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shift staff. She always was a bit apprehensive
walking in the garage late at night, but extra lighting had been
put in because of concerns of women staff using the lot late at
night.
    She located her 2004 Gulf Blue Grand
Am and headed off to her apartment a 20-minute drive
away.
    * * *
    Katie heard the sweet, silky sounds of
Michael Bublé emanating from the stereo as she entered her small
condo apartment.
    “ Hi honey, what took you
so long?” said a male voice from the nearby kitchen. “I’ve had a
bitch of a day and I’m ready for a drink and some lovin’. How about
you?”
    Andrew Chase emerged from the kitchen
with two martinis in hand and wearing nothing but a broad Cheshire
cat grin.

Chapter 6
    A Village in Afghanistan
8:45 AM (Afghanistan DST)
    THE SOLDIERS moved on to the nearby
local hospital to deliver the medical supplies.
    The convoy parked outside a small
white stucco building with a large Red Cross sign outside the front
entrance.
    Dr. Khalid Kamal, a small wiry man who
ran the hospital with the aid of a single nurse, greeted the
Canadian troops with enthusiasm.
    “ Captain Mark, so glad to
see you. We’re just about out of supplies. You are indeed an angel
of mercy!”
    Trained at The University of Western
Ontario medical school in London, Ontario, Khalid Kamal spoke
fluent English. He had returned to Afghanistan to help rebuild his
shattered country.
    “ Hi doc, I’m afraid I’m no
angel of mercy – that’s your job,” responded Van Den Boven. “But
I’ve got more supplies for you. There is Morphine, surgical
instruments, bandages, Penicillin and other antibiotics. We’ll try
to get more to you as soon as possible.”
    Trevor Trevanian introduced himself to
Kamal and shook hands with the Afghan. He interviewed him about the
work at the hospital.
    Trevanian learned the 20-bed
ramshackle facility was three-quarters full of patients. Most
suffered from disease and some from Taliban vengeance and
retribution for collaborating with the allied forces.
    Kamal stressed the importance of the
medical supplies provided by the Canadians.
    “ Kabul seems to have
forgotten about us. There’s been no help from the capital city in
ages. I think they fear to venture from their safe zone into
southern Afghanistan.”
    “ Have the Taliban bothered
you?” inquired Trevanian.
    “ No, they pretty much
leave us alone. They also come to us for treatment of wounds. We
are of use to both sides. I really don’t think our own people are
the real problem. If terrorist zealot insurgents would stop coming
here from neighboring countries and blowing themselves up, things
would get better in our country.”
    After the visit to the hospital, the
trucks moved into the centre of the village and people gradually
began to emerge from their huts, thinking things were
safe.
    The people thronged around the army
trucks as supplies of food, clothing and personal sundries were
unloaded for distribution. Black clouds of flies hovered over the
area. Animal remains lay nearby with the sickening stench of
decaying flesh pervading the air. The air is strong with the smell
of raw sewage.
    Trevanian observed as the men and
women soldiers unloaded the goods and distributed them to the
clamoring horde of hungry, emaciated villagers. Many of them make
hand signals to ask for water or food.
    He took out his camera and began
shooting the scene. They are the poorest of Afghanistan’s poor, he
thought. Many of the mud huts are roofless. No water. No
electricity. Fuel is scarce.
    “ Captain, my heart just
bleeds for these people,” said Trevanian. “They have nothing. The
children look wasted and aged well beyond their years.”
    Van Den Boven turned toward Trevanian.
“I know, Trevor. We’re the only hope they’ve got right now, but
it’s still just a drop in the bucket. We can only do what we can to
help. It will never be enough.”
    Trevanian eyed a small, emaciated
Afghan child approaching a female soldier. The child was about