The Puppetmasters by K. D. Lamb Page A

need to be alone and away from others.” He looked deeply and thoroughly into her eyes as if searching for a sign of understanding or at least an attempt at allegiance. “Please trust me.”
    She hesitated and then stepped into the jeep, and the two drove away. Kendall willed herself to calm down. She felt optimistic for the first time. This quiet yet imposing man appeared capable of having a plan and seeing it through. His confidence and demeanor gave her the assurances she so needed. She considered herself somewhat worldly. She had traveled all over the world and had met many personalities. She could spot a scoundrel with ill intentions the first minute she spoke with him. Rashid was anything but that. His countenance was earnest and forthright, and he gave the impression of reasonableness. At the same time, she got the distinct feeling he would not appreciate her summing him up so. Therefore, she decided to play along for now.
    “So, where are we going?”
    Rashid smiled and caught Kendall’s cautious—if slightly reluctant—conspiratorial tone. He relaxed in his seat. “I thought we would go to the market in Kabul. We will buy some fresh fruit and get you something to drink … maybe a Coca Cola?”
    She broke into a cautious smile and said, “I would love to have some fresh fruit.”
    “Great! The market has wonderful melons, but it needs to be carefully washed before it’s eaten.” He frowned having to admit it and continued, “Much of the fruit is washed in the nearby
juie.
That’s an open ditch that runs through the city. The water is not clean. It would make you very sick.”
    She nodded. “Okay. Good to know.”
    “Even though the country of Afghanistan is quite wealthy now with its continual flow of oil, at least forty percent of Afghan children die before the age of five due to the lack of clean drinking water. The country has greatly improved its infrastructure and living standards, but it is hard to make people understand how important something like clean drinking water is. At least the country now has a water system.” Kendall shook her head in disbelief.
    They drove in silence along the somewhat bumpy but paved road for the few miles to the market. As they approached the city, they passed a few donkeys on the side of the road. A large delivery-sized truck rumbled past them, and Rashid stole a glance at Kendall as she reacted to the colorful truck with a gaping jaw.
    “What is that?”
    “Welcome to Afghanistan! Our truck drivers are very proud of their trucks. As you can see, they hand paint little pictures over most of the flat surfaces.”
    Kendall noticed that in between the pictures was a border of stylize flowers.
    “This particular driver is quite successful … maybe even wealthy.”
    “How can you tell?”
    “He’s wearing a watch. Not too many Afghan men wear watches yet.”
    They rounded a curve and drove onto the main street. She took in all the bustling activity and the various stalls. There were groups of men hanging around. Most were smoking what looked like cigarettes.
    Kendall pointed at one of the groups. “Are they smoking cigarettes?”
    “Yes, cigarettes. But also
naswar.
It’s the Afghan version of snuff. It’s a kind of dipping tobacco that is moist. It’s made from baked tobacco leaves, limewater, tree bark ash, and flavorings. At the end of the manufacturing process, water is added and then the mixture is rolled into balls. The balls are then placed under the lip for awhile.”
    “Ugh.”
    Kendall noticed there were no traffic lights. Only a uniformed soldier provided traffic control. Most of the cars were Japanese, German, and Russianmodels, with a few newer French cars and an occasional Ford truck. There seemed to be honking everywhere for no apparent reason.
    “Why is everyone honking?”
    Rashid smiled. “That’s the way we drive in Afghanistan. They are telling people to get out of their way or just generally letting people know they are driving