make sure you show respect for the customs and laws. You have received all the required literature?” Everyone nodded and murmured agreement. Their impatience to get out of the airport showed in their focus on the exit doors.

“Okay, then. Be aware of your body language, your facial expressions. I don’t mean to cause unnecessary alarm, but you all know the consequences of perceived insults.” The leader had nervously fidgeted with his coat’s zipper, pulling it up and down, again and again.

All luggage, including Eliza’s and her medical supplies, were loaded into a three quarter ton army truck, and the weary Americans piled into a small bus. One police truck led the way. The bus and supply truck followed. Two motorcycles driven by police officers were at the rear.

It was supposed to have been a three-hour drive from the airport to the rural work site.  After only a half hour into the trip the convoy had made a stop.  Her Habitat companions had been allowed to use the bathrooms and stretch their legs.

Eliza noticed lights of Samarra in the distance. As the capital of the Republic of Islamic Nations and Territories, it had survived nearly eighty years of civil war. Finally, the old shah was deposed and President Najeeb established a democratic government embracing both civil and Islamic law.

Upon establishing his government, President Najeeb had publicly stated, “The Republic of Islamic Nations and Territories will reclaim our place among leading nations.” It had been a bold claim. The UN members tentatively welcomed and supported President Najeeb and his ministers. It would take time to test the viability and integrity of his government.

The World Development of Agricultural Commission had collaborated with Habitat for Humanity. The goal to aid the farmers of the Middle East was aggressive. And businesses from around the world poured in to restore the once beautiful and ancient, semi-arid city. Over the past five years of stable government, there were definite signs of progress slowly returning the economy to its previous prosperity.

Eliza walked unnoticed to the supply truck and jumped inside. She switched on her pocket size flashlight and quietly pulled out her trauma kit/back pack. She slipped her passport and documents into the trauma kit's hidden compartment.

The night air was biting cold. The truck’s canvas housing provided little protection from the breeze that slipped through the rear flap. She pulled the flap aside enough to see the starlit sky. The moon was bright and cast long shadows in front of the poorly lit gas station. Murmurs of conversations drifted from a huddle of men in front of the supply truck. They whispered. Eliza sensed there was tension among the three soldiers keeping watch around the perimeter of the convoy.  She heard someone grunt, then sounds of men wrestling. As she sat on the luggage, her intuition begged her to remain silent.

She should have felt safe, but her unease refused to be silenced. The Habitat group arrived back from the trip to the bathrooms. She caught the eye of a woman she had been sitting beside in the last van and told her she would be staying in the supply truck. The woman nodded and shuffled on.

Eliza found her luggage and quietly retrieved her dark blue down-filled coat. As the vehicles began to move again, she held the canvas flap aside and sat back to watch the desert vanish into the night sky. She flipped up her parka’s hood over her blond hair.

Eliza had studied the route. She knew the names of the roads though her ability to read Arabic wasn’t strong. She knew how far to travel and what landmarks to look for. She also understood the language and customs.

As she watched the road vanish into the night behind the motorcyclists, she noted they were arriving in a city. It worried her. Their worksite was supposed to be on the perimeter of a rural town. She saw groups of houses, a few mosques, market stalls, then a hotel, then more service stations. This was definitely not according to the information she had gathered. Places of business, banks, and coffee shops flashed by. The streets were nearly empty, barren of traffic and pedestrians. It was nearly the city's curfew hour.

The marked increase in the convoy speed alarmed her. An armored vehicle with a mounted machine gun had abruptly moved up. Eliza let the canvas flap move back to shut off the view. There was something terribly wrong.

The procession stopped. Gates hinges squealed in protest. Eliza’s intuition screamed at her to run. If it were not for the armed vehicle at the rear, she would have leaped from the supply truck and disappeared into the night.

The vehicles lurched forward. Through a space in the flap, she saw a massive iron gate close behind the rear truck.  High walls extended on either side. The vehicles stopped abruptly in a dimly-lit compound. She strained to hear a pleasant greeting, an apology for the change of plans, anything that would tell her heart to stop its thundering in her chest.

Someone shouted in Arabic, then in English, "Get out of the bus!"

“Stay together,” called out the leader, like a mother hen rounding up her chicks. At first the volunteers sounded merely nervous and annoyed, but their mood rapidly deteriorated when the lead truck, bus, and two motorcyclist drove out of the compound.

“Frank, there’s something not right here.” The man’s alarm ricocheted through his companions, and the shouting of the fifteen men and women echoed their fear. Footsteps and grumbling reminded her of nervous horses in a corral – wild-eyed, snorting and circling as they searched for an escape.

The leader attempted to calm his group. "I’m sure this will all make sense. I'll see why there’s been a change. Who’s in charge here?” he called out.

The freezing air paled in comparison to the chill that ran through Eliza. She shivered and felt dizzy as scattered thoughts fed her fear. The unmistakable sound of guns being cocked sucked the air from Eliza’s lungs, and she gasped for air.

In her terror, Eliza’s senses became acute. She heard the ping, ping of cell phones. Somewhere close, Eliza heard the trembling voice of a woman crying, "Charlie, pick up the phone. Please. Oh God ...." A short blast of gunfire terminated the call.

The truck with the mounted machine gun swerved around the supply truck and stopped a short distance ahead. More gunfire forced the volunteers to run screaming. A man came into her view as he scrambled in desperation toward the gate. One of the police officers fired, and the man dropped, bloody and lifeless.

Her body trembled. She would be found. She was just minutes from being killed unless she could bury herself among the luggage. Terrified to make any sound, yet frantic to hide, she clung to her backpack pressed against her chest. Her mind was in turmoil. Nausea rose from her gut, a cold sweat enveloped her skin. She swallowed hard over and over again.  Her body felt transparent as she gasped for air. If she failed to get her mind under control, there was no hope. She bit into her fist until the pain was unbearable.

The machine gun roared, firing short rapid bursts of bullets. Explosions of panic and screams cut through the night. Eliza fell to the floor to escape the barrage of bullets. What she did next verged on insanity.

Eliza plunged out of the supply vehicle and ran toward the big gun mounted on the armored vehicle. She jumped up and attacked the man firing the gun. Shock halted his murderous mission. She clawed at his face and grabbed his hair, attempting to get him off balance.

He was a big man and barely affected by her frantic moves. Someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her off the vehicle. Her years of martial arts training kicked in. She swung around and kneed him in the groin. He went down. Another man moved in and tried to bash her head with the butt of his rifle.

She darted behind the supply truck just as a bullet ripped through her down coat’s shoulder. The jolt of the torn fabric was followed by puffs of down feathers. If she was hit, her raging adrenalin masked the pain.

More shots were now fired from vehicles that suddenly appeared at the gate. Their bright headlights blinded her. She turned away to shield her eyes and saw her two attackers fall, their faces a mass of torn, bloody tissue.

Someone behind the lights shouted in English, “Stay behind the truck.”

Driven by panic, she continued to run an erratic, aimless course. Silhouettes of shapes, helmets, guns and bloody bodies flashed in front of her. To run was her only clear thought. Run like a wild animal, blind to the teeth that would tear her apart.

The machine gun’s bullets began to predict her erratic moves, and when its thunder suddenly stopped she glanced back. The man at the machine gun was slumped down and falling off the truck. His two companions were now focused on the gate. More shots came from behind the blinding light. The two killers were cut down.

Eliza stopped and gazed in bewilderment at the tall form appearing in the light. His weapon was raised. More men stood behind him. He shouted in English, “Stop where you are. Don’t move. Now!”

The voice demanded absolute obedience. She could not make out his face. He wore a police uniform like the killers had, black shirt, pants, flak jacket, military books, helmet. If not for the lights of the compound and his vehicle, he would have been invisible. As he marched toward her, the aim of his AK47 was held in her direction.

Eliza looked around her. To her horror, all her companions appeared to be dead. Flesh violently ripped, vacant open eyes, clothes soaked in blood. She saw a person writhing in pain and dashed in her direction.

Eliza knelt down beside the woman. Her skin was cold and clammy, and her lips were blue. Her chest was bleeding and she was having difficulty breathing. When she saw Eliza, she gripped Eliza’s arm hard. “You’ll be okay,” Eliza reassured the woman.

The woman had a collapsed lung. Eliza needed to set up a valve to release the air trapped in the pleural sac. “I’ll get my kit and you’ll be okay.” Eliza’s hands were trembling as she struggled to release the woman’s grip. As she ran back to the supply truck, someone attempted to block her path.

“Stop!” demanded the officer who had followed her.

She noted the stripes on his shoulders. He held the rank of captain. Her adrenalin was still an angry river.  "That woman is still alive. Get out of my way!" She dodged him and jumped into the supply truck. She grabbed her backpack and ran to her patient.

The man continued to follow but gave her enough space. In seconds she was setting up her equipment. Eliza managed to calm her shaking hands enough to insert a large bore needle into the side of the woman’s chest, expelling the trapped air. She continued to work rapidly to stop the bleeding and to get an intravenous line running. The woman seemed to be breathing more easily but her skin color was turning bluer.

Eliza knew the woman required surgery. Her injuries were miles beyond her training. She held the woman’s hand and pleaded with her to not give up, but her pulse quickly faded and then stopped. Eliza felt suddenly desolate and abandoned.

She stumbled back and slumped down against a wall. She stared at the grisly scene.  Numbed with disbelief, she felt suspended from her body. A breeze lifted torn pieces of paper and carried them in a ghostly fashion toward her. The passage of time ceased, held frozen in the cold horror. She briefly closed her eyes, and let her head fall back against the wall. As she gazed up into the black void, a flash caught her attention. It was a distant falling star – silent and fatal. An ominous sign.

