Read Online Veiled Freedom by Jeanette Windle - Free Book Online Page A

speaks English and is looking for work. Do you know anything about him? Is he available for hire?”
    Rasheed inclined his upper body with a respect he hadn’t shown Amy. “Yes. Jamil is a distant relative. I can assure you he is honest and hardworking and speaks much better English than my own.”
    â€œOh, really?” Bruce said skeptically. “If he’s as good as you say, why’s he unemployed?”
    â€œJamil has been living in Pakistan for many years, where everyone with education speaks English. Finding a good job there is difficult, especially for Afghans. So, like many others, he has returned here, where such skills are more in demand.”
    â€œA sensible decision. Jamil, would you be interested in a job with New Hope Foundation? It would involve doing translation for Ms. Mallory here, guiding her around the city, anything else she requires.”
    Amy noticed Jamil glance at Rasheed, saw the older man’s slight incline of his head, before he nodded. “Yes, that would be acceptable.”
    â€œThat settles it, then. And I’m late.” Bruce headed toward the door, briefcase in one hand, cooler in the other. “You can work out the details with Ms. Mallory. Rasheed, the airport’s calling. Amy, any questions that can’t wait till I’m back in the DC office tomorrow?”
    â€œCould you have Rasheed check for my luggage at the airport? They told me it would be on the next flight. Here are the two baggage claim tickets.”
    â€œNo problem.” Bruce took the tickets. “And speaking of the airport, you did think to get your MOI card when you came through?”
    â€œMOI card?”
    â€œMinistry of Interior. As in your new landlord. They also handle immigration. The latest red tape is an expat ID card. They should give you the form at the airport, but they never do unless you ask.”
    â€œBut I’ve got a visa,” Amy exclaimed. “None of my info mentioned an ID card.”
    â€œGet used to red tape changing here every time you turn around. Keeping you updated on local bureaucracy will be part of Rasheed’s duties.”
    Except he hadn’t bothered on this occasion. An oversight or deliberate punishment for those bare arms and head?
    â€œIn any case, you should be able to pick up a form at MOI. From arrival you’ve got forty-eight hours to register before your visa’s revoked, leaving you in this country illegally. I don’t think you’d get deported, but it could be expensive to sort out.” Bruce hesitated in the doorway. Then he dug into his briefcase, pulling out his sat phone. “Why don’t I leave you this? You’ll need it more than I will.” As he handed it to Amy, uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “I just hope we’re doing the right thing here.”
    â€œI’ll be fine,” Amy assured him as she took the phone. “And thank you. Please give my greetings to Mr. Korallis.”
    Then they were gone, leaving Amy alone with her new assistant. Jamil stood rigidly just inside the door, eyes on his feet. Amy, who’d chosen jeans and T-shirt as both practical and amply modest for the long flight from Miami, felt conscious of her body, of bare arms below short sleeves and exposed face, in a way she hadn’t since her teens.
    Well, she’d always found directness the best approach. Amy didn’t make the mistake of crossing the room to shake hands but said firmly, “Hi, Jamil. I’m Amy Mallory, country manager for New Hope Foundation here in Kabul. Are you going to have a problem working for me? Because I can promise you I won’t be wearing a burqa.”
    This time he glanced at her, and the somberness might have even lifted a little. Moving farther into the room, he said simply, “I need this job. I will do what I am asked for whoever pays me to eat and live, man or woman. As for the burqa, my mother was an educated woman. She did