Mastana looked to Alton with alarmed eyes.
“It’s okay,” he said. “This is the normal process. It’s for your safety. They can’t turn over a sixteen-year-old girl to just anyone until all the paperwork is complete and they’ve had a chance to make sure I’m not some crazy guy.”
Mastana giggled. “Well, you are a little crazy, but in a good way.”
Alton turned to Mrs. Kemp. “How long will we be at your office?”
“Well, there’s more paperwork than usual, ‘cause she’s a minor. It should take about three hours. Then she’ll be released into your custody.”
“Thanks,” said Alton. “It looks like everything is finally coming together.”
Nearly five hours later, with the paperwork complete, Mastana accompanied Alton and Mallory out of the State Department building.
Alton turned to Mastana. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes, I am very hungry.”
“How do you feel about hamburgers?”
“I have been thinking this is a food I would like to try in America.”
“Good,” said Mallory. “We have just the place.”
Alton called David. “We just wrapped up. Ready to meet at Lindy’s?”
“Yep. See you there.”
They drove in the direction of Lindy’s Red Lion, a local joint famous for hamburgers.
“You know I’ve never eaten at Lindy’s before, right?” said Alton.
“Yes, I know,” said Mallory, “which is a crime. It’s one of my favorite hole-in-the-walls here in town.”
Upon reaching the restaurant, Alton parked, and they piled out. They found David and Fahima waiting for them in the foyer, and Mastana greeted them with the same enthusiasm she had earlier bestowed on the Blackwells, both laughing and shedding a few tears.
David leaned over to Alton as a hostess led them through a maze of tables. “How have things fallen out in Kabul?”
“Kamaal says the shit hit the fan in the police department—nothing publically announced, but the government is conducting a top-to-bottom review of everyone on the force. He also said that the Brotherhood seems to be breaking up. Without their main site and their leader, people are just drifting away.”
“Good,” said David. “One less lunatic fringe in the world.”
“Exactly. And Colonel Rand said MI hasn’t found hide nor hair of Dani. It looks like he’s gone into hiding.”
“Also good, I guess. Too bad they didn’t catch him, though.”
“True,” said Alton, “Say, how’s your shrapnel wound? Still getting better?”
“Yeah. The doc says the stitches can come out in a few more days.”
“Fantastic.”
“What about you?” asked David. “Had any more of those flashbacks since you’ve been home?”
“No, thankfully. They stopped once I got back stateside.”
The hostess gestured to a booth. Fahima sat next to Mastana and walked through the menu with her. The teen’s eyes opened wide as she scanned the restaurant’s many options.
“So much food,” she said. “I will have a difficult time choosing.”
“Why don’t you try a basic cheeseburger this time?” said David, “Then you can experiment later.”
“You mean we will come back here again?”
“Sure, if you like it.”
“But maybe there will not be time. I do not know how long I will be in your house before I go to the new place—my new home.” She cast her eyes down while finishing the sentence.
“You okay, Mastana?” asked David. “You look kind of sad all of a sudden.”
“Yes, I am fine…and very happy. I do not want you to think I am not grateful to you all for saving me. I am so, so happy. But I cannot help wondering what my new home will be like.”
“I guess we can tell her now,” said David, grinning.
“Tell me what?”
“How would you like to stay with us for good?” asked David.
“What do you mean, ‘for good’?”
“Forever—or at least until you’re grown up and tired of us.”
Mastana’s chin trembled, and she squeezed her lips together as she struggled to control her emotions. “I won’t have to leave? I can live with you that long?”
Fahima placed her hand on the teen’s. “Not just live with us. We would like you to be our family, our daughter.”
Mastana lowered her head, her body wracked with silent sobs.
Fahima reached over and pulled the orphan into a hug. “You will be safe with us…and happy, I hope.”
The teen wiped her eyes and nose. “I know I will be happy—so very, very happy. In all my dreams, I did not think of this. It was too much to hope for. I told myself to be content being here in America, maybe seeing my friends here from time to time. And now I will not have to leave you.”
