by Desiree Holt
Hofler cleared his throat. “What the sheriff is leading up to is that these people on the rodeo police shifts will continue as always. They will not be part of our special team, although they will provide support if and when needed. For one thing, the terrorists will avoid anyone in uniform. Their most likely weapon will be pipe bombs and they won’t want to be placing them where uniforms can see them. So we have to be invisible. Blend in. And follow DHS protocol as we take these bastards down.”
“I think it’s a given we’re all prepared to do that,” Vasquez told him.
The others murmured agreement.
“All right, then. I want to thank all of you for your cooperation and for working with my team on this.” Slade looked around at each person. “I understand this is your territory. I’m not looking to step on anyone’s toes. Just know this. We hunt these guys on a regular basis, have extensive knowledge of them and just want to bring all of that to the table.”
Marc noticed Joe Trainor relax a little, and the same with the others. Slade was good at avoiding pissing contests.
“We have a couple of things in our favor,” Slade went on, “which we’re going to need. First is the fact that Miss Alvarez spent enough time with these men to be able to identify them for us. We’ll have her in disguise riding in one of the golf carts patrolling the grounds. We’re hoping that camouflage will be good enough that the terrorists, preoccupied with their mission, will pay little or no attention to her.”
“And if they do?” Novak asked.
“Marc Blanchard will be riding with her. He’ll be fully armed and in mission mode. If I were in her shoes, he’s the man I’d want protecting me. For the rest of it? We need to plan this all with extreme attention to detail, something I know you’re all used to.”
Marc was aware that Nikki paid careful attention to everything they discussed, absorbing everything that was said. It amazed him that she was as focused on this as she was, something so far out of her normal purview. But he had been learning a lot of things about Nikki Alvarez since what was supposed to be a romantic getaway had begun. The emotionally damaged woman had a core of inner strength that amazed him—although, as he thought about it, that was probably what had gotten her through the death of her fiancé without retreating from the world altogether.
Lucky for me, he thought, since it shocked the hell out of him that he was falling in love with her, something he’d been sure would never happen. Certainly not after Ria and her scorched-earth policy where his heart was concerned. No, not his heart. His cock and his pride. This thing with Nikki? He’d better not fuck it up. He just hoped this crisis didn’t derail everything.
Reaching beneath the table, he took her hand in his and clasped it. She gave him an answering squeeze and his tension eased a little, at least as much as it could given the situation.
Vasquez fetched a large rolled-up sheet of thick paper and gave it to the two deputies, who taped it to the wall. It displayed a very detailed map of the entire landscape of the Rodeo—every building, outbuilding, exhibition, whatever.
“Here’s the map of the layout you asked for, Slade. Let’s get down to it.”
“Thanks. I need to know where the entrances are, if someone can mark them off, and who uses them.”
One of the deputies uncapped a black magic marker.
“These gates are where the public enters the premises.” He made black Xes at the spots. “There are scanners at every one of these stations.” He slid his hand to one side of the diagram. “These are potential trouble spots. It’s where everyone with a truck enters—contestants hauling horses, ranches bringing steers, other ranches bringing animals for the judging, concessionaires, food vendors, you have it.” He added several more marks to the sheet.
“So explosives could be hidden in any of those vehicles.” Slade frowned. “Do you have enough people to visually check every vehicle that comes through those gates?”
“We’ll get whatever personnel we need,” Joe Trainor told him. “Believe me, we know this is no time to scrimp on personnel. Pardon the pun, but this isn’t my first rodeo.”
“Joe’s worked with us before,” Hofler told him. “He’ll be your point person for that.”
Marc looked over at the detective. Trainor was doing his best to look cordial but it was obvious he didn’t like his knowledge or experience being questioned.
“We’ll also have helicopters doing flyovers,” Vasquez told them. “They’ll be using long-range binoculars. And Mr. Hofler informed me that DHS has undercover people scouring the community for any clues. This team had to have some place to get to when they arrived, besides the cottage. Especially since Miss Alvarez tells us she heard them bitching about the fact they got dumped at that cottage instead of being taken to San Antonio as originally arranged. It seems one of the team getting shot had everyone’s balls in an uproar.” He looked at Nikki. “Apologies, Miss Alvarez.”
She gave him a tiny smile. “No worries. I’m a nurse. I know what balls are.”
A little chuckle danced around the table.
“Lieutenant Donavan and I have set up a meeting with the rodeo grounds operation manager.” Vasquez looked around the table. “Joe, you need to be there, too.”
“And we need to include Deputy Novak in that,” Trainor told him. “You know he’s more familiar with every kind of vehicle that comes through one gate or other than anyone else in this room.” He paused and glanced at Slade. “If that’s okay with you.”
Marc saw a muscle twitch in Slade’s cheek. Slade didn’t like people yanking his chain or questioning his ability to do his job. As he told members of his team time and time again, there was no room for egos in Delta Force. To Slade, that translated to every other type of mission, but he was also smart enough to know that pissing off people whose help he needed wasn’t a good idea, either.
