The Devil's Due (The Blackwell Files Book 5) Read online

Mallory turned to Alton. “That’s well and good, but if Dani didn’t kidnap Mastana, who did?”

  CHAPTER 37

  The clang of a distant door roused Mastana from an exhausted slumber. She wondered how long she had been asleep. With no change in her cell’s light conditions, she had no way of tracking the passage of time. How long had she been imprisoned here? Two days? Four?

  Prior to sleeping, she hadn’t heard or seen anyone for hours. At least the interval had given her time to devise an escape plan.

  The door down the hall from her cell closed, stirring up a growing panic in Mastana’s breast.

  Her cell door swung open, and Ghoyee entered. “You said you’d like to see me again.”

  Mastana released a quiet breath of relief. “Indeed I did. I am glad you have returned.”

  “Why is that?” The man looked skeptical.

  “I’m surprised you’d need to ask, a big man like you. I imagine you have a lot of lady friends?”

  Ghoyee shrugged and tried to look modest. “Here and there.”

  Mastana had recognized her captor’s lustful stares. “But none quite like me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “None as young as me?”

  “No, none.”

  “And wouldn’t you like to have me with you all the time?”

  Ghoyee licked his lips and ran his gaze down the length of her body. “Sure, I’d like that. But there’s a little problem. You’re in here.”

  “Not if you took me out. I could stay in your home with you, be with you all the time, and…show my gratitude.”

  Ghoyee laughed. “Nice try, little one. You’re a beauty. I’ll give you that. But you can’t give me what Divband does.”

  “What is that?”

  “A nice, fat paycheck. And freedom to spend time alone with the girls like you—not to do everything I’d like, but there are other women for that anyway. Maybe they aren’t as…fresh…as you, but they’ll do.”

  Ghoyee left the room. Mastana could sense the man’s temptation, but something—fear of his master?—had restrained him from acting on his lustful impulses.

  Mastana pondered her next step. She had little time for contemplation, however, for Divband entered her cell a quarter-hour later.

  “You’re an enterprising young woman, aren’t you? Trying to seduce away my right-hand man.”

  Mastana attempted to still her heart. Assuming as disinterested a countenance as possible, she said, “Well, you know he is not the man I really wanted anyway.”

  “Oh, really? And who did you want?”

  “The man in charge, of course. There’s nothing more attractive than a man with power, who knows how to command the respect of others.”

  “Someone like me? You find me attractive?”

  “Indeed I do, my Lord.”

  “So if I released you, you would stay?”

  Mastana knew she couldn’t appear too desperate. “If you promise not to hurt me.”

  “And why wouldn’t you run away?”

  “Did Ghoyee tell you where I was living before he brought me here? A tiny house with a man I barely knew.”

  Divband cocked his head. “Why were you with this man, if you barely know him?”

  Mastana couldn’t think of a lie, so she divulged as much of the truth as necessary to convey a believable story. “I used to live with my Uncle, who is a member of Al-Qaeda. My mother is sick—very sick. She will be dead in a matter of days if she is not already.” She paused a moment to find her voice. “My uncle commanded me to wear an explosive vest into the Americans’ military base in Kabul last Saturday.”

  “And you did not want to do this?”

  “No, I did not, so I ran away.”

  “And why did you go to this man’s house, if you barely knew him?”

  “When I was injured from the bomb blast, the one I told you about before, this man worked as an interpreter in the American hospital where I recovered. I do not know him well, but I have no other family. He was the only person I could think of.” She didn’t mention the more recent interactions with her American friends. There was no reason to divulge everything. Instead, she tried to remember some of the lewd comments the boys in her old neighborhood sometimes called in her direction. “As you can see, I need a place to stay, with a real man, someone who is not a friend of the Americans. And I think you would like to have a girl who is eager to please you.”

  Divband’s face hardened. “I do not think you would like the things you would have to do to please me. My proclivities are not the same as most.”

