“I don’t want to disable my phone. I will install the app.”
“Okay, I’ll send you the link.”
Kamaal’s fingers danced over his phone, installing and activating the program. “We had better leave,” he urged. “We don’t want the police to arrive while we’re still here.”
They gathered their suitcases and the weapons they had stored in the house, packed everything into the two vehicles, then drove off into the dusty haze of Kabul.
An hour later, as they settled into the plain, cozy rooms of the inn, Alton’s phone chimed. He snatched it from his pocket to read the incoming text message.
I see you discovered our earlier deception concerning your friend David. I will give you this warning only once: leave Afghanistan, and never return, or you and your friends will die. There are forces aligned against you that you cannot imagine. You will not win—I promise. How could a crippled, ex-soldier ever hope to defeat an entire organization? Remember: leave or die.
CHAPTER 58
Alton showed the message to his friends. As he expected, it did nothing to deter their resolve to track down Mastana.
They all agreed that Kamaal and Fahima, being the most inconspicuous members of the team, would collect their meals. With this assignment in mind, the two left to acquire a much-needed dinner.
While they were out, Alton’s cellphone rang. “Now what?” he said to Mallory as he brought the device to his ear. “Hello?”
“Why did you do it?” asked Captain Poya. “Why did you and your friends kill my sergeant?”
“Now wait—”
“I just received word that they recovered Sergeant Majid’s body from the Kabul River—with two bullet holes in his chest.”
“He ambushed us when we emerged from Governor Bina’s office,” replied Alton.
“A policeman ‘ambushed’ you? That’s called an arrest, not an ambush.”
Alton began to pace the narrow room. “He wasn’t wearing a uniform, and he drove an unmarked car. And once he ran into our car and disabled it, he shot at us without making any kind of statement or command at all. That doesn’t sound like something a cop would do. You said yourself your men worry about only the most violent civilian crimes, so why would a policeman take the time to track us from Bina’s office? What was his purpose?”
The first note of conciliation crept into Poya’s voice. “I don’t know. He didn’t say why he was there, just that he was trailing criminals.”
“Why would Mallory shoot a cop, or anyone, for that matter, other than in self-defense?”
A note of steel returned to Poya’s voice. “Who knows? I don’t care. I know she did it, and that’s enough.”
“But she did it in self-defense. He was trying to kill us.”
“Sergeant Majid may have been a little reckless and hardheaded at times, but he was a good policeman. He would not chase you unless you were doing something wrong. And I will find out what you were doing.”
“I’ve already told you exactly what we were doing: speaking with Governor Bina about Mastana’s kidnapping. You can confirm that with Bina, unless he’s one of them himself. If you truly want to get to the bottom of this, you might want to start with asking why Sergeant Majid was waiting for us outside Bina’s office. We all saw Bina make a call just after we told him about our search for the Brotherhood of Stones. He must have called Majid. How else would the sergeant know we were there?”
“If you turn yourself in, I will check into these claims. I really don’t think Governor Bina is part of this Brotherhood cult. He’s not the type to get mixed up in that sort of thing. But I warn you, if you are right, and Bina is involved, is not good for you. He is the top politician in Kabul. He could have a hundred men looking for you if he wanted.”
“I appreciate the heads up about Governor Bina, and I’m sorry your sergeant got himself killed, but we’re not turning ourselves in, not while Mastana’s life hangs in the balance.”
“Then it will be my job to find you…and bring you to justice.”
CHAPTER 59
After dining in their rooms at the inn, Mallory turned to Alton. “Will you be able to track the threatening text message back to the sender?”
“I was just getting ready to try that.”
Alton opened his laptop and brought up a Kruptos program. Using a USB cable to connect his cellphone to the computer, he download his texting information to the program, which then tapped into the local phone network.
The laptop emitted a chime, indicating the tracking program had finished.
“What’s it say?” asked Mallory.
“Rats. The message was sent by a burner phone. Whoever sent it has probably already chucked it in the trash by now.”
“That’s too bad, but not really a surprise, right?”
“No. The sender would’ve been a complete moron to use their own phone for that kind of message. But you never know—sometimes you get lucky.”
Mallory drummed her fingers on the table. “Since we don’t know who sent the message, we need a new lead. Now that we have a confirmation that the cop who tried to kill us was Majid, can you break into his e-mail account and review his messages? Maybe they’ll lead us somewhere.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Alton. “I’ll start working on that now. Kamaal, if I’m able to break into his e-mail, I’ll need your help translating.”
Despite his exhaustion from the day’s activities, Alton attacked the problem of cracking the dead policeman’s e-mail account with all of his mental acuity, knowing Mastana’s life might depend on the success of his efforts.
After two hours, he leaned back in the rickety chair he had drawn up to the room’s tiny desk. “Got it.”
“You’re in Majid’s e-mail account?” asked Kamaal.
“Yep. Now it’s your turn. Can you tell me what this says?” said Alton, gesturing to the Pashto script filling the screen.
Kamaal spent the next half hour reading the man’s messages. Alton used the interval to assess David’s wound. It had bled a little during his flight from Gandamak’s Lodge, but the stitches had held, thankfully.
