“How many future brides of Iblis reside in the cells?” asked Divband, his hands clasped behind his back.
“After yesterday, we are down to four.”
“In that case, it’s time to collect another. Giving the girls a few days in the cells has made them more compliant when the time for their marriage ceremony arrives. It’s good to take the fight out of them ahead of time.”
Ghoyee grinned as he always did when contemplating this subject. “As you wish, Master. Shall Meskin accompany me?”
“Take as many as you need to get the job done. I wouldn’t think you’d need more than one other person.”
Ghoyee puffed out his chest. “No, me and Meskin are enough.”
“How soon can you collect one?”
“I don’t want to rush. Remember when we almost collected the prefect’s daughter? I would like to pick the new bride from a different neighborhood, one we haven’t harvested in before.”
“Good idea. Pick out two possibilities from your new neighborhood, then bring a description of them to me before harvesting.”
“I’ll begin looking tomorrow. It shouldn’t take more than a few days.”
“Perfect.”
After finishing the inspection of the first guard hut and recommending the repositioning of a mounted machine-gun tripod, they continued their trek.
Ghoyee turned to Divband. “Master, do you believe in the power of Iblis and the black jinnd?”
“What a question! I bring a message of hope to the hopeless…of power to the powerless. It is the idea of this message, not my personal beliefs, that carry our movement forward. And when people believe in Iblis and our cause, and act on those beliefs, Iblis’ power will become a force in our land.”
CHAPTER 12
After showing Mastana’s plea for help to his wife, Alton switched off his phone. “Now what? How the heck do we respond to something like that? And realistically, how much help can we provide from here?”
“Given our vast distance from Afghanistan,” said Mallory, “not much.”
Alton drummed his fingers. “Why don’t we go grab some dinner and give the question some thought? We need to be sure we give her good advice.”
They traveled from their bungalow back to the reception building. The sounds of gentle surf and laughing children drifted into the “Polynesian Breeze” open-air restaurant as the host led them to a table.
Alton leaned back into his chair, allowing the gentle wind to wash over him. The tangy air and vibrant colors of hibiscus and other tropical flowers created an atmosphere conducive to contemplative thought. “I was thinking about Mastana’s message on the way over here.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember Kamaal, the interpreter back in Camp Eggers’ hospital? He helped us translate for Mastana, back before she eventually admitted she knew how to speak English.”
“Yeah, I remember him. Nice guy with big eyes, right?”
“Yes, that’s him. Why don’t I call and see if he can help Mastana with whatever problem she’s having? At least he’s in the same city, not ten thousand miles away in the middle of the Pacific.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” said Mallory.
Alton checked his watch. “I’ll call now.”
He dialed Kamaal’s number and waited. He began to fear he would reach the man’s voice mail, but the interpreter picked up after the fifth ring.
“Hello?”
“Kamaal, it’s Alton Blackwell. Do you remember me?”
“Of course!” said Kamaal. “How are you, my friend?”
“I’m fine. Mallory sends her regards, too.”
“You are together?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“That is wonderful! And are you still just friends, or a little bit more?”
Alton couldn’t help but smile. “A little bit more. In fact, we’re on our honeymoon.”
“Ahh…you are a sly devil,” replied Kamaal with a laugh. “And how is your young friend, Mastana?”
Alton shifted in his seat. “That’s actually why I’m calling you, Kamaal. Mastana sent me an e-mail message a few hours ago. All it says is ‘Alton, help me.’”
“Poor girl!” said Kamaal.
“Indeed. I figured she must not have your e-mail or phone number, or she would have called you.”
“That is correct,” said Kamaal. “She doesn’t have any way to contact me. Once she left Camp Eggers, I never spoke with her again.”
“So here’s my problem. I only have her e-mail address, not her phone number. I don’t know what’s wrong, but even if I did, I’m thousands of miles away. So, I have a request. Can I reply to her message with your phone number and e-mail address? That way, she’ll have someone she can contact locally.”
“Certainly. She was a nice girl. I will help her.”
“I appreciate it. I hope I don’t ask too much, but would you mind calling me if you hear from her? I’d like to know what’s going on.”
“Yes, I will call you. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Buddy,” said Alton, ending the call.
After composing and sending a brief message to Mastana, Alton leaned back in his chair. “Well, now we wait.”
“Do you have any idea what might be going on with her?” asked Mallory.
“Just speculation. We still e-mail each other, but I haven’t heard from her recently. Her mom has been sick for a while. Perhaps she’s taken a turn for the worse.”
“But doesn’t her uncle live with them? Why wouldn’t he help?”
“Maybe her uncle is the problem,” said Alton. “Remember how he was in Al Qaeda? Mastana always seemed afraid of him.”
“Could be. We’ll just have to wait and see what she says, I suppose. Even if we took the next flight out, we wouldn’t get there for a day. It’s better to let Kamaal look into it first.”
“Yes.” Alton experienced a curious mix of emotions, happy to be honeymooning with Mallory yet worried over Mastana’s safety. “Mallory, do you feel a little guilty about…uh…resuming the honeymoon spirit?”
