They all nodded.
“It’ll be nighttime soon, so we’ll wait until we have the full cover of darkness. In the meantime, we need to decide who goes on this mission and who stays with the Jeeps. As former soldiers, David, Mallory, and I will definitely go. Fahima, I recommend you stay here.”
Fahima’s countenance hardened into one more determined than Alton had ever witnessed. “Mastana helped save my life. She did not stay at home when things were dangerous. She went into a band of Al-Qaeda terrorists to help me, a person she had never met. With this debt, how can I stay here during her time of need? I will go with you.”
David looked to be on the verge of arguing, but his wife’s steely resolve seemed to silence him. “Okay, the more, the merrier. I’m glad I showed you how to use my Beretta back home.”
“Right,” said Alton. “Kamaal, I’d like for you to go, too. I have a special mission in mind for you.”
The interpreter swallowed. “No problem. I was planning on coming with you.” Alton admired the man’s courage. This was far outside the range of his experience.
“Al,” said David. “One thing we haven’t discussed…when we’re down there, if we run up against Brotherhood members, do we shoot to kill?”
Alton pondered the question. “None of us like the idea of killing someone else. But these lunatics have brought the danger upon their own heads by starting a kidnapping and murder spree. If there’s as many of them down there as the vehicles indicate, we can’t try to take prisoners. If we can avoid killing, I’ll take that option. If not, we do what we have to do. Is everyone okay with that?”
They all nodded.
“Okay, let’s talk about our route.” Alton had transferred the map of the compound onto his phone, and he brought it up. “It looks like the widest distance between guard huts is between the two at the eight and seven o’clock positions. Plus, those huts are smaller, so perhaps they’ll have a smaller contingent of guards. We’ll descend the hill fifty meters off the road and proceed north until we’re about a klick from the huts. Then we’ll head northeast, right between them.”
“Then what?” asked David.
“The biggest buildings lie in the middle of the compound, so that’s probably where most of the Brotherhood members will be. Once we’re inside the line of guard shacks, we’ll stick to the compound’s inner perimeter, away from the central buildings. We’ll make our way around the southern rim of the inner perimeter until we reach the prison building, here at the five o’clock position,” he said, pointing to the southeastern corner of the map. “From there, we’ll overpower the guards and free Mastana.”
“We’ll need to be careful when we do that,” said Mallory. “If we go in there blasting, the whole compound will know we’re here. That would make it problematic getting out.”
“Exactly. We’ll need to bring the SIG Sauers. They have silencers. And we should each pack a field knife, too.”
“So what about the rest of our gear?” asked David. “We’re not leaving it, are we?”
“Absolutely not. My hope is that we get in and out with none the wiser, but if we’re detected, we need to have enough firepower to blast our way out.”
David seemed relieved. “Speaking of getting out, what happens after we grab Mastana?”
“We retrace our steps—make our way back around the southern arc of the inner perimeter, then head back between the guard shacks at the eight and seven o’clock spots.”
“Sounds like a plan, boss.”
“Any questions?” Nobody spoke. “In that case, let’s gear up. Don’t forget face paint and night goggles. And everyone mike up. We’ll need to stay in constant contact.”
They started by applying camouflage to each other’s faces, slipping on flak jackets and helmets, and setting up their mikes and earpieces. The former soldiers each packed an A4 carbine and Beretta, along with extra ammo and grenades for the M203s mounted below their rifles. They finished by strapping field knives to their web gear and stuffing frag grenades into cargo pockets. Kamaal and Fahima tucked Berettas, knives, and extra ammo into their pockets and waistbands. Alton then distributed the SIG Sauers to several team members.
As they packed, Mallory approached Alton. “Sweetie, are you sure you’re good to lead this mission?”
“What do you mean?”
“The flashbacks…” She let the rest of the sentence drop.
He nodded. “I know. Honestly, I’m worried, too. This whole flashback thing is so frikkin weird. But everyone is counting on me to lead them down there. Can I really just tell them I’m going to sit this one out?”
