Mallory had never been so glad to be on the ground after a flight. Normally she got antsy about three hours into the ride. Hawaii had been a tough eight hours, but this . . . this beat anything she’d ever experienced. They’d run into a storm that produced enough turbulence for the man next to her to spill his soda. He apologized profusely, as most of it went in her lap, and despite scrubbing up the best she could in the bathroom, her colorful clothes now had a stain. That had been the only conversation she’d had with the man. He closed his book before the plane even leveled off, and he’d slept the rest of the flight. She hadn’t been able to sleep, and she wasn’t able to get one of her ears to pop during the landing, so she was having trouble hearing. Add a headache to the mix, and the prospect of a ten-hour layover made for a less-than-perfect start to her adventure.
The Dubai airport was amazing, though, with its multilevels and grand architecture. Once she found the gate for her next flight, she found a seat near a row of power outlets and turned on her cell phone. She listened to Tate’s message again, and for the hundredth time she reminded herself that she was doing the right thing. Then she listened to a message from her mother.
“Mallory, to say you have lost your mind is an understatement,” her mother said. “But what’s done is done, and all we can do now is hope and pray that you make it back safely.” There was a long pause. “Your father and I love you very much.”
Mallory’s eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had said that. In a weird way, it almost made the trip worth it already. But she wasn’t up to talking to either of her parents. She and Vicky had set up Text Plus on their phones. It was worldwide free texting when the Internet was available. And Dubai airport had it. She sent Vicky a quick message to say that she made it, and to please let their parents know that she was fine. Also Tate and Soraya.
Then she called Abdul, and he answered on the first ring. “My dear Mallory, are you in Dubai?”
She smiled. Just the sound of his voice had a soothing effect on her. “I am. I’ll be here for about ten hours.”
“I know. My regret for you being alone at airport. But soon we will be in each other’s faces.”
She grinned. She knew what he meant. “And I am really looking forward to that.”
She glanced around at all the people in the airport. While there were lots of people with dark skin and dressed similarly to Mallory, there was also a hodgepodge of other travelers. Quite a few who looked American.
“Fozia has food for your liking when you are here.”
She still couldn’t get over the fact that Abdul’s ex-wife cooked for him and did his laundry and kept his part of the house clean. It didn’t sound like any divorce she’d ever heard of. “And you’re sure she is okay with me coming there?”
“Yes. Yes. The whole family has excitement about meeting you. But it is me who is most anxious. To see your beautiful person in front of me will be charming.”
It was a word Abdul used a lot—charming. And Mallory found it to be . . . well . . . charming.
“I’m very excited to meet everyone. I’m hoping I can get a little sleep on this next flight. It’s not very long. A little over three hours, I think. But any sleep would help.”
“My dear Mallory. Remember that Majida does not know the news of her sickness. We want to tell her when time is right, when there is hope to say to her.”
Mallory remembered Abdul telling her that via Skype. She wasn’t sure she agreed with it, but she could understand his motivations and would respect his wishes.
Her heart hurt for Fozia, though. Any mother would want to be with her child during cancer treatments. But that was unselfish love, sending your child to a better place for help. She thought about her mother’s message again. Maybe this trip would prove beneficial in a lot of ways.
“My dear Mallory, you travel with safety, and it is soon that I will see your beauty.”
She smiled. “See you soon, Abdul. I can’t wait.”
When they hung up, she started yawning and couldn’t seem to stop. She didn’t want to fall asleep in the airport, though, not with her purse and laptop unattended, so she set out to find some coffee.
ISMAIL WOKE UP TO HIS EMPTY BED AFTER TOSSING and turning all night. He never slept well when Soraya wasn’t there, but when he had slept he’d had awful dreams. About Mallory. Ismail was sure that his cousin had painted an idyllic picture of his life in Peshawar, but Ismail knew the truth. Abdul lived in what they considered to be a middle-class area, not far from where both men grew up. But in comparison to what Mallory was used to, it was going to be quite the shock. Ismail’s parents lived in the same community, and his father had told him that they often heard bombs going off, so loud that sometimes the windows rattled. Two of Ismail’s distant cousins had shamed the family when they became jihadists.
