WARRIOR (CROSSFIRE SEALS, #5) by Gennita Low Page A

over there, taking their lessons in the classroom. Perhaps you have more toys for them?”
    Kit looked and saw that it was to the back of the camp, just as Sean had told her. Taking her cue, she smiled and nodded. “That would be great. Can you take us?” She picked up another box of goodies. “Let’s go over there now, Joanna.”
    “All right,” Joanna said. “See you later! I’ll be back to show you some of these photos, okay?”
    Waving at the others, they followed the woman. Kit tried not to appear to hurry too much, just in case someone was watching. She wasn’t even sure what to expect, really. An armed family looking for one of its daughters was beyond any scope of her experience.
    “This way,” said their guide. “The children are anxious.”
    They stepped into a corridor of doors and Kit saw another woman’s face peering out. Her blue head scarf was off, tied around her neck.
    “That’s Fatimah,” their guide told them and waved. “ Assalamu alaikum was rahmantullah. ”
    “ Wa alaikum assalaam, ” the other woman returned the greeting.
    Kit had been practicing the two formal phrases, translated loosely as “Peace be with you and may Allah bless you” and “upon you be peace.”
    “ Assalamu alaikum, ” she said, a little hesitantly.
    The other woman’s serious expression broke into a welcoming smile. She returned the greeting softly and beckoned them to join her.
    When Kit entered the room, she found it filled with young girls, probably between 9-14, sitting quietly on the floor. They looked up at her expectantly.
    Quietest classroom ever. Kit turned to their guide. “Can you introduce us and tell them that these bags are for them?”
    “Yes. And while Fatimah is passing them out, you have to come with me.”
    “Of course.” Kit turned and smiled at the girls sitting so sedately. “Hello, there!”
    Joanna took a photo of them during the introduction. The girls’ smiles of delight were worth everything. They were too well-behaved to rush to her, though, remaining seated and waiting for their teacher to give them permission.
    At Fatimah’s order, they all chorused, in English, “Thank you very much, Miss Kit and Miss Joanna.”
    While the teacher was passing out the presents, the guide tugged at Kit’s sleeve again. Kit nodded and she and Joanna waved and walked out of the classroom.
    “You never told me your name,” Kit said.
    “Hamidah.”
    “Thank you for doing this,” Kit said.
    The woman shook her head. “It’s not my wish but she needs more help than I can give her.”
    She must be talking about Minah, the missing girl. Kit wondered how the women had gotten Minah here without everyone knowing. The girl’s school was the perfect place to meet and her bringing the gifts certainly provided a way to tour the classrooms. Thank goodness for good ideas.
    They entered a room in the back. A lone girl sat there, so still she could have been part of the furniture. Her head scarf was down too, revealing tumbled dark hair tied to the side, framing a small face. She stared at them, her features drawn in tense lines.
    “You must hurry,” Hamidah told them, and then addressed the girl sharply in Pashto, adding, in English, “I also told her to do the same. Minah, this is Miss Kit and Miss Joanna. I’ll stand outside the door to make sure no one interrupts.”
    Joanna said something in Pashto which appeared to relax Minah into a shy and uneasy smile. Although she appeared uneasy, her dark eyes held a grim purpose. She said something back and Joanna indicated her camera and recorder. Kit recognized a few of the words. Reporters. Film.
    Joanna beckoned to Kit. “She said she wants her story told before she dies.”
    Kit frowned. No one was going to die. Not on her watch. She had meant to start out gently, thinking she had to coax the details out of a girl who could hardly have had any experience about adult matters. The person sitting here, though, with that determined gaze, didn’t