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

  “Thanks, Buddy,” said Alton. “We’ll check in with you soon.”

  David and Fahima met the Blackwells in their apartment an hour later. Alton shared the grim news, recapping the conversation he and Mallory had conducted with Kamaal.

  David smacked the end table in frustration. “So the police won’t do anything? How stupid can they be?”

  “You know how it is there,” said Alton. “This is the same culture that lets a man kill his wife if she ‘dishonors’ him. They’re just not anxious to rush to a woman’s aid.”

  David looked grim. “Then maybe we rush to Mastana’s aid.”

  The same idea had been brewing in Alton’s mind. “You mean we go there ourselves?”

  “Exactly. Fahima might not be alive if Mastana hadn’t intervened with her Al-Qaeda kidnappers. I say we return the favor.”

  In a way, Alton felt Mastana may have also saved his own life, albeit in an indirect manner. Shortly after sustaining his leg injury, a time when the oppressive clouds of depression had threatened to push him to commit an unspeakable act, Mastana’s need for friendship while hospitalized had helped pull him back from the brink. Without her presence, would he have had sufficient reason to push forward with his own recovery?

  “Honey,” said Alton, turning to his wife. “Mastana and Kamaal acted on the advice I gave them. That means I bear some responsibility for what’s happening now. I hate leaving you so suddenly, especially after we just got home from our honeymoon, but I think I should go with David—”

  “Not without me, you’re not,” cut in Mallory. “I can take care of myself in a tight spot. You know that.”

  After serving with Mallory in Afghanistan and working three cases together since then, Alton did know it. “I’m well aware of your capabilities. I’m just not crazy about your being in such a potentially dangerous situation.”

  “We’re a team. I’m not leaving you.”

  Alton nodded and grasped her hand. “Okay. Honestly, I’ll be glad to have you there.”

  “And I can help,” said Fahima. “I know the streets of Kabul since my childhood. And I speak Pashto.”

  “We’ll already have one interpreter: Kamaal,” said David. “And you’re not a former soldier.”

  “Maybe I don’t go into all the dangerous situations,” said Fahima, “but I can help you discover the information you seek. You will need to find out where Al-Qaeda takes Mastana, right? I have many friends on the streets of Kabul. Do you think they will give information about Mastana to you, an American? No, they will only give it to me, someone they trust.”

  “She’s got a point,” said Mallory. “Plus, four heads are better than one—or three.”

  “Okay,” said Alton, “I’ll call Kamaal and let him know we’ll be coming. We’ll go there as soon as possible—before Mastana’s uncle has a chance to send her on a suicide mission after all.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The first trace of consciousness seeped back into Mastana’s mind. She opened her eyes. A feeble beam of light shining between vertical bars on the room’s wooden door provided the only illumination. In the foreboding darkness, she couldn’t be sure she had regained full consciousness.

  Mastana realized her head lay against a hard wall at an awkward angle. She moved her hands up to raise herself off the wall, only to discover a rattling chain affixed to her right wrist. The other end of the chain led to a modern-looking steel plate bolted to the floor.

  So she was a prisoner.

  She pushed herself up to a sitting position and examined the shackle. She tested it with a series of yanks and wiggles, but it was sealed with a heavy lock and held fast. She tried inserting one of the bobby pins from her hair into the shackle’s keyhole, but the sliver of metal merely twisted into a useless shape without impacting the lock in the slightest.

  Mastana studied her surroundings. The moldering stones from which the floor and walls were constructed seemed ageless, and a musty smell permeated the air. In the ancient, windowless cell, torches would have seemed a more appropriate source of light rather than the steady electrical beam that stabbed from the hallway into the space’s gloom.

  Mastana heard distant voices but did not recognize any of them. The voices were so muffled, she wasn’t sure she would recognize them regardless.

  How had Uncle Dani discovered Kamaal’s house? Surely, her abductors had to be part of her uncle’s horrible Al-Qaeda band. And Uncle certainly had a compelling reason to seek her out.

  Mastana shuddered. She remembered the grisly fate met by other unfortunates Uncle and his Al-Qaeda comrades had captured. It was only via the ingenious machinations of Alton Blackwell that Fahima had escaped Al-Qaeda’s clutches several years ago.

  Mastana knew she, too, had to escape, but how? She considered what Alton would do in this situation. He would probably look for anything that could be employed as a concealed weapon or used to pick the locks. Using her sense of touch more than vision, Mastana methodically canvassed the surface of the small room in which she was held prisoner. The cell’s tiny dimensions allowed her to cover virtually the entire floor, despite her restraint. She found a small pot, presumably for excrement, but no food or water or other potentially-helpful objects.

  She removed the three remaining bobby pins from her hair and attached them to her undergarments. They hadn’t helped with the locks, but who knew how they might prove helpful later?

  The hopelessness of her situation began to set in, almost overwhelming her. Ingenious as they were, Alton and Mallory lived on the other side of the planet. Even if they had lived in Kabul, what could they do? How could they, or anyone, find her?