He threw back the covers and sat on the side of the bed. Visions of his childhood—things he didn’t like to think about—swirled around in his mind. He’d spent years trying to forget his life there. There had been some happy times when he was growing up, but the bad was so awful that sometimes those good memories were hard to recall. Once he was dressed, he took his prayer mat from the closet and spread it out by the bed and spent the next hour praying for Mallory.
MALLORY WOKE UP STARTLED WHEN SOMEONE TAPPED on her shoulder. She gasped, latched onto her purse, and quickly looked down to see her laptop still resting against her leg.
“They are boarding the flight to Peshawar. I didn’t want you to miss it if that is your destination.”
It was the man she’d been sitting next to on the plane from Houston to Dubai. “Yes, I’m going to Peshawar. Thank you for waking me up,” she said as she stood up and gathered her laptop.
“You are welcome,” he said. His English was clear, though he was dressed in loosely fitting white pants and a long, flowing white shirt that hung past his waist.
She got the strap to her laptop situated over her shoulder. “I’d been trying to stay awake, but . . .” She shrugged, but the man was frowning.
“Do you have business in Peshawar?”
“No. I’m just going to meet a friend. Thank you again for letting me know they were starting to board.” She glanced around at the empty seats nearby, then noticed there were only eight or ten people in line to board. They were all dark-skinned, and they were all men, dressed similarly to the man who had woken her up.
Her pulse picked up, and she started to recall every movie she’d ever watched about terror on an airplane. Then the truelife story of 9/11 flashed before her, and in her mind she saw the Twin Towers crumble. She knew she was being paranoid, but as she looked around, she realized that many of the men were studying her as well.
She moved toward the line, and the man who had awakened her came behind her. “What is your seat number?” he whispered.
She looked at her boarding pass and told him the number. He merely nodded. Since they hadn’t spoken during the entire fifteen-hour flight, she was curious as to why he was making conversation now. When they got to the front of the line, he spoke in another language to the woman scanning the boarding passes. The airline official nodded, then scanned Mallory’s pass.
Once she found her seat and sat down, she was a little unnerved to see the same man squeeze into the seat beside her. Coincidence? She didn’t think so. She sat quietly, and finally he spoke.
“It is not safe for an American woman to travel alone to Peshawar. I took the liberty of telling them that we were traveling together, and since the flight wasn’t close to being full, asked if we could sit together.”
Mallory held her breath, unsure whether to thank this man or be terrified. She forced a smile and nodded. She was stowing her laptop under the seat when he extended his hand.
“I am Frank.”
Mallory shook his hand, doubting that he’d given her his real name. “I’m Mallory,” she said.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t much company on that long flight. My wife insisted I take something to sleep since she knows I hate to fly.”
Mallory nodded, wondering if she should be comforted that this man had a wife. “I probably should have done that. I didn’t get any sleep during the last flight.”
“You slept for a long time at the airport. I watched you to make sure no one bothered your purse or laptop.”
She was finding this conversation to be much more unsettling than the silent flight they’d shared before. Maybe because the plane was eerily empty. And because she wasn’t sure how to feel about this man arranging to sit beside her.
“Um . . . thank you,” she finally said. She stared at the front of the plane, wondering who the flight attendant would be. A woman, she hoped.
“You’re nervous,” he said as the flight attendant—a man—walked up and down the aisle.
She turned to him. “A little. I don’t like the takeoffs and landings.”
He nodded. “I don’t either. But you’re just nervous in general.” He raised an eyebrow. “I hope your friend is worth it.”
She turned quickly to face him. “What does that mean?” Her hands were already clammy as she dreaded the takeoff, but now her heart was racing.
He frowned. “Peshawar is not the best place for an American woman to fly into. You should have flown into Islamabad and had your friend pick you up there.”
