The father led the way down the street calling to his sons. He didn’t speak to his wife, but he didn’t need to. She knew her place. The watcher’s attention returned to the man. He seemed so familiar. Why? Had their paths crossed somewhere?

A hand landed on the watcher’s shoulder. “Hey, where’re you going?” Tom Bright stopped her progress, coffee in hand. “I almost didn’t spot you.”

“I saw someone and wanted to get a better look.”

“Who? Here you go.” Tom handed over a cup of strong, black coffee. The perfect way to drink it.

“Thanks. Do you know that man?” The watcher gave a subtle tip of the head in the direction of the man who was back on the phone. “I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

“Yeah, that’s Musa Barakat. He’s the one on the news lately. The one who’s calling for the end of the country as the people know it and running for president. In 2018, over two million people turned out for the election—638,000 people in Kabul alone. This year promises to be a record turnout.”

“How do you even know that stuff?”

“I read. You should try it sometime.”

“Ha-ha. But yeah, I’ve heard all about him. He wants the country to be a democracy like the United States and he’s making a lot of enemies because of it, right?” You couldn’t turn around in the street without hearing about the radical who was causing such chaos every time he opened his mouth. “That’s him, huh?”

“Yeah. Hence the predictions of record-breaking voting.”

“Looks like he’s pretty tight with his family.”

“According to reports I’ve read, they mean everything to him. And you know how fathers feel about their sons in this culture.”

“I see.” The idea that had begun to form while observing Musa Barakat and his family continued to grow. “Do you think he’d be willing to answer some questions?”

“Like what?”

“About his politics. You know my dream is to be a journalist. I can’t pass this opportunity up. Let’s follow him and see if he’ll talk to us.”

“A journalist? Since when?”

The watcher shot Tom a narrow look. “Since forever, but I never thought I had what it takes to do that. After thse past few months, I’m going to try some new things.”

“Well, I have to say that’s a great attitude.”

“I’m working on it.” The watcher nodded. “Yeah. This might just be the catalyst I need to make that career change.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course.”

Tom shrugged. “All right then, why not?”

SEPTEMBER
KABUL, AFGHANISTAN

Dr. Heather Fontaine headed to the surgery recovery ward. The huge tents that made up the hospital might look rough and ancient on the outside, but the inside held state-of-the-art equipment for those needing it. And so many did. Afghani civilians and American soldiers, both.