Someone grabbed her shoulder.  As she got up, she struggled to get her mind into gear. Someone forced her to move forward. A surge of adrenalin erupted with such velocity that she was able to fling off the man’s grip like he was a child. It was then she realized she had not been shot.

More hands grabbed her and bullied her forward to a building and into an office. The men were still pumped by the battle.  They tried to force her into a chair near a desk. As far as she was concerned, these men were murderers, no different from the ones who killed her companions.

They cursed in their Arabic. "Damn stupid woman. Where's Captain Khan?"

She tried to fight off two short wiry men as they pulled off her bulky coat and tossed it into a corner. They twisted her arms behind her while another attempted a body search. When he received a sharp kick to his shin he backed away. With her hands held near a man’s thigh, she clawed at his groin. Instantly, he shifted his body but his grip never wavered.

Someone pushed a chair behind her knees. She fell hard onto the seat.

The men grunted and cursed as they fought to keep her in the chair. She could smell their strong odor. She gagged as beads of their sweat fell onto her face. Handcuffs came into her view. She became desperate and cried out, “Let me go.”

A large muscular man came into the room. “Stop. Leave her alone,” he ordered in Arabic.

As her wrists were freed, she flew across the large wood desk.

“I’m Sergeant Abdul-Muqtadir. Please sit in this chair.” He motioned with his hands toward the chair.

“No!” she replied in Arabic. “Let me out of here!” She pulled one of the desk drawers open and found a pair of scissors. She grasped them in a threatening fashion and glared at the four constables. “Don’t touch me!”

The men glanced at each other in shock, apparently surprised that the woman spoke in their language.

The captain bolted into the room. “Stop,” he said in clear English. “Put those scissors down. You will not be harmed.”

“Bullshit!” she replied in English. Eliza trembled, overwhelmed with rage and shock.

“Sergeant, get that scene secure. Setup for ID and disposal.” The Sergeant gave the orders and stood by his captain. The men rushed out of the office.

Unable to switch off her frantic efforts to escape, Eliza scanned the room for a way out.

 “Calm down.” The captain’s voice had softened marginally though Eliza could sense he was still on guard. “Sit down, please. Do you understand English?” he asked.

She ignored him and glanced at the doorway. There was only the one big man standing there, the Sergeant.

“Captain, she speaks Arabic.”

His eyebrows twitched. “She spoke Arabic?”

“Yes, sir.”

He moved to stand behind his desk.  It forced her to return to the front of the desk. “Please sit down, miss.”

Slowly to not betray her intent, she moved toward the chair. At the last second before reaching the chair, she lunged toward the door. The Sergeant standing in her path hadn’t been prepared for her kick to the groin. He went down hard. She leaped to the exit door, jumped down the stairs, missing all four steps.

She ran to the gate and tugged on the bars. The gate was immovable. The bars were spaced horizontally and vertically about four inches apart, rising about fifteen feet high. At the top was a strand of wire. It wasn’t barbed so Eliza believed it would be simple enough to climb over.  As she began to ascend the gate, the captain and his officers gathered around beneath her.

The captain shouted orders in Arabic. “Shut off the current. Shut it off now!”

Eliza was beyond hearing anything more than her own racing heart. Rage was gone. In its place was despair.

As she got closer to the wire, she realized it surged with a deadly charge. She could feel the hum in her tangled hair whipping around her face. Beyond the wall was an empty street. There was no friend or place of refuge for thousands of miles. Below her were men who, she believed, had killed her companions. They were about to put her in a prison or worse, if that was possible. She had heard about prisons in the Middle East.

She heard someone pleading to not touch the wire. Oh, she wanted to. I could end it all right now, she thought. Maybe this time it would work. How many times have I failed? At least three, she remembered. She reached for the deadly wire.

 “Please don’t touch that wire,” someone said in clear English below her.

Eliza looked down. The captain was standing directly beneath her. Eliza’s hand stopped in mid motion, her fingers just an inch away from curling around the current that would stop her heart.  Suddenly she felt exhausted.  Her limbs began to tremble. She gasped as she fell like a bird with a broken wing.  She was barely aware of the hands and arms that braced to break her fall. 

She hit the ground hard. Her butt took most of the impact. Someone had grabbed her shoulders and let her down gently. As the last dregs of energy burned, she sat up. In the bright light she saw the captain’s hat frame his face. 

He bent down on one knee. “Are you all right, miss? He gave her shoulders a gentle shake. “Are you in any pain?”

Eliza did a mental body scan. Testing for injuries, she straightened her back and jerked away from his grasp. She hurt everywhere. The dirt and stains on her loose fitting, camel colored, cotton slacks reminded her of the bag women in her home city. Her hair was a mess, tangled and hanging in strands in front of her eyes. She tucked it behind her ears. She chuckled to herself. In less than an hour, in spite of her great wealth, she had joined the ranks of the destitute and powerless.

She looked at the officer waiting for her response. There appeared to be genuine concern in the dark eyes. She remained momentarily transfixed by his gaze. In an odd sort of way, she gained strength from him.  Even so, the gentle girl-child within longed for arms to wrap around her shoulders. She stiffened. It was risky to appear weak.

She shook her head. “No pain,” she lied.

He looked relieved. He removed his flak jacket and placed his coat over her shoulders. Returning to the ugly business before them, he began to bark orders to his men.

“Sergeant, first take photos of the scene and each body.  Get the identification from the victims.  Keep any ID from the killers separate.  Use your gloves and search for evidence.  Fingerprint the killers. Get as much information off the killers as you can.”  He directed another to get body bags.  “Bag all the bodies and load them into the half ton trucks. Be sure to tag the body with the name found on the passport.  Sergeant, how many are there?”

The large man Eliza had kicked ran up to the captain. “Fifteen victims, all American – ten men and five women. Six killers, sir.”

“Warn your men there is to be absolutely no discussion of this to anyone. Understood?”

The sergeant nodded, “Yes, sir. Understood.”

The captain lowered his voice. “Be ready for the chief’s arrival. This is going to get nasty.”

“Agreed. I’ll make a list of witnesses who will verify our position when we received the tip. Captain,” the sergeant hesitated, “we might be taking the blame for this.”

“Inshallah, by morning we’ll know who’s responsible for this. Normally, these terrorist are eager to take credit and make a statement first thing in the morning. If not, the Chief Ramzi and Mayor Aamir will be looking for a way to keep their jobs. This took place in our city in a police compound. The President will hold them responsible. All of us.”

More lights were activated to lite up the compound.  Men scrambled about moving bodies and vehicles.  She remembered her trauma kit still at the side of the woman.  As she put her body into motion, every joint complained.  Every muscle trembled with fatigue.  She was at the bottom of her reserves.  Gathering up some residual anger, she mustered the strength to walk through the bloody hell.  The captain stepped in her path. “Stay here.”

“I must get my kit,” she said through clenched teeth.

He switched on the safety of his AK47 and kept pace with her.  His men were focused on collecting evidence and placing the bodies into bags.  Others were picking up spent bullet casings.  They were meticulously cleaning up the signs of the crime.  She wondered how the captain was going to remove the splatters of blood and torn body flesh on the cement walls.

When she tried to pick up her trauma kit, her muscles failed to grip and hold the thirty-five pound bright orange backpack.  The captain lifted it and asked, “Is there anything else you need tonight?”

She grabbed it away from him and shifted it onto her back.  Her body swayed with the weight.  He slung his AK47 over his shoulder.  She struggled to think coherently.  Come on, she chastised herself.  Don’t let them think you can’t handle this.  She straightened her posture and took a deep breath.  Center!  Pull yourself together, woman.  You’ve been through worse.  Get your stuff!

Eliza glanced at the captain.  He was distracted, watching the activity of his men.  He pulled out his cell phone and was hesitating to make a call.  To his superiors, she figured.  It was well past midnight.  His boss would be in bed.  Since she had been a superintendent with the ambulance service, she knew what it was like to call a boss at his home in the middle of the night.  Trouble, big trouble.  Investigations, confrontations, reprimands, accusations, protocol breach reviews, interviews, and the infernal media.

He turned toward her.  “Miss, there is something I must tell you right now.  Are you listening?”

For the first time, she looked into the man’s face, studying the expression held in his eyes and mouth. He appeared as shocked and troubled as she felt. She nodded.  “Yes, I’m listening.”

“I am Captain Hashim Khan, the captain of the police in this section of the city.  What happened here, the death of your companions was not, I repeat, was not by the police force.  Is that clear?”

A buzz from his two-way radio interrupted him. “Dispatch to Captain Khan.”

“Captain Khan here.”

“Sir, we’ve received a report that there are three bodies just outside the city’s western limits. The army patrol found them.” The dispatcher paused. “Sir, they’re  ….”

“Say again, dispatch.”

“I’m sorry, sir. They are the three police officers you assigned to escort the Habitat people. They’re throats were slashed.” Eliza detected a trembling in the dispatcher’s voice.  “What are your orders, sir.”

Captain Khan barely hesitated. If Eliza hadn’t been standing beside him, no one would have heard the groan he uttered or have seen the slight hunch of his shoulders. “Send Captain Ahmed’s crew out to investigate. Ask the army patrol to remain on scene and keep the public out. Who’s in charge on scene?”

Captain Khan received the information he needed, and then called to his Sergeant. “Sergeant, the three police officers who were escorting these people have been found murdered.”

