Afterglow

"Now we must go to the mosque," Taimoor said after we'd both read the contract. "The imam is waiting for us." The imam would be the man marrying us. They typically led prayer in mosques and were usually well-versed in the Qur'an. Since Taimoor was going to be one of my two witnesses, he couldn't be my "wali" which was the man who would give me away. Taimoor said that the imam had agreed to be my wali. Everything was all set.

I kept my head low on the drive to the local mosque. It was around the time for Zuhr prayer, and I got to witness people literally pray on the streets as we drove by. When we got to the mosque, the imam had just finished leading the prayer. He introduced himself as Hamza and said he was very excited to marry off his first Canadians. I didn't act surprised. Taimoor was probably arranging for Canadian passports.

"You may want to pray first, Brother," Hamza said, turning to Yusuf. "I will prepare the nikkah and review the contract."

Witnessing Yusuf pray was like witnessing the sunrise; beautiful yet painful to look directly into. When he prayed, it was as if he transformed, as if he was no longer a beast, no longer a monster; he was human—and that intrigued me. Guys like him had heartbeats just like the rest of us, and yet he was so unfeeling and cold when he wasn't praying. It was as if prayer brought out his soul, exposed it to the world, making him defenseless, making him human. I liked this vulnerable side of him.

"Ellie," he said after he'd finished praying. He turned his head and looked at me, holding out his hand. It was the first time he'd used my name. I wondered if his god had told him to treat me better.

I walked over and took his hand. He gently tugged me down and I sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, facing Mecca. All the Muslims in this area were praying, facing in the same direction of the world, and for a moment I felt the force of all that faith. I was a part of something. I was a part of hope.

"We must actually enact a Muslim marriage ceremony here to draw the least amount of attention," Yusuf said. "Is this okay with you?"

"Yes."

"This ceremony will be real, and after it, we must act married. I will do everything expected of me. I will care for you and protect you from harm."

"I believe you."

"It is, ah, custom for the groom to gift his wife something. It's called 'Mahr.'"

"I see. What will you give me?"

"It can be anything. It is usually money or property or something of value. What would you like?"

I pretended like I had to think about it for a moment, but I already knew what I wanted.

"I want your kindness, Yusuf."

He closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, they looked at me as if I'd brought him the moon. It startled me, the warm look in his honeyed eyes.

"There's a part of me that will acknowledge this as a real marriage," Yusuf said. "With God as our witness, I don't think aliases will matter. It will be souls, Ellie. Our souls will be married, and that's a connection that I can't disrespect. But kindness, I cannot give you."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I have been trained to be unkind," he said, "I can give you patience, but I am not capable of kindness."

"I'll teach you."

"No," he said firmly. "You must not. We cannot distract one another. We will do this job, get a divorce and move on. We cannot be friends."

"Well, if patience is all you can give me, then I guess I accept that as Mahr," I said. "Just, you know, don't be an assho—" I stopped myself, realizing that I was inside of a holy place. "Don't be a jerk."

"Okay," Yusuf said. "I will not be a jerk."

—

—

The Hitman

—

It is important to reflect the magnanimity of God at a wedding, so we ensured that the towns-people received were fed. We were treated like royalty. Our route planned, the car was gone over meticulously. The most important factor when determining our safety would be our ability to continue on without fear of stopping or having to stay in any one place for too long. If my calculations were correct, it would take us six days of driving eleven or twelve hours a day to get to Islamabad.

We had to drive the length of Turkey, across Iran and then through Afghanistan. I was being well-compensated and I knew that I was going to have to earn my pay. Turkey would not be too difficult, but Iran was still struggling to find work for the men who had been soldiers during the eight-year war with Iraq. Many were now unofficial mercenaries and unsanctioned law enforcement, which amounted to bandits. The mujahideen in Afghanistan had just ended their civil war and replaced Najibullah's Soviet-led regime, which led to anger with Pakistan, who supported Najibullah and the Soviets who had cut off aid.

It was a mess and I had to get a beautiful blonde American safely through all three countries.

