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

by Steven F Freeman

  “Alton,” said Kamaal, “Mastana can stay with me until she goes to the United States. We can’t put her in a hotel by herself—not a girl with only sixteen years and a terrorist uncle looking for her. It’s too dangerous.”

  “That would put my mind at ease, Kamaal,” said Alton. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. You are not the only person who can help someone,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Thank you,” said Mallory, “from both of us. Mastana, would that work for you?”

  “Yes. I would feel better being here than staying by myself,” said Mastana, her voice reflecting palpable relief.

  “Kamaal,” said Alton. “I want to be as prepared as possible for the political-refugee application. I won’t know exactly what documents of hers we’ll need until I speak with the Embassy staff, but it wouldn’t hurt to collect the obvious stuff. Can you work with Mastana to gather any identification paperwork she has, especially her birth certificate?”

  “Yes, I will help her. But what if her birth certificate is in her house? She can’t go back there.”

  “That’s true,” said Alton. “I’ll ask the embassy to e-mail a request to Kabul’s Central Records Bureau to authorize a release of the document to you.”

  “Okay. That will be better, I think.”

  “Thanks. So, I think that’s it for now. Why don’t I call you back in the next day or two, as soon as we have some news from the Embassy?”

  “That will be wonderful!” sang Mastana. “I knew you would help me, Alton.”

  Alton looked at Mallory with a smile. “We’ll have you safe in no time. You take care, and I’ll speak with you soon.”

  “Okay. Bye-bye!” said Mastana as she disconnected the call.

  “Well, that was an interesting turn of events,” said Alton, turning to his wife.

  “Especially during our honeymoon.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to volunteer you for all…this,” he said, gesturing at his now-silent phone.

  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” said Mallory. She leaned over and rested a hand on his arm. “Sweetie, I don’t mind. I think it’s cool that you’re helping her out. Not everyone would do that.”

  “Well, I’ve had people help me out—you more than anyone. I’m just paying it forward.”

  “I still think you’re a sweetheart,” said Mallory. “So, assuming Mastana is approved to immigrate, where will she stay? Do you have any ideas about that?”

  “Yes. What about David and Fahima?”

  “Do you think they’d be up for that?”

  “We won’t know for sure until we ask,” said Alton. “But you know, after I left Kabul, Fahima agreed to keep an eye on Mastana, which she did quite faithfully. Ever since she’s come to the US, Fahima has told me how much she worries about Mastana. I think Fahima would be glad to help, at least until we can line up some place more permanent.”

  “And if she and David don’t agree?”

  “That seems unlikely, but in that case, I can ask the Embassy what they recommend. If all else fails, she could stay with us for a little while, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Of course.”

  Alton placed a call to the US Embassy in Kabul. Upon completing the conversation, he turned to Mallory. “We have a teleconference scheduled at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. They normally prefer an in-person interview, but when I explained our circumstances, they said a phone call would be sufficient.”

  “Well, that’s good news. Want me to text Kamaal to let him and Mastana know?”

  “Sure.”

  “Anything else you want to tell them?”

  “Just that I’ll call with an update after the appointment.”

  Mallory began thumbing the text message, shading the phone’s screen from the tropical island’s fading sunshine. She finished and looked up. “Well, that’s that.”

  Alton glanced at his watch. “Okay, it’s eight o’clock in Washington. I’d better call David and Fahima before it gets much later.”

  “Do you know if David is working today?” asked Mallory.

  “No idea. If he is, he won’t be able to take a call from me. But if I can’t reach him, I can always try Fahima.”

  Alton hit a number on his “favorites” list and listened to a series of rings that led to a voice-mail recording. “David’s not picking up. Let me try the missus.”

  Alton enjoyed greater success this time as Fahima answered right away.

  “Hello?”

  “Fahima. It’s me, Alton.”

  “Alton—what a surprise! How are you and Mallory? Are you having a good time on your honeymoon?”

  “It’s been wonderful,” replied Alton, “but I did get a bit of unexpected news. And now I have a big favor to ask.”

  “What is that?”

  “I received an e-mail from Mastana yesterday, and I was able to talk with her just a few minutes ago. Her mom’s cancer has gotten worse. She’s only expected to live a few more days.”

  “Oh! I am so sorry for Mastana and her mother,” exclaimed Fahima.

  “There’s more. Do you remember how her uncle was a member of Al Qaeda?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he was trying to recruit Mastana to carry out a suicide mission against US forces at Camp Eggers.”

  “Oh, my goodness! Poor Mastana! What should we do?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ve got it covered. Mastana’s uncle wanted her to go on the suicide mission this coming Saturday, but she ran away from home a couple of nights ago. For now, she’s staying with one of the interpreters from Camp Eggers, but she needs a permanent residence. I suggested that she apply for political-refugee immigration status in the US, and she’s on board with that plan. I have a teleconference with the US Embassy in Kabul tomorrow morning to apply on her behalf.”

  “It is wonderful you are doing all these things, Alton.”

  “Yes, well, here’s where I could use your help. If Mastana is approved to immigrate to the US, she’ll need a place to live. Is there any chance she could stay with you and David until we line up something more permanent?”