The Sergeant’s face revealed his shock. His mouth hung open and he shook his head. “No, shit!”

“They’re three miles just beyond our western city border. Take a man with you and meet up with Captain Ahmed’s crew and army patrol on scene. Report back to me when you arrive.” The Sergeant spun around on his heels, grabbed an officer and ran to his vehicle, still parked outside the gate.

Captain Khan turned back to her. “Now, do you trust me? Someone has executed a very daring attack on your people and mine. I need your full cooperation, miss. We need to find out who is responsible for this attack.”

She hesitated, still eyeing him suspiciously.  She frowned.  “You’re absolutely certain your police force, your government did not authorize execution of these people?”

“Absolutely certain, miss.  I received a tip that something major, a killing was about to take place at my station.  My squad was away on patrol a several blocks away.  We were not able to get here in time to stop the killings.”  He hesitated for a moment.  “I’m wondering why you were not with the group at the time the guns were fired?”

“At a stop along the way, I decided to check on my medical supplies in the supply truck.  As the space in the bus was cramped, I decided to stay in the supply truck.  I don’t think the police escorts knew I had switched vehicles.”

The captain nodded.  “Come back to my office.  It’s a bit warmer there.  Do you have all you need for the night?” His tone had softened slightly.

Eliza asked for her handbag, her overnight bag and a suitcase.  She wanted the medical supplies also.  The captain motioned toward the supply truck she had been riding in.

“Where are they taking the bodies?” she asked as he led her to the supply truck.

“A hospital morgue.  Point out your luggage.”

At the back of the supply truck she indicated the handbag, an overnight bag and one small suitcase. “Those boxes containing medical supplies are mine also.”

He called an officer to unload her stuff and led her back to his office. “You’ll be remaining here for the night.”

Eliza stood frozen in disbelief. “Captain, am I under arrest?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “No. Just following protocol for an international incident. The Police Chief may want to interrogate you.”

She had no strength left to put up an argument.  He had said ‘for the night’ so perhaps, if there was a bright side to this nightmare, she might be sent home tomorrow.

In his office he motioned for her to sit.  She removed his coat and went to retrieve her navy blue, down coat from where it had been thrown into a corner. Captain Khan grabbed it sending puffs of downy feathers into the air as they escaped from a shoulder bullet hole. He briefly noted the hole and looked at her shoulder. The fluff continued to swirl about him like miniature angels. He returned to check the contents of the coat pockets.  He found only a few coins and tossed them onto his table.

He tossed the coat to her. “Sit down, please.” He checked the denomination of the money. “Canadian coins,” he remarked inquisitively. “You’re not American?”

“No. I’m from Alberta, Canada.” She slumped into the chair and released a chuckle.

“Something amusing, miss?”

“Well, not exactly. I wasn’t supposed to be with this group. I called Habitat a few weeks ago asking if I could join the group. They said they didn’t need me but if I wanted to help out, I could meet up with them at the airport. Said that I wasn’t officially with Habitat. I was on my own.”

The cold night air penetrated through her exhausted mind. Her body began to shiver. Eliza stood up again and slipped into her coat and zipped it up. When the captain began to dump out the contents of her purse, she looked on stunned with the overt invasion of her privacy.  Her mind whirled attempting to understand his actions. “I’m a victim, not a damn criminal! Captain, why ….”

He interrupted. “What’s your name, miss?” His attention was solely on her personal items.

“Eliza MacKay.”

He glanced at her left hand and must have seen her gold wedding band. “Mrs. MacKay?”

She thrust her hands into the coat pockets. “No.  Miss MacKay will do.” Her level of irritation rose. The disrespect was galling. “Why are you going through my things?”

He ignored her and continued to paw through her stuff on his desk - airline boarding stubs, baggage claim tickets, used Kleenex, chap stick and her sunglasses.  He was quick to grab her international cell phone and iPad.  Her wallet was set aside.  He unzipped the purse compartments and gave the bag another shake. The remaining contents spilled out, small packet of Tylenol, lipstick, and package of Kleenex.  “Where’s your passport, Miss MacKay?”

She hesitated as if trying to recall where she had put it. “I moved it from my coat pocket at the airport into my suitcase, I think. She resisted reaching for her backpack.”

He studied her. It was an effort to restrain the signals of her lies. She attempted to remain still. Her self-discipline faded and she crossed her arms across her chest. Damn!

Her luggage was in the hallway. “Open all your luggage, miss.”

Eliza’s mouth suddenly became dry. She decided to attempt a distraction. “Where’s the bathroom, captain?”

Again, he ignored her. He opened her wallet and studied the cards and bits of paper in each compartment. “These cards say you’re name is Elizabeth MacKay. However, they are not official documents. I need your passport, or at the very least, your birth certificate and driver’s license.”

Eliza stepped up within arm’s reach to the captain.  “If you don’t want a puddle on your floor, direct me to the bathroom now.”

He appeared repulsed by her statement and stepped back a half step.  As if tasting something bitter, he looked away and motioned up.  “Up the stairs.”

She grabbed her backpack and led the way up the dark, narrow steps.

“Last door on your left.”

The hallway was dimly lit. Open doors on either side revealed there were sleeping quarters for the men though they appeared to not be used. Beds had no linen. Miscellaneous items and discarded office furniture were strewn about haphazardly. He moved ahead of her and used a key to unlock the door. “Here’s the bathroom,” he said indicating a door just inside the apartment.  “Leave the door ajar.  Don’t shut it.”

“Fine,” she said offhandedly as she rushed forward.

He grabbed her arm.  “Don’t underestimate me, Miss MacKay.  I will not tolerate any disrespect.  You do exactly as I say.”  His grip was hurting her arm.  “Exactly as I say!”

“Yes.  Now let me go!”  He released her.

 She dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. She expected him to kick the door open. For a breathless moment she stood trembling.

“Miss, you have three minutes before I kick this door open.”

She had won, this time. Inside the tiny bathroom she was relieved to see that it had the standard western style toilet, shower and sink. It had been kept clean and tidy.  She hoped the captain might get distracted with some other task and forget about the passport.  She believed that once he got his hands on her documents, she wouldn’t get them back. Besides, he would also discover her true identity. Whenever people knew who she was, her history, life became unbearable. The insanity returned.

When she returned to the captain waiting at his kitchen table, he was making the dreaded phone call to his superiors.  She could hear a loud angry voice coming from his phone.  She guessed that he was going to be on the receiving end of a boss accusing him of screwing up, negligence of security protocol, responsible for a national crisis, not to mention the effort of keeping the media at bay.

It shook her a bit to realize she had some sympathy for the captain.  She had in the past experienced the wrath of a paramedic service manager on a rampage because he was trying to deflect his responsibility for an incident onto the accused incompetence of those under his command.

The phone was slammed shut and shoved into his uniform inside pocket.  He motioned for her to sit at a small table.  Before he sat down he called on his radio to one of his officers.  “Bring a pot of coffee to my apartment.” 

Then he sat down across from her and brought out a pen and notepad. For a few minutes he made some notes in Arabic. His pen nearly cut through the page. “I will let the passport business go for now. I don’t have time. But let me be perfectly clear. I hate lies.” There was a knock at the door.

 “Come in,” he barked. The coffee arrived. He got two cups from his cupboard and poured the coffee.  “Got no sugar or milk.  This will have to do.”

 “Thank you, captain,” she said wrapping her cold fingers around the chipped cup.  She took a sip and settled for a momentary truce.  “It’s nice and hot.” She managed to a fabricate a smile.

“Miss MacKay, I know you’re exhausted. However, the Police Chief and probably more officials will be here soon. I need to have a report ready. Tell me exactly what happened from the moment you arrived at the airport.”

Eliza told him everything she could recall.

“Did you hear anyone called by name or something that would identify the killers?”

She had to think.  “They said very little.  One of the killers had a British accent, like yours.”  But then she did recall something odd.  “Captain, when we stopped at the gas station I was busy in the supply truck. I heard something, like someone had been hit. At the time I thought the men were just wrestling with each other, like friends. When I looked out through the back of the truck, the police officers were out of sight. Then a truck raced up beside one of the vans. I couldn’t see what was happening. Then it sounded like it sped back onto the road again.”

“The drivers should not have stopped. That was a breach of protocol. Whose idea was it to stop at the gas station?”

“Our driver said he was stopping so we could stock up on water, use the bathroom.”

“Anything else happen at the station?”

“One of the drivers told everyone to hurry up. Then we left. They drove a lot faster than they had from the airport.”

 The captain radio buzzed. “Captain, the chief’s here.”

Eliza caught a grimace on the captain’s face.

“Stay here. Stay out of sight.” he commanded.  “Understood?”

“Yes, captain.  I’ll just get my stuff.”

He headed to the door.  “I’ll bring your things to you later.”  The door shut with a thud.

Eliza viewed the scene below from the apartment window. A man in a police uniform walked with a hunched and choppy gait. Another man, dressed in what appeared to be a tailored wool coat, stood with dignity and walked as though he owned the ground beneath his feet.  They greeted the captain with a menacing air. Captain Khan maintained his solid stance, feet firmly on the ground, slightly apart.

The compound appeared devoid of battle signs.  She watched as the captain pointed and gestured, probably describing what had occurred. The truck with the bagged bodies was at the gate. She heard Captain Khan holler to the driver, “Wait. Drive back here.”

The officer drove back to the front of the office building. The men inspected the rear of the army truck’s covered box. Captain Khan continued his report. Suddenly he pointed toward her window. She instinctively stepped back, out of view.