War, while tragic for some, was a source of opportunity for others. The Americans and their coalition loomed large, even in their absence, and the people I associated with were thriving. The black market, forgers, and smugglers were making a fortune. There was a professional network and if I didn't know someone in the area who worked on the other side of the law, I had connections who would.

I had compartments secreted into the car we were taking to hide tools of the trade and took three large cans of petrol that I would fill whenever we needed to refuel. We weren't stopping unless we had to. Making our way through Turkey wasn't onerous. There were only two concerns, the first was that Ellie seemed always on alert but appeared relaxed. I wondered how long someone could maintain that vigilance before cracking. The second was that to keep up the image of a married couple, we had to sleep in the same room. I took the floor, she took the bed.

We were between Tabriz and Zanjan and were staying at the home of someone eager for some of my money. It was a rural village and the homeowners stayed with relatives after preparing dinner for us. They would be back in the morning to prepare breakfast before we left. I'd tip them well and hopefully, we'd be able to take some patlicanli pilav and Mercimek koftesi to keep our bellies full.

Waking up early, I went outside to exercise. When I was done, I moved towards the shouting and laughter of children. They were playing some game they made up with a well-worn soccer ball in the field next to the home. Walking over, I watched. The boys reminded me of my son, Jibril, and I tried to remember times I had seen him at play. I couldn't think of any since his mother had died. I visited him at the madrassa twice a year. Naeem Badrashi insisted that anything more would be indulgent.

I had also attended a madrassa, the one where Naeem's pet assassin found me and decided that I would make a suitable killer for the great man. It was the same madrassa where I began my initial training under his private tutelage and where I was plucked from to marry my esteemed father-in-law's daughter. Yes, Naeem Badrashi was my father-in-law. He was wealthy, he was powerful and I was in awe. I would have done whatever he had asked and been grateful for the opportunity, but sacrifices weren't necessary. Aisha was beautiful, kind and much better educated than I was. Why she seemed happy with our match was a mystery to me, but I was smitten and quickly fell in love.

She died when Jibril was five and I was on a job. When I returned the great man told me that I shouldn't be dismayed and that he would find me another wife. That is how he expressed his sorrow over the death of his own daughter and the woman I loved more than life. I almost killed him. It was a dark time and I worked constantly. He told me that Jibril was with his cousins and he would come back to live with me when I was back in control of myself. Like a fool, I believed him.

My son was sent to a madrassa as a safeguard against my loyalty.

The assassin that had trained me now acted as the chief bodyguard for my father-in-law while I filled his old function as a killer for hire and family enforcer. While he had my son under his control, I was his loyal dog. He would line my kennel with gold, whispered endearments and promises for my son's future and like a good dog, I sat on my haunches and awaited my instructions. Not every job involved killing, but those that did invariably claimed two victims; the target and a piece of my soul.

When I first began, they made sure that I was convinced that whoever I was eliminating was coming to kill the great man or his family. It was a defensive war and I was protecting a hero, the benefactor of thousands, the man who plucked me from obscurity and gave me purpose. Once the scales fell from my eyes they had my son captive. I continued or he would suffer. So I sold pieces of who I was for my son's safety.

Go to America, Yusuf. This man is causing problems for the family.Off I would go, killing a rival in Dearborn, Michigan. A man is coming today, Yusuf. Eliminate his security. Shortly after he arrived he would find himself bereft of guards. Her name is Ellie, Yusuf. Fetch, boy. Bring her to Muree, get the package there, then bring her to Lahore. Keep her safe, Yusuf. Good boy, good boy. Like the dog that I was, I did his bidding, always and without complaint.

The scuffed up and underinflated ball rolled my way and some of the kids called out. "Yella! Yella!"

Jogging forward, I pulled back on the top of the ball with the tip of my shoe, let it ride up on my foot and lifted it a bit into the air. As it came down, I kicked it back up a bit and then over to the children. I don't think they had many adults that played with them. I was an anomaly. The ball was passed around a bit and then one of them kicked it over to me again. I headed it, bounced it on my knee and then kicked it back to the kid.

