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The footsteps came closer, and Laila debated what to do. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t stay where she was. She looked around frantically. Saw a small opening in the wall a few feet in front of her and slid through it.
She was in the backyard of someone’s house. It was dark and quiet, as it would be if the occupants were sleeping. She edged to her right, away from the gap in the wall. Crouched behind a tall, thick clump of grass, ignoring the tiny scrapes to her hands and face as she squeezed between it and the wall.
Moments later, a dark figure stepped through the gap in the wall. He walked straight to the door and put his hand on the pull. Froze.
His gaze swept the small area, and Laila hid her face in her knees. Made herself as small as possible. Didn’t breathe. But she’d recognized Saeed. He farmed a small plot outside the village and used his box truck to make deliveries.
Her heart hammered hard against her chest, and she was afraid he’d hear it. But after another few seconds, the door squeaked open and Saeed stepped inside.
He moved through the house, turning on no lights. She heard him in one of the rooms, cloth rustling and shoes thudding onto the floor. Then nothing.
He must have gone to bed. But she wasn’t going anywhere until she was sure.
Other men passed by the house, talking about the meeting. About the stranger who’d showed up and studied all of them. Assessing them. He’d tried to get them all to commit to the Taliban, but he’d focused in on a select few. The men speculated the chosen ones were men who could pressure other men to join.
Several had agreed immediately, and they would earn good money. The others who hadn’t signed on were wavering. Even if they didn’t agree with the Taliban, wasn’t the money worth pretending that they did? Their families could use that money.
Other men reminded the willing what had happened the last time the Taliban were in charge. The same thing would happen this time, they warned.
Laila sat behind the grass long enough for her feet to fall asleep. But she didn’t move until she heard Saeed snoring. Forty minutes had dragged by since the last men had walked down the alley, and she edged out from behind the grass, gripping the book she still held. As she stepped into the alley, she shook her feet, stretching from heel to toe. When her feet prickled with returning circulation, she moved more quickly. She needed to be in her house before anyone saw her.
Finally she reached the tiny structure she called home. She slipped inside, closing the door silently.
She didn’t turn on the lights. Her eyes were used to the darkness. But before she could step into her bedroom, one of the shadows moved away from the wall. Stepped toward her.
* * *
Mel Melbourne tapped her foot as her gaze flicked from the satellite map displayed on her computer screen to her satellite phone. Back to the map. That meeting had ended two hours ago. Laila should have been back in her hut ten minutes afterward.
“C’mon, Burke,” she muttered, her foot jittering faster. “Make the call. Right now.”
Laila Burke was a good agent. Smart. Strong. Able to blend in when necessary. And she was an incredible linguist. She’d mastered both Dari Persian and Pashto relatively quickly. Her cover story was that her grandmother was from Afghanistan, and Laila had learned the languages as a child.
But she should have checked in two hours ago. Mel had pulled the satellite images for the tiny village of Al Kamen. She’d seen the men gathering at the house on the edge of town. Seen the car gliding to a stop at the house and studied the man who’d stepped out of the car. The satellite definition wasn’t powerful enough to get a clear picture of him, but he’d been the last to arrive. Clearly the man in charge.
She’d watched him leave an hour later, after the meeting was over. And she knew Laila had been watching the house. Trying to hear what they were discussing.
What had happened? Where was Laila?
Two sharp raps at her door, followed by four softer ones had Mel spinning her chair around. Lunging for the doorknob.
Dev stood outside the door, his intense blue eyes worried. Mel beckoned him inside, then closed the door behind him.
“No word from Burke?” he murmured.
Mel shook her head. “She should have been home two hours ago. But so far... nothing.”
Dev wrapped his arms around her. Tucked her into his neck and kissed the top of her head. “She’s a good agent, Mel. Smart. Careful. Laila doesn’t take chances,” he said, his low voice rich as honey. “She’s probably just being extra cautious. Making sure no one’s listening outside her house.”
“Maybe,” Laila said into his neck. She inhaled his scent, fresh and clean even in dusty Kabul. Dev always settled her down. He calmed her as no one else could.
“Probably,” he said.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Probably isn’t definitely. What if she was caught listening to that meeting?”
“She’d have a story ready,” Dev said immediately. “She’s smart enough not to leave her house at night without a good cover story.”
He leaned back and studied her for a long moment. “Do you worry about all of your agents as much as you worry about her?”
