the_taliban_shuffle_-_kim_barker

And the police knew where I lived. So I told Sabit about the phone call.
Sabit’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t worry,” he told me. “The police will do nothing to you. Jack
can do nothing to you. I won’t do anything unless you ask me to, and if
you want, I’ll stand guard in front of your door all night.”
“That’s probably not necessary,” I told Sabit. “Let’s just wait to see
what happens.”
For days, nothing happened, so I told Sabit to forget about it. The last
thing I needed was another confrontation between another angry
Pashtun and Idema. Then I found out what Idema had done. I had
become a star on superpatriots.us. My mug shot from the Chicago
Tribune website had been copied and stretched horizontally, making
my face look very wide. The picture and my name had been added to
the superpatriots’ journalist Wall of Shame with the caption “Cub
Reporter.” And in front of the world, I was accused of sleeping with
Farouq. Within months, I would be unceremoniously retired from the
wall, and this would all seem quaint, a silly game, any fear of Idema
ridiculous. Idema and his buddies would all eventually be released and
leave Afghanistan quietly. But Jack was right about one thing—a
whirlwind was definitely coming. Hell was riding shotgun.