Seeing the men enter the building, Eliza cracked the apartment door and listened. She needed information. What was her fate? Her future rested in the palm of highly agitated men. As the captain and his superiors entered the building, their voices were raised. They spoke Arabic so quickly Eliza had difficulty understanding them. Their panic was clearly evident. Eliza crept down the stairs but stopped just short of the hallway.

“Khan,” one of the men shouted, “this incident will have a disastrous effect on our country’s future.”

Incident, Eliza mentally screamed.

The men lowered their voices and spoke more slowly to emphasize the real problem. “More importantly, the fact that the killings took place right under our noses, in a locked police compound, we will be held accountable, perhaps suspicious. We could be charged as accomplices to the murders. President Najeeb will make sure we are held accountable, Khan. At least for the sake of his public image and retaining his seat in the UN. You, me and the Chief, we’ll not just loose our position. We’ll be put in prison. None of us will survive that.”

“Mayor Aamir,” the captain spoke evenly, “the President is an intelligent man. Yes, he will view this as national crisis, but to put his officer’s in prison would be paramount to admitting his government’s incompetence.”

“We cannot risk it, Khan. Yes, we’ll report the volunteers had arrived but later disappeared. But the President and his ministers cannot be told the killings took place in our city. Never! Is that understood? I promise you, Khan, that if word is leaked out, I’ll hold you responsible. Do you know what I mean? Precisely?”

The discussion moved on to what was to be done with the survivor.

“That is an unfortunate problem,” one of them had said. “The subject will have to remain out of sight, Khan.”

Eliza’s gut tightened into a painful knot. She gasped. She was nothing more than ‘the subject’ to her keepers.

“Keep her locked up here for now. Absolutely no one is to have access to her. You’ll have to keep her in your apartment. If a terrorist group claims responsibility, we can release her, perhaps. It is unfortunate.”

“What about the bodies?” asked Captain Khan.

“Leave that business to us. Someone will arrive in the next hour to dispose of them. You keep the luggage hidden. Perhaps we can make this look like a robbery attempt by desert thieves.”

“I doubt that, mayor. This was a well-planned attack. It took money and knowledge of our police operations.”

A few minutes later, Captain Khan had brought her luggage up to the apartment and ordered Eliza to open it. The captain searched through all her belongings. She had feigned shock at the loss of the passport. He seemed pleased enough to find her birth certificate. It confirmed the fact that she was Elizabeth MacKay. And, for the next four days, Eliza MacKay had remained the captain’s prisoner in his apartment.

She huddled against the cement compound wall. A half hour had elapsed and still there was no sign of the captain. She prepared herself of a stern reprimand for this morning’s trouble. He might even blame her for the assault.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the captain approach. He had dressed in casual clothes, khaki pants and beige golf shirt. His approaching footsteps were unhurried, his eyes hidden beneath the dark aviator sunglasses.  He was so disciplined that Eliza had difficulty in reading the man.  He stood in front and motioned for her to get up.  “Get up,” he said not even looking in her direction.

Get up and bow to the friggin iceman, she thought.  Eliza was at her limit.  She hadn’t had a good night sleep since she arrived.  Her clothes were torn and soiled.  She had been ordered about, shut up in a small apartment, sneered at, and treated like she had the plague.  She still was forbidden to make a phone call.  All that was nothing compared to almost being murdered and witnessing the slaughter.  Then, being treated like a whore this morning was unforgivable.  Damn!  She was really ready to kick someone’s ass.  She stood.

Her voluminous shirt was open revealing more than the captain, or any decent Muslim man should see.  Too damn bad!  It was hard to know where his focus was. His gaze appeared in the vicinity of her chest.  She had a nice set, as her husband had often remarked.  Even after breast-feeding two babies, her breasts had remained a firm handful and a half.  Take a good look buddy ‘cause that’s all you’ll get.  Once she figured he had a good look, she tied the shirt tails closed.

Finally he looked up. “Come with me,” he ordered as he began to walk toward another building.

“Come with me, please,” she replied remaining steadfast near the wall.

He turned and looked at her for a moment.  For the very first time, she saw a glimmer of a smile.  Just a hint of his white teeth and the softening of his face.

“Okay, Canadian, come with me, please,” he said bowing slightly.

The domed steel building was two stories high. It served as the city’s storage of the police operation and administration supplies.  The captain led her through the open massive overhead doors and into a cavernous space for vehicles. Vehicles were parked on each side along the length. She saw five half ton trucks, a bobcat, a tow truck and a trailer with two motorcycles and two quads. Storage rooms, as well as a stair case to the second level, were at the rear.

Just inside the overhead doors was the American’s luggage and boxes of her medical supplies tossed into a pile against the wall. The captain grabbed a couple of grey, metal folding chairs and set them up within the shade a few feet inside the building.  He took his sunglasses off and slipped them into his shirt pocket. He sat down and waited for her to sit. After moving the chair a little farther away from where he was sitting, she sat rigid, arms crossed.

His expression was somber as he looked into her eyes. His shoulders sagged marginally as he leaned forward. “Let me begin by saying that the attack on you this morning is unacceptable.”

“Unacceptable?  Bloody hell, those men should be behind bars by now, captain!”

The captain shifted back into his role of authority.  “They regret their actions.” His voice was again gruff.

Eliza jumped up out of her chair and flung it through the air. It smashed into the wall and collapsed to the cement floor. The crash sent echoes of the collision throughout the high ceiling. A couple of officers ran to the open door. Hashim stood up and waved them off.

“Calm down. I can reassure you … “

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful.  We’ll all shake hands and be, what, friends?”  She was waving her hands about and pasted a smile on her face.  “Ha, oh ya, it was just a misunderstanding.  Right?”  Her rage was unleashed. She wheeled about to face the captain and put her hands on her hips.  “What do they think I am, captain?  Just because I’m not Muslim, doesn’t mean I’m up for grabs.”

Her fury continued to escalate.  “And what part of ‘no’ do Muslim men not understand, damn it!” She kicked his chair and sent it tumbling across the cement floor. “Christ, I must be naïve but I would’ve thought men here could be trusted more than anywhere else.”  Eliza kicked some luggage and was going to continue with her rant but the captain put his hands up to indicate he’d heard enough.

“Please, Miss MacKay, sit down.  Men here are not any different than anywhere else. Some follow the Quran’s laws to the letter, or according to their personal beliefs. Not everyone in the Republic of Islamic Nations is Muslim. Some can be trusted, others not.” The captain ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry for any harm done to you. Were you hurt?”

“Bruises and loss of respect for your officers.”

“Let me explain, please.”

She glared at him. Through gritted teeth, her anger raced on. “No, captain, no explanation will do.  I’m a dog that’s been kicked hard and nearly killed.  I’m at the end of my tether and about to turn mean if my situation doesn’t improve right now,” she hollered and stabbed a finger toward the floor.

“I’d rather you remain the calm, intelligent, and rationale woman I have observed these past few days.  I’ve seen your other side and, frankly, you can be frightening.  You know how to handle stress.  I’ve noticed your meditation routine.” He smiled playfully, as if he had caught her in a compromising position.

She pounced on him with eyes of a tiger fixed on prey. “How can you?  You’re always asleep and snoring.”

After a momentary pause, the captain shrugged.  “I faked the snoring. Wanted to know what you do when you think no one is watching you.” He still appeared amused.

“Huh!  Deceit!” She spat her anger at him with vengeance. “And, I’m long past being calm!  I’m not amused, captain.  Trusting you or anyone else here is gone. Eliza shouted thrusting her hand in the air as if to swat a fly away from her face. She turned her back to him. “I’m not respected here.” She kicked a stone on the floor and turned to the captain, her eyes narrow with wrath. “Damn you. Damn your men. And damn this goddamn country!” Tears began to blur her vision.  She turned away and took a deep breath. The last thing she wanted was for any of these blasted men to see her crumble.

He grabbed her chair and roughly set it beside his chair. He appeared to make a conscious effort to regain his control over his anger. “Miss MacKay, please,” he said kindly. “I am the reason my men tried to take advantage of you this morning.  I am sorry.  Will you accept my apology?”

Eliza looked at him skeptically.  It had taken her by surprise that he would actually apologize.  She managed to rein in the adrenalin surging through her body. “How are you responsible?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “They have assumed that I have taken advantage of you, that, you know, we, ah are intimate.  I’ve set them straight on that matter. It won’t happen again. Please, come and sit. We need to talk about why you are still being confined here.”

She stood her ground. It infuriated her that he was trying to deflect her anger by steering the conversation in another direction. And he was being kind. How do you fight kindness? “Those men should be arrested.” 

The captain nodded. “Normally, yes. But that is part of what I need to discuss with you. Will you trust me?”

She decided to give Captain Khan one more chance.  “Alright, Captain.  But understand you and your men are on probation.”

“First, those men are not under my command. They belong to Captain Khizar. Secondly, Miss MacKay, you and I need to trust each other. I need to know you’ll respect my rules. And you need to feel you can trust me. Agreed?”

She nodded. “But I don’t think it’s as simple as that. Trust just doesn’t happen like that.”

“True. I’m suggesting that we, at least for now, have the intent to trust. I promise, Miss MacKay, that I will do everything in my power to protect you, to keep you safe and well. My intention is to ensure you return to your home. Now, what can I expect from you?”

Eliza thought for a moment. “Captain Hashim Khan, I promise to respect your beliefs and customs to the best of my ability and level of my understanding.” It almost sounded like a contract agreement. “Furthermore, I will endeavor to not make your life difficult. And, my priority is to find a way to return home. How’s that.” She thrust out her right hand.

