Sara – Part II

If you have not read Part I, please do so here.

It wasn’t long before there was pounding at the door.

“Open up” hollered the voice from the other side. “Irani Security Forces.”

She emerged from the bedroom and found me curled up on the floor where she had left me. With a quick motion of the hand, she directed me to the bathroom and headed to the door.

I dragged myself across the floor, barely managing to close the bathroom door before she answered.

“Slide your identification under the door. I want to see proof that you are security forces,” she shouted back through the door.

The pounding stopped and there was silence.

I jumped into the shower and started the water running. If nothing else, I would get a shower before they took me. I stripped down and stood under the water, hoping that no one would come in.

“I’m not letting you in. I am a female and I will not have unknown men in my home,” I could hear her saying to the soldiers at the door.

After a short time, I heard the bathroom door open and prepared myself for a potential attack.

She pulled the shower curtain back and looked at me, smirking.

“Do you really think that,” pointing at the back brush in my hand, “is going to protect you from armed soldiers? I guess if they need a bath, it would work. By the way, you missed a spot.” She was staring at my torso. She could see fresh bruises on my chest, cuts on my arms and legs, but she didn’t bring them up. “There is a bathrobe behind the door when you are finished,” she smiled, pointing at the pink robe. Obviously, the state of my battered body had given me some credibility with her.

I quickly wrapped up my cleaning and stepped out of the shower, looking for a towel. Not seeing one, I stepped out the door and asked, “Do you happen to have a towel that I can use?”

Her eyes gleamed as she headed to the closet to get a towel.

“Hmm…I have a hand towel. Would that work?”

“If you only want me to dry my…”

“Ah, here. This should do the job,” she said pulling a bath towel from her closet, dropping it behind her.

I moved over, scooped up the towel and rushed back to the bathroom, noticing her glancing back over her shoulder to get a better look. As if she had not had a good enough look in the shower.

Quickly drying off, I reached for the bathrobe. Is this a bathrobe or another towel? I thought to myself as I pulled it on. It barely covers anything. I can’t sit with a woman wearing this, but my clothes were a mess and I had no choice. Here we go; I stepped out of the bathroom.

She spun around and exploded in laughter. “That seems to fit you perfectly,” shooting a thumb in the air. “Excellent color, I must say.”

“Do you happen to have sweat pants or something more modest that I can wear?” I asked covering my unmentionables as best as I could.

“Everything is in the wash and it would be terrible to put on something dirty after a shower. Have a seat, I am making tea. Would you like something to eat?”

I sat at the table and felt my junk hit the chair as I sat down. I crossed my legs hoping to protect what was left of my modesty, but a simple cross can’t hide some things.

“Are you sure that you don’t have something that I can wear?” I said, as a thought entered my head. Not waiting for an answer, I went to the bathroom and collected the towel. I sat back down, towel draped across my lap to cover myself.

“You know, I live downstairs. You could pop down and pick up some clothes for me,” I suggested hesitantly.

“You’re kidding right?” she shot me a glare. “What would be my excuse for being there?”

What would be the excuse? Embassy official? Coming from upstairs rather than outside? “Well, you could just leave and on your way back, you could stop and pick up some clothes for me?”

“Or…you could just climb down the fire escape and collect a suitcase for yourself!” she said matter of factly.

“Can you tell me your name? I don’t know if I feel comfortable sitting naked in a strange woman’s flat,” I said. “My name is Kamal Khan.”

“Sara is all you need to know for now,” she said, shortly.

Sara made a few sandwiches to go with the tea. I smiled as she brought the food to the table. She was attractive, but I had noticed that at the cafe. Yes, that was why she verbally abused me, I remembered.

Sara stood all of 5’6” with dark brown hair. Her eyes were a penetrating green, much like mine, I thought to myself. As I glanced up and down her body, I really liked what I saw. Her personality was quite typical of a Pakistani girl, but I still didn’t know if she was Pakistani or where she was from. She was fluent in Farsi and not a woman that was easily intimidated. Taking a bite of the sandwich, I thought to myself, she must be good at something else, because the sandwiches would only be appealing to someone who had been recently tortured.

Sara was checking me out as well. With stolen glances, she was adding to the knowledge that she gained from her long stare in the shower.

“So you know that I am Pakistani, but I know nothing about you,” I said hoping that she would share some information about herself. Every woman liked to talk about herself…

“Good. That’s how it should be,” she answered. Except for this one.

“Come on, I’ve seen you naked. I should know something more than just your name.”

“You forget, I have also seen you naked, but I didn’t need a name. Why don’t you come to the sofa and let me clean your wounds properly? You obviously did that in a hurry,” motioning to the bandaging, now wet and falling off from the shower, that I had done.

“Do you know what you are doing?” I asked slowly getting up, hearing the towel hit the floor beneath me.

“Training to be a doctor, so I think I know this better than you.” She motioned for me to pick up the towel. “I’ve seen quite enough of you today.”

I went to the bathroom to get my phone and first aid kit. I still needed to call my handlers and get transport out of Iran. I couldn’t stay here forever, no matter how much I would enjoy it.

When I returned to the room, Sara had gotten out her medicine bag and was laying out bandages, gauze and ointment on the floor around her.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

“I’ll get you cleaned up so that you can get out of my flat. I have class in the morning and I would rather not have a stranger waiting here.”

I lay down and the robe fell open, exposing my genitals. She took a lingering glance and then dropped a sheet over me so that she could work.

“So Kamal. Tell me about you,” she asked as she kneeled next to the sofa. “For medical purposes of course.”

“I have a deal for you. We’ll play twenty questions. For every question that I answer, you’ll answer one as well,” I said trying to extract information from her.

She glanced up at me, “Why would I agree to that? You need to tell me anything that I might need to know in relation to treatment. You don’t need to know anything about me.”

“Well, for the last 120 hours, I have been interrogated and tortured by someone who enjoys it more than any human on the planet. How does that work for your treatment question?”

“One hundred and twenty hours?” She repeated, shocked. “What did he do to you?”

“You don’t want to know. There are things that no person should ever know, much less have done to them,” I confessed, stiffly.

Over the next hour, Sara carefully cleaned my wounds and bandaged me. I winced every time she poured alcohol into my deeper cuts. She would stop and wait for me to relax before she continued. She had very soft hands and a gentle touch. I closed my eyes at some point while she worked and I got the rest that my body needed after the interrogation.

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About Khalid Muhammad - Author

When people talk about Khalid Muhammad, they talk about an entrepreneur who has helped others build their dreams and businesses. They talk about a teacher, who is dedicated to his students, both inside and outside the classroom, and they return the dedication tenfold. Now, they talk about the author, who has written a fast-paced, action-packed spy thriller about Pakistan, the politics, the Army and terrorism. Born in Pakistan’s troubled Swat Valley, educated and raised in the United States, Khalid returned to Pakistan almost 17 years ago and fell in love with his country. His debut novel, Agency Rules – Never an Easy Day at the Office, is a journey behind the headlines about Pakistan, the world’s most dangerous place, to deliver an intense story that will challenge the reader to question what they have been told.

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Intelligence Communique

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