“I’m sure it will be okay. My friend will be waiting for me at the airport.”
“Very well. But with your permission, I will escort you and act as your traveling companion through security.” He put a piece of gum in his mouth, then fastened his seat belt.
“That’s okay. I’ll be fine.” Mallory took a deep breath and tried to focus on finally meeting Abdul at the airport. She reached for her earbuds, planning to avoid conversation by listening to her music. Frank had opened a book and put on a pair of reading glasses.
She thought about how her mother had left her a message saying she loved her. Then she thought about all the messages Tate had left. A knot was building in her throat, but she wasn’t going to cry. She closed her eyes, chose an Eagles song, turned up the volume, and braced herself for the takeoff.
She couldn’t see any of the other passengers. The two seats on the other side of the aisle were empty. The male flight attendant spoke to her in surprisingly good English when he asked her if she would like a beverage. She asked for water, and the young, dark-skinned man handed it to her without any expression on his face. This was a much different flight from the one to Dubai, and she was counting the minutes until they landed—and praying the plane wouldn’t blow up on the way. It was an irrational, stupid thing to think about, but she was too nervous to even travel to the back of the plane to go to the bathroom.
She’d done the research. She knew travel to Peshawar was not recommended, but she’d had Abdul to ease her worries, and she really hadn’t been all that nervous. Until now.
She wanted to talk to Frank, to ask him about the area she was going to. She wanted to know about his wife and his family. But she was having a hard time not picturing him as someone who’d been sent to kidnap her. She’d read about Americans being targets of kidnappings in Pakistan. Abdul had told her that was only dignitaries and those of great wealth, and that the threat was no greater than in other parts of the world. Ismail confirmed that and had continued to encourage her to make the trip, repeatedly telling her what a wonderful, kind thing she was doing. He’d also said that God would look highly on this good deed.
She finally got her nerves to settle a little once the plane leveled out, but she needed more than the Eagles to distract her as she thought about all the things that could go wrong with this trip. Despite her concerns she turned to Frank. “Where in Peshawar do you live?”
He closed his book and took off his reading glasses. She glanced at the paperback. Sometimes a person’s reading preferences offered a hint about the person. But Frank folded his hands on top of the book, and she couldn’t see the title or author. “I live in the military district. Do you mind my asking where your friend lives?”
Now Mallory wished she hadn’t asked. She didn’t want to tell this stranger where Abdul lived. “I think somewhere off Charsadda Road.”
Frank sighed. “He or she must be a very good friend for you to travel all this way. You must know it is not safe for Americans.”
It was the second time Frank had mentioned this.
“I’ve checked the travel advisories. My friend says the media exaggerates about a lot of what goes on there.”
Frank nodded. “That is true.”
Mallory breathed a sigh of relief.
“But . . . that does not make it any less dangerous for an American there. Especially where you are going.”
Mallory reminded herself this man was a stranger and not to trust him too much, but she couldn’t help explaining. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m going there to help a friend’s teenage daughter. I’m hoping to bring her back to the United States to get treatment for her cancer.” In an effort to justify her actions, she added, “ ‘Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.’ ” She paused, smiling. “Jesus said that.”
Frank stared at her for a long time. “Yes, the prophet Jesus.” He lowered his head. “Peace be upon him. There is much wisdom in his teachings. But I hope helping your friend won’t cost you your life, as you just said.”
“I know I’m not laying down my life. I’m just going to help her.” Maybe she should stop using one of the few scriptures she knew. Save a life—yes. But she wasn’t on a suicide mission.
There was no mistaking the concern in Frank’s eyes, and his expression sent her heart racing. Finally, he seemed to force a smile. “I’m sure you will be fine.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed her a card. “I have friends at the consulate’s office, which is very near where you are going to visit. Should you have any problems, call me and I will help you.”