“I’ll take the help of anyone who can contribute. We’re going to run this like a mission and everyone will have a role. No egos here. Certainly not mine.”
He went around the table, checking what each person’s assigned responsibility was. Marc knew the man wasn’t foolish enough to shift someone from a job he was familiar with.
At the end of an hour, Slade pretty much had things in place, along with lists of how many people he’d need and where, and where they would come from.
“We need to get eyes on each vehicle entrance,” Slade told Joe. “And narrow it down, if possible, to the most likely means of sneaking the bombs into the grounds.”
“Is it possible the bombs might be made of plastic?” Novak asked. “That makes them less detectible.”
“They specifically mentioned pipes,” Nikki interjected in her soft voice. “The one in charge thought I couldn’t hear them.”
“That’s their standard, anyway,” Slade confirmed. “The other possibilities are suicide vests and we can’t rule them out.”
“I’ve seen the massive damage they can do,” Joe told him. “You’re right. We have to be prepared for anything.”
“Okay.” Slade sat again. “I think maybe all of you need to be in the planning meeting. You each bring something to the table or you wouldn’t be here, so let’s get busy. Then, Joe, I think you and Deputy Novak and I, along with Marc and Beau, need to take a trip to the rodeo grounds and look at each of these spots ourselves. The event starts tomorrow. I want eyes on everything before the public swarms in.”
Trainor nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter Twelve
Jamal had not slept well the previous night, worries about his friend making him restless. He kept imagining Farid’s body in the tall grass by the lakeside cottage, and Malik, pale and shaking as he lay in the back seat of the stolen vehicle. He had a devastating feeling he had failed his friends, two brothers whom he had been close with since childhood. He was still plenty upset that Malik had been taken off somewhere and not kept in this house with everyone else. Anything could be happening to him.
Kasim, too, had been agitated an
d they had both risen early, determined to see their friend today. Jamal wanted answers. Now. He needed to be focused to do this most important of assignments and he couldn’t be when thoughts of his friends kept taking over his brain.
Today, after morning prayers, he marched into the kitchen to find both Salman and Rafiq preparing their breakfast.
“I want to see my friend. I want to lay eyes on Malik.”
Ashar, who seemed to float in and out of rooms, was quietly making coffee, but it was obvious he was listening. What were they all concealing? Jamal had a very bad feeling.
“I understand.” Rafiq’s voice was flat.
“No, you don’t. You think we are stupid and easily led but we are not.” He clenched his fists to keep himself under control. “You were supposed to call and check on him and it does not seem as if you have even done that.”
“Forgive me.” Rafiq came to stand beside him. “I have just been so immersed in making sure all the details of our project were in place that I somehow forgot to tell you. He is healing well, but it is taking some time.”
“I want to see him,” Jamal demanded. “We have been here two days and I have not even spoken to him. How do I know you did not kill him?”
The other two men exchanged glances.
“The bombs are all assembled and ready to be packed,” Jamal continued. “We are waiting for the materials from you for the vests. Tomorrow we are supposed to go to the rodeo and walk the ground to identify the best places to leave each one. I am not going there until I see Malik.”
“Then perhaps you will not be going anywhere at all,” Rafiq sneered. The placating tone had disappeared from his voice.
Jamal had already figured out that this man was running the show, although he had expected someone a little smarter.
“Fine. Then you two or your friends can carry the bombs in and blow yourselves up.” He turned to walk back into the dining room.
“Wait.”
Salman’s voice stopped him. “What?”
“You are right.” This man’s voice was softer, more placating. “We thought it best that you direct all your focus to your work and that your brother be undisturbed to rest and heal. But perhaps it would be better for both of you to have a brief visit. Right, Rafiq?”
Rafiq’s lips curved in a smile that was lacking in real sincerity. “Of course. You are right, Salman. I have been inconsiderate. I will arrange it now.”
Jamal’s heart settled back into a steadier beat. He still did not trust any of these men. They did not exude the feeling of brotherhood as had the men at the camp in Mexico, or those who had recruited him and his friends. He had come here filled with pride that he would be sacrificing himself for the good of his fellow men. Now he worried someone else would get the glory and he and Kasim would be just a couple of dead bodies for infidels to find.
But he made himself nod, forcing a calmness he did not feel.
“Thank you. I will wait for you in the living room.”
He poured coffee into a mug and carried it into the other room, telling himself it would all work out. He had to believe that. Malik would heal, find a way to return home and tell everyone how Jamal and Kasim had sacrificed themselves for the glory of Allah. Martyrdom was the most exalted thing in Islam and his family would be honored that he had been chosen for this. Despite his earlier threat, he did not want to be cheated of the honor. He would also be doing it for Farid, who did not have the chance to go to heaven, and for Malik, who might not survive this.
“Well?” Kasim was waiting for him. “What did they say?”
“Rafiq is calling now to make sure Malik is awake. Then they will take us.”