  “I will speak with David when he returns from work, but I’m sure he will say yes. He tells me what a sweet girl Mastana is for helping me escape from the Al-Qaeda kidnappers in Kabul.”

  “Good point. This is his chance to return the favor. Hopefully, she won’t be with you all for too long.”

  “She can stay with us as long as she needs to. I might not be alive if she did not help me.”

  “Thanks, Fahima. You know Mastana will be thrilled to hear she’ll be staying with you all—assuming her immigration application is approved.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes and ended the call.

  “Well, that’s settled,” said Alton. “Now we wait for tomorrow’s appointment.”

  “Good,” said Mallory. “That means I have you all to myself between now and then.”

  “And I have you.” He tipped back the last sip of piña colada from his glass. “I have to admit I’m relieved in a selfish way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m happy our honeymoon won’t be interrupted—at least not as much as last fall’s Italian vacation. I’d leave if we had to, but I’m glad the need isn’t there.”

  “I hear you. I feel the same way. Now that we know she’ll be safe, we can focus on the two of us.”

  Alton stretched his bad leg. “I think I could focus better with a walk on the beach. What do you say?”

  Mallory flashed her dazzling smile. “You don’t really need me to answer that, do you?”

  The couple returned to the bungalow to deposit their beach bag, then left for their walk. A pale moon rose over the lagoon. Further out to sea, the placid surface of the water appeared silver in the moonlight.

  His hand in Mallory’s, Alton strolled beside his wife down the beach. A flawless conch shell washed ashore at their feet. He picked it up and handed it to her. They continued
their walk and spotted tiny crabs darting along the shore, poking and prodding the sand for food.

  The waves crashed in a rhythmic fashion. They seemed louder now than during the day, but Alton couldn’t be sure whether their volume had truly increased or, with the absence of daytime distractions, he was simply more cognizant of the waves’ presence.

  “How’s your leg, Sweetie?” asked Mallory.

  “Fine. The best it’s been in a long time, actually.”

  “That’s great. So we don’t need to head back yet?”

  “Nope,” replied Alton. He walked a few more paces and glanced at his wife. “You look thoughtful—anything on your mind?”

  Mallory stopped and faced her husband, reaching out to take both his hands in hers. “Yeah. I was just thinking about us. I never thought I’d be this happy in a relationship.”

  Alton couldn’t help but smile at the affirmation.

  “We were both in the Army,” continued Mallory, “so I don’t need to tell you what most guys there are like. They’re not exactly committed for the long term. Their timeframe is more like a few hours, maybe a few weeks if you’re lucky. But with you, it’s so different. I’ve finally found the man I’ve been waiting for, someone who loves me, someone I know will be with me, always. For a long time, I wondered if I’d ever find someone like that. I don’t have to wonder anymore. And it feels so much better than I thought it would. I can give you all of my heart and know that it’s safe with you.”

  “If I could think of some way to tell you just how happy I am to hear that, I would.”

  “I know, Sweetie. That’s why I love you.” She squeezed his hands.

  “It’s funny…some people play the lottery, hoping to change their life for the better. I don’t need to do that. Any money or prize I can imagine would shrink to insignificance beside you.”

  “So says my knight in shining armor,” she replied with a smile while looping her arms around his neck.

  The smell of her perfume, a gardenia scent she had purchased at the gift shop yesterday, mingled with the fresh sea breeze, producing an intoxicating blend of aromas. Grasping her face in his hands, Alton leaned into a deep kiss. Mallory dropped her arms to his back, pressing herself against him.

  She drew back. “God, Alton, how do you make me feel like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a flight of butterflies are playing volleyball in my stomach.”

  Alton drew a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m glad you like it as much as I.”

  “I do. And I don’t care how good your leg feels,” she whispered into his ear. “I think it’s time to head back to the bungalow. We’re not finished yet.”

  CHAPTER 14

  After ending the call with her American friend, Mastana allowed the first rush of relief to wash over her. Her confidence in Alton had not been misplaced. He had indeed devised a brilliant plan, one that would permanently remove her from the grasp of her scheming uncle.

  Mastana turned to face Kamaal. The interpreter looked much as she remembered him from four years ago, except that now the stubble on his head was slightly longer than that on his face. Kamaal’s body still formed a slightly rounded shape, like an egg, and his oversized eyes gave him the appearance of perpetual surprise. Most importantly, though, he seemed to have retained his cheerful, kindly demeanor. Mastana couldn’t have imagined an Afghani she would have been happier to see at that moment.

  “I have not properly thanked you for all you have done for me, honorable Kamaal,” said Mastana, tearing up.

  “Come, come,” replied her host, looking a little flustered. “It is nothing. You have helped others, no? We all take our turn. It is pleasing to our Maker that we should do so.”

  “It is certainly pleasing to me that you do so,” replied Mastana. “You are very kind.”

  “Thank you. I hope you will be comfortable here.”

