Havoc (25 page)

CHAPTER 64

The following day, the couple explored a scattering of ancient ruins in the morning, then joined a guided tour of the Vatican in the afternoon.

Back at their hotel that evening, they called David and Fahima Dunlow to share the conclusion of the Duncan Wells case. David, Alton and Mallory’s closest Army comrade in Afghanistan, had married the lovely Fahima, a barmaid at Gandamak’s Lodge, the Kabul restaurant in which the three soldiers had often met during their off-shift hours. Fahima had recently immigrated to the US and married David, and the four of them remained close friends.

After the debriefing, David asked, “So are you guys having a better time, now that all the bad guys are behind bars?”

“We sure are,” replied Mallory. “In fact, you’re not gonna believe what your straight-laced friend asked me this afternoon.”

“I can’t wait to hear this,” said David. “Do tell.”

“Well, we had scheduled a guided tour of the Vatican for the afternoon. Before the tour, we walked around on our own all morning, checking out some of the historic sites near our hotel. Eventually, we stopped for lunch. It’s pretty hot here, and some white wine was already on the table when we arrived in the restaurant, so Alton helped himself to a few glasses. Before you know it, the bottle is just about empty. After lunch, when we’re getting into a taxi, he leans over and asks, ‘Do you think I’ll get in trouble for visiting the Vatican with a buzz?’”

“No, he didn’t,” sputtered David between laughs while Fahima chortled in the background.

“I swear on my life.”

“Thank you,” said Alton, grinning ruefully. “So glad I could provide your entertainment. I’ll be here all week.”

CHAPTER 65

“So where did you say you wanted to go for dinner tonight?” Mallory asked Alton the next evening as they returned from their all-day tour of Piazza Navona, a striking courtyard filled with an abundance of fountains, statues, and shops.

“Imàgo. It’s a restaurant in a hotel called Hassler Roma. It’s supposed to have a nice view of the city.”

“Fun! I don’t know about you, but after all that walking, I’m starving. I’d eat anywhere right now.”

As their taxi pulled to a stop outside the historic hotel, Mallory stared in surprise. “Holy smokes, Alton! Look at this place. It looks more like a mansion than a hotel.”

“Well, we only have a few more nights. Our trip to Italy ought to conclude with a special dinner or two, don’t you think?”

“I’ll say. No wonder you wanted to dress to the nines.” They exited the cab, and Alton paid the driver. Mallory slid her arm through Alton’s and seemed to have no problem matching his irregular gate. It felt natural having her at his side, as if she were born to be there.

A shimmering, elegant evening gown hugged Mallory’s slender frame, and a cascade of delicate locks flowed over her shoulders. The Maître d' raised an approving eyebrow as they approached. The reaction didn’t bother Alton. It was a response his companion often elicited from the male gender.

The slightly rotund manager smiled as they reached him. “I am Head Waiter Grimaldi. How can I help you?”

“Hi. We have an eight o’clock reservation under the name of Alton Blackwell.”

Soft strains of classic Italian music from the restaurant’s live ensemble wafted around the couple as Grimaldi led them to a corner table nestled between two enormous windows. Below the sixth-floor restaurant, a galaxy of lights blazed from the sprawling cityscape. Domes and spires shot into the night sky, and the traffic’s kinetic energy lent Rome the appearance of a living creature. The couple examined the scene in rapt silence.

Eventually, Alton noticed a waiter standing at a discreet distance and spoke up. “I guess we should order.”

After ordering parmigiana, a sea-bass filet, and a bottle of Chianti, the two lovers settled into their cushioned chairs. They lingered over the meal and reviewed once again the sightseeing plans for their remaining day in Rome. Not once did they discuss the crimes they had just helped solve or the earlier investigations that had brought them back together after leaving the Army. The future was too bright to linger on such dark memories.

As the waiter brought a fruit gelato for dessert, Mallory took a bite and closed her eyes. “This is so nice. Can we just stay here forever?”

Alton felt his pulse accelerate. The military combat he had experienced in Afghanistan had not prepared him for this moment. His heart raced even faster as he realized the carefully-crafted speech he had constructed earlier had slipped entirely from his mind. He took a slow breath and decided to press forward. “So you like it here, huh?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“Yes, it’s wonderful.” He swallowed and looked into her eyes with a steady gaze. “But I like being with you best of all, whether we’re admiring this Roman wonderland or hanging out in your apartment back in Washington.”

He laid his hand on top of hers. “You know how much I loved you in Afghanistan—and later in back in the States—long before I discovered you returned my feelings. Now that we both know, I can’t tell you how much my life has changed. This past year has been the best of my life.”

Mallory’s eyes moistened, causing the candlelight to reflect even brighter in their measureless depths.

“Before I knew your feelings,” continued Alton, “I used to wonder about my purpose in life…or if I even had one. Being here with you…I don’t wonder about that anymore. You are the embodiment of every worthy thought and aspiration I’ve ever had…of every romantic song I’ve heard and love story I’ve ever read.”

“Alton, Sweetie,” choked out Mallory. “You know I love you, too. You’re the most remarkable man I’ve ever known.”