He was standing at the window with Kasim, sipping his hot coffee, when Rafiq came into the room.
“Come. The doctor says your friend is awake. It is a good time to visit him.”
“We will both come,” Jamal insisted.
Rafiq looked as if he wanted to say something but then changed his mind.
“Fine. Let us go.”
They climbed into the van that was still parked in the back. Salman sat behind the wheel, Rafiq in the shotgun seat, and they backed down the driveway. They drove along narrow streets filled with houses much like the one they were staying in, punctuated with neighborhood stores of various kinds, many with people hanging out in front. When he saw convenience stores, he knew that a lot of them were owned by people from his country who had come here, legally or not. He thought in a wistful moment how nice it might have been to own one himself and take care of his family.
But the thirst for revenge against the infidels burned hot and bright, fed by the flames of the speeches he’d heard. If he had not been told he was chosen by Allah who knew where he would be?
While he was ruminating, the van pulled into a driveway next to a small tan house.
“We are here,” Rafiq said. “Let’s go.”
They climbed a short flight of stairs to the front door and walked into a small hallway. To the left was a room obviously being used as an office, containing a desk, a computer, a filing cabinet and some chairs. Across the hall was what looked like an examining room, with the usual equipment. Not much, Jamal noted, but then he was used to sparsely outfitted clinics.
The man who had opened the door for them led them to a room at the end of the hall, opened that door and stepped aside so they could enter. Salman stayed in the hallway but hovered near. Jamal elbowed everyone aside and pushed his way to the side of the bed. He was appalled at Malik’s condition. He looked as if he’d lost weight just in the short time since they’d crossed the border from Mexico. His skin had an unhealthy pallor and his breathing was very shallow. His injured leg was heavily bandaged and was propped on two pillows.
When Jamal took his hand, he opened his eyes and his lips curved in a weak smile.
“Hello, sadiqaa. It is good to see you.”
“As it is to lay eyes on you.”
A sick feeling settled in the pit of Jamal’s stomach. What were they doing to his friend? The bullet had been removed. With a doctor’s care, he should be getting better.
“I need to get better,” Malik told him.
Jamal could not have agreed more. His friend was sending him some kind of silent message, so he bent down low, putting his ear at Malik’s mouth.
“But I believe they are going to kill me.” His mouth barely moved, the words a bare whisper. Jamal’s stomach knotted.
The man who had ushered them into the room nudged him upright.
“Do not get too close to the patient. We do not want to risk making his infection worse.”
“Worse?” Jamal parroted. “The bullet is out. He should be getting better. I was told that is why he is here, under a doctor’s care, instead of with us.”
“The infection had already set in. Whoever removed the bullet caused great problems.”
Jamal ground his teeth. The nurse had known what she was doing, had been well aware of the rudimentary nature of the supplies they had, but had done the best she could. He was sure of it. If Malik was dying, it was because of something done to him here.
“Where is the doctor?” he asked. “This man is worse than when we brought him in.”
“Not true. And the doctor is away on a call.”
“You have seen your friend.” Rafiq closed his fingers over Jamal’s elbow. “We must go.”
“But he is not doing well,” Jamal protested.
“He is doing fine.”
Kasim had not said a word, just stood there and stared at their friend. Now he looked at Jamal and gave a faint shake of his head.
“I want another doctor to look at him.”
Rafiq turned Jamal so the two men were practically nose to nose. “You are on a mission for Allah. You were chosen with great care and months were spent on your training. Do you think he would want you to throw it all away?”
“But—”
Rafiq put his hand on Jamal’s shoulder and for the first time the cold look
in his eyes was replaced by one filled with hot fervor.
“You must focus on the assignment. Think of the pride your family will take in the completion of your mission. Think of the infidels who raided your village and killed your friend for no reason. That is the reason you accepted this assignment. Whatever happens to your friend is Allah’s will. If it is so ordained, you will join him in heaven. Please. Come. We must prepare.”
Jamal was so conflicted. He couldn’t decide if he liked these people or not, or if in fact they had given any kind of care to Malik. Maybe they were just keeping him alive so Jamal and Kasim wouldn’t bail on them at the last minute, or to use as some kind of leverage. Then why have we not been allowed to see him before this? Nevertheless, he had to put all that out of his mind now. Malik had sent him a silent message. He would honor it.
Besides, Rafiq’s words had inspired a new fire inside him. This was the feeling he’d had back in Niger. When the United States had built a base in Agadez to house and operate armed drones, he and his friends had been so furious they could hardly think straight. How dare these people set up shop in the very country where they would be launching instruments of war to kill people like Jamal’s family and friends?
Did they think everyone in the country welcomed them with open arms? Just because the government fell into bed with them for millions of dollars didn’t mean the populace approved of it. He and his friends had made a plan, reaching out to others who shared their beliefs, who resented the intrusion of strangers into their country. Little by little they had begun to stockpile explosives for a great raid on the base.