Gavin watched as the elders left, parading the groups of carriers and boxes back into their village like conquering heroes. “Do you know any Pashto?” he asked Nike.

“I have problems with English sometimes and I’m Greek, remember?”

“So, I guess that’s a no.” Grinning, Gavin felt the tension melting off his tense shoulders. Just looking into Nike’s gold eyes made him hungry for her again. Black curls framed her face and Gavin had to stop himself from reaching out and threading his fingers through that dark, shining mass. “Pashto isn’t that difficult. Most villagers don’t speak English. I’ll get one of my other men to help interpret from a distance. You can always go outside the home and talk to him out in the street and he can translate. He won’t be allowed in where there is a female.”

“That sounds like a workable strategy.” She narrowed her eyes on Gavin. “So how did it go with Abbas? He looked like he’d just won the lottery when he read some of the labels on that shipment.”

Gavin laughed a little while keeping alert. Taliban came through this valley all the time, and he knew that with an American A team here, word would get out to their enemy. “The elders’ main concern is the health of their people. We’ve done this type of mission in southern Afghanistan for the last year and it was a great success. The key is in establishing trust with the Afghans.”

Nike nodded and noticed how Jackson remained alert. She was glad the .45 pistol was strapped to her left leg. And wearing a bulletproof vest gave her a strong sense of protection. She hated wearing the chafing vest, but this was Dodge City and bullets could fly at any time. “I thought I saw tears in his eyes. He kept stroking the tops of the boxes that contained the antibiotics. It reminds me of a Greek proverb—Upon touching sand may it turn to gold. Only this time, his gold is the lifesaving drugs for his people.”

Grimly, Gavin agreed and said, “I’m sure he’s seen many of his people die terrible, suffering deaths that could have been avoided if they’d only had antibiotics available to them.”

“Pnigese s’ena koutali nero,” she agreed softly in Greek.

Cocking his head, Gavin said, “What did you just say?”

“You drown in a teaspoon of water. Another one of my Greek sayings I was raised with. It’s the equivalent to your saying that for want of a nail the horse’s shoe is lost, and for want of a shoe the horse is lost, and for want of a horse, the battle is lost.” She held up her finger. “Antibiotics are a small thing, but in his world, they’re huge,” Nike said. “Why was Abbas pointing at me earlier?”

“His wife, Jameela, will bring you a hijab to wear. Just be grateful to her for the gesture. Moslem women always wear the hijab any time they’re outside their home. In Arabic it means covering or concealing.” His mouth pulled into a devilish grin. “The best part is Abbas inviting us to stay at his home. The men and women are always separated. You’ll be on the women’s side of the house and have your own room. You’ll also eat separately, too.”

“That’s a little strict.”

“I agree, but we have to be aware of their religious laws. Afghans see that as a sign of respect. And respect can, we hope, earn us friendship with them.”

Nike said, “Okay, boss, I can do it. Not exactly military issue, but in black ops you have to be flexible.”

“Good. Come on, I see a woman coming toward us. She’s got a red hijab in hand, so that must be Jameela.”

When Gavin placed his hand beneath her elbow, Nike was surprised. She felt a sense of protection emanating from him. It was like a warm blanket surrounding her and she couldn’t protest the nice gesture. The entire village, it seemed, had come out to view the boxes. Indeed, word had traveled fast. Women, men and children stood as the elders marched past them with the A team carrying some of the boxes. There was crackling excitement and expectation in the air.

“Women are pretty well hidden here from the outer world. When they’re inside their homes they don’t have to wear a burka or hijab. And there’s real power among the women. They treat one another like sisters. Even though you may think the women have it bad, they really run the place. They have a lot of power in the household and in the village decisions in general. The women learned a long time ago to stick together as a unit. United they stand and divided they fall. Woman power is strong among the Afghan women and I think you’ll enjoy being a part of it,” Gavin told her conversationally as they walked toward Jameela. The elder’s wife wore a black burka. The black wool robe swathed her from her head to her shoes. A crosshatch opening revealed her cinnamon-colored eyes.

“Don’t expect me to wear one of those things,” Nike warned him with a growl. “All the women are dressed like her. I’m not going to wear a burka. I’ll stay in my uniform.”

“They won’t ask you to don a burka, so don’t worry. Little girls don’t start wearing them until around age seven. Until then, they’ve still got their freedom from the burka.”

Nike grumbled, “I have a really hard time thinking any woman would be happy wearing a burka.”

“Try to be gracious and don’t stir up trouble with Jameela—she’s the chieftain’s wife. There’s an unspoken hierarchy here in these villages. She’s boss of the women and children. Jameela wields a lot of power even though she’s hidden under that burka. Don’t ever underestimate her position and authority. In reality, the women have equal power to any of these men. It may not appear to be like that, but from what I’ve seen, it is.”

“All women are powerful,” Nike reminded him. She felt his hand slip away as they walked to meet the tall, thin woman swathed in the black wool robe.

“No argument from me.” And then Gavin turned slightly, gave her a wink and added teasingly, “Especially you …”

Nike had no time to retort. She felt heat rising in her face. Gavin chuckled with delight. Focusing on Jameela, Nike searched the woman’s spice-brown eyes between the fabric crosshatch. It was Jameela’s only opening into the outside world. Nike felt at odds with the woman, who stood about five foot six inches tall. Only her hands, reddened and work-worn, told Nike of her hard, unrelenting life.

Gavin bowed in respect to Jameela and offered the Islamic greeting to her as they halted about six feet from one another. Jameela whispered softly the return greeting to Gavin and to Nike, who bowed slightly, pressed her hand to heart and said, “Salaam.” She didn’t know what else they said to one another, but at one point, Jameela leaned forward and gave Nike the hijab. She made some gestures indicating she should wrap it around her head.

Nike gave her a friendly smile and put it on. Once the knotted scarf was in place, Jameela’s eyes crinkled as if she were smiling. Perhaps she was grateful to Nike for honoring their customs. Not being able to see another person’s body language or their facial expressions was highly disconcerting. Nike realized in those minutes how much she truly assessed a person through nonverbal means. Jameela remained a mystery to her.

“I speak … English … little …” Jameela said haltingly to Gavin and Nike, opening her hands as if to apologize.

Nike was delighted and grinned. She saw Gavin smile and nod.

“Where did you learn English?” Gavin asked her politely. He knew that Jameela shouldn’t be talking to him. Under the circumstances, he felt it was all right but not something to be done more than once outside her home.

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