  “My Lord, there are many tastes in the world, are there not? Some people like grapes, while others prefer dates. There is no right or wrong. There is only the grape and the date. Perhaps my tastes will be the same as yours.”

  Divband studied her face. “What is your name?”

  “Mastana, my Lord.”

  For a moment, he did not speak. “I will think of these things you have said. You are a little lynx, aren’t you?”

  “I think we are interested in the same thing—a person who can make us happy, no?”

  Without speaking again, Divband closed the cell door and locked it, then meandered down the hallway, as if deep in thought.

  Mastana could only hope the ideas she had planted in the soil of his mind would take root. She hated the false innuendos she had planted there but felt a growing certainty that remaining in her cell represented a pathway to death. She had to escape this prison before her time ran out.

  CHAPTER 38

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Alton, surveying the wreck of Dani’s car. “We’ll discuss Mastana later.”

  He and the rest of the band left the median, running back to their cars and the young kidnapping victim, who seemed to be in shock.

  “I don’t know for sure what Dani’s true plan was for this girl, but it obviously wasn’t anything good,” said Alton. “I agree with Hanif. We should take her with us.”

  Fearing the arrival of other Al-Qaeda members, they beat a hasty retreat back to Kamaal’s house. The interpreter prepared green tea for the girl, while Mallory wrapped her in a warm sweater from her luggage.

  Once the girl seemed reasonably collected, Fahima gently questioned her, while Kamaal provided a running translation of the dialogue for the Americans.

  “What is your name, my dear?” asked Fahima.

  “I am called Nafisa.”

  “Nafisa, can you tell us how you came to be with that man—Dani?”

  The girl drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and spoke with a trembling voice. “My father is Al-Qaeda, like Dani. I heard them talking a few nights ago. I heard Dani say that his niece was supposed to carry out a jihad against the Americans, but she had disappeared. Dani could not find her, so he asked my father for help.

  “Today, my father approached me and said he had a ‘great mission’ for me, a great jihad. He told me an explosive vest, one to be worn under the clothes, had been prepared for Mastana, but she wasn’t available to wear it. He told me I should be the one to wear it instead. I…did not want to do this thing. My father and I got into a great fight. He commanded me to wear the bomb, and I refused. He held a wet handkerchief over my mouth, and I became dizzy. After that, he grabbed a blanket from his room and called Dani. Together, they imprisoned me in the blanket and put me in Dani’s car.”

  “But if you said no, why was Dani taking you away?” asked Fahima.

  “My father yelled that Dani would ‘make me understand my duty.’ I suppose he thought I would eventually agree to carry out their jihad if I was away from my home and family—and if Dani continued to drug me with the medicine in the handkerchief.”

  “I see. I don’t think you should go back to your father. Do you have someone else you can stay with?”

  “Yes, my grandmother lives in Jalalabad, east of here. She does not like Al-Qaeda, either. She will let me live with her, I’m sure.”

  “What if your father comes looking for you?” aske
d Fahima.

  “My grandmother will not tell him I am with her, especially after I tell her what happened today. She will protect me from my father.”

  Fahima’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m glad you have a place to go.”

  “Nafisa, can you give me your grandmother’s phone number?” asked Hanif. “I will call her to arrange your transport to her house.”

  “Yes,” said the girl, replying with the number.

  “Ask her if she knows Mastana,” prompted Alton.

  Fahima passed along the question.

  “No,” said Nafisa, “I know the name, but I do not know the girl. But I can tell you that Dani was very angry because he couldn’t find her. As I said, he told my father that Mastana ran away.”

  “I see,” said Fahima. She eyed the teen. “You look tired. Would you like to rest for a little while?”

  “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

  Avoiding the undisturbed crime evidence in Mastana’s former bedroom, Fahima led Nafisa to Kamaal’s room and returned moments later. “She is exhausted, poor thing. Her eyes closed before I even left the room.”