“I cannot shake your hand unless required in the line of duty. For me, as a devout Muslim, to touch you is forbidden.”

“Well, it is my people’s custom to shake hands as a sign of faith and trust. Do you trust me, Captain?”

He hesitated. “Actually, I do. Up to a reasonable point.”

“Fine. Then in the line of duty, from one professional to another, shake my hand, Captain Khan. I will trust you and I will not betray your trust.”  She held out her right hand again.

“I agree.” He quickly grabbed her hand, shook it once, and released it.

They sat down across from each other. “Miss MacKay, the reason I cannot arrest those men and charge them with assault is that Chief Ramzi will not allow the case to be heard in court. It would require revealing your presence in the police compound and that would lead to why you were there. For the time being, all information about you and the massacre is considered top secret.”

They sat in a frail truce for a moment. It took Eliza a while to grapple with the full realization of her situation. “They are never going to release me, are they?”

 “Not just yet. I would love to pack you up and escort you to the airport. But my hands are tied. My orders are to keep you out of sight, in my apartment. It’s as uncomfortable for me as it must be for you. The police chief ….” The captain hesitated to say more. “There is much at stake here, perhaps lives.”

“Captain, I heard your conversation with the mayor and the police chief. I know a cover-up is in the works. That leaves me in a very dangerous position.” Eliza’s fear was written in bold letters in her eyes. “Does Habitat think that those fifteen people are still alive?”

“Yes, or at least, hopes.”  Lowering his voice, he leaned toward Eliza’s ear.  “We anticipated the killers would have come forward by now. That might have solved the mayor’s problem. At least, we could prove that a highly organized group managed the killing.”

“Since the killers haven’t come forward, your government will have to eliminate the witness – me!”  Eliza turned pale and began to tremble.

“Eliza, I promise to do everything in my power to protect you.”

Eliza looked deeply into his eyes. It was the first time he had called her by her first name.  “You did save my life, captain.”  She almost reached out to touch his arm but she knew he would not allow it.  “I don’t think I’ve said thank you.  You did put yourself at great risk when you came in when you did.  I know that’s your job, but I believe you and your men would normally setup a tactical force if you had time.  I am grateful for the bravery and skill of you and your officers.  Thank you.”

He sighed. “If I’d been faster ….” Clearly, he regretted the death of the volunteers.

“Play the hand you’re dealt, captain.”  She laughed at herself.  She wasn’t good at following her own advice considering how often she had tried to end her life.

The captain appeared to be studying Eliza, evaluating her demeanor and thinking about all she had said.  “You seem to have more than the usual understanding of politics.  I understand you are a paramedic.  What else do you do?”

Eliza described her role in managing the city’s paramedic service, supervising a platoon of men and women, the extra duties in meeting with CEO’s of hospitals and provincial committees, and networking with the media.”

The captain raised his eyebrows.  “That’s quite impressive.  It never occurred to me that you had that much authority.”

“Because I’m a female?”

“Well, not exactly.  You’re definitely no shrinking violet.  But you don’t fit my image of someone who leads a group of tough men and responds to murder scenes.”

They talked another hour.  The captain quizzed her on her work with Habitat, where she had travelled and the languages she could speak. However, Eliza carefully sidestepped subjects of a personal nature, and, thankfully, the captain didn’t push getting to know more about her family.

Finally he stood up and asked her to follow him to the rear of the apparatus floor and through a door.  Inside the room were boxes and items strewn about the room on tables and shelves. “From now on you will dress like a police constable.  I would like to give you time to be outside. However, there is concern that we may be spied upon by satellites.  So, you need to look like you belong here.  Pick out three uniform shirts and pants.  Look for a pair of boots, cold weather coat, and a helmet.  Here are the flak jackets, just in case.  Over there,” he said pointing a smaller box, “are hats.  You’ll need to keep you hair up and under the hat.  I doubt we have a belt that will fit you.”

“I’ve got a belt in my luggage.” Eliza smiled.  “And where do I get my AK47?” she said attempting to sound serious.

Hashim actually laughed.  “In your dreams, Canadian.”  He turned and started to walk away.  I’m going to try to get some sleep before my night shift.  You can take your time here. “And, later if you’re bored, you can clean up this room. When men from the other police stations come here for supplies, they leave it in a mess.”  The captain headed back to his apartment.

Eliza scanned the room realizing that she had just been through a cleverly orchestrated interrogation.  The captain now knew everything about her that he wanted to know. Everything except how her life was crushed four years ago. Since then, almost no one knew anything about her life away from work. Her friends had long since deserted her.

She figured her boss had suspicions about her mental stability though he’d never voiced his concerns point blank. He hadn’t allowed her to return to full duty since the disaster four years ago that destroyed her every reason to go on living. So far, she had confessed to only depression, an excuse for the three suicide attempts.

She locked the room’s door and began to sort through the boxes. In about an hour, Eliza had found the uniforms that fit well enough.  The black pants were a bit large, but that was fine with her.  No sense in attracting more attention of men checking out her butt.  The black, long sleeved shirts failed to hide the curves of her upper body.  She put the flak jacket on and that solved that problem – well, until it got so hot she flung it off.  She had her own uniform black boots in her suitcase.

Once she was satisfied she had complied with the captain’s instructions, she tackled the luggage. She found a few unlocked suitcases.  Inside were a couple of kindles loaded with books. Another had a cell phone. She decided to make a phone call home whether the dragon liked it or not.

As she keyed in the numbers, pangs of guilt rose. She hit ‘send.’ She wanted to trust him. But she suddenly realized she needed him to trust her. Damn! In fact, it was vital that he trust her. If he turned his back to her, there was no hope. He was the key to her survival. With a slam she closed the phone before her boss answered.

She was Eliza MacKay, granddaughter of Elizabeth Mackay of the Scottish Highlanders.  She was a descendant of one of the fiercest fighting clans in Scotland.  It was in her blood.  Whenever she heard the drums and the pipes, she stood a little taller and clenched her fists as if preparing for battle.  An image of her Great Grandfather, Hugh MacKay, flashed in front of her.  Whiskers and a scowl, he was the glorious image of a warrior wearing his blue and red kilt and a sash over his shoulder. A large Celtic pin held it in place.

She was suddenly aware of an internal transformation.  In the past four years, she had lost the will to fight for her life, even had been trying to destroy it.  Now, she could hear a distant drumbeat in her soul.  She no longer wanted to die.  And if there was a way home, bloody hell, she would find it.

 

CAPTAIN HASHIM KHAN’S POV

As usual, Captain Khan had accompanied Sergeant Abdul-Muqtadir and his men during the nightly patrol. He had created this squad of men, special candidates capable for promotion. He took pride in that they had progressed quickly in their training.

While on patrol he inspired them to maintain the values of Islam – fairness, forgiveness, mercy, with special attention to the homeless and orphans. And yet, as an officer of the law, he motivated his men to be brutal when the criminal left no other option. ‘Survive’ was the unspoken mantra.

The night shift had been quiet. He would have welcomed the distraction of chasing down criminals, or even just curfew infractions. Captain Khan’s chaotic thoughts spun wildly as the needle of a compass held at the arctic. Frustrated, he headed back to his station.

Tonight Captain Khan felt the weight of self-loathing. A volley of conflicts pursued him. Foremost was his belief that torture, though officially forbidden, could be a forgivable offense in the name of expediency and protection of law abiding citizens. His conscience descended upon him. The more he tried to justify his policy, the more he felt a constriction around his chest. Worst of all, the image of being a carbon copy of the Police Chief dealt a painful blow. His head throbbed.

His colleagues, informants, and citizens knew him to be a lethal adversary. Newspaper editorials regaled readers of his bravado. It was well known his zero tolerance to the lawless meant streets were safer; and hardened criminals made it to the morgue more often than to court. The public had no objection. However, in Captain Hashim’s mind, he saw his callous behavior begin to blur the edges defining the difference between him and those he fought.

A cold sweat accompanied his troubling breathing and headache. Headaches were his curse. Once he learned to wear sunglasses during daylight hours, he could manage the pain with distractions and prayers. Prayers always provided relief, relief from almost everything.

The one light at the end of this dark tunnel was the citizen’s loyalty to him. Several watched his back, and were his eyes and ears in acquiring information on criminal activity. It encouraged him to continue prowling the dark streets.

He pulled his fingers through his short thick hair. His gut tightened with the sense of his failure in the massacre investigation.  The chief remained tight lipped about the government’s stand on the “incident.” He slammed his fist at the steering wheel. It galled him that their fear and paranoia had taken priority over a rational and responsible action. He turned on his SUV’s radio. Perhaps some music would defeat his escalating anxiety.

At his office he completed the routine operations reports for the Chief, smacked the ‘send’ button, and wrote a terse note for the dayshift captain, Muhammad Khizar. He had left their computer on again, leaving the files exposed to tampering and spying. He signed the note in dark bold letters, خان.

At last, the soothing call to prayer interrupted his turbulent thoughts. He decided to perform the ablutions in the staff lounge and join his men for prayer.  For the next fifteen minutes Allah’s love washed away his internal storm.

He climbed the stairs to his apartment, careful not to wake his flat mate. He chuckled, surprised to recall the British term for roommate. It had been two weeks since the massacre. They had shared the space amicably enough.

The sun’s rays streamed through his windows, casting a warm glow on his kitchen table. The room had changed. The contents were the same, mostly, and in the same location, but the normal palpable heavy energy wrestled with something that had not been present before. His gut tightened, uncomfortable with the essence of her.

