“Is nice you want to help me, but that still doesn’t give me any more manpower in my department to work on this.” More to himself, he continued, “If Nur Hanif was still here, I’m sure he would help you. He always had a soft spot for the children’s cases.”
“Nur Hanif?” asked Alton.
“He is man who used to work for me, but he turned his back on us.”
“What do you mean? He quit the police force?”
“That’s right. Now he works with his father at the electric utility. You can talk with him if you like.”
Alton checked his growing impatience. “But surely you have a policeman who can spare just a few hours—”
“No,” cut in Poya, “not with a man like Bina…how you say…breathing down my neck.”
“Bina?”
“Yes, Jaweed Bina is governor of Kabul Province. My boss, the chief of police, reports to him. And Bina wants us to put all our resources on finding the terrorists.”
“I understand the need to do that,” said Mallory, “but what about crimes of the non-terrorist variety? You just let them go?”
“For the bad stuff—murders, rapes, things like that—we investigate. But not for something like this. Bina knows that his job depends on keeping the terrorists contained. If Al-Qaeda and the Taliban come back, Bina is out of a job…and maybe his life. So that’s where he keeps his policemen focused.”
“So there’s no one on your force who can help, even for a few hours?” asked Alton.
“I am sorry, but no. But if you get a ransom note or find something on your own—stronger evidence of a crime, for example—call me. I will assign a man to investigate. I just…I can’t risk my job based on such questionable evidence.”
“I understand,” said Alton while shooting a quieting look in the direction of David, who looked to be on the verge of protesting. “We’ll let you know as soon as we dig anything up.”
As they exited the station, David leaned over to Alton. “How could you let him brush us off like that?”
“He’s the only person in authority we can work with here. Like it or not, we have to stay on his good side. Otherwise, what do we do if we find the kind of evidence he needs? If we piss him off bad enough, he could just continue to ignore us.”
David nodded. “I see what you’re saying, but it still seems like bullshit to me.”
“Agreed. But we can’t do any more good here. Let’s focus our energy where we can make some progress.”
CHAPTER 24
Mastana awoke to oppressive darkness. How long had she been asleep? For that matter, how long had she been awake before falling into her latest slumber? She guessed she had been held prisoner here a day in total, but really, how could she know? The light in her cell never varied. A perpetual dusk reigned.
Before exhaustion had overtaken her, Mastana had witnessed a robed figured open the door to her cell and place a tray on the floor. After the man had left and locked the door, Mastana had approached the tray. It had contained only a basin of water and four pieces of naan, a type of Afghani flatbread. She had made short work of the rations, but upon awaking now, the minimal nutrition of the last day or so had caught up with her. Her limbs felt heavy, and her mental acuity seemed…fuzzy. She knew she must somehow acquire more food if she hoped to survive.
Mastana turned her head toward a noisy clanking down the hallway from her cell. Was someone coming? Hopefully, the sound heralded person bearing more food.
Footsteps approached her door. The rattling of a heavy key in a lock was followed by a surge of bright light as the door swung open.
Mastana shielded her eyes at first. Once they had adjusted to the radiance, she recognized the man filling the doorway. It was he who had abducted her from Kamaal’s house. She knew many of Uncle’s Al-Qaeda associates but did not recognize this man.
The abductor squeezed through the door and looked at her. Not knowing what to say, Mastana remained silent.
The man took two strides and stood beside her. “Stand up.”
Mastana did as commanded. What would resistance gain her now, except a retaliatory beating or starvation that would render her even less capable of escaping later?
“You are not damaged from our encounter yesterday, are you?” asked the man.
“I do not know. I do not think so. I am very sore, but I think it is from sleeping on the hard floor.”
“Let me see your face.”
Mastana turned but did not meet his eyes. Now was not the time for defiance.
The man stroked her ebony hair and caressed her cheek. “You look…perfect. Divband will be pleased.”
The man let his hand drop. “There is one rule above all others here. You do not speak until you are spoken to. When you are addressed, your responses must be in a subdued voice. Do you understand?”
Mastana nodded.
Turning on his heel, the giant man exited her cell without uttering another word and locked the door behind him.
Who were her captors? And why did they keep her here in limbo? Surely they must be members of Al-Qaeda, but Mastana had yet to encounter Uncle or any of his associates known to her. She knew Uncle’s wrath with her would be terrible, but the enormous man who had just visited frightened her just as much, only in a different way.
Why was Uncle waiting so long to admonish her in person? He certainly hadn’t shrunk from confrontation in the past. After seeing the hulking man’s lustful glances, though, Mastana didn’t prefer his presence any more than Uncle’s.
Mastana sat down on the cold, stone floor and listened to shuffling footsteps file past her door. She speculated on her eventual fate, uncertain whether to pray for knowledge or ignorance. Still undecided, she drew up her knees and laid her head on them. She waited for the next bout of fatigue to pull her back into sleep, allowing her to escape into the freedom of her dreams.