  Until now, Mastana had been running for her life and, earlier today, had been ecstatic to accept the offer of sanctuary from Camp Egger’s jovial interpreter. For the first time, though, she considered the awkwardness of their arrangement—a young woman cohabitating with an older, unmarried man. She trusted Kamaal. His eyes held no ulterior motive. But what about his neighbors? How would she be viewed by members of Afghanistan’s traditional society?

  “Honorable Kamaal, you know that I am grateful for your help. Because of this, I am anxious that your kindness does not bring any hardship upon you. What will your neighbors think of my presence in your home?”

  “I don’t know if you saw when we drove in, but I don’t have any neighbors close by. An unfinished building lies between me and my closest neighbor, Mr. Busri, and he is half blind and half deaf. I don’t think anyone will see you here. And if they do, they might frown a little, but that’s all.”

  “I am relieved to hear this. I would be sad if your kindness injures your reputation.”

  “I think it will be fine. No one ever comes down here.” He seemed anxious to turn the subject. “Since you will be a guest here for a few days, would you like a little tour of the house?”

  “That would be nice.”

  Kamaal led his young charge from the kitchen and family room in the front of the abode down a hallway to two small bedrooms in the back. The house contained few decorations, but a collection of homemade tapestries and aging photographs on the walls lent it a cozy ambience.

  “This bedroom on the left is mine,” he said, “and this one on the right will be yours. I will need to move these clothes off your bed, though. Ay, what a mess! I am sorry—”

  “Honorable Kamaal,” interjected Mastana, “you do not really think I am concerned about clothes on the bed, do you? You and Alton have saved me. You have given me a new hope.”

  “You are a good girl. And I’m glad you think I am honorable, but you may address me as simply ‘Kamaal.’ Now, let me introduce you to the other members of my household.”

  “There are others?”

  “Yes—here they are now,” he replied, pointing to a pair of cats wandering in from his bedroom. “Boosah and Lala, there you are, my rascals. Sleeping again, no? That is all you ever do.” He rubbed them behind their ears, eliciting a steady drone of purrs.

  The one named Boosah rubbed against Mastana’s leg. She leaned down to pet him. “You have no dogs?”

  “I am often at Camp Eggers, so I am not at home enough to take care of dogs. But cats—they can take care of themselves. And they are happy to see me.” As if in confirmation, Lala approached and rubbed herself against his leg. “You see?”

  A growling stomach intruded upon Mastana’s smile. During the events of the last two days, anxiety had eradicated her appetite. Now that she was safe, though, she seemed to have found it again.

  “Would you like me to prepare dinner?” she asked, eager to express gratitude to her benefactor in some tangible way.

  “You know how to…? I mean, that would be nice. I am not so famous for my cooking. If you eat too many of my dinners, you might not live long enough to make your journey to America!” He laughed at his own joke.

  “I will be happy to make it.”

  “But seriously, are you not hungry and tired yourself? Would you like to rest while I prepare a simple meal?”

  “I am not too tired to make us a dinner. Do you like Qabili Palao?”

  “I love it, but I don’t think I have all the ingredients you would need for that.”

  “If you tell me where your market is, I will buy whatever you’re missing.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if your uncle is looking for you?”

  “He doesn’t know you or where you live, and we are far from his house. To be safe, though, I will wrap this burka around me,” she replied, removing one of the few articles of clothing from the duffle bag she had carried from her home.

  “Okay,” said the interpreter. “In that case, here is some money.”

  “Wonderful,” said Mastana. “I will see what you alre
ady have and then go buy the rest.”

  As Mastana set about assessing the rather bare pantry, another round of elation swept through her mind. The impending death of Mother still saddened her, deeply. But after weeks of fear and uncertainty regarding the evil designs of Uncle Dani, the path now opening before her—one of safety and security and maybe, one day, a new family—seemed almost too good to be true.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Master, can I speak with you for a moment?” asked Ghoyee, staring into the gloom of Divband’s small office, a cramped space located in the compound’s central building on the opposite end of the ceremonial chamber.

  “Certainly,” replied Divband. “Come in, and draw the curtain. Now, what have you come to see me about?”

  “Yesterday, you asked me to begin searching for new brides of Iblis. I have found two excellent candidates.”

  “Good work. That was quicker than you thought, no?”

  “It was. I intended to search for several days, but earlier today, I canvassed a large neighborhood and saw two suitable brides.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “The first seems to have about thirteen years. It is hard to be sure because she is a little skinny.”

  “Do her neighbors live close by?” asked Divband.

  “Yes. There are houses on both sides.”

  “Hmm…she hardly sounds suitable.”

  “For her age, she is quite pretty, and her cleanliness is more certain, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps,” said Divband. “Tell me about the other girl.”

  “She is a rose ready for the picking,” said Ghoyee, his eyes lighting up. “A little older, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years…jet-black hair…dark, supple skin…a woman’s body yet an air of purity suggesting that she, too, is undefiled by the world. Plus, her house lies on the end of a street, sixty or seventy meters from the closest neighbor.”

  Divband licked his lips. “It sounds like you already have a favorite, no? The second one?”

  “Yes, Master. If the choice was up to me, I would select her. Honestly, I was lucky to find her.”