  “I’m glad we extracted Nafisa from the clutches of Al-Qaeda,” said Alton, “but regarding Mastana, we’re truly back to square one. How do we find out who really did kidnap her?”

  Mallory looked thoughtful. “You know, we’ve been thinking about this all wrong, believing Dani and Al-Qaeda took Mastana. Now that we’re faced with a ‘normal’ kidnapping, we should consider a normal kidnapper’s profile.”

  Hanif nodded.

  “What do you mean?” asked Kamaal.

  “Many kidnappers act serially, meaning they abduct multiple victims. Remember how we saw earlier kidnappings when we did a search in the local papers? I wonder if Mastana’s is connected to those.”

  “Makes sense,” said Alton, “although the newspaper articles were pretty sparse. I think we’d have to have access to police records to have enough evidence to establish a true pattern.” He turned to Hanif. “Do you think Poya will let us look through his case files?”

  “I don’t know,” said Hanif. “He is not crazy about Americans, so I don’t think so.”

  “What if you asked on our behalf?”

  “Ha! That would be worse. He would tell me to put my uniform back on if I want that kind of information.”

  “Okay, so are police records kept in paper files or computers?” asked Alton.

  “A little bit of both. Minor crimes are recorded in paper files. Violent crimes, including kidnapping, would be stored in the computers.”

  Mallory grinned. “I see where you’re going with this.”

  Alton acknowledged the statement with a nod and turned back to Hanif. “Do you still have access to those police record-keeping systems?”

  “I doubt it, but I can try. But wait…if I try to log on to those systems, won’t they know it was me based on my user name? Poya would love to have a reason to arrest me, and accessing restricted police records would give him the perfect excuse.”

  “Good point. We’ll just have to look for a back door.”

  Hanif looked doubtful. He stood and began to pace the room. “You want to break into the police’s computer systems? How are you gonna do that?”

  “That’s something of a specialty of mine. I’m a cryptologist, so this is right up my alley.”

  “I’m not crazy about breaking into police systems,” said Hanif, “but I don’t know how else we can get that information. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced Poya won’t let us access the records. When I worked for him, he was very by-the-book about those sorts of things.”

  Alton placed his laptop on the table and booted it up. “This shouldn’t take too long. You give me the URL, and I can take it from there. I don’t even need to know your user name. In the meantime, there’s a low-tech approach we can use to see if any new kidnappings occur—monitor the police scanner.”

  “I still have one of those back at my house,” said Hanif. “I can go get it while you are working.”

  Less than an hour later, Hanif returned with the scanner, which Kamaal set up on the kitchen counter.

  Alton called Hanif over to the dining-room table. “Any word from Nafisa’s grandmother?”

  “Yes. I spoke with her on the way to my house. She will be here in a couple of hours to pick up Nafisa.”

  “Good.”

  “How is your work coming along?” asked the former policeman.

  “I just got into the police systems a few minutes ago. Of course, everything’s in Pashto. I could break out the kind of translation software I used when I was stationed here with the Army, but it’d probably be quicker for you to review the records yourself and tell us what you see. Plus, you know how the records are organized, right?”

  “Yes. Give me a few minutes to look over the kidnapping files.”

  A quarter-hour later, Hanif called the others around. “Over the last three months, nine teenage girls were reported missing. Five of their bodies were eventually found in the desert north of Kabul.”

  “Do the records indicate the kidnappers’ MO?” asked Mallory.

  “A little. It says all the victims were all abducted while alone, usually in or around their house. All the kidnappings occurred in the afternoon or evening, never in the morning. In three of the houses, police found rags with traces of Ketamine on them. Ketamine is a liquid used for anesthesia, so they think it was used to subdue the victims. One more thing…I saw the girls’ photos. They were all quite pretty.”

  Mallory looked at Alton with a grim expression. “It sounds like regular old perve kidnappings, all right. And it seems to me that the same guy did all the kidnappings.”