CHAPTER 25
During the drive back to Kamaal’s house, Alton stared out the window. He had left Kabul three years ago, retiring from the Army after nine months of post-injury rehab had failed to requalify him for field duty. Since his discharge, he had pushed the memories of his time in Afghanistan into a secluded corner of his consciousness—still there, but a mere shadow of its former intensity. He hadn’t been prepared for the resurgence of powerful memories brought on by the onslaught of Kabul’s sights, sounds, and, in particular, smells. He hadn’t realized the extent to which Kabul possessed its own unique blend of aromas, but upon disembarking from today’s flight, the mixed scents of spices, oils, asphalt, exhaust fumes, and who knows what other substances had elicited a collage of memories—some pleasant, but most not.
Mallory placed her hand on his arm. “You okay?”
“Yeah—it just feels weird to be back. How about you? You feeling all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“You all can be seated, and I will bring the food,” said Kamaal as they entered his house.
“Wait, I just realized…you have a table?” asked Alton. While deployed in Afghanistan, he had never seen a dining table in a local’s home, since Afghanistan custom dictated eating from a tablecloth laid directly on the floor.
“Yes,” replied Kamaal. “In my role as an interpreter, I sometimes have guests from Camp Eggers come for a meal. Is better if I have a table for them.”
“I see.”
As he approached the small table, Alton glanced down the hallway. Droplets of dried blood on the floor served as a grim reminder of the task at hand.
Kamaal placed bowls in the center of the table for them to share. As he returned with a pitcher of water, an imam’s call to prayer could be heard in the cool breeze blowing through the open window. David walked over and pushed the window shut.
“The police won’t help us, not until we basically do their job for them,” said David as he resumed his seat. “So, what do we do now?”
“Let’s focus on the obvious first,” said Alton. “We’re pretty certain Mastana is a captive of Al-Qa
eda. More specifically, her Uncle Dani is the key. She is either with him, or he at least knows where she’s being held. So, our goal should be tracking down Dani’s house, the same house Mastana was in until a week ago. Kabul’s city records don’t show anything. I checked into that before I left the States. Kamaal, did Mastana ever mention to you where her uncle lives?”
“No. She only said he lives far from here. She was quite glad about that. I never thought to ask her exactly where that was. I mean…why would I need to know?”
“Quite true,” reassured Mallory. “None of us knew that would be important information.”
“Okay,” said Alton, “so let’s keep noodling on other ways to find Dani’s house. What other approaches can we take?”
“I can ask my friends if they heard about any Al-Qaeda activity last week,” said Fahima.
“Realistically, what are the odds of one of your friends possessing useful information?”
“Realistically? Not much. Al-Qaeda is a closed society. Nobody hears much. But every now and then, my friends and I would hear information—rumors, really—about recent attacks. Maybe we will get lucky, and a rumor will lead us back to Dani.”
“So Fahima will follow up with her friends,” said Mallory, “but we can’t count on that approach producing results. What other avenues can we pursue?”
“What about the guy Captain Poya mentioned…what was his name?” said David.
“Nur Hanif,” said Fahima.
“Right. We could ask him to help.”
Alton pondered the option. “I’m not sure how much help an ex-cop can give, but I don’t see what harm it can do. I suppose even though he’s not a cop anymore, he still might have friends on the force who can supply key intel.”
“Okay—so how do we find him?” asked David.
“Poya said Hanif is working for the electric utility,” said Mallory. “Why don’t we go there tomorrow morning? It’d probably be the quickest way to see him.”
The next morning, the group assembled inside the main lobby of Kabul Electric Co, LTD. After speaking with the security guard seated behind the main desk, Kamaal returned to the others. “He will take us to Hanif’s office.”
They followed the guard down a narrow, cinderblock corridor that vibrated with the soft hum of the adjacent power plant.
With a comment in Pashto, the guard waved them through a door.
They entered a cramped office with a small, square table and chairs pushed up against the wall. Above the table appeared a white board covered with hand-drawn electrical schematics. The mild breeze produced by a lazy ceiling fan did little to alleviate the room’s stuffy atmosphere.
“I am Nur Hanif,” said the occupant in excellent English. “The guard said you wanted to see me, but he did not say why.”
“Thanks for seeing us. Let me explain,” said Alton. He recapped the events of the last eleven days, from Mastana’s escape from her uncle to her subsequent recapture two days earlier.
“I am sorry to hear your young friend is missing,” said Hanif, “but I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“You used to work for Captain Poya in the ANP, correct?”
Hanif’s mouth straightened into a grimace. “Yes.”
“Poya told us you might be able to help us locate Mastana.”
“Didn’t he tell you I am not a policeman anymore?”
“Yes, but he also said you have an affinity for cases involving children.”
Hanif sighed. “I did, but I have an even greater affinity for my own children. I have a baby boy and a girl of six years. I would like to live long enough to see them grow up.
“I did well as a policeman. I was more educated than most, so I became a lieutenant faster than usual. But after two of my friends in the police force died from terrorist attacks, I started to wonder when it would be my turn. When you’re a policeman in Afghanistan, you don’t know how much time you have.