“Yes. I know what you mean. We’re both worried, but we’ve done all we can do for the moment. Let’s see what Kamaal says, then we can figure out our next steps.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” said Alton.
They dined on sea bass and two glasses of Chablis in the breezy, open-air restaurant. The crash of distant waves mingled with soft strains of music from a ukulele player and guitarist who demonstrated an impressive repertoire of Polynesian music.
Alton watched Mallory polish off the last bite of a dessert concoction made of caramelized bananas and ice cream. “How’d you like to check out the view from our bungalow, Mrs. Blackwell?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Hand in hand, the couple strolled along a sidewalk bordering the beach. Frigate birds dove towards the water, and sandpipers scurried across the wet sand. A sailing crew pulled a large outrigger canoe onto the shore and helped a couple of tourists step out. To the right, a steep volcanic mountain covered with palm trees and other lush, tropical foliage shot into the sky. In contrast to the soothing touch of his wife’s hand, the late-afternoon sun felt hot on Alton’s skin.
They arrived at their over-the-water quarters, a tasteful affair accented with teakwood and white linens.
Mallory slipped under the covers of the four-post canopy bed. “Join me.” Her eyes held a bewitching look.
Alton felt his heartbeat accelerate. He lowered himself onto the bed and leaned into a kiss, tasting her. Within moments, their bodies entwined, and Alton could think of nothing but the ineffable beauty before him.
Later, they lingered in bed, the afterglow of passion matched by the last beams of light cast by the fading sun.
“I love you,” said Alton. “You’ve made my life better than I would have ever thought possible.”
“I love you, Sweetie.” She laid her head on his chest. “I’m looking forward to growing old together.”
The sound of gentle waves washing against pilings drifted into their bungalow. Alton laid his arm on Mallory’s back and pulled her close. For a quarter hour, they remained bound together in peaceful, fervent love.
An indigo-blue sky soon gave way to nightfall. Stepping onto the wooden porch, the couple gazed in rapt silence at the swath of southern-hemisphere stars filling the night sky. Lacking civilization’s omnipresent glow, swirls and constellations blazed across an obsidian sky, a dazzling display unlike Washington’s washed-out nightscape.
Alton’s heart overflowed with silent gratitude, yet his concern for Mastana’s plight lingered. As he gazed into nature’s starry patterns, he couldn’t imagine a more stark contrast than that between the tranquility of this island paradise and the dangerous, militant environment of Kabul, the city in which black clouds of despair had nearly overwhelmed him.
Mallory slid her arm through his. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Absolutely, but still not as beautiful as you.” Alton pulled his bride close and lifted a silent prayer of thanks to heaven for having guided him to this place of joy in his life.
CHAPTER 13
In the morning, Alton awoke and gazed at his sleeping wife, grateful for the privilege of repeating this ritual for the rest of his days.
Remembering yesterday’s many conversations concerning Mastana, he checked his phone.
“Good morning, Sweetie,” said Mallory, rolling towards him. “Any word from Kamaal?”
“Morning, Honey,” he replied. “Not yet. Hopefully, he’ll call us soon. In the meantime, want to take Reia up on her offer to take a guided tour of the property?”
“Sure.” Mallory smiled and ran a hand down his arm as she leaned in for a kiss.
Reia picked up the couple in a golf cart. She drove inland a hundred yards, then turned onto a trail bordered by intermittent palm trees. Through the foliage, they could detect the sights and sounds of the Pacific Ocean on the right, while on the left, a series of lagoons shimmered in the bright morning sun. An egret sailed overhead in silent flight, landing near the cart path. In the distance, the verdant peaks of extinct volcanos, the center of Bora Bora, rose from the ocean.
“Sometimes there are albatross here,” said their guide, “but I don’t see any today.”
She motored down the trail until it ended at the thatched-roof main lodge, where a blend of exotic aromas from a nearby restaurant wafted by. They returned down a parallel trail, this one running closer to the ocean.
After the tour, Alton and Mallory found a couple of lounge chairs on a nearby beach. The bright noon sun stung Alton’s eyes with its intensity yet felt pleasantly warm on his bare skin. And the cool waters of the Pacific Ocean provided a refreshing respite from the tropical heat.
They remained in their spot most of the day, watching the sun sink lower in the sky and enjoying a late dinner brought directly to their chairs by an accommodating staff member.
Alton finished off a mango chicken sandwich and glanced at his wife. The sea breeze pushed a few stray tendrils of Mallory’s dark locks in front of her face. How could a woman look so beautiful while doing so mundane an act as brushing aside an escaped strand of hair?
While Alton contemplated this question as well as the piña colada he had nursed for the last twenty minutes, his cellphone rang.
“Hello?”
“Alton, I am Kamaal.”
“Hey, Buddy! How are you?”
“I am well. You said you would like to know if I heard from Mastana, correct?”
“That’s right,” said Alton. “Does this mean you’ve heard from her?”
“More than that,” replied the Afghani interpreter. “She is with me now—here in my house.”