  “I agree,” said Hanif.

  “I recommend we look for more patterns in the kidnapper’s behavior,” said Mallory, “ones that could help us narrow down the search.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” said Alton. “Did you have anything particular in mind?”

  Mallory turned to Hanif. “Have the police brought in any suspects or made any convictions?”

  “No, none. But they did have a surveillance video from an ATM machine. One of the girls was kidnapped while using it. It was located just a block down from her house.”

  “Let’s watch that video,” said Mallory. “Maybe something will pop out.”

  They gathered around Alton’s computer. Hanif started the security video. They watched in somber silence as the silent, grainy video showed a pretty teen approach the machine and insert a card. As she entered information into the screen, a large man wearing a black mask and robe approached from behind. He grabbed her with one beefy arm and held a rag over the girl’s face with the other. The teen was still struggling when the assailant pulled her out of the frame.

  Everyone remained silent for a moment when the video ended.

  “This was the second teen kidnapped,” said Hanif. “Her body was discovered at the foot of the mountains a month and a half ago.”

  “We’re not gonna let that happen to Mastana,” muttered David. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

  “You got that right,” said Alton. “Is there any useful information we can glean from that video?”

  “We know the kidnapper is a huge guy,” replied Mallory. “Did you see the size of him?”

  “That’s true. Anything else?”

  Hanif rubbed his chin. “The man is wearing a mask and a plain black robe. I don’t think there is much we can do to identify him. But did you see him put the cloth over her mouth and nose? I think the video confirms that he used a substance—probably Ketamine—to subdue the girls.”

  “How many places in Kabul sell Ketamine?” asked Alton. “We could ask them if they have any repeat customers that resemble the Incredible Hulk.”

  “I have no idea where to buy Ketamine,” said Hanif, “but is good idea to check like you say.”

  “Okay, I’ll do a search on likely businesses tonight,” said Alton, “and we
can visit them tomorrow morning,”

  “That might be difficult,” said Fahima. “A lot of supplies in Kabul are sold on the black market. I used to buy some of my liquor at Gandamak’s Lodge that way.”

  “Really?” said David. “You never told me that.”

  Alton smiled. “All right, folks, let’s stay focused. Hanif, did the police records include crime scene photos?”

  “They did, but I haven’t reviewed them yet. I was anxious to share the case summaries first.”

  “Why don’t we review the photos next, then? Let’s take them in chronological order.”

  “The police never found the body of the first girl,” said Hanif. “I will start with the second girl, the one in the ATM video.”

  A collective gasp arose from those gathered as Hanif brought up the first photo.

  “Holy shit!” said David. “What did he do to her?”

  The teen had been eviscerated, her torso a tangle of shredded skin and intestines. Alton had instinctively turned his head away, but he turned it back now. The grisly scene sent a torrent of memories from the day of the IED explosion in his mobcom van. Some of those under his command had undergone a similar level of destruction. As he stared at the photo, Alton could feel his chest constricting, making breathing difficult. God, the carnage…

  “Sweetie?” asked Mallory, laying a hand on his back and breaking his reverie. Her look communicated a mixture of love and concern.

  Alton collected his thoughts. “Hanif, let’s keep going.”

  The ex-policeman scrolled through the photos, lingering on each long enough for everyone to scrutinize the details.

  “Okay, let’s go to the next victim,” said Alton. Hanif brought up more pictures.

  “It looks almost identical to the first,” said David, mirroring the thoughts of everyone.

  “That’s not unusual,” said Mallory. “We count on that, actually. People like this psycho usually have a set routine they follow. Once we figure out the routine, we’re one step closer to catching the bad guy.”

  “Hanif, stop on that picture for a minute,” said Alton. “What’s that along the edge of the wound? There’s something dark on her skin, right where the incision is. At first I thought it was dried blood, but you can see blood that dripped down her side, and it doesn’t look the same.”