“Thank you. I’m sure everything will be okay.” She glanced at the card, saw that he really was named Frank, and stuffed the card into her purse. This guy wasn’t helping to ease the fears that were brewing—he was just making things worse. When she looked back at him, he was just staring at her, frowning. Then he put on his glasses and started reading again.
Thirty minutes before they were due to land, the flight attendant passed out the immigration forms. Mallory had to list the address of the person she was visiting, what she would be doing while in the country, and write in her father’s name.
It seemed to take forever to get off the plane, and she felt like she was in the movie Casablanca as she descended the steep flight of stairs from the plane to the tarmac. From there she was ushered to a bus that took her to the actual airport, a facility that had zero resemblance to the architecture and beauty of the one in Dubai. It was a small building with visible armed guards from the moment she stepped off the plane.
Frank walked quietly beside her as they passed a soldier wearing tan slacks, a long-sleeved blue shirt, and a blue beret, and toting a machine gun at his side. There were a lot of others just standing around outside the airport. This didn’t seem all that terrifying—she’d seen this same display in Mexico. But she was surprised to see how many military personnel were inside the airport, dressed in uniforms that resembled police officers in the United States.
The passengers were escorted into a small arrival lounge, and several lines were forming. Frank explained that there was a line for married women who were traveling with their husbands, married people who were traveling alone, one just for men and foreigners, and one for single people. He pointed her toward the single line while he walked to the line for married people traveling alone.
After an official stared at great length at her passport and visa, she was finally cleared to go get her baggage, which was where she ran into Frank again. And considering the military presence everywhere, she was thankful he was nearby. Twice he spoke to armed guards who had approached him and Mallory, and both times the men had scowled at Mallory but eventually moved on. It took over an hour for her luggage to be x-rayed, and then eventually her suitcase was opened and searched. Everything was haphazardly stuffed back inside, but one guard focused on a pair of her pink panties for much too long. Her tampons caused an unexpected ruckus, and once she got finished explaining what they were, she wasn’t sure who was more embarrassed—she or the guard. She was quickly urged to move on to the next security check, and relief washed over her.
“It will cost you about two hundred rupees for someone to carry your luggage.”
She turned to see Frank falling in step with her, but he also waved to a group of people walking toward them.
“Do I exchange my dollars here for rupees? Will they take American dollars?”
Frank didn’t look her way but continued to wave. “Yes, you can use American money.” He finally turned to her. “But you don’t have much luggage. If you can handle it, I’d keep it close to you instead of paying someone.”
Two men, a woman, and three children walked up to Frank. The woman eyed Mallory suspiciously. Abdul had already told her that public affection was looked down on, but based on Frank’s smile, this was his family. He turned to Mallory.
“You have my card, Mallory. Safe travels to you, and I hope you enjoy your visit.” He didn’t smile or offer to introduce her. He just nodded and left with the group. She swallowed hard and knew she needed to find a bathroom. All the signs were in Urdu and English, just as Abdul had told her they would be.
The bathroom had a commode like in the States, but off to one side was a rectangular hole in the ground with a tank about five feet off the ground. She’d read about the Indian toilets, but she’d also read that places that were Westernized had both. She couldn’t imagine having to squat over a hole in the ground, and she was wondering why she hadn’t thought to ask Abdul about this small, yet significant, detail.
She walked to the passenger-pickup area where Abdul had said he would be. People stared at her, and armed soldiers snickered. Several airport employees tried to take her luggage from her. “I take to car.” But Mallory held firmly to her suitcase, laptop, and purse, shaking her head and walking as fast as she could, knowing she’d feel safe once she found Abdul.
She made her way to the curb with two armed guards dressed in camouflage following her. On shaky legs, she toted her luggage back and forth along the curb as the same two men paced behind. She stopped, looked all around, and tried to calm her racing heart. The man she’d been communicating with for weeks wasn’t anywhere in sight.
She fought the panic rising to the surface as she slipped on her sunglasses and pulled her purse tightly against her. Everyone who walked by stared at her. Some smirked. Her heart was racing.
Abdul, where are you?