Nefarious (The Blackwell Files Book 1) (8 page)

CHAPTER 21

Camp Eggers, Kabul, Afghanistan

The next day, Alton awoke curious to see how the evening would play out. Would all of the usual Gandamak crowd return to the Lodge? He was especially curious to know about two of the Lodge’s regulars. As long as Fahima was there, Alton felt confident David would return. But what about Mallory?

When he and David arrived at the Lodge that night, they found that most of the regular crowd had turned up. Alton was pleased to discover Mallory sipping a Coors Light. He was less enthusiastic to observe her holding court with four admirers.

Why should it bother me? It’s not like I’m in the running.

Mallory glanced in his direction. Upon seeing him, she smiled and waved, and Alton momentarily felt a bit less perturbed over the fan club gathered around her.

Alton and David settled onto barstools. After ordering their usual beers, they chatted with each other as well as with a number of other friends who periodically wandered up. Alton observed Mallory from a distance. The previous night’s events had certainly not slowed her down. As usual, she gained energy and animation as the evening wore on. Alton didn’t know how she did it. He normally preferred solitude or at least smaller groups of friends over the large gatherings that typically assembled at the Lodge.

As she made her way around the smoky room, Mallory eventually approached Alton’s barstool. Alton always enjoyed her companionship immensely, even if he was the occasional target of her teasing. Given the mischievous grin on her face, it appeared tonight was no exception.

“Captain Blackwell,” she said, smirking, “do you think we don’t know why you sit on that particular barstool all evening? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the view down that bathroom hallway, would it? I don’t suppose seeing a parade of women walking back and forth all night is interesting at all, is it?”

“Busted,” said Alton with a snicker, shrugging his shoulders and turning his hands palms up in a conciliatory gesture.

Lieutenant Pham wandered over.

“Welcome,” said Alton. “I don’t recall seeing you here before.”

“After last night’s exploits, I decided to see what all the fuss over this place was about. Speaking of last night, I can’t believe that plan you put together yesterday. That was crazy good.”

“Thanks,” said Alton simply, “but—”

“Al,” interjected David, “I know you’re getting ready to disclaim the credit, but there’s no ‘but’ about it. You kicked ass.” He turned to the other soldiers who had drifted over and transformed their small group into a large one. “If you need a problem solved in a new and insightful way, see my man Al here. I’ve worked with him for months. No problem confounds him.” Was it a weakness in Alton to secretly rejoice when he observed Mallory listening to David’s praise with a smile and a glow in her warm, friendly eyes?

Never comfortable with overt praise, though, Alton sought to change the flow of conversation. “Speaking of ‘new and insightful,’ I believe Mallory uncovered some accounting shenanigans in the 13th Logistics Brigade, right?” he asked, turning to her.

She nodded and laughed. “Yep—they weren’t exactly following SOP. A maintenance NCO thought he’d supplement his income by selling spare engine parts on the black market. He tried to write them off to scrap…”

Alton listened while Mallory detailed the latest scam she had uncovered. As he watched her describe it, he admired the enthusiasm she brought to the job, an excitement that lit up her eyes in a most delightful way. It was an excitement he himself had once felt before the accident and was only now rediscovering, thanks in large part to her.

As Mallory’s description wound down, Alton leaned over to David. “I think coming here to the Lodge is the highlight of Mallory’s day.” In his best National Geographic narrator voice, he intoned, “The social animal thrives in its natural environment.”

David chuckled. “Yeah, it’s the highlight of my day, too,” he said, turning to gaze at Fahima. He then turned back with a worried face. “Mallory is doing her usual imitation of a friendly Tasmanian devil, making the social rounds, but have you noticed something’s up with Fahima? She seems…I don’t know…worried about something.”

“Why don’t you ask her?” urged Alton.

David seemed to like the idea, yet he swallowed hard as she approached from behind the bar.

“You like another drink?” asked the barmaid, trying but failing to appear cheerful.