In spite of his devotion to the Muslim morals, she touched him in ways he could not fight or avoid. Her natural beauty, simple meals she prepared for him, the way she hummed while doing menial tasks lifted his dwindling energy. He looked forward to returning to his apartment though he was careful to not reveal this to anyone, especially Miss MacKay.

He sat down and removed his army boots. Checking the food cupboard, he discovered that Miss MacKay had saved the last of the food for his breakfast - a plate of cheese, grapes and bread. He sat alone at his kitchen table eating his breakfast and nursing the remains of the cup of strong coffee he had brewed in his office. He sighed. The silence reminded him he had almost no family life.

It bothered him that the phone calls from his children became less frequent and strained, partly due to poor phone reception, and, he guessed, due to his abrupt manner with them. It was difficult to switch from the hardened police officer to that of a loving father in less than thirty heartbeats.

He glanced at the bed in the corner just beyond his kitchen and couch. Miss MacKay slept soundly. She hadn’t moved since he arrived home. She had been his guest for five days but managed to not overstep his boundaries. She appeared to take great care to be not in his presence when at all possible. When their paths crossed, she appeared to respect his rank and faith. The problem, he admitted to himself with significant distress, he enjoyed her company. He found her smile a soothing salve in his dark world.

Hashim sat down on his couch, positioned a right angles near her bed. He shifted noisily, hoping she might wake. He cleared his throat. No effect other than a shift of her arm which drew the covers away from her chest. Shouldn’t be spying, he thought. Still he gazed at her, admiring the softness of her skin, the subtle curves of her body.

His annoyance in sharing his apartment with the Canadian challenged his Muslim morals.  Given his boss was not a devout Muslim, his complaint fell on deaf ears.  He had been tempted to put her on the next plane to anywhere. He wondered what would be the consequences. A shiver in his core erupted to a brief cold sweat.

As he watched her sleep, he realized he felt guilty in not being able to give her what she wanted most – return home. Hashim had a nagging suspicion that the massacre’s evidence had been swept under the carpet. With each passing day, he worried about his complicity with the chief’s web of a cover-up. He had secretly kept a digital copy of everything that had been handed over to his boss. It provided a measure of reassurance, possibly a kind of life insurance policy.

He left the sleeping woman and collapsed into his bed. After three hours of restless sleep, he lay awake listening to Miss MacKay’s efforts to clean the spotless apartment. She was washing windows today – both of them. He could hear the squeak, squeak as she scrubbed. Then she moved on to washing something else and he tried to identify what it was. He gave up the guessing game or getting back to sleep.

He got up and put on his civvies – a pair of khaki cotton pants, beige golf shirt, and sandals. He tore off his bedding, dumped out his soiled clothes into the pile, and then went into the bathroom for the towels.

While busy picking out the fresh linen in his hall closet, he ignored Eliza’s trotting around the apartment, doing whatever. Not important, he thought. Just ignore the mouse. He chuckled to himself at the sudden analogy of the woman to a mouse – just as hard to capture and hard to ignore the brazen invasion of personal space. And she loved cheese. He stifled a snort and turned to return to his bedroom and discovered his pile of laundry had disappeared. He glanced back toward Eliza to discover that his sheets were disappearing through the doorway.

He raced after her. “Miss MacKay, what do you think you’re doing?” he barked at her as she trotted down the stairs. “You must not; I mean I don’t want you to ….”

She trotted down the stairs. “Never mind, captain. I’m quite familiar with washing men’s clothes.” She continued to march out to the exit door.

He followed her to the building that served as a laundry room, equipped with a vehicle wash bay and utility tub. She began sorting through the whites and colored items, including her own laundry.

He stood momentarily with his mouth wide open. “Are you intending to wash your clothes with mine?”

She glanced at him and smiled. “Relax captain. This is a non-denominational laundry. Co-habitation in the washing machine is viewed as efficient. And, besides, Allah, the Most Generous, blesses those who show a greater respect for the environment.” She stuffed the whites, underwear, and sheets into the mouth of the washing machine.

Hashim was defeated. He left without another word. In his office, Hashim could count on uninterrupted time to plan strategies. Captain Khizar seldom returned until the end of his shift at five.

Hashim’s mind constantly scurried back to the laundry room. A woman was pawing through his underwear. He googled the local airport for the schedule of departing flights. Nothing that would take her safely far enough out of the country was available until the evening. By then, he figured, she would have his underwear washed, dried, folded and laid out on his bed. A cold sweat erupted on his forehead.

Noon was two hours away. Normally he missed lunch, getting up only for the midday call to prayer. The food pantry in his apartment needed restocking. Grocery shopping always had been at the bottom of his to-do list. Thankfully, Miss MacKay was not a demanding guest. She accepted whatever he brought in, except she asked for cow’s milk rather than goat. So did he, though he hid that fact from her.

He returned to the laundry room. She was busy putting wet laundry into the dryer. “I’m going to pick up some supplies. Is there anything you need?”

She barely acknowledged him. With just a shrug, she said, “Just the usual, captain. Milk, bread, eggs, cheese, some veggies. Fruit would be nice. Oh, and coffee and a case of bottled water.” She slammed the dryer door shut and turned to him. “Can I pay for my share of the groceries, captain?”

Hashim’s pride was bruised. “Of course not. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Follow me, please.” She led him to the police operation’s storage room. When she flipped on the lights, he stood speechless. The room for the police uniforms was spotlessly clean, the shelves labeled and all the items carefully folded and placed in the shelving unit according to category and size. The floor was immaculate. In the adjacent room, the flashlights, handcuffs, flak jackets, and helmets were arranged in shelves for easy identification and retrieval.

“All I need to do now is to organize the weapons room.” She wore a mischievous grin.

He put on his best scowl.

She shrugged. “Hmm, I guess not. Anyway, my next project is to clean the vehicles. There’s an inch of dust on most of them.”

“You sure you want to do all that? I don’t expect you to work so hard. Just keep yourself occupied to help pass the time.”

“No trouble, captain. Have a nice afternoon.”

He watched as she left his side to examine an old white van covered in grime, Hashim’s personal vehicle. He drove his van only on trips home, once every six or eight weeks. It had been a supply truck, with no side windows in the rear. He watched her peer through the coating of dust on the back window. If she opened the back door, she’d discover his daughter’s teddy bear.

Instead, she moved on to inspect the cab. The windshield had a long crack along its length, sand storms had dulled the paint, and rust had claimed some of the lower body.  He had kept the unmarked van as it also gave him a high degree of anonymity when he needed it.  He kicked the new tires. They provided enough safety for fast travel through the mountains.

Captain Hashim turned to leave. He took a couple of steps and hesitated. He looked back at her. Her clothes were in need of a wash. Though she kept her long hair tied back, loose strands escaped. She had a smudge on her nose and chin.

“Miss MacKay, how long would it take you to clean up?”

She swung around, wide eyed. “Why?”

Hashim hesitated to answer. He shuffled his feet a bit and shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve done a very nice job here. Perhaps you could use a break.”

She took a few steps toward him. “Are you inviting me to, what, go shopping with you?” She appeared to restrain her delight but her eyes shone and a smile escaped.

He cleared his throat. “How long?” he asked again.

“Fifteen minutes.” She sniffed down the front of her shirt. “Maybe twenty. Will you wait?”

“Fine. You can wear your personal clothes. Just remember to cover yourself well.”

Hashim decided at the last minute to change into his police uniform.  When Eliza presented herself in the kitchen for inspection he nodded his approval. In fact, he liked the long blue skirt with tiny yellow flowers at the hem. She had put on a long sleeved light blue shirt, letting it hang loosely over the skirt. Using her long blue scarf, she wrapped it over her head and around her shoulders.

She grabbed her trauma kit and started to head for the door.

“No need to bring that, miss.”

She ignored him and began to pass through the door. “You never know, captain.”

“Come back, Miss MacKay.”

She swung around and sighed. Reluctantly she placed it on the breakfast table. “Captain, I couldn’t live with myself if someone was hurt and I didn’t have my kit with me.”

“I don’t think you need all of this.” The pretense to downsize the backpack offered an opportunity to again search for her passport. He opened the kit and pulled out items from compartments. Captain Khan noted her fists were clenched during the meticulous search.

Again, no passport.  If there was a secret compartment, he couldn’t detect it. He stood back. “Surely you can downsize this.”

“Fine.” He watched as she unzipped the lower portion of the backpack, removing the heavier and more advanced medical supplies. With the compartments zipped closed, Eliza hugged the reduced backpack to her chest.

Slowly, a sly grin replaced his eternal scowl. “Still don’t recall what happened to your passport, miss?”

Eliza tried to appear concerned. “I wish I could, captain. Without that, I’m nobody.” She glanced away from him, pretending to ensure the trauma kit was secure. Hashim restrained the impulse to laugh. She was lousy at lying.

He stepped into her space. “Miss Eliza MacKay, you appear to guard this kit as fiercely as I hang onto my gun.” He swung the large weapon up into his hands. He could taste its metallic scent in the air and smell the gun powder residue. It mingled with the antiseptic smell of her trauma kit and a hint of her perfume. He noted her silence.

He made a show of adjusting his handgun in its shoulder holster.  “The rules, Miss MacKay, are that you remain at my side within arm’s reach. You speak to no one. And you make no effort to draw attention to yourself. Is that clear?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s go.”