Fahima turned to her husband. “I think she likes our plan.”
David laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe she needs some time to think about it.”
“No!” said Mastana, shaking David’s shoulders and laughing herself. “I do not need time. I know I will love you, both of you, forever.”
David’s rough demeanor softened, and Alton could discern a little extra reflection of the restaurant’s lights in his friend’s eyes. Clearly, David was as eager as his wife to welcome Mastana to her new home. “Well, let’s wrap up this meal so we can show you your room.”
“I already have a room? Wait, do not wake me, please. I want to enjoy this dream as long as I can.” Mastana pulled both benefactors into another hug.
After the meal, they all traveled to David and Fahima’s house so Mastana could see her new home. They wandered through it, giving her a tour that ended in Mastana’s bedroom.
“It is not completely ready,” said Fahima. “We wanted to let you decide how to decorate it.”
The teen walked about the room in silence, running her hand atop the surface of a white, wooden dresser and bookshelf and taking in the matching queen bed. “My mother resides in the next life, but I know she is pleased, seeing your kindness to me. I do not know how to say thank you for all this. I will be happier than I deserve.”
“Hey, none of that ‘I don’t deserve this’ talk,” said David. “We’ll all be happier with you here. Let’s just enjoy it.”
Alton and Mallory lingered for a few more minutes. Wanting to give the Dunlows time to settle their ward into her new home, they soon rose to leave.
As they walked to the front door, Alton handed Mastana a temporary, “burner” phone. “I imagine David and Fahima will be getting you your own cellphone soon, but in the meantime, you can text or call us with this. I’ve already programmed my number and Mallory’s into it.”
“Thank you. And Alton…,” she said with a catch in her voice, “thank you for saving me—again.”
“You’re welcome. We all have our turn to help someone. Yours will come again, too.”
Mastana gave each of them a hug, then they left the teen to her new family.
Alton and Mallory traveled to their condo, where Buster, their Labrador, met them at the door with a boisterous greeting, a welcome they had missed until picking him up from a friend’s house the previous day. They leashed the dog and took him for leisurely walk, a nightly ritual all three enjoyed.
As the last glow of sunlight faded from the sky, Mallory turned to Alton and grasped his hand. “Remember what I said back in Bora Bora? That I’m all about happy endings? I’d say this qualifies.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” He shared Mallory’s overall enthusiasm but retained a bit of lingering sorrow. Like the experiences of many in this life, he and his friends had gained a victory, but at a cost. Certainly Mastana’s outcome exceeded everyone’s expectations. Fahima and David also seemed to have benefitted with the expansion of their family, albeit at the price of the latter’s shrapnel wound. Both Alton and Mallory had sustained injuries as well; he held no regret about his own, but Mallory’s continued to trouble
him. And then there was Nur Hanif’s death, which could only be regarded as the worst possible outcome, for him and his grieving family.
Alton contemplated the events of the last few weeks—a blissful, romantic honeymoon with his new bride, followed by a descent into a nightmare of sadism, betrayal, suffering, and death.
Thank God for Mallory, the stabilizing influence in his life. Alton hadn’t expected so much of the wedding vows he had uttered three short weeks ago to be put to the test so soon. Beyond fear or despair or yes, even a little madness, his wife loved him, and he adored her with an immutable, unconquerable passion. Walking beside his wife, his life, his soul mate, he knew the bond of their union would forever hold fast, come what may.
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THE EVOLUTION OF EVIL
CHAPTER 1
The incessant barking of Fernando’s German Shepard mix gave the first indication that tonight wouldn’t fall into the typical pattern of late-night, marathon research sessions interrupted only by occasional bouts of high-octane espresso.
“What the hell is it now?” murmured Dr. Jan Summit, raising her head from the microscope on the left edge of her worn melamine desk and squinting in the direction of the noise. The reflection of the office’s florescent lights in the large glass window obscured any view of the evening’s dark shadows. Dr. Summit shrugged. Perhaps the canine had spotted another iguana idling across the grass.