“My father had always wanted me to join him here at KE. I had planned on that career when I was young, even got my electrical engineering degree. But after the fall of the Taliban, I wanted to help make my country strong again, so I joined the police. Once I decided being a policeman was too dangerous, I came here. Captain Poya was not happy. The Taliban killed his father, so he wants as many people as he can find to fight them. But my father is happy, my wife is happy, and my kids are happy. This job here at KE…it’s not so dangerous.”
“I understand,” said Alton, “and I don’t blame you. I’d probably do the same thing. But this is a special case. Poya refuses to help us—says Governor Bina wants him to ignore all but the most extreme civilian crimes in order to stay focused on rooting out terrorists. It’s a race to recover Mastana before Al-Qaeda does something…terrible to her. You know that better than we do. What are our odds of finding Mastana alive without the help of someone with your unique qualifications?”
Hanif stood and paced the room. “How would I explain this to my wife?”
“Based on the events we’ve told you, do you consider Mastana’s life at stake?” asked Mallory.
“Yes, I think so.”
“That might be a place to start explaining to your wife, then,” said Mallory.
Alton studied the man. “Hanif, if your heart is telling you not to do this, then I don’t think you should. Like you said, you have a family to care for. But if your heart is telling you to help, all of us—including Mastana—would be grateful.”
Hanif pondered in silence for a moment. “I hate Al-Qaeda. I would love to see their plans ruined, and this girl recovered.” He fell into silence again. “Okay, I will help you.”
“Wonderful,” said Alton, while Kamaal produced a jubilant-sounding exclamation in his native Pashto tongue. “So, what next steps do you recommend?”
“I know you are in a hurry,” said Hanif, “but I will need a little time to verify you are who you say you are.”
“How are you gonna do that?” asked David.
“If I can’t track down such a simple piece of information as your identities, what use would I be trying to track down your young friend?”
“Point taken,” said Alton. “What do you need from us?”
“Copies of passports from the Americans, copies of identity cards from my fellow Afghanis. The photocopier is in the break room next door.”
“Great. Any idea how long you’ll need?”
“Not long. I call you tonight, okay?”
“Perfect—and thanks again for your help,” said Alton.
CHAPTER 26
Alton received a call from Nur Hanif at three o’clock that day.
“Done already?” asked Alton.
“Yes, as I said, this kind of background check is not so hard.”
“Great, so what’s next?”
“Why don’t we meet after I get off work?”
“Sounds good. Can you come to Kamaal’s house?”
“Yes. Give me directions, and I will be there as soon as possible. I leave KE at five-thirty.”
Several hours later, Hanif joined the group around Kamaal’s table. “I am sorry, but I cannot stay long tonight. I have to get home to explain to my wife about…this,” he said with a sweep of his hand.
“We understand,” said Alton.
“Anyway, let me tell you…I did some checking before coming here. The only report of Al-Qaeda activity in Kabul from two days ago involves the bombing of a mosque in the southwestern sector, far away from this place. I don’t think it is connected with Mastana’s abduction.”
“Agreed,” said David.
“I will try to do more checking tomorrow. I have a couple of friends in the Afghani Army’s MI. I would like to see if they have heard of any Al-Qaeda activity, especially involving a kidnapping.”
“Okay, so we’ll meet back here after you get off work tomorrow?” asked David.
The dismay Alton felt in the delay must have shown.
“I will take the afternoon off,” said Hanif. “We ca
nnot wait too long to get started.”
“That’d be great.”
“One thing we know for sure,” said Hanif. “Al-Qaeda terrorists are always well armed. Did you bring any weapons with you?”
“No. How could we?” said Alton. “You know how tight the restrictions are when you fly in here.”
“True. Well, it won’t do us any good to find Mastana if we’re outgunned. Our first stop tomorrow should be acquiring weapons.”
“How are we going to do that?” asked Mallory.
“I know some black-market people a little ways outside of town. They should be able to sell you just about anything you want. Did you bring money?”
“Yes,” said Alton, whose experience in Afghanistan had led him to expect this turn of events. “And gold.”
“Gold is even better—will get you more stuff.”
“Okay, so we’ll plan on seeing your…um, associates tomorrow afternoon. Anything else we can do tonight?”
“I don’t think so. I will call you tomorrow when I’m getting ready to leave work.”
The former policeman departed, and Alton turned to David. “Hanif mentioned contacting Afghanistan Military Intelligence. Do you have any US Army MI contacts at Camp Eggers you could ring up?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been stationed there for over three years. I doubt any of the guys I worked with are still there.”
“I know it’s a long shot, but could you poke around? Maybe someone will at least recognize your name and be willing to give us some intel on recent Al-Qaeda activity. Anything they can tell us will help.”
“Sure, Al.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, shift change is coming up in about thirty minutes. Why don’t I call now, before day shift leaves? They’re usually more up-to-speed than the night-shift guys.”
Alton nodded. “We’ll wait on the group discussion until you’re done with the call.”
David returned a quarter-hour later. “No surprises—I couldn’t find anyone I worked with back in my service days. But I did connect with the current MI officer, Colonel Rand.”
The Devil's Due (The Blackwell Files Book 5) Page 8