Hashim headed toward Prophet Park. It was a detour from the route to the grocery store. He glanced at Eliza. She appeared mesmerized by the scenery. It was her first time outside the compound since the night of the massacre. He shrugged off the chastising thoughts that implied he was doing something special for her. There was no blame for ensuring her cooperation through humane treatment.

They chatted as though they were friends. “Captain, will the people know I’m not from here? Even though I’m dressed like them, sort of?

Hashim shrugged his shoulders. “People here are a lot more observant about who’s around them.” He had stopped at a traffic light and looked at her. Her creamy skin and finer bones gave her a delicate appearance. “Ya, they’ll know,” he chuckled.  “Your clothes are more colorful. The women,” he said nodding toward a group of older women waiting for the walk light, “usually wear simple dark robes or loose dark blazers and trousers.”

“I suppose they’ll think I’m your prisoner.”

Hashim rolled his eyes. “So long as they don’t get the impression you’re my wife.”

“Oh, no they won’t,” she giggled. You don’t have that brow beaten look.”

This time they both laughed.

Hashim drove alongside a park bordered by the country’s one major river. Large poplar trees stood as sentinels along the two lane street. Larch trees and willows were scattered nearer the river bank. Their gold leaves signaled falls arrival. There colors were brilliant against the azure blue sky, clearer today with the breeze scattering the city’s smog.

“Oh, those trees, Captain,” she exclaimed, pointing to the deciduous trees. “They’re just like the trees in Alberta. I’m so surprised to see them growing here.”

“They’re experimental. Our government looked for trees that grow quickly and large in our cold, semi-arid environment. It’s not as hot here as in southern provinces. We’re pleased they’ve flourished.” Hashim smiled. He was proud of his agricultural minister’s accomplishment. “Under protection of Islamic law, a bit of composted goat manure, and nearness to water, well it has led the way to other possibilities.”

“Yes, I know. Last year I bought perfume that is made from your orange blossoms.”

Hashim glanced at her.  Hmm, so maybe that’s the fragrance in my bathroom. Nice.

The river sparkled in the late morning sun. Its depth and breadth was half what it was during the mountain’s spring’s snow melt. Even so it was impressive though it appeared shallow and only about thirty feet wide. The water raced over boulders as if the devil was on its tail.

At the parking lot, Hashim stowed his AK47 in the locked and alarmed SUV. He turned off the safety of his handgun and tucked it back into its shoulder harness under his uniform coat. “Remember the rules, Miss MacKay.”

Eliza nodded and hoisted her trauma kit onto her back. He pointed out the foot path that hugged the river bank. They began a brisk walk down the narrow sandy footpath. Hashim was on the alert, nervously checking behind every few steps.

“Tell me about these plants. I love gardening but these plants don’t look like anything I’ve seen in books.”

“You’d be better off asking my dad about that stuff. My family had a successful fruit orchard for generations, until my brothers died.”

“Ah, yes. I know your country has had success with diverse agricultural. And history books are full of praise for the university’s studies here. Before the civil unrest people here enjoyed a prosperous lifestyle.

He glanced at her. “Ah, yes, we had the infrastructure to support those industries, education and health care. The old king did some things right.  And, being on the Silk Road route our people enjoyed trade with many cultures. Problems erupted when the king became greedy. He began to tax the people more than they could pay. And the consequences of failing to pay were severe. My father was still a child when the unrest started.” In another few steps he relaxed the pace to a leisurely stroll. Hashim and Eliza passed a soccer field where the grass was watered and trimmed. Children were chasing each other in a nearby school playground.

Trees formed a bower on both sides of the path. The sun searched through the deciduous canopy and spilled its warmth sporadically onto the people enjoying the walk.  The peaceful space was shared by old and young, some walking, some riding their bicycle. A few ambitious youths jogged.

“How are your children doing, captain? They must miss you a lot.”

She suddenly appeared to have regretted the inquiry. Her smile wavered and her arms protectively crossed her chest. She turned away from his gaze. She grabbed a blade of grass and began to tie it into knots. Her sudden nervousness surprised him.

She waved her hand as if to erase the last few seconds. “Never mind, captain, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

He could have ignored her interest in his family. After all, the step into his personal life was inappropriate and rude according to Muslim morals.  However, he had become intrigued by the abrupt change in her personality. It was too tempting to just let it slide. He decided to test her. Perhaps she had an Achilles heel.

“They’re adjusting. It’s been two years since their mother left.” He noted her reaction. She moved a few steps away from him. “That was a bad time for them and my parents. Last year, after an incident, I had to move them to my family’s ancestral home, on the west side of those mountains.” He pointed to the distant rugged range of mountains which rose sharply along the country’s spine. They were still capped with snow in the higher elevations. “Safer there since I work such long hours. My parents have friends there to help.”

Hashim watched as her hand moved to over her heart. Her mouth was open, gulping as if she was unable to speak.

She took a deep breath and appeared to muster up her courage. “That’s was a remarkable sacrifice. Surely the children still have contact with their mother.” There was a definite quiver in her voice.

“Yes, when I allow it.” He lifted his hat off his head and slapped it back down again.  Ignoring protocol, Hashim unbuttoned his police blazer and swung it over his shoulder. It exposed his handgun. Standing in the shade, he removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt. “I nearly lost my family.”

Eliza’s eyes opened wide with shock, her face turned pale. “How, I mean ….”

Her vulnerable demeanor destroyed his defenses. “Last November my ex-wife came to visit. I had agreed to let her take the kids shopping. An hour later I received a call from the airport security. She had tried to abduct them out of my country. You know Muslim children must remain with their father.”

 “Yes, I know. She must have been driven by grief to do something she knew was illegal.”

“Uh huh, I suppose. She had tried to bribe the airport officials. I guess she forgot I’m well known at the airport. Was as engineer consultant for a while when it was being expanded. Anyway, when I confronted her at the airport, she swore she’d eventually get them back. The airport officials were going to arrest her but I convinced them to let her return to England. That’s when I knew I had to move my family to my ancestor’s home town. Everyone there knows their neighbors. Knows when a stranger is in town.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sure she’s realized her mistake by now and has adjusted to a new life. She’ll marry again, have another family.”

“Not so far. She calls our son and daughter every week, more often if the cell phone signal gets through. She was a good mother. I was a civil engineer when we married. My income had allowed her to continue enjoying parties and fancy clothes. When we moved here there were no full time engineering jobs. I hoped she’d adjust to living on a police officer’s salary. It’s adequate, but only for the essentials.” Hashim’s shoulders sagged. He kicked his boots into the sand.  “I thought she  …..” He sighed. Abruptly he turned off the path. “Let’s follow this trail down to the river.”

Eliza followed and sat on a boulder at the river’s bank. Hashim hung back. They were silent for a while, watching birds, and the river’s desperate escape to the faraway sea, an impossible journey. Hashim watched as Eliza’s shoulders relaxed, and the softness returned to her face.

“You come here often, Captain?”

“When I have time.” His response was evasive, hoping to regain his authority. After a minute he stepped closer. “What are you doing?”

“Listening.”

“Listening to what?”

She patted a boulder beside her. “Sit.”

Reluctantly, he stepped to the bolder and sat down. He was relieved to see that she had regained what his English university friends called ‘mojo.’ He was curious. Was her courage he had witnessed until now a cover? Could she be easily broken under some circumstances? His feelings were mixed. He wanted to protect her, but how much he would risk was dependent upon how much he could trust her to be strong.  His assessment of her had suffered a down turn. “Now what.” He shifted, uncomfortable on the boulder and with the sense of a private space between them.

“Close your eyes. Empty your mind of thoughts. Listen.”

“Not closing my eyes, miss.” After a couple of minutes he asked, “What am I supposed to hear?”

“Allah, the Most Wise.”

Just then a child’s scream pierced through their tranquil space. Eliza jumped up and ran back up onto the path.

Hashim shouted, “Stop.  Get back here.”

She was already up the bank and running a short distance down the path. A small boy was sitting on the path bawling and grasping onto his bloodied knee. She knelt down and put her arm around the child’s shoulders.

“You’re okay, little man,” she soothed, reverting back to the Arabic language. “Let me see what happened, okay?”

Her calm words appeared to have the desired effect on the boy. “Momma,” he cried. “I want my momma.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” she said softly.  “Captain Khan, can you see if his mother is coming?” Eliza continued to coax the child to let her examine his knee.  She eased off her kit and opened a section that contained bandages. “Look,” she said pointing to the inside of her kit. “See what we have to make your knee all better.”

“Oh, thank Allah, the Most Merciful, you found my son.” A worried woman ran up to the child. “Oh no, look at his leg. Is he badly hurt?”

 Hashim watched Eliza’s gentle caring for the child. Until now, Eliza MacKay had been bold. He thought of her as tough, independent.  This display of tenderness took him by surprise. His fury with her disobedience struggled for dominance. Hashim’s conflicting emotions bombarded him with frustration, fear, and admiration for her. His hard edge won the battle. Hashim moved into his role of police officer. “Madame, is this your child?”

Eliza interjected and spoke to the woman. “I think his leg is okay, my dear. I’m just putting a bandage over his skinned knee. Perhaps you should take him to your doctor to make sure there are no injuries to the joint. If you go home, thoroughly cleanse his wound in warm, mild salty water. Here are some bandages you can use at home.” Eliza put the supplies in a baggy and handed it over to the mother.

“Oh, thank you.” The woman glanced at Eliza’s wedding band and back at Captain Khan. “I was watching my older son playing with his friends. When I turned to check on Ahmed, he was gone. My heart nearly stopped when I heard him scream. Praise Allah, the Most Kind, you were here.”

