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

by Steven F Freeman

  “Wait—you think our guys are allied with those lunatics? How? Why?”

  “I don’t know, but don’t you think it’s weird that they showed up just as the Brotherhood started getting their asses kicked?”

  “There must be another explanation.”

  “I hope so,” said Alton. “In the meantime, let’s get out of here. If they’re looking for us, we don’t want to give them too much time to figure out where we’ve gone.”

  Alton limped to his SUV’s cargo area and retrieved a case of water bottles and a stack of naan bread they had purchased on their way out of Kabul. He divided the supplies between the occupants of the two vehicles, along with an admonition to the former prisoners. “Start with the water. And don’t eat too quickly or you’re liable to throw it back up.”

  Alton and Mallory mounted their SUVs and pulled back onto the mountain road. They rumbled down the winding passage, then pulled a hard left onto the dirt road at the foot of the mountain. Tires spun as they accelerated on the flat surface, which soon transformed to asphalt.

  Alton used his rear-view mirror to peer into the back seat. “Fahima, we need to find a safe house. We can’t go back to Kamaal’s place, and I’d rather not return to his friend’s inn, just in case anyone tracked us there. Is there another spot you’d recommend?”

  “I think so. I have a friend, Ozra. She stayed with me for a few weeks after her husband died in an Al-Qaeda attack on his mosque. I will call her and see if we can come over.”

  “Perfect. Your shroud app is still on, right?”

  “Yes.” Fahima made the call and spoke for upwards of ten minutes. She ended the conversation and leaned forward to the front seat. “She says we can stay with her. I told her the troubles David and the girls are having, so she is going to buy medicine and food that is good for the stomach.”

  “Good. When we get there, we’ll need to assess everyone medically. David’s shrapnel wound is bleeding, and the girls look like they’re on the verge of starving to death, especially Mastana.”

  Alton called Mallory and shared the plan.

  “Thank goodness,” said Mallory. “I was just getting ready to call you to ask where we were going to go.”

  “Yeah, Fahima saved the day. She’s going to guide us in to her friend’s house. Just follow me, and we’ll be safe in a matter of minutes.”

  CHAPTER 73

  The following morning, Alton awoke with a clarity of mind he hadn’t enjoyed since arriving in Kabul. Was it a result of bringing Mastana to safety? Eliminating the cult leader? Knowing his combat in Afghanistan on this trip was over? Perhaps all three elements contributed to some degree.

  He rolled over on the floor mat and gazed at his sleeping wife. She looked beautiful, resting or awake.

  Glancing around the room, he saw that everyone else remained asleep as well. David and Fahima nestled on a futon. The former had needed his wound re-stitched but had sustained no worse injury. The three teenage girls shared a large comforter Ozra had spread in the den’s open space. Alton wondered how long the former prisoners would require to recover from the ordeal of their captivity. Physically, they were already on the road to recovery, having enjoyed mild broth, rice, and naan bread the previous evening. The psychological healing, though, was bound to take more time.

  Sitting up, Alton took a second to assess his head wound and disabled leg. Mallory had expertly cleaned and dressed the cut on his scalp, which throbbed with a dull pain. It might need stitches later, but he would address that back in the States. As expected, his leg’s usual aches were more acute, a result of the previous day’s exertions. Yet the strange, niggling feeling he had felt upon arriving in Kabul had disappeared. He stood and took a few minutes to warm up his leg, knowing he’d feel more comfortable as a result.

  Alton wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find some coffee to brew. Ozra was already there, boiling a kettle of water and laying out vegetables and hard-boiled eggs for their morning meal.

  “Good morning,” said Alton, who had been pleased the previous evening to learn his host spoke English, allowing him to thank her directly. “Can I help you with breakfast?”

  “Alton, after you and your wife went to sleep last night, Fahima and I stayed up for a long time, talking. She told me about your rescue yesterday. You risked your life to save these girls.”