“I’m not as good a person as you make me out to be—not normally. But with someone like you by my side, I think I can rise to greater heights than I would have otherwise thought possible.”

He rose from his seat and moved next to her. As he bent down on a knee, he couldn’t suppress a grimace as a bolt of pain shot through his damaged leg.

Mallory observed the discomfort in his countenance. “Alton, oh don’t—”

Alton lifted an interposing hand and smiled. “Humor me. This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. Only one thing could make me happier.” He removed a felt box from his jacket pocket and opened it to reveal a blazing, diamond solitaire ring. “Marry me, and lift me to a height of joy I’ve only dreamed about until now.”

Mallory’s eyes fixated momentarily on the box, and her mouth fell slightly agape. After a pair of tears trickled down her cheeks, she buried her face in her hands and cried outright.

“Mallory?” asked Alton, unsure of what to make of this response.

Wiping her eyes, Mallory lowered herself onto the floor and flung her arms around Alton, nearly squeezing the breath from his frame. “Yes—a thousand times yes!”

Although by this time Alton had felt reasonably confident of his companion’s reply, hearing her enunciate the actual response provided immeasurable relief. The anxiety attendant with the pending question had built up over the past few weeks, but now all trepidation was swept away in a moment of blissful affirmation.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her fervently, oblivious to the smiling patrons around them. “You’re sure? You don’t want to think about it?”

“Oh, my God, Alton,” she replied, still crying. “I’ve been thinking about it for months. I don’t need any more time. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever ask.” A look of hesitation stole across her face. “But are
you
sure you’re ready? You did wait an awfully long time to pop the question.”

Alton arose and held a hand to Mallory to help her up. “I’ve always been ready. I just wanted to give you enough time to be sure you’d be happy with a guy like me.” He glanced at his bad leg with an apologetic shrug.

“I couldn’t be happier. As for your leg…well, like I said Thursday night, if you hadn’t been injured and reassigned to C
2
back in Afghanistan, you and I would’ve never met. So that leg is my best friend.” She brushed her forehead. “As long as you don’t mind my scar—”

“You know I love it as much as the rest of you.”

Alton removed the ring from its box. Clutching Mallory’s hand, he slipped the jewel onto her finger. The candles reflecting in the diamond shone as brilliantly as the city lights below. Gazing into Mallory’s eyes, Alton truly understood the meaning of perfect happiness.

During the taxi ride back to the hotel, the ring’s new owner seemed as anxious to confirm its location as the previous owner had once been. For the umpteenth time, Mallory held up the gem, and the beams cast from passing streetlamps reflected in it with a splash of twinkling lights.

“I have to call Mom,” said Mallory. “She’s gonna be so excited.”

“So you think she’ll be okay with this?” asked Alton, who had always been a bit intimidated by the retired Army Brigadier General.

“Are you kidding? She loves you. I think she was afraid that if you and I didn’t get together, she’d never have any grandkids.”

The statement shot a bolt of wonder through Alton’s mind. They were truly going to be together…raising a family. After months of agonizing over Mallory’s eventual answer, another wave of palpable relief swept through his frame. He shook his head and refocused on their conversation. “Why would she be afraid of that?”

“‘Cause no one else would measure up to you. You’ve set the bar pretty high, buddy.”

Alton laughed. “I’m glad you think so. Hey, while you’re calling your mom, I’ll call David and Fahima.”

“If I recall correctly, they knew about this surprise trip to Italy before I did. They didn’t know you were going to propose, did they?”

“Oh, no. No one knew about that—not even my mom.”

Mallory seemed pleased with the answer. She scooted closer to him on the seat. “Well, now we can both tell the world.”

Upon returning to their hotel room, Alton entered first and switched on the light, revealing a bouquet of twenty-four red and white roses on the desk.

“Who’s this from?” asked Mallory. “Wait—did you do this?”

“Yes.”

“Red
and
white? Interesting.”

“Red indicates love, of course. And the two colors together indicate unity—the kind we’ll have with each other the rest of our lives.”

“So you felt confident enough of my answer to order these? I thought you were worried.”

“Believe me, I was,” said Alton. “I suppose I went out on a limb getting the bouquet, but I figured that if you said ‘no,’ ordering a bunch of unnecessary roses was the least of my problems.”

“Now your problem is you’re stuck with me, forever.”

Alton held her close, wishing all of life’s difficulties were so heavenly.

CHAPTER 66

The next morning, Alton and Mallory lingered over lunch in their hotel’s small café, using the opportunity to share the news of their pending nuptials with family and friends.

The reactions had unfolded more or less as the couple had anticipated: both mothers had cried—Beverly Wilson a little more than Alton would have guessed—and Alton’s younger sisters, Kayla and Ruth, had squealed in approval, while David and Fahima’s reactions had combined a bit of both.

As he and Mallory wrapped up the calls, Alton stirred the coffee in his white, porcelain cup and sighed with a contentment he had never known. “Everyone’s excited for us.”

“That’s for sure. But no one more than me.” Mallory held up her ring once again to admire it. “I’m going to be Mrs. Blackwell.”

“Well, future Mrs. Blackwell, when do you want to tie the knot?”

