Izzy shifted her weight and leaned against the cleanest edge of the desk. “I don’t mind the danger.”
“I certainly do,” the senator replied. “And it complicates what I need to tell you.”
I tensed at the tone in the senator’s voice.
“We received a call this evening from the coach, and it seems they’re not comfortable with the evacuation plan.”
Izzy’s brow knit. “They’re not?”
“No. They’re saying that given the status of the city, they don’t trust any of the men claiming to be Afghan Air Force, who are, of course, coordinating the trip.”
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
Izzy chastised me with a single look. “I see.”
“Newcastle asked them what would make them comfortable enough to leave and mentioned that you’re in country, thinking it would give them some reassurance,” the senator continued.
I stopped myself from cursing again, knowing exactly where this conversation was bound to lead.
“They said they’ll only trust you, Isa.”
Damn it. I hated it when I was right.
“Oh.” Izzy gripped the edge of the desk. “Because they don’t trust the air force?”
“They don’t trust them to be who they say they are,” I said. “Unfortunately, that’s a common problem. I assume the team is in hiding in case the city falls?”
“They are,” Izzy replied. “They were supposed to be moved—”
“To the airport today to evac tomorrow,” I finished. “That’s why they were meeting you there for visas.”
Izzy nodded.
My mind went to work. “If I can get a female operator to take Ms. Astor’s place, would that be sufficient?”
Izzy shook her head even as Senator Lauren said, “No, I’m afraid not.”
“We had Skype calls as part of the planning,” Izzy said. “They know what I look like.”
Silence filled the office.
“Isa, I’m not going to ask you to put yourself in danger to get those girls—” the senator started.
“We can’t just leave them there,” Izzy interrupted, her gaze locking with mine.
“Can it be done safely . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know your first name,” the senator said.
“That’s intentional, ma’am.” I glanced at the framed map of Afghanistan on the wall, thinking about the security briefing, the threat assessments, and the girls whose only crimes would be their intelligence and education. “There are six of them?”
“And their parents,” Izzy supplied. “A few siblings too.”
I nodded. “The Kandahar airport is currently being held by Afghan special ops. If we can get the team to the airport and luck out with a secure landing zone—understanding we’d spend as little time as possible on the ground—it can be done.” I’d hate every minute of it, but we could do it.
“With minimal danger to Ms. Astor and American lives?” the senator asked.
“Respectfully, ma’am, there’s no such thing as minimal danger in this country right now, but those girls will be in considerable danger if they stay where they are.”
“Isa? I’d never demand you risk your life.”
“I know.” Izzy swallowed and moved to tuck her hair behind her ears, even though the strands were already secured in a bun. She was nervous.
“Today is the only day,” I said. “The rate this country is falling, Kabul is going to fall within the next month—if not faster—and I honestly don’t know how much longer Kandahar has.”
“Intelligence reports said we had six to twelve months,” Senator Lauren said softly.
“Things change, ma’am.”
“We’ll go today.” Izzy straightened her shoulders. “I’ll call Coach Niaz. I have her number.” After exchanging a few more pleasantries and well wishes, she ended the call.
“You have an hour to say your goodbyes to Dickface, and then we need to leave,” I said, walking out of the office and leaving Izzy behind.
Guess we were going to Kandahar.
We left every other member of Izzy’s delegation and flew out three hours later with the three operators on my team and four others, since none of the other congressional aides were leaving the embassy today. Our fleet of four Blackhawks launched, and I still wished we had more firepower.
Izzy sat across from me just like every other flight, looking out the window, and I handed over my earbuds and phone, but didn’t put them into her ears like before. I took out my book and blatantly looked away before Izzy could reject my offer.
After seeing Covington in the hallway last night, I wasn’t sure how I’d react if Izzy once again reminded me that whatever I had wasn’t good enough.
She’d been able to get ahold of Coach Niaz, and the chess team was currently en route to the airport. They were just as skittish as the senator had implied, and I couldn’t blame them. With any luck, we’d be on the ground for less than an hour, and out again before the Taliban knew we were even around to mortar.
That didn’t stop my pulse from rising the closer we got to Kandahar.
I stowed my book as we landed and slung my rucksack over my shoulders, tucking my phone and earbuds into one of the pockets of my uniform when Izzy handed them back. The distance between us was palpable, painful, and necessary. Dickface’s arrival had been a much-needed reminder that the ring on her finger meant something.
The helicopters ran down as we all filed out.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been to Kandahar’s airport, but it very well might have been the last. The destruction from the reported shelling was obvious in the broken decorative arches and piles of rubble lined against the barbed wire fence. The runway was damaged too.
The sun beat into my bare forearms as we moved as a team, walking quickly toward the terminal, where our liaison from the Afghan army would meet us. I kept Izzy at my side and my eyes moving, taking in every detail of our surroundings, and Graham covering our six.
An Afghan officer waited at the end of the walkway connecting the tarmac to the terminal, escorted by six of his own soldiers. They looked like they’d been through hell and dragged back again.
“Twelve inches,” I said to Izzy once the noise of the rotors had faded enough to hear myself.
“Not quite,” she shot back quietly, clutching the strap of her messenger bag.
“Smart-ass,” I muttered. “Twelve inches is the maximum distance you’re allowed to be from me while we’re here.”
“You don’t trust the Afghan forces?” she asked quietly.
“Some of them, absolutely.” I kept my hands on my rifle. “But I didn’t live this long by trusting anyone I don’t personally know.” And I wasn’t trusting anyone with her.
“Noted.” She glanced at me once we were halfway down the path. “And what if I have to pee? Does your twelve-inches rule apply then?”
“I’ll be happy to hand you the toilet paper.”
“Graphic.” Her nose crinkled.
“You’re the one that went there. We’ll only be here for an hour, remember? Hold it.”