Meant to Be (17 page)

The tribes themselves were bound by a
strict code of honor that had lasted through the ages, but this
land was now a safe haven for Islamic militants and criminals who
had fled Afghanistan. Drug mafias had also moved in, and sectarian
violence flourished as Sunni groups attempted to establish a
Taliban-style government. The long tradition of war, pillage, and
slaughter continued.

Although Lauren had been in Pakistan
for almost five years, she had only resided in this mountain town
for about a year. The nearest settlement to her was a smugglers’
town called Landi Kotal, about five miles from the Afghanistan
border. Beyond that town lay a viewpoint that looked out across
tank traps of closely packed cement pyramids—the unnatural remnants
of former wars.

Lauren adjusted her
dupatta
, a loose scarf
worn around her head and shoulders to cover her hair, and glanced
down at the nondescript
shalwar
kameez
she wore. The pajama-like pants and
tunic were a far cry from the shorts and tee shirt she had grown
accustomed to wearing in the States. Still, the outfit was
comfortable, if not fashionable, so she could not
complain.

Since it was not unusual for a woman
to walk for miles to fetch fuel, she did not feel out of place
strolling around in this mountain hamlet with an armload of wood.
The main street she walked on was lined with traditional Pakistan
homes—compounds really, composed of a central courtyard and a
couple of small buildings surrounded by an exterior wall. The place
where she resided now was further up the winding road, somewhat
isolated, except for the large terraced property directly across
the dirt street.

Lauren raised her eyes and gazed at
the ruggedly majestic mountains that rose around her. The scenery
in that direction was breathtaking—yet so was the scent of the
brown stagnant puddles of sewage at her feet. She moved to the
other side of the road as she continued the long walk back to her
residence, longing to fill her lungs with fresh, salty
air.

In the daytime, the heat here was
intense and unrelenting. At night the electricity often went out.
It was evening now, and stove fires and kerosene lanterns
illuminated her surroundings in a soft glow of light.

The journey to this remote village had
been dangerous and grueling. Most NGOs, including the Red Cross,
had already pulled out of this region due to the lawlessness and
chaos—but Lauren was determined to stay. She couldn’t leave. Not
yet. She had worked too hard and suffered too much to throw up her
hands now. Even though she didn’t yet possess the hard evidence
needed, she knew she was on the right track. The man she had been
sent to find was here. She could feel it.

As she thought about her career,
Lauren bent down and picked up a piece of wood someone had
apparently dropped. This was certainly not the profession she’d
dreamed about since she was a little girl. September 11, 2001, had
changed all that. That single day, now a measure of time, had led
her to be at this place at this moment—hopefully to keep anyone
else from going through what she had.

Even though more than a dozen years
had passed, she could still remember every detail of that Tuesday
morning with perfect clarity. The sky was a brilliant blue as she’d
walked to school—perfect weather for the flight her parents were
about to take to visit friends in California.

But then bits and pieces of news
reports began to circulate in the hallways at school about a plane
crashing into the World Trade Center building in New York City,
soon followed by another. Lauren remembered seeing teachers
huddling together, talking in low whispers, some even wiping away
tears.

It wasn’t until hours later that she’d
learned the full impact of the attack, and even then she could not
accept that her parent’s plane had hit the Pentagon. It was
impossible, surreal… unbearable. From that moment forward, she had
two distinct lives.

The one before 9-11. And the one
after.

Lauren took a deep breath as she
walked, more from the weight of her memories than the slope of the
incline she traversed. She was proud she’d been able to keep her
father’s memory alive by attending the U.S. Naval Academy, but her
goal to follow in his footsteps as a Navy language specialist had
changed drastically.

With her Middle Eastern appearance and
fluent language skills, she’d been taken under the wing of an
influential military officer after graduation who’d given her the
opportunity to trade a normal life in the military for a dangerous
life of risk.

Strings had been pulled to place her
in a clandestine service program where she’d been provided with
additional training in tradecraft, deep reconnaissance, radio and
satellite communications, and even survival and evasion
techniques.

Her first official job had been
working in the Defense Attaché Office in the U.S. Embassy in
Islamabad as an interpreter for military personnel. With a new
identity as a Pakistani national and a high level security
clearance, she interpreted conversations for U.S. dignitaries and
Navy officials as they negotiated critical deals with foreign
powers.

That position had put her in direct
contact with foreign officials in all positions and ranks as she
attended parties, meetings, and conferences. Young and ambitious,
not to mention relentlessly tenacious, she had gone out of her way
to assimilate into the Pakistani culture. Using the name, Aminah
Umar, she soon found herself mingling with high level officials and
their wives both officially and socially. That led to a new
position with the International Society for Women’s Health, an
organization that gave her more freedom to travel into the smaller
villages and towns of Pakistan.

Because of her work with the charity,
Lauren’s reputation grew, leading to her acceptance by the
Pakistani government as a candidate for the position of Lady Health
Visitor. After attending health services training, she was now
authorized to provide immunizations and offer family planning
assistance to Pakistani women.

In a country where only a small
percentage of women were permitted to work outside the home, this
occupation provided the perfect cover for Lauren, whose main
objective was to track down a man named Ahmed Arif.

Ahmed had been indicted in absentia in
July of 2010 in New York for his role in a plan to attack targets
in the United States. The plot, uncovered in 2009, was against New
York City’s subway system, but there was reason to believe he had
been heavily involved in the planning of 9-11 as well. Having been
under the direction of senior al-Qaida leadership in Pakistan,
counter terrorism officials now feared that Ahmed had slipped out
of the United States and made his way back to this
country.