Eliza smiled and helped the boy stand, testing his ability to weight bare. He lost interest in his wounds and began to beg his mother for a treat. The mother scolded him and told him to sit down and wait. She stood next to Eliza and gave her an affectionate hug.

Hashim restrained his impulse to pull Eliza away from the woman. He was about to blurt out ‘Miss MacKay,’ but realized it would reveal Eliza’s identity. He clenched his teeth with the frustration that he was losing control of the situation.

“You are so kind. Thank you. Captain, you have a most lovely wife.”

Hashim’s gut tightened. It was an understandable conclusion. A devout Muslim man would only walk with his wife or family member. If word got around that he, Captain Khan, was seen walking with a woman believed to be his wife, and given that he associates knew he was not married, the possible consequences produced a cold sweat. Hopefully, the child would forget he heard Eliza mention his name.

The mother smiled at Hashim. “I see you treasure her. Goodbye.”

As the mother left with her child, Eliza turned to the captain with a smug look on her face. “Well, do you treasure me, husband?” She laughed. “Let me see. How many rules did I break? I was out of arm’s reach for a bit. I spoke to someone. And I drew attention to myself. Will you forgive me, husband?” She presented him with a mocking beseeching bow.

Before he could hail his fury upon her, the plaintive call to prayer drifted down the path. He motioned for her to follow and joined other people who were preparing for the mid-day prayer. The faithful proceeded with ablutions abbreviated due to the lack of access to washing facilities. Instead of participating in the prayers, Hashim stood guard over the faithful.

When the mid-day prayers were completed, Captain Khan marched back to where Eliza was waiting. He put his police blazer on and merely motioned for her to follow. His pace was brisk as they returned to his SUV in silence.

Eliza made one attempt at conversation on their way to the grocery store. “Okay, captain. I apologize. Whatever I did or say, I’m sorry. Truly.”

Hashim gritted his teeth. He knew that when he was angry it was best to remain silent until his temper softened. “Miss, I will speak to you later.” He pulled into the grocery store’s parking lot and parked in the shade.

Just as Eliza was about to step out, he ordered to sit. “Listen to me, MacKay. You need to follow my instructions. Always, without fail.” Hashim reigned in his anger. “I put my job on the line this afternoon just letting you outside the compound. If anything had happened, if anyone discovered who you are, without a doubt that information would get back to my boss. Life would get very bleak for me, worse for you. Is that clear?”

Eliza appeared to be only interested in the people strolling into the local market and grocery store. He waited, more patient than usual. The SUV’s interior heat was rising quickly. He opened his door to allow a breeze into the cab. Without being obvious, he attempted to guess her thoughts by the tightness of her lips, the way she twisted the end of her scarf, the high level of her chin. Did whatever he say matter, he wondered. He signed heavily. “I guess you only care about pleasing yourself.”

She turned toward him, her eyes narrowed with anger. “Captain, that is unfair. For two weeks I’ve been on edge, every day waking up and wondering if this is my last day. No one here gives a damn about me beyond duty.” Her eyes began to glisten. “You’re doing your job, your duty. I don’t have a friend or place of safety for thousands of miles.” He detected a tremor in her voice.

“I thought you understood I am your friend.”

“No, captain. You are my jailer.” He felt a jolt in his chest. She turned away and wiped a tear from her cheek. “It just felt so good to be outside the compound. I meant no harm. I would never deliberately cause you harm.”

“I believe you.” He paused. “What would help you to feel safe?”

Eliza began to reposition her head scarf. “There’s nothing you can do, captain. I don’t belong here. But there’s one thing you might consider next time, if there’s a next time.”

“I’m listening.”

“Instead of dictating the rules to me, consider getting my input.”

Hashim chuckled. He didn’t ask for input from his squad. They took his orders without question.

“What’s so bloody amusing?”

He smiled at her, relieved that she seemed to have found her mojo again. “I see the problem. I can’t remember the last time I asked for anyone’s advice or input.” He thought of adding that Muslim men tend to take their patriarchal position very seriously. His family simply trusted his decisions and followed. “Obviously, you’ve been a very independent woman for a long time.”

“If you expect me to always blindly follow your orders, you’ll have to keep me locked up.”

He leaned on the console between them and leaned into her space. He was tempted to tuck a golden lock of her hair under the scarf. “I apologize for being bad tempered.”

She glanced at him as if to examine his sincerity. “Apology accepted.” She returned her gaze to the people busy with hanging on to their children and pushing full grocery carts.

He tried to get her attention, catch her eye. Words, he felt, were too inadequate, restricted by moral code and pride. More could be said with a look, uncensored. Finally she looked directly into his eyes.

For a moment he simply gazed into her face. He hoped she could see that he admired and respected her. That he cared. “Locking up someone like you is a sin. No different than catching a wild bird and putting it in a small cage. I won’t do that. Somehow, we have to find a compromise.”

She looked at him intensely. A small smile gave him hope. “Hashim Khan, I will teach you.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Good luck!”

Her eyes softened. “One more thing. About what you said, being a friend. There’s something you should know.” She appeared to be searching for the right words and focused on the smooth fabric of her skirt. “I do feel safe with you. Not because of your weapons or the fact you’re a police officer.” She turned to him. “You’re a good man, Hashim.” The sound of her voice shifted deeper, softer. “I’d feel safe with you anywhere. I suppose that’s why I get a bit cavalier.” She paused. “I do consider you a trusted friend, Hashim.”

Hashim was visibly moved by her declaration.  He shifted uneasily. No other human had ever said he was a good man. Good cop, gifted leader, loving father, devoted son, yes. But through the last few years he doubted that he was a good man. She sounded sincere. She had no way of knowing how deeply those four words.

“One more thing.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out the cellphone.

Hashim was shocked. “Where did you get that?”

“I found it in the luggage of one of the Americans.” She handed it over to him.

Hashim took it, hit the ‘on’ button and found that it was functional. He eyed her suspiciously and began to sort through the phone’s programs. Once he found the record of phone calls made, he discovered she had made a phone call five days after the massacre. “You called someone.” He felt his anger rising again, but tempered it with a dash of patience. “Who did you call?” he demanded.

“My boss.”

He sat silent for a moment, just staring at her. “What did you tell him?”

“Well, you can see the call lasted a full seven seconds. I got the guilts and terminated the call before he answered.” She nervously bit her lip as if ready for another hostile lecture.

Hashim blew out his breath slowly and sat back in his seat. “You didn’t speak to anyone?”

“No, sir. No conversations, no messages, no texting, nothing.”

Hashim closed his eyes. “Why?”

“Why I chickened out?”

“Something like that. You’ve had this phone for over a week. You could have been rescued by now.” He sat up and turned to her. Shaking his head in disbelief, Hashim asked again, “Why?”

“Remember? We shook hands we’d trust each other. And I figured you’d suffer for my actions.” She turned to him, closer than she should. “That bothered me. A lot.”

He could have kissed her. God, he wanted to. Not because she had done the right thing and saved his skin. Not because he now knew he could trust her with his life. The hint of her perfume, sweet and light, the fragrance that was in her hair and in the soft hollow of her throat had a disarming effect. Her mouth was just a couple of inches away. 

He pulled away. “Thank you.” He voice, husky and low, betrayed his emotions. “Here, you keep it.”

Eliza’s eyes were wide. “Hashim, are you sure?”

“Yes, but the rule is you don’t call anyone except me. I’m letting you keep it so that if there’s trouble, you can call me. Here,” he said taking the phone back, “let me key in my cell number so all you need to do is hit this panic button.” He completed the memory operation and handed it back to her. “Do you agree on the rule or,” he said grinning, “do you need to add your input?”

“No, I’m fine with the rule. Thank you.” She tucked the phone back into her backpack.

He busied himself with securing his weapons, glancing to see who was around his vehicle. “Good,” he said briskly. “Can you deal with one more rule?”

“Yes, master.”

He understood. She was simply being lighthearted. “One word, just one word in the story, any incident, and there’ll be no groceries this week. No exceptions, no input. Clear?”

Eliza nodded. They jumped out and continued on into the store, the captain trailing on her heals. The captain began selecting the food they had agreed upon – fragrant freshly baked flat bread, white goat cheese, glistening black and green olives, lentils, rice, dates, mutton, eggs; Jams made from the bountiful harvest of the countryside - apricot, orange petal; dried figs cooked with cinnamon, walnuts, and sesame seeds. Labnah, a thick cream cheese made by draining yogurt through cheesecloth, and then drizzled with olive oil, ful madamis, and pine nuts. Flat Arab bread to make sandwiches with labnah, along with olives, tomato and mint. Laham bi 'ajin, a sort of pizza made with minced meat, tomatoes, and onions sprinkled with spices, parsley, and pine nuts.

When he put the eggs into the cart, Eliza picked them up and after reading a label, she put them back on the shelf. She selected another dozen and put them into the cart after reading and approved of the label. She did the same thing with the milk Hashim had selected.

He grabbed onto the cart. “Okay, what’s going on? Why did you put my selection of eggs and milk back on the shelf?”

Eliza smiled and motioned with her fingers as if doing up a zipper across her mouth.

Hashim rolled his eyes. “Okay, permission to speak.”

A couple of women nearby glanced at him and murmured to each other, “Well, isn’t that policeman mean to his dear wife.”

The other woman responded, “You just never know.”

Eliza grinned. “Captain, I’m just making sure you select items that aren’t close to the expiry date – like me,” she added almost with a whisper.

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Stay tuned for reports on my progress in writing my second novel, Forbidden.