We continued for a while until I turned, letting the ball bounce off my chest and noticed Ellie standing there, watching me with a bemused expression. I realized I was laughing with the kids and immediately stopped.

Emotions are a weakness that can be exploited. Hitmen don't show weakness.

—

Ellie's hand was on my arm as he approached us.

"This doesn't feel right."

I agreed with her. We passed through a checkpoint when we first entered Iran and had no difficulties. It appeared... normal. Now we were six hours into the country and were approaching another checkpoint that seemed ramshackle and primitive. The barren land to either side of the road was littered with rocks that were up to two feet in diameter. I removed her hand from my arm while again reassessing my original impression of Ellie. She seemed to almost have a sixth sense for things that were "off" when it came to people in positions of authority. That would be a highly valued attribute in her line of work.

"Remember, no English."

She nodded as the man approached. He questioned me for a moment. Reaching for our ID's as asked, I spoke up in Urdu. "Of course. Do you speak Urdu? My wife and I are headed home."

His accent was horrible, but he made himself known. "Yes. Wait here." Taking our passports, he made his way back to his decrepit building.

Ellie was right. Something was definitely off. His uniform seemed disheveled and out of date, the building hadn't seen repairs in years and the wooden barrier blocking us seemed jury-rigged. It was almost as if this had been a fall-back checkpoint during the war with Iraq and had been abandoned long ago. When he stepped into the building and closed the door, I got out of the car and moved quickly to the door he stepped through. Pausing, I listened as he spoke to someone in Farsi.

"Blonde, I am sure." Pause. "Early 20's. European." Pause. "Just the two of them. I will need double. You will fetch much more than that for a blonde. She..."

Pushing open the door, I put a bullet in his head. He fell to the ground, still holding the military-grade handset to his ear. I don't know who he was talking to, whether they were white slavers, human smugglers or something else. My not knowing was coupled with my not caring. We needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. I took his gun, put it in his hand and fired it at the doorway twice.

Going back to the car, I went into one of the compartments we'd had built into it and removed a packet of almost pure heroin and a small stack of Turkish currency totaling about 5,000 lira. I put the heroin under the corpse's belt and the money in his pocket. If he was in any way actually legit or had connections to anyone legit, I wanted it to appear as if he was involved in the drug trade. Investigators this far out would be looking for the simplest explanation and I was happy to give it to them.

I got back into the car.

"What happened? What did you take from the car?"

"Nothing. It's taken care of. Stick to Urdu. You need to do a better job of keeping your hair hidden. The next time we stop, get the blankets and water from the trunk. We're sleeping off the road tonight, no hostels."

She was quiet a moment before replying. "Okay."

—

The Drug Mule

—

He wasn't kind during the weird fake wedding, but he was at least respectful. It seemed to matter to him somehow and it was difficult to keep thinking of him as this strange other. He was a man, not some stoic killing machine. When I saw him looking so sad and then playing with the children something inside of me changed and I couldn't put my finger on it. That initial shifting deepened and expanded. He wasn't just a man, he was someone with a background, a history and someone who had a soft spot for children.

His running around passing the ball and laughing made me think of my siblings and I wondered if he had any kids.

It was well after dark when we stopped. He used both of the large petrol cans and we pushed on for as long as possible. He had a knack for looking the same regardless of what was going on around us, but even I could tell that he was exhausted. Our stopping had only been for bodily functions and his praying. We were parked behind a small ridge, out of sight of the road and had a supper of dried fruit and pastirma, a flavorful dried meat.

"Yusuf, do you have any children?"

Before turning from me I saw an ocean of pain in his eyes. He took a bite of the pastirma and gnawed on it for a moment.

"I will get you safely to Lahore. I will treat you... as respectfully as possible while we are together. I do not need to know about your family and you don't need to know about mine. It's simpler that way. Less... It's just simpler."

We set out our bedrolls and were asleep fairly quickly. I woke up a few hours later, my heart in my throat. I didn't know if it was due to a dream or something I sensed in the darkness, but it disturbed me on a very basic level. After laying there for half an hour, I finally got up and moved my bedroll next to his.