“There is no doubt,” announced Kamaal. “Sergeant Majid was a member of the Brotherhood of Stones.”
“How do you know?” asked Mallory.
“The names used by the people—many of them are the same ones Alton decrypted from the phone he recovered off the dead fighter this morning. They are the same code names, not the real names of the people.”
“So we know both dead men knew the same Brotherhood members,” said Alton, “we just don’t know who those members are, right?”
“That is correct,” replied Kamaal.
“So once again, we’re back to square one.”
CHAPTER 60
“Maybe we should redirect our research back to Sergeant Majid,” said Mallory.
“What do you mean?” asked Alton. “He’s dead.”
“Exactly. We might learn more from him dead than alive. Poya won’t share any details about his own man’s death, at least not with us. But he might put a lot of investigative details into his department’s criminal database.”
“Which I can access online,” said Alton. “It’s worth a shot. And since Majid worked for him, you know Poya’s going to fast-track the investigation, which means we shouldn’t have to wait long for information to show up in the database. In fact, I’m going to check now.”
Alton accessed the police records, then requested Kamaal’s help to track down and translate the details of the investigation into Majid’s death.
“Here are photographs of the items in the policeman’s possession,” said Kamaal.
“Good, let’s take a look,” said Alton as Mallory joined them.
“What are we looking for, exactly?” asked Mallory.
“Anything out of the ordinary.”
Alton began scrolling through the items, lingering long enough to study each one. Most of them were unremarkable, but one stood out from the rest.<
br />
“What’s that?” asked Mallory as Alton brought up the anomaly.
“Looks like some kind of old coin.” The white-hued, circular item depicted the silhouette of a soldier wearing a tall helmet.
“Do you think we should follow up on this?”
“Probably. It’s not like we have any other leads at the moment. Let’s look at the rest of the photos and see if we find anything more promising.”
The final two pictures showed only a pen and a condom, so they returned to the photo of the coin. Alton copied the image onto his laptop, then sent it to his phone.
“Kamaal, do you know anyone who can help us make heads or tails of this coin?” he asked, snickering at his unintended wordplay.
“Dude, you talk about my jokes!” called David from across the room.
“I do not know what you mean, ‘heads or tails’,” said Kamaal.
“What I mean is, do you know someone who can give us some details about this coin? Maybe Sergeant Majid purchased it at a particular market. If so, perhaps we can track his movements backwards from that location.”
“I see. Well, there is a famous…how you say…archeologist who teaches in Kabul University. He specializes in the study of Afghani antiquities.”
“Do you trust him?” asked Mallory.
“Yes, I’ve known Professor Aziz for nearly ten years. He’s an academic, not a violent cultist.”
“In that case, he sounds perfect,” said Alton. “Let’s go see him.”
“I should let you know. He is known for being a little…unusual.”
“Do you mean he won’t see us?”
“There are many requests for his time. We must explain why he should honor our request.”
“It’s getting pretty late,” said Mallory, glancing at her watch. “Do you think he’s still at the university?”
“There is only one way to find out. I will call him.”
Kamaal looked up a number on his phone, then dialed. Once connected, his speech grew more impassioned, then calmed as the call ended.
“Well?” asked Mallory.
“We will meet him in his office at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
The band of would-be rescuers arrived at the university well in advance of the appointed time, entering the grounds by passing under an arched sculpture depicting waterfowl in flight. Kamaal walked them to the Humanities building—a plain, brick affair—then led them through a series of twisting hallways to the proper office.
He swung open the door to another world. Trinkets and artifacts of all stripes—pottery, jewelry, tools, old currency, and a myriad of other items—seemed to inhabit every flat surface not already occupied by scores of books. Rusty wind chimes and delicate talismans hung from the ceiling, and a dozen or so bulky stone statues created a reasonably-challenging obstacle course as one attempted to navigate across the floor. Dark wood wall panels put the finishing touch on the room’s natural, almost wild, ambience.
Buried beneath the collection of artifacts sat a modest desk with an older man hunched over it. He had a small stature, almost childlike, but the lines of many years under the hot sun were etched upon his kindly, bronze face. Upon hearing the noise they made nearly tripping over a smiling Buddha parked in the middle of the floor, the man pushed a pair of spectacles higher on his nose and rose to greet his guests.
He conducted a brief conversation in Pashto with Kamaal, then turned to the others with an extended hand.
“I am Professor Aziz. I am sorry for ignoring you, but I have not seen Kamaal here for some time.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor,” said Alton, grasping the man’s hand.
“Thank you. Likewise, I’m sure.” He introduced himself to the rest of the party. “Ah, Kamaal, I have not seen you since the last time you took one of my classes. How long has it been? Nearly eight years, no?”
“I believe so, Professor,” replied the former student with a smile.
“Ah, what a fine archeologist he would have made,” said the Professor, flapping his arms in excitement, somewhat in the fashion of a duck. He turned to the others. “Four classes of mine he took—four! Who takes so many unless they will be working in this field?”
