Advance to the Rear (Strike Force Book 3)

by Desiree Holt

  They didn’t speak to each other during the process. Then, backpacks hooked over one shoulder, they moved away from the truck one at a time, as if each was heading for a specific errand. Jamal hoped Kasim had his shit together. So many things had gone wrong with this that he would not rest until the final explosion. Then he would rest in heaven.

  ‘You must look like you are here to have a good time,’ Rafiq had insisted over and over. ‘Do not do one single thing to call attention to yourselves. Carry your knapsacks the way you see others doing it. Even stop here and there to purchase a trinket and stuff it in the backpack. It is important to maintain the illusion.’

  As he moved through the grounds, he stopped at the designated locations and placed the bombs. He took his time as he had been instructed, making sure no one knew what he was doing, stopping to check out some of the activities along the way. When he placed the final bomb, he stopped for a moment, wishing he could check with Kasim. However, Rafiq had confiscated all the cell phones they’d been given and the one in his pocket was to be used only to signal for the detonations.

  He was close to the entrance to the Freeman Coliseum, moments away from notifying Rafiq then entering the big building and setting up the detonation of his vest. He supposed it didn’t matter much if they went off at the same time. Perhaps it might even be better if they didn’t. Having devastating explosions in two separate places made for more mass confusion.

  As he started toward the entrance to the building, he spotted the cart carrying the two people he’d seen yesterday, the girl with black hair and the guy with the cowboy hat. Now he recalled that he’d seen them earlier when he’d made his way out of the lot where the truck was parked and back into the area of activity. She was still taking pictures and he was still playing chauffeur. He’d been so focused on his assignment, and they’d appeared so ordinary, he hadn’t thought anything of it.

  But they were taking shots of the crowd and he sure didn’t need his damn face in someone’s picture. Without appearing too obvious, he’d managed to walk away from them and wander among the various vendors until he could get back on track again. He started to head again toward the Freeman Coliseum and…

  The cart turned sharply toward him. He stared at them and his heart almost stopped beating. Why hadn’t he looked at them with greater care yesterday? The black hair might be a distraction, but her makeup had worn off in the heat and the bruise on her jaw was unmistakable.

  It was the damn fucking nurse.

  And they were so close to him. Too fucking close.

  He backed away, hoping they didn’t recognize him. Hoping to get to the Coliseum. Turning away from them, he yanked out his cell phone and pressed the number to signal Rafiq. He resumed walking, still with his back to them.

  I pray to you, Allah, to give me these last moments to complete this assignment, for your grace and glory.

  Any minute now the first of the explosions would go off. Any second. Any…

  But nothing was happening. All he heard was the noise of the crowd, the music from the carnival and the voices of people selling their wares. What had happened with the bombs? He tried calling the number on his cell again, but nothing happened. Nothing connected. His heart rate speeded up and a sick feeling settled in the bottom of his stomach.

  What the fuck is going on?

  * * * *

  They all entered the rodeo grounds through one of the back gates and gathered at the operations office. The operations manager took Beau and Trey up to the roof of the Coliseum where they would wait, as snipers did, for the moment when a shot might be needed. Hofler and Slade went over the rest of the assignments one more time before sending everyone on their way.

  “I still think you could have done it from the safety of the electronics room,” Marc growled.

  “It’s okay. It will all be over soon. You heard Agent Hofler. They’ve got highly trained personnel all over the place, and the bomb dogs to sniff out the explosives. What can go wrong?”

  Marc snorted. “Don’t ever say that, darlin’. It’s a sure sign everything is about to go FUBAR.”

  Nikki glanced at him. “FUBAR?”

  “Excuse the language, but it means Fucked Up Beyond All Repair.”

  “But we’re going to prevent that,” Hofler said. The others around the table nodded. “Okay. I have pictures of these men for everyone, so let’s get to the fairgrounds and everyone take their places.”

  Marc knew Slade was champing at the bit to be out where the action was. But he was also a good leader, and knew the best place for him was in the electronics house, making sure their crew out there had everything covered.

  “My men have their assignments,” Joe Trainor told Hofler. “They’ll be on top of this.”

  Hofler nodded. “I appreciate that you’ve got your best on this. Make sure their radios are all working and on the same channel. The first person to spot either of these guys, call it in. Both Lieutenant Donovan and I will be ready.”

  Marc and Nikki set off in their golf cart, wearing their disguises from the day before. Marc hoped the fact Nikki continued to be so quiet had more to do with the tension of the situation than anything else. Something was wrong and he was going to find out, but first they had to get past this.

  The gates had been open an hour when one of Trainor’s men spotted Jamal making his way from a far parking lot with a backpack hanging from one shoulder. Everyone on the crew was wearing an earpiece to enable them to hear everything going on, so they all heard the message.

