Page 254 of 5+Us Makes Seven

He smiled, showing a mouth with a few missing teeth.

“What a beautiful name.”

“Thank you,” I said.

He smiled.

“It’s good for people to hear the truth about Afghanistan. Are you an honest reporter?”

As his ancient eyes stared into mine, I shifted in my makeshift seat.

“I would say so.”

He nodded solemnly.

“Would you like water?”

“Sure.”

I watched as he leaned over and dipped a metal cup into a bucket of water next to him.

“Do you have a bottle?” I asked.

He tilted his head and stared at me.

“This water is clean. Look.”

After taking a sip, he offered me the cup.

“I believe you, but I have a sensitive stomach,” I lied. “I need bottled water.”

Outside, I heard an angry male yelling in Pashto.

“They’re looking for you!” the old man said, standing up. “Come with me. I’ll hide you.”

I stared further into his booth as he held out his hand.

“Come, come. We must go.”

“I don’t know…”

“Everything in Afghanistan is not as it seems. I can help you.”

If you were to measure my panic in that moment, it would have been off the charts.

“No thanks,” I said, stepping outside the booth.

He frowned, looking hurt. I scanned the market for any signs of the Taliban faithful.

Where did they go?

“Come, come,” the man said urgently. “Trust me.”

“Sorry, I trust no one.”

I stepped away from his booth, trying to blend in with the locals. If I made it to the edge of the market, I could find a taxi driver to take me back to FOB Cobra. It was one of the older forward operating bases still in operation in Afghanistan.

A man’s voice yelled out. I walked faster, hoping to get away before they caught up with me. When I reached the only exit from the market, I saw two other men with long beards and guns looking at the crowds.