“No, I guess not. But what if a flashback hits you while we’re down there?”
Alton pondered the question. “When you put your hand on my face in the Jeep on the way here, there was something about your touch that brought me back. If you see me slipping away, touch my face again, and I think I’ll come back.”
“Okay, Sweetie. Let’s hope I won’t need to do that.”
Alton kissed his wife. “You know, part of me hates that you’re here, in this kind of dangerous situation, but another part of me is grateful we’re in this together. I know that doesn’t make much sense, but it’s the truth.”
“It makes perfect sense. It’s how I feel, too.”
Alton turned back to the rest of the group to assist in their preparations. “Everyone ready?” he asked when they had finished a quick mike check.
They nodded in the affirmative.
“Stay on my ass. Keep your mikes on, but no talking unless absolutely necessary. If you see danger, tap your mike three times so the rest will know to stop.” He took a moment to explain the plan he had devised for Kamaal.
As the last rays of the setting sun faded in the western desert, the comrades snaked single file down the slope of the foothill. By the time they reached bottom, the sun and temperature had both dropped, rendering them comfortable despite the heavy loads they carried.
“Okay, everyone,” whispered Alton into his mike, “switch to the Kamaal plan.”
The group members shifted positions into a new formation, widening a little.
Alton looked at the compass app on his phone. “Turn to forty degrees,” he whispered to the others. “Try to stay between the guard huts.”
Angling to the right, the group traveled in silence, picking their way across the ground to avoid the noisy scrub brush littering the arid landscape.
They had just passed between the guard huts when Alton heard an ominous double-click, like the bolt of a rifle being drawn and released.
A man wearing black robes emerged from behind a wall extending from the rear of a guard shack. He barked a command in Pashto. With the cultist’s AK-47 trained directly on the group, Alton knew he had no chance of drawing his SIG Sauer before the guard would mow him down.
In the pale moonlight, Alton could see the glow of yellowed enamel as the man smiled.
CHAPTER 64
Mastana dragged her head off the floor at the sound of her cell door swinging open.
“Mastana,” said Divband. “Today is a special day.”
“Special?” Even the act of speaking drew energy from Mastana’s feeble reserves, exhausting her.
“Yes. You are to be the guest of honor at a ceremony. I don’t normally visit the guests ahead of time, but in your case, I decided to make an exception.”
“I thank you.”
“Shut up!” Specks of spittle flew as he chopped off the words. “Don’t try to flatter me! That trick doesn’t work anymore.”
Mastana wanted to reply but couldn’t muster the strength.
Divband turned to another man the doorway. “Meskin, take her to the chamber and secure her, then meet me in my office.” He departed as the man, whom Mastana didn’t recognize, entered. Meskin unlocked each of the four shackles on her limbs and held open the door.
Mastana tried to rise but couldn’t. She hung her head in exhaustion and terror.
“Come on!” said
Meskin, pulling her up. Had he not maintained a rough grasp on her arm, Mastana felt sure she would have fallen. With his help, Mastana shuffled across the stone floor. She wanted to call out to Sita, her neighbor, but fatigue from lack of nourishment rendered her too weak to do so.
Passing through the doorframe, Mastana remembered the many times she had prayed to depart from this cell. Now leaving it represented her greatest fear. All her instincts told her she would not return, but not because she had been granted freedom.
Meskin wound Mastana through a maze of tunnels and hallways, nearly carrying her by the time they emerged into a large, circular chamber. He took her to the edge of the room. After looping her arms around a column carved with mythic creatures, he bound her wrists together on the other side with a thick rope.
Mastana summoned the strength to speak. “What am I to do now?”
“Nothing,” replied Meskin. “There’s nothing you can do.”
CHAPTER 65
“Keep walking!” came Kamaal’s voice from behind Alton and the rest of the group.
To their left side, the Brotherhood guard swiveled his head in time to see Kamaal marching his band of “prisoners” in the direction of the buildings. Keeping his A4 trained on the group, Kamaal hailed the guard and began a rapid dialogue in Pashto. According to Alton’s plan, Kamaal was to tell the guard he had captured a group of infiltrators just after arriving at the compound.