  “We all did,” said Alton, “including Fahima.”

  “That is true. And if you can do these dangerous things, I can make a breakfast all by myself.”

  “Okay. Thank you. Can I keep you company while you work?”

  Ozra smiled. “I would like that.”

  Alton listed to the sounds of bubbling water and vegetables being cut on the chopping block. He inhaled deeply, detecting the scent of Ozra’s green tea. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so much gratitude for the tranquility such simple noises and aromas could evoke.

  Soon, the others awoke, and they all enjoyed breakfast together. His leg still feeling sore, Alton retired to the futon after the meal.

  Mastana took a seat next to him. “Alton…” Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  “I know. I’m happy to see you, too. We have a habit of saving each other.”

  “But I have never—”

  “You did,” said Alton. “You just didn’t know it.”

  “How?”

  “When you know someone is counting on you, like a certain hospital patient recovering from marketplace bomb wounds, you’re less inclined to do something to yourself you can’t take back.”

  For a few seconds, Mastana’s eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened in epiphany. “Alton, you don’t mean you would hurt yourself?”

  He studied her for a moment before answering. “I didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it.”

  “I am so sorry. I never knew.”

  “It’s not your fault. I never told you. And I don’t bring this up to seek out pity. I just want you to know…don’t underestimate your importance in the lives of others. You’re probably making more of a difference than you realize.”

  Mastana nodded. She laid her head on his shoulder and held his arm. “Thank you, Alton. I know you are aware of it, but you’ve made the biggest difference in my life a person can make. I am here because you saved me from Divband and his crazy people.”

  “As did David and Fahima. David was the very first person to suggest coming here to Kabul, in fact.”

  She sat up. “And here you all are. I do not feel worthy of putting so many lives in danger.”

  “It was our choice. You did the same thing to help rescue Fahima, and you were only twelve years old. At least we’re ex-soldiers, trained for this sort of thing.”

  “I could see that last night. I would not want to fight you.” She smiled and resumed her grasp on his arm.

  Leaning his head back on the futon, Alton had almost dozed back to sleep when his cellphone rang.

  As he reached into his pocket, Mallory called out. “We’re all here, so who is that?”

  “Colonel Rand from Camp Eggers’ MI.”

  “That’s the guy David said gave him a ‘just-doesn’t-feel-right’ vibe. Are you sure you want to take the call?”

  “Yeah. It could be interesting.”

  “You still have your shroud app turned on?”

  “Yep. Let’s see what he has to say.” Alton answered the phone and switched it to speaker so all could hear.

  “Alton Blackwell?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Colonel Rand. I spoke to your friend David Dunlow a few days ago.”

  “I remember, Colonel. How can I help you?”

  “I’d like to talk with you about last night.”

  Alton shot a glance at Mallory. “What about it?”

  “Mr. Blackwell, I’m going to be frank with you. We here at MI started getting rumors about a new cult, the Brotherhood of Stones, a couple of months ago. We opened up a covert investigation last month to discover more about them. We’ve bee
n compiling facts, trying to build a solid foundation of evidence, when all of a sudden last night, all hell breaks loose at their compound. I remembered Mr. Dunlow asking me about the Brotherhood a few days ago, so I wondered if, as the leader of your group, you knew anything about last night.”

  David nodded, and Alton decided to trust the man.

  “We didn’t have time to compile facts,” said Alton. “We knew this cult had murdered a string of teenage girls, and a good friend of ours was next on the list. If we hadn’t acted, she would have died. It was as simple as that. If I may ask, Colonel Rand…why didn’t you share your information with us when David called the first time? If would have made our lives—and yours—easier.”

  “I’m not in the habit of disclosing information about covert projects to some ex-soldier who calls me out of the blue. You and your friends could have been working for the Brotherhood, for all I knew.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “But last night, some of your fireworks at the Brotherhood’s compound appeared on our satellite imagery. We figured someone beat us to the punch, maybe the ANP,” he said, referring to the Afghan National Police. “We had no idea it was you and your friends. Why didn’t you tell us before you moved in?”