  As she sat against the wall in the darkness, Mastana felt warm tears trickle down her face. These would be the last, she decided. If she were to have any hope of escaping, she would have to keep her wits about her every moment. Uncle might be evil, but she would fight for life until her last breath.

  CHAPTER 22

  Divband sat in the stone alcove that served as his office, reviewing the background records of recent converts to the Brotherhood. At the sound of a tap on a plate mounted in front of his office, he looked up.

  “Can you talk?” asked Ghoyee.

  “Yes, come in.”

  “You wanted an update on the latest bride. I wanted to let you know we brought her in.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Chained in cell number three. We got her in there before she woke up, just like the others.”

  “Good…good. How does she look?”

  “Delicious.”

  Divband frowned and locked Ghoyee in a stare. “You’re not…tampering with the brides, are you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “That’s good, because as much as I value your assistance, I would have to put an immediate stop to such activities. And you know how I put a stop to things.”

  “I know, Master. I would never touch the brides. Now, looking, on the other hand—”

  “Don’t let me—or anyone else—catch you looking…or making that kind of comment,” interrupted Divband. “You represent me. Your conduct must be beyond reproach. Nothing you do or say must conflict with my teachings. If my followers see such inconsistencies, you’ll shake their faith.”

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  Divband help up an interposing hand. “We have an understanding, right?”

  Ghoyee swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Good. Now, about the new bride…were you able to collect her without damage?”

  “Yes, no damage to her, at least” said Ghoyee, snickering, “but Meskin ended up with a nasty gash on the side of his face.”

  “He was careless?”

  “Somewhat. Plus, the new bride…she put up a fight. She has more spirit than the others. It might take a little more time to break that spirit.”

  “All the better that you didn’t wait any longer to collect her.”

  “True, Master.”

  “Good work, Ghoyee. I knew I could count on
you.” He looked down at the ledgers on his desk. “Unless you have other business, you may leave me now. I have much to do.”

  As his subordinate exited the room, Divband returned to his task, updating the ever-increasing rolls of the Brotherhood with another group of recruits.

  CHAPTER 23

  The following day, the band of Americans arrived in Kabul. They filed off their Emirates flight and entered the airport terminal.

  Alton had never expected to return to Afghanistan, the land where he had sustained his IED wounds and suffered the most profound depression following that injury. As he examined the Kabul cityscape and the mountains beyond, he experienced a tightening in his chest—not horrible, but not expected, either. Coming back to this place was proving to be a little harder than anticipated.

  Taking a deep breath, Alton led the rest of his group to the luggage carousels, then to the airport exit, where he spotted Kamaal pacing to and fro.

  “Kamaal!” said Alton, embracing his old comrade.

  “My friends!” said Kamaal as the others circled around and peppered him with handshakes and hugs. “The joy it gives me to see you, I cannot tell. I have been so worried.”

  “We’ve all been worried,” said Mallory.

  “I already feel better knowing you are here,” said Kamaal. “Now we can make some real progress.”

  After walking along the airport sidewalk in silence for a minute, Kamaal turned to the others. “How long will you be able to stay here in Kabul?”

  “As long as we need to, to find Mastana,” said David.

  “I know you came here as soon as you heard the news, so I was thinking you did not have much time to make arrangements at your jobs. I was worried that you might have to return soon.”

  “We told our bosses what was up,” said Alton.

  “And they did not worry about your work responsibilities? And former soldiers coming back to Afghanistan as civilians?”

  “They were a little worried, yes, but we reassured them that our intent was to help the local police in their investigation—you know, devote more time and energy to it than the police might have available on their own. And we all have contingency plans in our jobs—people lined up to step in if we’re out unexpectedly—just in case of emergencies like this.”

  “I see.”

  “Speaking of the police, do you think that would be a good place to start—the police station?”

  Kamaal looked doubtful. “I have already been there.”

  “True,” said Mallory, “but perhaps our coming with you will lend support to your assertion that Mastana truly was kidnapped. As you said, they won’t devote any resources to tracking her down until they’re convinced a crime was committed.”

  Fahima spoke up. “I think Mallory is right. If all five of us go to the police, they will listen, especially since we have three men.”

  “Kamaal, would you mind if we swung by your place first?” asked Alton. “I’d like to see the spot of the abduction in person, if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes, is good idea. I will take you.”

  Kamaal moved over to walk beside David and Fahima. “Alton and Mallory spoke of you, but I don’t believe we have met. You are married?”

  “That’s right,” said David.

  Kamaal peered around David to study Fahima. “You are from Kabul, no?”

  “Yes,” replied Fahima in a rather timid fashion.

  Kamaal turned back to David. “How did you meet your lovely bride?”

  “At a bar—can you believe that?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah—she worked at this place called Gandamak’s Lodge. When I was stationed at Camp Eggers, I used to go there after work.”

  “So that is when you became fond of each other?”

  David grinned. “Yeah. So when I eventually went back stateside, we worked to get her a visa. It took some time, but eventually she got it and came to the US. We got married a few months later.”

  “What a wonderful story—even though, my friend, you have stolen Kabul’s prettiest rose and taken her off to America.”