“Perhaps someone with a deep interest in the subject, Professor,” replied Kamaal, clearly enjoying the reunion with his former instructor.
“Now, I am happy to see you, Kamaal, and the rest of you, too, but I do have a schedule to keep. I understand you would like to consult me about an artifact.”
“That’s right, Professor,” said Alton.
“Why don’t we get started, then? Now, I must tell you…Kamaal whetted my appetite last night by saying you had an urgent question, the answer to which could be a matter of life or death. I understand he may have exaggerated, so I won’t hold it against you when you explain the true nature of your inquiry.”
“I don’t think he was exaggerating, Professor Aziz, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”
Intrigued by Alton’s claim, Aziz performed a quick duck-flap of excitement as he resumed his seat at the desk. “Do tell me.”
“We came to Kabul to help find a teenage girl named Mastana. She’s a friend of ours and was kidnapped last week. But the kidnapper wasn’t acting alone. He was part of some shadowy organization called the Brotherhood of Stones.”
This comment merited another duck flap on the professor’s part.
“This Brotherhood organization has kidnapped nine other teenage girls in the last few months and killed at least five of them,” continued Alton. “They engaged us in two separate battles yesterday, which leads us to believe we’re coming closer to learning the truth about their organization and, hopefully, finding Mastana.”
“My word!” said Aziz, producing a duck-flap of extended duration, accompanied by a slight shake of his left leg. “This is the most remarkable thing I’ve ever heard! But…what can I do to help you?”
Alton pulled his cellphone from a pocket and showed Aziz the picture of the dead man’s coin. “This was in the pocket of Sergeant Majid, a member of the Brotherhood who was killed in one of yesterday’s firefights. We were hoping you could give us some background on it, perhaps where it might have been purchased. Anything that could help us track this artifact back to other members of the Brotherhood would be helpful.”
Aziz studied the picture. “I haven’t seen one of these in decades. It looks like something that would have come from Bagram.”
“Bagram?” asked Alton, “The city where the US military runs a prison?”
“Yes, but Bagram is an ancient city. It used to lie on the Silk Road to China. Long ago, Alexander the Great captured the city, and it has changed hands many times over the millennia.”
“Interesting, but does the coin point definitively to Bagram, or could it have come from some other site?”
Aziz cocked his head and examined the artifact’s photo once more. “This is not a coin. It is a plaster cast of a Greek soldier. The only place I have seen one like this is from Bagram—the ancient city, not the one people live in now.”
Alton shot a glance at Mallory, perplexed. “So there are two Bagrams?”
“The modern Bagram is about sixty kilometers north of Kabul,” said Aziz. “The ancient city lies on the western side of the foothills that surround the modern city.”
“So they’re close to each other?” asked Mallory.
“Well, yes, but it is difficult to reach the ancient Bagram site. You must travel on dirt roads over the foothills. It can be dangerous, especially at night. That’s why people don’t go there anymore. Plus, the site was pretty thoroughly excavated in the nineteen-sixties, so people in my profession moved on to more promising locations.”
“So let me make sure I’m getting this straight,” said Alton. “You believe this plaster cast came from the ancient Bagram?”
“Yes. At least, the only other cast I’ve seen that’s identical to this relic came from that city.”
“Let’
s operate on the assumption that Majid’s cast came from the ancient Bagram,” said Mallory: “What else can you tell us about that site?”
Aziz warmed to the subject, letting a slight flap escape. “Oh, it is quite fascinating. Archeologists have found all manner of statues and plaster casts and totems and pottery, artifacts spanning thousands of years.”
“Wait,” said David. “You said totems—as in items of worship?”
“Yes. Because of the city’s location on the Silk Road, many religions and cults set up their houses of worship there. In fact, as the city was conquered, the same central temple was appropriated by different religious groups over the centuries.”
“What about the Brotherhood of Stones?” asked Mallory. “Did they ever set up shop there?”
“Permit me to make a small observation. In academic circles, we refer to this group as the Cult of Stones, not the Brotherhood of Stones.”
“Why don’t you tell us about the Cult of Stones?”
Suppressing another movement of his appendages, Aziz continued. “The Cult of Stones existed long before Islam. Its members emphasized certain rock formations, especially the type found in abundance in Bagram, as dwelling places of div.”
“‘Div’?” asked Mallory.
“A div is a special class of jinnd. The jinnd are spirits. They can be either benevolent, the white jinnd, or malicious, the black jinnd. The worst of these black jinnd are called div—demons, in English. The leader of the div is Iblis, who you would call Satan.
“The leader of the Cult of Stones held the title of ‘Divband,’ which means binder, or ruler, of demons. Despite the lofty title, this leader did not truly rule Satan and his minions. Rather, legend says the Divband entered into an uneasy truce with Iblis, an agreement in which each provided for the needs of the other.”
“I’m guessing this truce had something to do with human sacrifice,” said Alton.
“I’m afraid so,” said Aziz. “The cultists were promised powers in exchange for the sacrifice of unspoiled women, who were considered the brides of Iblis.”
The Devil's Due (The Blackwell Files Book 5) Page 19