In Six Hours ... the world changed

Chapter 2 - Conversation in Kabul, 2010

  The sun beat down on the dry and baked landscape below.  A cloud of dust appeared on the horizon and gradually, the overpowering silence was broken as – at first almost imperceptible – the distant whining and groaning sound of approaching vehicles grew louder and louder.  As the vehicles drew close to the base the sentry spoke into his handset and the gates of the compound began slowly to swing apart. 

  As they opened, four Humvees in desert camouflage charged through the widening gap between the gates in a cloud of swirling dust, turning left as they entered the compound and coming to a halt in front of a nondescript single storey building.

  The men who piled out were almost identical in their dust-covered faces and military fatigues – racially indistinguishable, except that the ANA members (Afghan National Army) refused to conform to US military standards, most of them wearing scarves and other evidences of non-conformity.  The men looked exhausted and yet hyped up as they staggered out of the vehicles and into the relative cool of the shade of the building.

  Twenty minutes later – freshly showered and changed into off duty gear – Shaul Levine headed into the mess hall, where a couple of his team where already sitting.  Nodding to them briefly, he headed straight to the bar and watched longingly as a fresh tankard of beer was poured, silently draining half of it before placing the cool glass against his perspiring forehead. 

  “Phew, I really needed that!” he reported, looking over to his comrades Micky Devlin and Brandon Thomas, before dragging a chair over to their table and joining them.  “Dev,” he muttered to the tall, well built, black haired man.  “Wha’s that yer readin’, Doubtin’?” he asked the other occupant at the table – a slim black man with a shaved head, currently concentrating on the book he was reading. 

  They often called him ‘Doubtin’ Thomas’ just because he didn’t seem to be afraid to live his faith out in front of them.  “Just the usual,” he mumbled with a distinct southern drawl.  “That’ll be the bible then, eh?”  Shaul asked.  Brandon refrained from answering.

  As Shaul sat down, a swarthy man entered the mess and ordered a coke from the barman.  He headed over to join them at their table.  “Salaam aleikum,” he greeted them politely.  “Aleikum salaam, Ali.” they chorused in reply.  “Oh, hi there, Ali,” Brandon looked up and muttered a moment later.

  “Don’t mind him, Ali,” said Dev, “When he get’s into his bible study he doesn’t notice anyone, or anything.” 

  “Yeah, the Taliban could be firing right over his shoulder and he wouldn’t even notice it!” said Shaul, his accent distinctly New York. 

  “I think I might just notice that,” Brandon grinned, looking up again.

  “So what’s so interesting about what yer readin’ today,” asked Shaul. 

  “Actually, it’s pretty relevant to all of us right here,” Brandon replied.  “I’m reading the book of Ezekiel – one of your Hebrew prophets – and he’s just been to visit the Khyber Pass right here in Afghanistan” (he pronounced it Afanistan, having been told enough times now by Ali and his friends how it ought to be pronounced).

  “OK, I’ll bite,” said Shaul, “How did a Jewish prophet manage to get from Israel to Afghanistan?  Oh I get it, he just took the next El Al flight from Ben Gurion, right?”  

  “Well,” said Brandon, “You’re not too far out.  For a start he wasn’t IN Israel, he lived among the Jews who were carried off to captivity in Babylon by King Nebuchanezzar.  Secondly, he was supernaturally transported by the Holy Spirit to sit among the Israelite exiles at the Khebar – or Khyber – River.  Later he was transported back to Jerusalem as well, to witness things that were going on there.”