“Gosh, I’m not sure. I guess as soon as possible. I suppose we’ll need a few months to get everything arranged and make sure we pick a date when our families are available. What do you think—two or three months?”

“I was hoping you’d say something along those lines. I don’t want to wait any longer than we have to. That sounds perfect.”

Mallory glanced at her watch. “So what’s on tap for today—our final day in Rome?”

“We can do that afternoon tour we discussed last night, and for dinner, I was thinking about another trip to Imàgo. I know we just went last night, but to be honest, I don’t remember a lot about the meal. Would that be okay with you?”

“It sounds like the perfect romantic spot, considering…” Mallory gazed upon her ring again and smiled.

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THE devil’s due

CHAPTER 1

As Divband led his followers into the chamber, the girl inside the room looked up, her obsidian eyes wide with fright. Her arms encircled a column engraved with bas-reliefs of mythic creatures and fierce warriors. A thick knot of ropes around her wrists on the opposite side of the column kept her bound to the spot. The flicker of candles conferred a ghoulish appearance to the images carved on each of the circular chamber’s twenty-one columns.

“Hello, my dear,” said Divband. “What is your name?”

“Giti,” replied the girl in a trembling voice as she turned her head to look at him.

“I apologize for your restraints.”

“What have I done?” wailed the prisoner, who looked to be about fifteen. “Why am I being punished?”

“You are not being punished. You are being honored. Only you—a person pure in spirit and body—can fulfill the essential role in our ceremony.”

“What role? What do you want with me?”

Divband approached Giti. Her flawless complexion shone through a face distorted with terror. Divband couldn’t blame her. He saw how Ghoyee, his right-hand man, eyed her. A man of Ghoyee’s physical enormity and lustful glances would strike fear into the heart of any living creature. But Divband had no intention of letting Ghoyee have his way with Giti. She was destined for a more important role.

“The ancient charms can be invoked only through one who has not been defiled by the world,” said Divband. “You will serve as the conduit through which we call forth the black
jinnd
to aid our cause—and theirs.”

“How?” asked the girl. “I know nothing of the ancient spirits or their ways.”

“You role is simplicity itself. You must allow us to proceed with the sacred anointments.”

“What kind of anointments?” She screwed her face into a mask of skepticism.

“Just ink. I use it to draw a pattern on your body.”

The teen remained silent for a moment. “And if I refuse?”

Divband sighed. “Then I would be forced to administer medicines that will ensure your compliance. But the black
jinnd
respond most readily to a mind that is unaltered, so I would really rather not resort to those measures. Be a good girl, and don’t resist.”

Giti’s eyes darted from face to face but seemed to find no answer in the serious expressions she found there. Really, what choice did she have? She lowered her head in apparent acquiescence.

Divband motioned to Ghoyee and Meskin, another follower. The two unbound the girl’s wrists and led her to an ancient, rectangular altar standing in the center of the chamber.

“Lie down,” said Ghoyee, gesturing to the thick, stone slab.

Giti complied, her hands shaking as she moved her body onto the flat surface.

“Bind her hands and feet,” said Divband.

“But I am not struggling!” she said, fear spreading anew in her eyes. “Why must my limbs be bound?”

“After the anointing is complete, we must leave you in here for some time—long enough for the black
jinnd
to sense your presence and respond. During this interval, we wouldn’t want you to have second thoughts and leave.”

“I won’t go,” said the girl. “I promise. You can’t—”

“Bind her mouth, too,” cut in Divband. “The sanctity of Iblis’ temple must not be defiled with such noise.”

Ghoyee grinned. He drew a band of black cloth from a satchel at his side, wrapped it twice through the teen’s mouth, and cinched it with a knot, rendering her mute. Then he and Meskin fastened new strips of cloth around her wrists and ankles and secured them to ancient stone rings affixed to the floor underneath the altar. The girl seemed too stunned to offer much resistance.

Divband stepped forward. He peeled back Giti’s shirt to expose a perfect abdomen. Reciting an ancient creed, he picked up a silver bowl from an adjacent table. After dipping a wooden brush into the bowl’s dark contents and wiping away excess fluid, he began to apply strokes to the girl’s stomach. He replenished the supply of ink several times before completing a dark circle. Inside the circle, he painted a series of intersecting lines, eventually forming a pentagram, the points of which ended on the arc of the circle. Only upon finishing the anointing did he discontinue his chant.

“Light the incense,” said Divband.

Four more followers set small, richly-patterned urns on the four corners of the table, then lit the sticky gum within the bowls. Tendrils of smoke began to rise, and a sweet, sickly smell permeated the room.

Divband turned to the group of roughly forty believers. “Now, my friends, we must pray to the black
jinnd
to look favorably upon our request,” he said, glancing at the bound figure on the table. “The ways of the black
jinnd
are beyond man’s understanding.”

“Powerful are the black
jinnd
,” came a uniform response from the assembled crowd.

In observance of the ritual’s requirements, the group began a low chant as they filed out. Before exiting the stone arch that served as the room’s primary entrance, Divband looked back over his shoulder.

The girl’s eyes, wide with fear, seemed to beg for mercy. If only she knew what the coming hours would bring.