Page 4 of Deadly Betrayal

“In there. Quick.” The woman pointed to thebathroom.

Azita hurried inside and huddled in the deeptub, her muscles turning to stone when someone banged at the oldwoman’s door. The patrol. Holding her breath, she listened to thewoman answer the patrolman’s questions. No, she hadn’t seenanything. No, she hadn’t gone outside. Yes, her husband wassleeping. That last answer, Azita knew to be a lie. No man lived inthis tiny apartment. But widows were an endangered species, and thewoman did well to hide her status from the man.

“We’ve had some problems with stray dogs inthe area. Perhaps that is what you saw,” the woman said.

The patrolman snarled and shouted for her toshut her stupid mouth before stomping off.

“Doctor Azita, it’s okay. He is gone.”

Doctor Azita?Did she know the oldwoman? Most of her patients were younger women and girls. WhenAzita entered the kitchen, the woman set a small glass of tea onthe table. “Drink this. It will help settle your nerves.”

“Tashakor,khanom,” she thankedthe woman, using the customary form of address. She sat and sippedthe tea. As the full-flavored liquid hit her tongue, her eyesrounded in surprise. High-quality tea. From Iran.

Azita felt a niggle of recognition, butcouldn’t quite place the woman, whose face was now split with agrin.

“You’re wondering how I know you.” She took aseat in the only other chair. “You delivered my daughter’s babieslast month. Twin boys.”

The entire birth came back to Azita then. Atonly thirty-two weeks, the boys had been underdeveloped, and thedelivery difficult. In the end, she’d had to perform an emergencycesarean or risk losing them all. “How are they,khanom?”

“Getting big and strong. My daughter isfollowing all your instructions. And I visit her every day to doher chores while she recovers.”

“She is lucky to have you. They all are.”Mortality rates for both mothers and babies in Afghanistan wereamong the highest in the world. But with this woman’s help, allthree stood a better chance of surviving the first year. Azitapatted the woman’s hand and smiled.

“Are you on a call? Is that why you are outtonight?”

Azita took another sip of the hot tea as sheconsidered her answer. “In a way. I am trying to save a young girlfrom a dangerous marriage. She is only eleven years old.”

The woman shook her head, her eyes sad.Tired. “Afghanistan is not what she once was.”

“My brother lives across the street. I’mhoping he will help.” And she would give him no choice. He owedher. Azita took the woman’s hands in her own and squeezed themgently. “Thank you for helping me, and for this wonderful tea.”

Rising to her feet, the woman kissed each ofAzita’s cheeks. “Allow me to make sure the way is clear.” Withgreat care, she opened the door and stepped out, looking left, thenright before beckoning Azita to join her.

Azita adjusted her scarf before boltingacross the empty street. Adrenaline fueled the pounding of blood inher ears and the thrashing of her heart against her ribs. When shereached the relative safety of her brother’s building, she hid inthe shadows and tried to catch her breath. Dreading the upcomingconfrontation, she climbed the stairs to the third floor, her feetlike lead.

She knocked softly on his door and waited.Sweat dripped maddeningly down her back as she strained to hearsounds within the apartment. Finally Shahram called out,“Amidam!” I’m coming. She shook with relief. At least heradventure had not been for nothing.

The door opened and shock immediatelysharpened Shahram’s tired features. Grabbing her arm, he yanked herinside. After a quick check up and down the corridor, he shut thedoor and turned on her. “Are you crazy coming here alone… andatnight?”

The disbelief on his face was almost comical.Azita tamped down the hysterical urge to giggle. This situation andher mission tonight were serious. Deadly serious. Waving away hisconcern, she sat in one of his worn wingback chairs, the onefarthest from the uncurtained window. She stared at it and arched abrow.

“Astaghfirullah!” He grumbled thecurse under his breath as he crossed the room and whipped the thickmaterial over the window. “Tell me why you are here.” Hisexpression changed from one of anger to one of worry as he sat onthe ottoman in front of her. “Did something happen? Did that”—hestopped himself and sucked in a breath, his hands grippinghers—“did he hurt you?”

Her heart heavy, Azita gave him a smallsmile. And touched his jaw. No, what her brother-in-law had donewas much worse. “Agha Khalid has decreed that Laila will marry KhanTariq.”

Shahram visibly paled. “You can’t be serious.He’s a monster. How can Agha Khalid do this to his own niece?”

“He refuses to say why, just that themarriage will happen. Khan Tariq controls most of Fayzabad districtin Badakhshan. I’m certain that Agha Khalid is selling hisbrother’s daughter for his own personal gain.”

“He is a disgusting pig,” Shahram spat. “Howcan a man just use a girl that—” As though realizing what he’d justsaid, he snapped his lips closed and a flush darkened his cheeks.He stared down at his hands.

Azita glared at her brother’s bowed head. Twoyears ago, she’d been forced to marry Faroukh, Khalid’s olderbrother, as payment for Shahram’s own wrongdoing.

“I loved her,” he whispered, his voice roughwith regret.

Azita sighed and sat back in the chair. Otherthan that one time when she’d first returned from Tehran, they’dnever discussed what had happened. Now was the time. “That youloved her doesn’t matter. She was promised to Agha Khalid. You hadno right to touch her.”

“But she was miserable!”