The sound of a Spanish phrase drifting in though the office’s cracked window sent a chill up Dr. Summit’s spine. She knew the voice of every local who worked here at her Santa Cruz, Galapagos research facility but did not recognize the whispered tones of the intruder located somewhere on the property.
The research biologist leapt to the doorway and switched off the lights. Moving to the window, she gazed outside but saw no one among the smattering of palm trees and heavy undergrowth illuminated in the pale moonlight. Had a drunken resident staggered onto the research grounds on accident? There weren’t any houses nearby, but with enough cerveza…
The shattering of glass in the adjacent lab dispelled any notions of accidental intrusion. Someone was invading, but why? Their goal could be simple theft of the site’s valuable equipment, but Dr. Summit couldn’t take any chances. If the intruders hoped to abscond with her research notes, she had to eliminate that possibility before the ass-wipes forced their way into her office.
Dr. Summit turned the deadbolt lock in her office door and swiveled her gaze to the glass wall panel separating her office from the lab, just in time to see a barrage of cylindrical canisters fly through the lab window and drop with a clatter onto a carpet of broken glass. Thick, white smoke poured from the device and formed an expanding cloud. Had the attackers known about her debilitating asthma, or was their use of the potentially lethal CS gas just dumb luck?
She’d have to leave—fast. But first she had to wipe her computer’s hard drive. It was the only way to protect her research. Thank God she had stored her backup files in the usual secure location last night. She’d lose the results of today’s research, but that beat losing it all—or letting it fall into the wrong hands. But if she fled, would anyone know where to look for the files? She typed off a terse message, then clicked the “encrypt” and “send” buttons in quick succession.
A small plume of choking smoke puffed through the crack under her office door. Within seconds, Dr. Summit could smell the vile odor of tear gas. Her eyes began watering, and her throat began to constrict. Fighting down panic, she snatched the rescue inhaler off her desk and took several deep breaths as she staggered towards the exterior window. Pushing it as far open as possible, she leaned into the empty space and fell into the soft grass below, gasping for breath.
Dammit—she hadn’t had a chance to wipe her computer’s memory! There was no way she could reenter her office, not with clouds of potentially-deadly gas growing thicker by the second. She’d have to trust that the encryption program safeguarding her research notes would be enough.
Dr. Summit’s breath caught in her throat. What about Dr. Tuttle? Was he still inside? She rose to warn him, hoping to make her way around the rear of the building to his exterior office window. She wound her way through a patch of overgrown, bright-yellow passion flowers lining the building’s side wall. A tendril of CS gas emerged from the bathroom window, directly into Dr. Summit’s face. She fell to her knees as another wave of asthmatic lightheadedness returned.
Trying to ignore the burning in her eyes, Dr. Summit concentrated on steadying her breathing. The inhaler seemed to be helping, but the physical exertion she had demanded from her body, combined with the potent chemical, could not be overcome. She collapsed to the ground, once again struggling to regain her breath and trying to relax when every fiber in her being screamed at her to run. Panic eventually won the battle, and the flickering black spots dancing at the periphery of her vision soon crowded in, obscuring everything as she slipped into the black night of unconsciousness.
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Book 1: Nefarious
Book 2: Ruthless
Book 3: T Wave
Book 4: Havoc
Book 5: The Devil’s Due
Book 6: The Evolution of Evil (Coming later in 2015. See below for notification when available.)
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Author Steve Freeman is a former member of the US Army's Signal Corps, a twenty-seven year employee of a large American technology company, and an avid traveler who has visited five continents. The novels of The Blackwell Files draw from his firsthand knowledge of military service, the tech industry, and the diverse cultures of our world.
He currently lives near Atlanta, Georgia with his wife, daughter, and three dogs.
Visit www.SteveFreemanWriter.com for a complete list of his titles.
The Devil's Due (The Blackwell Files Book 5) Page 25
