02_Coyote in Provence by Dianne Harman

of day that she preferred to land. As she began the plane’s descent, she could see the brightly colored minarets rising from the mosques forming a skyline of their own as the sky shifted from fading pinks to the light blues of sunset.
    The large plane taxied up to the Afghan Immigration and Customs Office outbuilding located near the end of the runway. Private jet passengers were routinely afforded quick entry into the country. She put on her burkha, walked down the plane’s stairs, and entered the building. She was followed by Lou, her principal bodyguard, Tela, her secretary, and Pierre, her chef. They traveled with her wherever she went.
    Mike would follow after he secured the plane. A few minutes later, the group, having quickly passed through immigration and customs, got into a waiting limousine. They eased into the flow of traffic, preparing for the inevitable checkpoints.
    It was only twenty minutes to the Kabul Serena Hotel. She hated the ride through the city. The streets were littered with refuse and in complete disrepair. It used to be that just the homeless were beggars; now small children were everywhere, pleading for food or money. In every direction, there were signs of unrest.
    When they arrived at the hotel, they sat down on luxurious couches in the reservation area and waited while Tela took care of the details of getting them registered as guests at the hotel. Darya, Lou, and Tela would stay in the presidential suite and the adjoining executive suite. Mike and Pierre had their own rooms.
    “I’m sure you’re all tired. Tela, let Mike know he’s free for two days. Pierre, I’ll see you in the morning at breakfast. Tela has set up a number of appointments for me over the next two days, so I’m going to be quite busy. Enjoy your evening.”
    “Tela,” she said as the bell captain opened the door to the presidential suite, “I’m going to have dinner with some members of my family. Please arrange for a limousine to pick me up in about thirty minutes. Lou,” she said to her bodyguard, “You’ll come with me to my aunt’s home.”
    She got her cell phone out of her purse and called her aunt, telling her she’d arrived and that she’d be at the family compound in about an hour.

CHAPTER 16
     
    Darya and Lou stepped into the waiting limousine in front of the hotel. The limousine service catered to the wealthy and those who were in need of the latest in protective gear. Tinted bulletproof glass and expert drivers armed with automatic weapons were only a few of the things the prestigious limousine service provided. Security in Afghanistan was always tricky, but at least the passengers felt as safe as was possible.
    The driver expertly wove his way through pedestrians, animals, and traffic on his way to the compound in the wealthy Share Naw district of Kabul. Even though she’d left Kabul in 1986, every time Darya returned to Afghanistan, she gave thanks to Allah that her parents had been able to move to the United States.
    The sleek black Mercedes pulled up to the gate of the kala. The guard remembered Darya from previous visits and waved the limo into the compound where several large homes surrounded a central parking area. It still unsettled her to see men with automatic weapons patrolling the compound, both within and outside the walls. The door to the largest house opened and Darya’s aunt, Husna, came out the door to greet her.
    Darya quickly opened the car door before the driver or Lou had a chance to assist her and greeted her aunt in a shared hug, both saying Salaam at the same time.
    “Come, you must be tired,” Husna said. “We will have tea.”
    The younger sister of her father had always been considered a beauty, but Darya thought she look tired and much older than she remembered. A devout Muslim, she wore a burka even in her home. Although some Afghans made their own wine and drank it before and during dinner as Westerners did, Darya knew no wine would ever be served in this home.