She was busy repairing a torn shirt when someone hammered on the front door. The Durani girls were in the next room, and she called to them to stay out of sight until she knew who was calling. When she checked through the window, her alarm turned to relief when she saw the familiar and authoritative figure of Sheikh Habib Daub. Although she'd turned her back on Islam, she'd never known him to deal with her or Greg in an unfair manner. Immediately, she pulled back the bolts and opened the door with a smile.
"Sheikh Daud, this is indeed an honor. Please step inside, and I will bring you refreshment."
He stepped into the farmhouse, and four men followed him. Her relief turned to fear. The four men carried rifles; three of them also carried stout canes. The fourth man carried a heavy set of rusty steel restraints. During the time of the Taliban government, she knew they'd worked for the Ministry for the Propagation of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice, the religious police, who'd earned a justifiable reputation for brutality, especially against women.
After the fall of the Taliban, the government disbanded the Ministry, until they had second thoughts and brought the feared Mutaween back into existence. She plastered the smile back on her face, but before she could speak, he held up his hand.
"No, I don't want to hear it. Faria Blum, you are to come with us." He turned to the man with the manacles, "Fasten the chains on her. We don't want her to escape."
She felt a tear fall down her cheek as the cold, heavy steel wrapped around her wrists and ankles. When the locks closed, she found she could only take short, shuffling steps, and her wrists were locked together. She looked at Daud.
"Why you doing this? I have done nothing to you."
His return stare was filled with righteous anger. "It is what you have done to every Muslim, by denying the Prophet. You will be charged with the crime of blasphemy, and when you are found guilty, taken to the place of execution for ritual stoning."
She made a huge effort to prevent herself from collapsing. "I have never blasphemed against the Prophet. This is all a mistake."
He nodded to one of the men, and she felt the cane slash across her rear, and searing pain ripped through her.
"Please, I would never…"
A second blow was so terrible she dropped to her knees in agony, shaking her head.
"Did you think we wouldn't find out about you and your husband? We have spies everywhere, and you've been seen attending a Christian service. The penalty for Muslim apostasy is death. I suggest you consider repenting of your blasphemy before you go to the place of your execution. If you are fortunate, Allah may forgive you." He looked at the man. "Take her away, and put her in the town police cells."
"Sheikh Daud!" she shouted, "When is my trial?"
He sneered. "Two days. The sentence will be carried out immediately afterward. As soon as your husband returns, he will suffer the same fate."
Chained and cowed, she still managed to stand erect and stare back at him. "So you've already decided the verdict. What kind of Islamic justice do you call that?"
"It is my justice. I will be the judge at the trial."
As they dragged her away, her thoughts were of Greg, and the girls back in the farmhouse. The girls would be okay for a short time. Children learned early in Afghanistan how to take care of themselves.
How can I warn my husband, if I’m chained inside a dark, stinking cell? I have to find a way. No matter what happens to me, I must try to save him. If not, the man I love will die.
Sheikh Daud smirked as they tossed her into the back of the truck. He took out the satphone given him by Massoud and pressed the speed dial. If the American Stoner and Greg Blum reached him and tried to arrest his cousin Sardar Khan, as well as collect the reward on Massoud, the woman would be a perfect bargaining chip.
The number rang the other end, but he frowned when there was no reply. He left a message to let him know he'd arrested the girl, and hung up. Then he climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and nodded to the driver to return to Mehtar Lam. He licked his lips. Before the trial, it was essential he questioned the girl. It would be a severe interrogation. He looked forward to it, and the thought warmed him. He put his hands in his lap to cover his growing erection.