The charges against him included
conspiracy to use weapons of mass destruction, providing material
support to a foreign terrorist organization, receiving
military-type training from a foreign terrorist organization, and
attempt to commit an act of terrorism. Despite a large reward
offered for his capture, Ahmed remained elusive, his exact
whereabouts unknown.

And that’s where Lauren came in.
America’s capabilities in using high-tech resources were of little
use in the new war on terrorism. Since al-Qaida and other networks
had learned the power of spy satellites and drones, they had gone
low tech, using hand-delivered messages rather than communicating
with phones or radios. This made eyes on the ground indispensable
despite the obvious risk involved.

A break had finally come for the
United States when a prisoner had leaked the name of a courier
possibly attached to Ahmed during an intense interrogation. From
that small tidbit of information, data had been compiled,
surveillance initiated, and intelligence gathered. After more than
three years, the pieces pointed toward this village, and under
Lauren’s vigilant watch for the past year, she felt she now knew
the exact compound where he lived.

Lauren smiled grimly. All the United
States wanted from her now was one hundred percent proof. Only then
would they make their move.

Gazing up at the compound that loomed
in front of her, Lauren opened the gate and grimaced when it whined
and groaned beneath her hand. An adobe-colored building with a
sagging roof and grime-covered windows appeared before her as she
stepped through. “There’s no place like home,” she murmured to
herself as she climbed up the steps of the dilapidated building.
The sour stench of human filth assaulted her and again made her
long for a deep breath of ocean air.

Lauren put the wood she had gathered
on the porch and paused for a moment as she took in her
surroundings. During the day she visited women at their homes, but
in the evenings she could expect visits from others who needed
health advice or first aid. This building where she lived was known
throughout the region as the “health house,” affording her a
valuable cover as well as a sense of satisfaction. In a country
where direct interaction between women and men was, for the most
part forbidden, a female health care worker fulfilled a definite
need.

With her mind wandering, Lauren
thought about all the twists of fate that had brought her here. She
had a feeling her neighbor, Ahmed, ironically had something to do
with it. When the town leaders had been asked to suggest a location
for the lady health worker assigned to them, this empty house on
the edge of town had been Lauren’s top choice. In the first place
it sat higher than the other compounds, affording her a good view
of the streets below. But more importantly was its close location
to where she suspected the terrorist resided—directly across the
street.

Apparently Ahmed had given
his blessing to having her as a neighbor, probably assuming such an
establishment—often teeming with civilians—would spare him from
random drone attacks. Lauren had resided here for a year now, and
although she had never actually
seen
him, she still believed Ahmed lived in the house
across the street. She had no intention of leaving until she could
prove it.

Lauren had no illusions about the
deadly business in which she was engaged. It was hard to have any
illusions as soon as one’s feet touched the ground in this
godforsaken country. Despite the fact that only a week earlier she
had been a little tipsy playing volleyball on the beach, she was
now focused on her agenda. It was a bit like being handed a free
ticket to a wild and exciting adventure.

No, she decided, as she opened the
creaking door and entered the musty-smelling building. Actually it
was more like being given the chance to try to survive in one of
the most dangerous and threatening places on earth.

Lauren’s thoughts drifted back to the
final twenty-four hours she’d spent in the United States and found
it hard to grasp that it hadn’t all been a dream. In the space of a
little more than a week, she felt like she had somehow been
transported in a time machine to a world two thousand years older
than the one she’d left behind. She longed to return to the
laughter, the light-heartedness, and the family-like comradery
she’d experienced during her short trip.

As Lauren dumped some tepid
water into a bowl and splashed the grime from her face, it occurred
to her that she’d spent almost five years in this country, never
thinking twice about the loneliness of her life or the pressures of
her job. But that was before she had been wrapped in the warmth of
strong arms, lying content by the ocean. That was before
him
.

In the middle of her daydream, Lauren
realized just thinking about that day had brought a smile to her
face. How strange. Here she stood, a woman on her own involved in a
highly classified mission, living in a high-danger shithole of an
environment, and she was grinning.

And here she was at the
ripe old age of thirty, thinking about something she had never done
before—
enjoyed
the
vulnerability and the security of being held in a man’s arms. The
experience had shattered all previous conceptions and hit her even
harder since she hadn’t been expecting it, or even looking for
it.

Lauren tried to change her thoughts to
something else, to rouse herself from the numbness that weighed her
down. She put her hand to her heart and wondered how it had changed
so. She could feel it throbbing in there, yet there was also an
undeniable void that made each pulsing beat almost
painful.

She had always been independent and
alone. Enjoyed it that way. But now she was powerless to resist
this attraction to someone she didn’t know if she would ever see
again.

A year ago—heck, a month ago—Lauren
would have laughed at anyone who believed in love at first sight.
But what else would you call it? She had been entranced with Rad
from the first moment their eyes met—and not just because of his
blatant good looks. Something had sparked between them, something
tangible and vibrant and real. Just thinking of him and the time
they had shared caused a sensation of peace and contentment to wash
over her.

Maybe it was time for a
change. Maybe she was ready to give up her independence and rely on
someone else.
Trust
someone else. And maybe Rad was what she needed. He was
strength and comfort and calm… the key that could unlock her heart
and soul.