“Really? Awesome! I’m so relieved. Can I…would you mind if I spoke with her?” said Alton, putting his cellphone on speaker so Mallory could participate in the conversation. He placed the phone on the small cocktail table between them. Mallory moved closer and slipped her hand into Alton’s.
Kamaal laughed. “She is taking the phone from my hands as we speak. Here you go…”
“Alton! Is it you?” came an excited voice.
“Yes, it’s me. How are you, Mastana?”
“I am so happy to hear your voice! I didn’t know what to…” A sudden, sharp intake of breath was followed by gentle sobbing.
The teen’s vulnerability touched a tender chord in Alton’s breast. He promised himself to do all he could to help his young friend, whatever her problems may be.
“Take your time,” he said. “I can wait until you’re ready to talk. I hope that whatever is wrong, you can tell me about it.”
His statement evoked another, louder round of weeping. At last, after a long sniff, Mastana spoke. “I did not know what to do or who will help me.”
“Let’s start at the beginning. What kind of trouble are you having?”
“My Uncle Dani wants me to do terrible things to the American soldiers.”
“What kind of things?” asked Alton, stealing a glance at Mallory.
“Saturday is market day at Camp Eggers. Uncle Dani made a bomb for me to wear under my clothes. He said I was to explode it when I am inside the camp.”
Mallory tightened her grip on Alton’s hand.
“My uncle says the soldiers will not expect an attack from a girl,” continued Mastana, “especially one who was in the hospital there for a long time. I do not want to do this, so I ran away last night. I tried to call you, but I got the recording of your voice.”
“That’s when you sent me the e-mail message?”
“Yes,” replied Mastana. “For the last few days, I didn’t know what to do, but I knew you would be able to help me. And I was right. When I got your message with Kamaal’s phone number, I was so happy.”
“What about your mother?” asked Alton. “What does she think about your uncle’s plan?”
Mastana broke down again. Alton could make out Kamaal speaking to her. Although the interpreter spoke in his native Pashto tongue, his intonation suggested words of encouragement and kindness.
Eventually, the girl cleared her voice and resumed the conversation. “My mother cannot help. Her cancer is much worse. She is…dying. I think she will live for only a few more days. Yesterday, I tell her goodbye, but she is too sick to understand me.”
“I’m so sorry, Mastana,” said Alton, noticing Mallory’s eyes welling up with tears.
“Thank you. I know you mean it. I did not want to leave my mother, but I think she will not want me to die for my uncle, even if that means I must leave her during her last days. After Saturday, I would not be with her anyway. I would already be dead.”
“Mastana,” said Mallory, “I’m sure your mother wants more than anything for you to live. If she could speak, she would tell you how happy she is that you’re alive and away from your uncle.”
“I think you are right,” said Mastana, “but already I miss her. My heart is crying.”
“So your uncle didn’t even wait for your mother to die before he roped you into his Al-Qaeda plans,” observed Alton. “One thing I don’t understand—how has he not been caught by now?”
“My mother and I are afraid of him. If we told the American soldiers about Uncle Dani and they came looking for him, he would know we had betrayed him. He would kill us.”
“I’m surprised Afghani Security Forces or Coalition troops haven’t collected him on their own, though,” said Alton. “We have a Military Intelligence unit in Kabul for that reason—to discover and address terrorist threats. I’ve given his name to them twice, for Pete’s sake. They should have captured him by now.”
“Uncle Dani is careful to hide his intelligence when he is around the soldiers. He acts like he is not smart, so they will not suspect him. But he is clever—and evil.”
“I see,” said Alton. “Maybe MI lost his name in the paperwork shuffle. Say, you’re not going back home, are you?”
“No, never,” said Mastana. “As I
said, Uncle Dani would kill me for betraying him.”
“I’m glad you realize that.”
“Alton,” said Mastana, “What am I to do now? Where am I to go?”
Alton pondered in silence for a moment. “If I could arrange for you to leave the country, would you be willing to go?”
“Yes, I think so. I do not have any other relatives here in Afghanistan. I have no one who will take me in.”
“Based on your circumstances, I think I could apply for your immigration to the US as a political refugee. How old are you now?”
“I have sixteen years.”
“Okay,” said Alton. “You’d be considered a minor. I can apply to the US Embassy in Kabul on your behalf. I believe they’ll require you to have a sponsor, and I can fulfill that role. I can move forward with the application if that’s what you want to do.”
“So I would move to the United States?”
“Yes, if it’s approved,” said Alton as Mallory nodded in agreement.
“I would like that, but where would I live when I get there?”
“That’s a good question. Honestly, I don’t know right now, but I can work on that at the same time we’re waiting for your immigration application to be approved. But don’t worry. We’d have an answer by the time you’d actually arrive in the US.”
“I like that—is good plan,” said Mastana. “But Alton, where should I go now, until we know if I can go to the United States?”
“Hmm…you probably won’t have to wait too long for an answer, especially since you’re a minor. Maybe I can find a hotel out of the city, away from your uncle—”
“Wait,” said Mastana. “Kamaal wants to talk to you. I will put his phone on the speaker so we can both talk.”
The Devil's Due (The Blackwell Files Book 5) Page 4