“Fahima,” said David in an uncharacteristically gentle manner, “We’re good friends, right? What I’d like…is for you to tell me what’s bothering you.”

The gentle side of David seemed to catch Fahima off guard. Her eyes welled up, and long-contained emotions poured down her cheeks in the form of quiet tears. She leaned over the bar and spoke to him in a near whisper. “Al-Qaeda man come here this morning. His name is Hadir. He want to know how you and your friends find out about them. He is very angry.”

For the first time in Alton’s experience, David reached across the top of the bar and laid his hand gently atop Fahima’s. Rather than stemming the flow of tears, the simple action hastened it. Fahima covered her eyes with the palm of her free hand and gave vent to her emotions.

“How can I help?” asked David gently. “Let me do something.”

At the question, Fahima looked up with plain relief in her face. She laid her other hand on David’s. “You are good man.”

David shook his head. “I’m not that good—”

“You help him, the sad man,” interjected Fahima, looking at Alton. “You like to make people laugh, be happy. I don’t want you to be hurt by this bad man Hadir.”

“If I’m a good person, I’d want to help you, too, right? Sometimes doing the right thing means taking risks. The key is knowing
when
to take those risks.” He looked her in the eye with a kind yet determined gaze. “This is definitely one of those times.”

Fahima drew in a long breath, her frame shaking as she struggled to suppress another bout of tears. She exhaled slowly and asked, “Why you help me?”

A touch of worry crept into David’s eyes. “Do you really not know, Fahima?”

Looking down, she nodded without speaking. After calming her breaths, she looked at David timidly. “I think I see now, but before I never know what you really feel about me. You like to make everyone happy. Before, I think maybe I just imagine you feel different for me. Maybe you are nice to me like you are to everyone else.”

“And now what do you think?”

“Now I think I am special for you,” she replied with her first smile of the day, which—although genuine—still fought with her previous tears for control of her emotions. Her smile won the battle, and David brushed a lingering tear off her check with the back of his hand.

“Now you wet,” said Fahima with a single, loud laugh born of a sudden release of anxiety and pent-up emotion.

Alton spoke up. “Fahima, the man from Al-Qaeda, Hadir—did he say what he would do next?”

By now, Mallory had finished her story and was listening intently.

Fahima shook her head. “No, he talk to me and to the other people here. No one say anything.” She shrugged. “We do not know.”

“We should keep it that way,” said Alton. “Telling you any of the details just puts you at risk.”

“But if Hadir come back…?” she asked.

“Can we talk over there?” asked Alton, pointing to an isolated table. “I’d rather not make this conversation too public.”

Fahima conversed briefly with a co-worker, presumably to cover her bartending duties, then joined Alton and Mallory in the corner. While Alton scanned the table for listening devices, David slid into the booth next to Fahima. Alton couldn’t be sure, but he thought they were holding hands under the table. He smiled at this happy fulfillment of his expectations, yet the contrast of the couple’s mutual regard to his own lonely journey caused a momentary stirring of melancholy. Oddly enough, Mallory’s proximity only strengthened the feeling. He glanced at the delicate, strong hands she rested on the table.
In some ways, so near…

Before they could renew their conversation, several soldiers trooped over to their table.

“We’re taking off now,” said Lieutenant Pham. “You guys coming?”

Alton didn’t like returning to camp alone, but the conversation was too important to postpone. “No, thanks. We’ll be along shortly.” David and Mallory also agreed to stay.

“Suit yourself,” said Pham. “See you back at camp.”

Once their friends filed out, Alton turned to Fahima. “Would you be willing to play along with Hadir long enough to help us find out a little information about him? Maybe we could catch him and his friends.”

“Al,” interrupted David, “you and I are soldiers. Taking risks is an occupational hazard for us. Fahima’s not a soldier. She just wants to have a normal life, right?”

Fahima nodded.

“I think Fahima is entirely capable of pulling it off,” continued David, “but then what? Once the insurgents find out she’s worked with us, they’d go after her and maybe her family. We can retreat behind camp walls. She doesn’t have that option.”