The tone of the guard’s voice relaxed, and his grip on the AK-47 loosened. Kamaal approached the man and, judging from the intonation of his voice, seemed to ask the man a question.
The guard turned and used sweeping hand gestures in an apparent attempt to give directions, keeping his eyes on the prisoners but not Kamaal. As the guard turned to point out a pathway between two nearby buildings, Kamaal slipped the SIG Sauer from his waistband and fired twice. With the pistol’s silencer in place, the shots sounded much like a dog’s whimper. The guard collapsed to the ground without uttering a word or crying out.
“Quick,” whispered Alton. “Get him back behind the fence.”
Grabbing the guard’s arms and legs, Kamaal and David shuffled the corpse to the indicated spot, then rejoined the group.
Alton scanned the ancient compound. As expected, lights blazed from the larger, interior structures, but the small buildings on the outskirts remained dark.
“Let’s head for the inner perimeter’s southern arc,” he said. “Avoid any buildings with lights. They’re likely to be occupied.”
Leading the procession, Alton wound his way along the edge of the compound, remaining just inside the buffer zone in which the thick desert bush had been cleared, a route that produced a minimum of noise yet lay well inside the rim of guard huts.
Alton held up a hand, warning the others to stop. They froze in the moonlight while the muffled tones of a conversation passed from right to left. Two cultists traveled across a courtyard lined with paver stones and entered a large stone building that lay closer to the compound’s epicenter.
Releasing his breath, Alton brought up the compound’s map on his phone, shielding it with a small square of charcoal-lined cloth to avoid creating a visible light signature. Switching off the phone and slipping it back into his vest pocket, he located the target building, then motioned the others forward.
They hugged the wall of a nearby edifice while approaching a squat structure at the five o’clock position, on the compound’s southeastern edge. The target building’s stone walls seemed thicker here than elsewhere, and Alton could see no windows. As Professor Aziz had indicated, this seemed to be the prison cellblock.
Alton withdraw the SIG Sauer from the holster on his web gear. He turned to Fahima and David. “Wait here and stay sharp. If we need you, we’ll wave you forward as soon as we’ve taken care of anyone inside. Otherwise, stay here and watch our backs.”
Alton, Kamaal, and Mallory fanned out into a V formation and advanced towards the prison building. Checking to ensure the absence of any cultists, they darted across a ten-foot open space and approached the structure’s lone entrance.
Alton pulled open the heavy door. A young guard turned in their direction, his eyes widening in surprise as he spotted the unexpected visitors. His eyes darted to an AK-47 leaning against a corner, but Alton jammed his SIG Sauer into the man’s stomach before he could move.
“Ask him where Mastana is,” he told Kamaal.
Kamaal traded a few sentences with the guard. “He says she is no longer here. She left an hour ago.”
“Bullshit,” said Alton. “Tell him to take us to her cell or we blow his brains out.”
Kamaal spoke, and the guard began to raise his voice in protest. Alton raised his pistol to the man’s chest. “Tell him either he’ll quiet himself down, or I’ll do it for him.”
The guard lowered his voice but continued to babble.
“He insists Mastana is no longer here,” said Kamaal. “He says he can show us the cell she was in.”
“Okay, tell him to take us there.”
The guard crossed a small foyer about the size of a walk-in closet. He lifted a set of keys off a large hook on the wall and unlocked a thick interior door fortified with strips of steel.
He led the threesome into a long, narrow hallway lined with cells. As he walked, the guard often turned to cast a fearful gaze on the weapon in Alton’s hand. At first, the man’s obvious youth spurred a twinge of sympathy in Alton’s breast. But Alton reminded himself that despite his age, the guard had willfully joined an organization dedicated to killing random female teenagers. The man’s hands were stained with the blood of innocents.