  David looked with pride at his wife’s jet-black hair, almond skin, and pleasing curves. She truly was a vision. “I can’t argue with you on that.”

  They reached Kamaal’s Corolla in the airport parking lot. After loading their rolling suitcases into the trunk, they headed for the interpreter’s home.

  “I will show you the evidence that points to a crime,” said Kamaal as soon as they entered his house. He began their tour of the pertinent spots by walking down the hall.

  “Is this the picture frame you found on the floor?” asked David.

  “Yes. I found it here in the hallway. And see the blood spots just down the hall? I did not clean them, in case the police wanted to come here and check.”

  “Good thinking,” said Mallory.

  They entered Mastana’s bedroom, the door of which remained splintered.

  “I did not touch anything in here, either,” said Kamaal.

  Fahima fingered a shard of glass that had fallen inside the room. “She tried to escape,” she murmured, more to herself than the others. “She did not want the bad man to catch her.”

  After examining Mastana’s bedroom, Alton returned to the front of the house. “The kidnapper kicked in this door?”

  “Yes.”

  “Both the door and the frame are pretty solid. That must have been a pretty strong guy.”

  “I think so.”

  “What about your neighbors? Did they hear or see anything?”

  “They say they did not. My neighbors live pretty far away, so this is probably true. But the people…many are afraid of Al-Qaeda. Even if they did see something, they might not tell me.”

  “I understand,” replied Alton. He wondered at the strange expression that overtook Kamaal’s face for a moment. Guilt? Fear? Something else? Whatever it was, Alton couldn’t blame him. Surely the man must be experiencing a tumult of emotions, much as Alton himself was.

  “Okay, if we’re done here,” said Mallory, “let’s head to the police station.”

  “So, who exactly will we be talking to?” asked Alton as Kamaal maneuvered his Corolla through mid-day traffic.

  “Before, I talked with a guy named Captain Poya. I guess we will talk with him again.”

  “Captain, huh? Is he military or civilian police?”

  “He is ANP—the civilian police.”

  “And how high up is he in the food chain?”

  Kamaal looked puzzled. “The ‘food chain’?”

  “Sorry, I meant is he a top official, or are there higher-level people we can speak with if he doesn’t want to help us?”

  “Ah, I see. I think in the ANP, a captain reports directly to his provincial chief of police. The chief is pretty high up in the food chain, so I don’t think he will care about a small crime like this.”

  “Small to them, maybe,” said Mallory.

  Kamaal shrugged. “When you are investigating a new terrorist attack every week, the disappearance of a girl is not such a big deal.”

  They arrived at the police station and entered a small lobby. Kamaal and Fahima approached the front desk, while the others stood behind them. As the Pashto conversation dragged on, Alton wondered how their request could require so much conversation. Surely, the police were already familiar with the case.

  At last, the desk sergeant picked up his phone and conducted a brief call. He buzzed a security door and waved them through.

  “We are seeing the same man as before, Captain Poya,” said Kamaal as they walked down two short corridors.

  They reached the largest office Alton had seen in the building. The man behind the desk rose as he saw them approach. “Come in, come in.”

  “You speak English?” asked David.

  “Yes, I studied it in the college.”

  “Thanks for seeing us. I’m Alton Blackwell.”

  “I am Captain Hadi Poya. Let us sit over there.”

 
; They piled into chairs surrounding a stained, oval table on the opposite side of the room from the captain’s desk.

  Kamaal introduced the other members of the party.

  “So,” said Poya, “you are here about the missing girl again, right?”

  “Mastana, yes,” said Mallory. “We just came from the scene of her abduction.”

  “Abduction, you say? And how do you know this?”

  “I’m a United States FBI agent. I’m trained to assess a crime scene, and there’s an abundance of evidence at Kamaal’s house. I guarantee you an abduction occurred there.”

  “Okay, Agent Wilson, I believe that you saw evidence of a scuffle, but we don’t even know for sure that a crime occurred there, right? For all we know, she ran away with her boyfriend after a fight. This happens a lot.”

  “She didn’t have a boyfriend,” said Mallory. “She just escaped her Al-Qaeda uncle a few days ago. No one from her old neighborhood knew where she was—at least we didn’t think they knew until she disappeared. There are signs of a struggle, and now Mastana hasn’t contacted anyone for two days, despite the fact she’s scheduled to depart for the US in a week—a trip that was the answer to her prayers. Surely you’d consider this an abduction.”

  Poya sighed. He tapped his fingers on his desk while staring far off into space. “Did you hear about the murder of the two Red Cross workers in a taxi a few days ago?”

  They shook their heads.

  “I’d like to help you,” he continued, “but I already have to investigate that crime as well as two other terrorist attacks from earlier this week. I don’t have the resources to investigate anything but the most serious civilian crimes. I certainly don’t have the manpower to look into a missing girl.”

  “Abducted girl,” insisted Mallory.

  “Captain,” said Alton, “if there’s someone you could assign to the case, even part-time, we’d be more than happy to do some groundwork to assist them. Frankly, that’s why we’re here. We appreciate your resource constraints and would like to help the investigation any way we can.”