“You’re right,” said Alton. “Not about my name, by the way—it’s ‘Alton,’ not ‘Al.’ But I agree that we can’t pull Fahima into this. It’s too dangerous for a civilian.”

“Fahima,” asked Mallory, “When you told Hadir you didn’t know how we found out about the Al-Qaeda plot, did he believe you?”

“I do not know. I think he believe me. It is the truth.”

“If he thinks you have more information than you’re telling, the truth won’t matter,” said Mallory. “He might come after you anyway.”

“Do you have a guard here?” asked David.

“Yes,” said Fahima. “Tahir always stay by the door.”

The tall, chubby guard reclined on a stool by the entrance, picking dirt from his fingernails. The sight of him didn’t overwhelm the soldiers with confidence.

“I guess that’s better than nothing,” mused David, “but it won’t be enough if Hadir decides to seek you out, especially if he brings friends.” He turned to Alton. “Do you think General Mooreland would be willing to post of couple of MPs here to provide security for the next few days? If they’re in civvies and Hadir returns, they might even be able to arrest him before he bolts.”

“I think it’s worth asking,” said Alton. “What do you think, Mallory?”

In the male-dominated military, Mallory appreciated her friends’ natural inclination to seek her input. “I think we ought to move immediately,” she said decisively. “Al-Qaeda has been known to act quickly to intimidate Afghanis who cooperate with coalition troops.”

“It’s settled, then,” began Alton, “tomorrow—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the doors to the establishment flew open with a crash, and a score of armed insurgents streamed inside. They shouted angrily in their native Pashto dialect and began to spread throughout the bar. One of them jammed an AK-47 into Tahir’s ample girth. The guard stood with his hands in the air, too dumbfounded to speak.

“Down!” hissed Alton. The three unarmed soldiers and barmaid slid under the table. In the dimly-lit, isolated corner of the room in which they were located, the small space underneath the table was as dark as midnight.

“That is Hadir—the one in front with the blue shirt,” whispered Fahima.

The slovenly-clothed leader possessed a large nose and protruding upper teeth. After committing the rodent-like face of the insurgents’ leader to memory, Alton scanned the area around him. Their table sat adjacent to the door leading to the restaurant’s kitchen. If they low-crawled along the floor, they would probably make it through the kitchen door unseen, although they would have to run the risk of the insurgents noticing the door swinging open, apparently on its own. As he turned to discuss the plan with his comrades, he noticed one of them was missing.

He glanced desperately around the floor and saw Fahima. She had already crawled several tables down, away from the kitchen.

“No!” said David, whose voice was fortunately drowned out by the shouting militants. He began to emerge from beneath the table to retrieve Fahima, but Alton grabbed his leg with an iron grip.

Alton shook his head and whispered, “She’s doing this so we can escape. At the moment, Hadir and his gang don’t know whether or not she was involved in yesterday’s plan. If you emerge now, and they see she’s been conversing with us in the corner, you’ll sign her death warrant, and ours too. They’ll assume she was in on the plan with us and will kill us all.”

David’s eyes blazed with agonized indecision. Alton pressed his case. “Let’s use the opportunity she’s given us to come back and help her. We can’t do that if we’re dead.”

Hanging his head, David nodded. As he did so, Fahima reached the opposite side of the back wall and finally stood up. She spoke in angry tones to the armed men, and Hadir shouted back at her.

“That’s our diversion. Let’s move,” commanded Alton, grasping his cane.

With the attention of the militants focused squarely on Fahima and Hadir’s shouting match, the trio of soldiers squirmed unseen across the floor until they passed through the kitchen door, then rose and bolted out the restaurant’s back exit as quickly as Alton’s pace would allow. Thick clouds obscured the moon, and the friends used the cover of the dark night to steal through the parking lot unseen. They hid behind a large, dense bush on the perimeter of the restaurant’s property.