The guard stopped at an open door. Alton waved the man into the cell with his pistol and followed him. Alton’s gaze landed on a set of four unlocked shackles attached to a chain, itself bolted into the floor.
Had Mastana truly left only minutes ago, or was the guard simply trying to save his skin? Pressing forward represented the only path to answering that question.
“Ask him where they took Mastana to,” said Alton.
Kamaal passed along the question. “He says she went to the chamber for tonight’s ceremony.”
“What ceremony?”
“Her marriage to Iblis.”
Icicles gripped Alton’s heart. “We’ve gotta get moving. Tell him to remove his shirt.”
The guard did so. Alton motioned for him to lie on the floor. Not relishing the idea of killing the guard, despite the fact that the man participated in the torture and murder of teenage girls, Alton used the shackles and chain to hogtie him. Alton ripped the shirt into strips, stuffing one into the man’s mouth and using the rest to secure the gag in place.
“What if he starts thrashing around?” asked Mallory. “If another member of the Brotherhood comes into the building, he’ll hear the noise.”
“Good point.” Alton used the butt of his A4 to cold-cock the man, sending him into unconsciousness. “Let’s head for the chamber…and pray we’re not too late.”
CHAPTER 66
Dozens of candles cast an eerie glow on the walls and columns of the ceremonial chamber’s round shape. For how many minutes had Mastana been the room’s sole occupant? Thirty? Sixty? Fighting exhaustion, she couldn’t be sure.
Divband entered the room at the head of a procession of followers. Streaming in, they stood two deep in a great circle around a central altar. Rousing her intellect, Mastana wondered how these people allowed themselves to be tricked into following this madman.
The leader motioned to Meskin, who unshackled Mastana and pulled her to the altar’s horizontal stone slab. Laying Mastana on her back, Meskin and another cultist tied a length of thick, black cloth around her wrists and ankles, then somehow secured the restraints to the floor. They used another black cloth to gag her mouth. She tried to struggle against her captors, but the lethargy of near-starvation hindered her efforts.
Divband began an incantation which his followers began to repeat.
One of the
zealots, an old man, stepped forward and placed an ornate knife, a small bowl, and a wooden paintbrush on a short table set up near the altar. Divband used the blade to slash an opening across Mastana’s plain, linen dress, seeming to take pleasure in the effort. He cut vertical slits on each side of the dress, then rolled up the fabric like a rug, revealing her abdomen.
Divband removed the silver bowl from the table and placed it on the altar. Dipping the brush in the bowl, he painted a black circle on her stomach, pausing periodically to replenish the brush’s ink. He then began painting an abstract pattern within the circle that, when finished, revealed itself to be a star of some sort.
The alternating chant between Divband and his followers swelled in volume. The growing blood-lust in the room assured Mastana she would not live through the night’s activities. Her mind raced to devise an escape, but the hopelessness of her plight seemed to crush her imagination.
“Light the incense,” said Divband.
Four members of the Brotherhood set smoldering urns on the corners of Mastana’s slab. The burning substance in the small bowls emitted a heavy, sickly smell that sent waves of nausea through Mastana’s frame.
Was it time to die? Would this madman and his fellow lunatics kill her without mercy?
Divband faced his followers, allowing his gaze to linger on each one before advancing it to the next. “The anointing is complete. As we have been taught, we must leave the future bride for an interval, to allow the black jinnd time to sense her presence and respond. Let us retire to the chamber of meditation.
“The ways of the black jinnd are beyond man’s understanding.”
“Powerful are the black jinnd,” replied the throng in unison.
Divband began an ancient hymn. His followers soon joined the ritualistic chant, a low murmur echoing off the walls.
He leaned over Mastana and spoke in a whisper. “You could have been my partner, inferior in power only to me. But you suffer from the eternal curse of your gender: a natural instinct to lie…to demean…to trick. It will be my pleasure to eradicate such a filthy, lying whore as you from this earth. You can ponder the error of your ways while awaiting your eternal union with Iblis.”
The Devil's Due (The Blackwell Files Book 5) Page 21