  “The same reason you didn’t trust us. We discovered an Afghani cop was a cult member, so why not an US Army Officer?”

  “You left off the part about my dual citizenship. I’m guessing that played a part in your silence, too.”

  “Yes,” admitted Alton. “That fact implied you’re familiar with the legends of the jinnd and might be swayed by the same logic. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  “I suppose we each had a reason to be suspicious. On a better note, though, we have the laptops from the compound. We’ll be searching them for information over the next few days. I’d like to have you debrief me in detail later, but I’m curious to know if you encountered any moles at the temple last night.”

  “Moles?” asked Kamaal.

  “I think he means any more high-ranking Afghani officials who are members of the Brotherhood,” said Mallory.

  “That’s right,” said the colonel.

  “Most of the cultists scattered like rats,” said Alton, “but we did make an interesting discovery, one that explained the Brotherhood’s success in recruiting from all walks of life.”

  “Do tell. Wait, before you say anything…was it Governor Bina? Is he a member?”

  “No, although I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

  The colonel seemed disappointed. “He was my primary suspect. Anti-US and anti-Taliban. He fit the profile perfectly, and his job gave him a vested interest in preserving the status quo, one of the advertising points of the Brotherhood, from what I could gather.”

  “Who knows?” said Mallory. “Maybe he really is a member, but we didn’t see any trace of him last night.”

  “True,” said Rand. “So who did you find? Some other official?”

  “Yep,” said Alton, “one whose identity may come as more of a surprise.”

  CHAPTER 74

  “All right,” said Colonel Rand. “You’ve piqued my interest. Who’d you find?”

  “Let me explain. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been too surprised by the identity of the cult’s Divband, the leader we saw overseeing a sacrificial ritual last night. We’d already seen a cop join the Brotherhood, which leads to a question. How was a policeman like Sergeant Gulzar Majid, ‘Ghoyee’ within the cult, convinced to join an organization like the Brotherhood of Stones?”

  “I have a feeling you’re getting ready to tell me.”

  “Yes, he was recruited by his boss, Captain Hadi Poya.”

  “The police captain?”

  “Yes. It all makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. Hanif, a friend of ours, told us how the Taliban had killed Poya’s father, so we know Poya had no love for the insurgents. Poya’s career languished under Taliban rule and only picked up after their elimination. But he saw the Taliban regaining power as coalition troops have been withdrawn. Mastana told us that she heard Poya brag to his followers about the power of Iblis to defeat the Taliban and ‘all enemies of Afghanistan.’ So ostensibly, Poya told his followers that he decided to resurrect the Brotherhood of Stones as a way of combatting the Taliban.”

  “But you don’t think that’s true?” asked Rand.

  “Surely a man of Poya’s intelligence had to know the chances of building a force that could actually threaten the Taliban and Al-Qaeda were small.”

  “You have to start somewhere.”

  “True,” said Alton, “but Mastana, one of the girls we recovered last night, has told me about some of the things Poya said to her about women. He wasn’t a big fan of the fair sex.”

  “So you’re thinking Poya’s whole Satanist shtick may have been a ruse for a more personal agenda?”

  “Could be. Suppose you hate women—or at least teenage women. You’re the chief of police, so you and your crony sergeant can suppress any investigation of crimes you commit against them. But you still need to collect your victims. If you also happen to be a power-craving, charismatic, self-appointed prophet of a revived power—Iblis—you can tap into your countrymen’s need to regain control in their lives.”

  “I see,” said Rand. “Leverage your leadership skills and position of power to rope others into helping with your serial-killing fantasies.”

  “Something like that. I guess we’ll never know for sure.”

  “So was Poya the dead guy wearing the red sash?”

  “Yeah, that’s him,” replied Alton.