I woke up in the morning with his arm over my shoulder, hand resting on my breast and what might be an erection pushing through both his bedroll and mine and into my butt. His soft, regular breathing was somehow reassuring and his warmth was welcome. The hand on my breast was starting a different warmth in me when he stirred. He began slowly pulling his hand and arm back, maybe thinking I was still asleep. I grabbed the hand and held it in place with my own.

Tracing my fingers over his, I realized he was missing the end of his ring finger. He flinched as I felt it.

"What happened?"

He paused before speaking. "Punishment. There were lessons I needed to learn when I was young. The inducements to learn were effective."

Yusuf always sounded so stiff, so distant. I could feel my nipple crinkling and hardening under his palm.

"In school? They... they did that to you for not learning something?"

"It was at the madrassa, but it wasn't one of their teachers. It was the man who taught me to be who I am. He'd come every few weeks. Set up challenges for me, quiz me, see what I'd learned since the last time we spoke. There are rules we have to follow if we're to survive. I had to remember them, all of them and in order. My memory improved when this happened." He wriggled his fingers.

I don't know why I did it, but I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed the finger. "I'm sorry."

"I...I have to get up. Stretch. Pray. I..."

Need to get away from me.

"I understand. I should have said this before. I appreciate what you're doing. I know it's a job for you, but, well, you're keeping me alive and I appreciate it."

In spite of his claim of needing to get up, he stayed where he was. It was a few moments before he spoke.

"A son. Jibril. I have a son."

I didn't understand why, but I thrilled at his sharing this information with me.

—

The Hitman

—

We were consuming water faster than I had anticipated and that bothered me. This was part of my job. Ellie was supposed to be delivered safely and in good health. I had to balance that against the need to remain out of sight and off the beaten path. We stopped in Sabzevar, just south of the Golestan National Park. It was a surprisingly dense city and the people were friendly.

In the shadow of the Masjid Jameh of Friday mosque and it's twin minarets lay a large open-air market. Sabzevar was known for its dried fruits which were shipped throughout the middle-east and were exactly what I was looking for. Ellie kept her head covering tight and her eyes downcast, trying not to draw attention. The heat beat down on us, but we were both grateful to be out of the car for a short while and luxuriated in the limited freedom of just walking around.

We had just finished some samosa from a vendor and were looking to purchase an array of lavashak for dessert. The fruit rolls were cheap, delicious and omnipresent. The merchant also sold Coca-Cola from Mexico, which was a huge surprise. I was haggling over the price of a case and a box of lavashak when I caught something out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I saw Ellie standing there, body language tight. A man stood directly behind her and way too close.

Keeping my hands at my side, I pivoted towards them slowly. Ellie was staring at me with what looked like a desperate plea in her eyes. I didn't know if it was for me to kill or spare this man.

I spoke in Farsi. "Is there a reason you have touched my wife?"

"Your wife, my brother? I believed she was unmarried."

"You're not my brother and you haven't answered my question. Is there a reason why you have touched her?"

He smiled at me. "Who says that I have touched her?"

Letting it go would have been the smart move, the professional move; but I just couldn't. Something deep inside me pushed forward. It was new, disturbing and surprisingly exhilarating. He thought that he had a right to grope a woman. I was offended on a basic level and would have been so regardless of circumstances, but the woman was Ellie. My feelings were blurring from protective out of fidelity to the job to just protective.

"Is your hearing defective? I said so. Twice. Apologize to my wife and I will let you leave."

His supercilious smile faded. "You are a guest here, foreigner. You presume to make demands upon me?"

Like a peacock, he was wearing shalvar long pants and jameh, both of bright blue. A merchant in a stall behind him seemed aghast and I saw other shoppers giving us a wide berth. It appeared that he was a big man in the area. I really should have let this go, but... Ellie. Two large men dressed in cheap suits came hustling over, stopping at the peacock.

"Mr. Shirvani," Bald with the thickest mustache I've ever seen, he gave a quick half-bow. "Is everything all right?"

"This man and his whore have insulted me."

I smiled, my rules going out the proverbial window. "You are making a huge mistake. Apologize and I will let you and your men leave. I will not make this offer again."