  “That’s good to know. His face was pretty obliterated. I wasn’t sure we were ever going to get an ID on that one. I’ve gotta say, Mr. Blackwell, that your friends must have been pretty well armed. It looked like a frikkin war zone in there.”

  “It felt like one, too. Say, Colonel, do you know the next steps for reuniting the kidnapped girls with their families? As you can imagine, I’m a little leery about going to the police.”

  “I’ll work with the local social services department to take care of that. I’ll give you specifics once my team contacts them.”

  “Great, although one of the girls is headed to the US, the one we specifically came here to rescue. Her visa was approved just before she was kidnapped.”

  “I see. Mastana, you said?”

  “Yes.” No one spoke for a few seconds. “Will that be all, Colonel Rand?”

  “Yes. We’ll be in touch about the other girls, and possibly after we’ve researched the contents of the cult’s laptops.”

  “Okay. You have my number.”

  Alton switched off his phone and looked around at the weary and expectant faces surrounding him. “And so that’s that. Time to put this chapter of our lives behind us. We’ll get Sita and our other young friend back to their families, and we’ll press forward with Mastana’s immigration—finally.”

  For the first time since rescuing Mastana, Alton saw her break into a smile.

  CHAPTER 75

  Two days later, Alton and the others gathered in Kamaal’s den, discussing in quiet tones their travel plans for the following day.

  Alton sat apart in a wicker chair, a spot that afforded him a little more space to stretch out his damaged leg. He was glad to be going home. Recovering Mastana had eliminated the worst of his latent anxiety, but the sounds and aromas of Afghanistan continued to fill him with restless uncertainty.

  An imam’s call to prayer drifted in through the window. Alton felt himself slipping to another reality, a time of recovery while serving at Kabul’s Camp Eggers. The faces of his dead soldiers appeared unbidden before him, stirring the horror and regret of the day his life had irrevocably changed with the explosion of the IED.

  The chants of the imam ended, and Alton’s vision refocused on those sitting before him: Mallory, David, Fahima, and the rest. The ex-officer reflected on the past week’s rescue mission. Hanif had died, certainly a horrible outcome, but the rest had survived—perh
aps not unscathed but at least alive. The thought gave rise to hope for the future. He doubted the psychological impact of his service in Afghanistan would ever fade completely, but the greater success of protecting the lives of those he had recently led into combat conferred a measure of comfort.

  Alton gazed at his wife. The wound on her arm was convalescing nicely. Seeming to sense his gaze, she turned and smiled in his direction. Alton smiled back, lifting a silent prayer of gratitude for the tranquility to which the meandering, lonely path of his life had led him.

  CHAPTER 76

  A week later, Alton and Mallory held a bouquet of balloons as they waited with nervous anticipation at Washington’s Dulles airport. A State Department employee, the matronly Mrs. Kemp, had accompanied the couple to the airport and chatted with them as they waited behind the security line.

  Eventually, the delightful form of Mastana appeared. Spotting Alton, she ran into his arms, both laughing and crying, and embraced him for a full half-minute.

  “Ha! We just saw you last week, remember?” said Alton with a smile, even as he returned the hug.

  “Yes, but I am so happy to see you!” said Mastana, who turned to Mallory and expended her remaining strength on nearly squeezing the life from her. “And now I am really, truly in America. Last week, when I was with that evil man, I did not think I would see you ever again. And now here we are.”

  “Indeed,” said Alton. “You know, Mallory and I have been talking about you all week, including how you and I first met and became friends.”

  “The bomb in the bazaar? That was a sad day, Alton.”

  “Yes, but it had a nice outcome. That’s how you and I got to know each other.”

  “That is true,” said Mastana, brightening. “Maybe is not such a sad day, after all.”

  “Mastana, I’m Emily Kemp,” said their companion in a kindly manner. “I work for the US State Department here in Washington. We can all grab a meal together, then we’ll need to come back to my office to fill out some paperwork.”