  Static crackled in Marc’s earpiece. “Tango One looking to begin unloading backpack. Dogs on the way.”

  Where? He wondered. Where the hell was he spotted?

  A few minutes passed. Then…

  “Tango Two leaving his packages. Handlers on the way with dogs.”

  The plan was to make sure the terrorist was out of sight after each drop-off before bringing the dogs to sniff the packages. After almost thirty minutes, they had collected six bombs and the men were still moving.

  “Don’t spook them.” Slade’s voice was low in everyone’s ear. “We want to get the bombs so the only thing we have to deal with is the suicide vests, at which these guys are experts.”

  “We’ve got it,” someone said in a reassuring tone.

  Marc’s earpiece came alive again. “Here is the current location of Tango One.”

  Marc lifted the tiny radio to his mouth. “Got it.”

  “Marc.” Slade’s low voice. “Can you head that way to confirm?”

  “On it.”

  “Someone else is homing in on Kasim so you stick with Jamal.”

  Then they lost sight of the man for a moment. One minute he was there, then he was gone, swallowed up by the growing crowd. Marc turned the cart around and suddenly, there he was. Right in front of them.

  “Got him,” he murmured into his radio. “Have you got us on camera?”

  “Roger that,” came Slade’s voice. “Joe, you got it?”

  “We’re on our way,” Trainor said in a soft tone.

  Marc eased the car closer to Jamal, but not so close as to trigger something. He saw the exact moment Jamal knew who they were, and wished he could tell Nikki to get out of the cart and run, but they were past that. Recognition flared in the man’s eyes and he looked around as if expecting something. Then he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and pressed a button before Marc could react. But when nothing happened a puzzled look spread across his face, replaced by one of panic.

  Joe Trainor and two of his men had approached from another direction, quietly getting everyone’s attention, which was no easy feat. Then they began moving people out of the immediate area and back as far as they could push them.

  Jamal backed up, trying to ease himself into the crowd behind him, but by now several of the security guards had shown up and were pushing everyone out of the way. Jamal hit the button on the phone several times more, real panic slashing across his face now. When nothing happened, he dropped his bac
kpack and opened his shirt to reveal what was underneath.

  “Do not move away,” he shouted. “Everyone stay where you are.”

  “Fucking shit,” Marc said in a low voice. “Suicide vest.”

  “What?” Nikki stared at the man five feet away from them. “Oh, my god, Marc.”

  A canvas vest was zipped from his waist to his pecs, sticks of dynamite peeking out from its many pockets, all hooked to something at his waist. A wire snaked from the zipper to a small cylinder in his hand, something Marc recognized as the detonator. If the man took his finger off the button, he and a good portion of the crowd would end up in pieces right there on the pavement.

  Trainor and one of the deputies started to approach the terrorist, but Hofler appeared and waved them back. Marc saw them all quietly continuing to move the crowd and give Jamal as wide a space as possible. It wasn’t going to be enough. Jamal’s eyes widened as he looked everywhere.

  Something had to be done.

  “Marc.” Nikki’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  “I see it.”

  There it was, the slight tensing of Jamal’s muscles in the arm holding the switch. There wasn’t much time. Marc eased himself out of the cart and moved very slowly toward the man. He hoped Hofler wouldn’t get in his way, because he needed Jamal’s full attention.

  “Come on, Jamal.” He spoke in a low, measured tone. “Let’s let everyone get out of here and we can help you get that vest off.”

  “No.” The man gave his head a violent shake. “It is my mission. Why did the bombs not explode? They were supposed to explode.”

  “Dogs.” Marc eased closer and closer to him. From the corner of his eye he saw Trainor doing the same thing, but also staying out of Marc’s way. “We discovered your plot and managed to get the bombs before they could be ignited. Give it up. Let us get you home to your family.”

  Something he knew was never going to happen.

  “I am disgraced,” Jamal cried. “I cannot ever see my family again.”

  Marc was less than two feet from the man now. Taking a deep breath, he leaped forward and closed his hand over Jamal’s, keeping his thumb pressed over the other man’s on the ignition switch. The force of his leap drove them both to the ground. As Jamal tried to yank his hand free, Marc heard the crack! of a shot and a hole appeared in the man’s forehead. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Beau and Trey as he yanked the detonator from the dead man’s hand.

  He collapsed forward onto Jamal, keeping his thumb pressed on the button. Fucking A. He’d done it. Prevented the vest from exploding. Lying on the dead body wasn’t much fun, but he couldn’t release the button or it would all be over.

  “We’ve got it, Marc.” A familiar voice spoke to him and he turned to see Slade crouching beside him. “The bomb disposal guys are here.”

  Even as he spoke the words, a strong hand closed over Marc’s and slid something between his thumb and the trigger. A thumb eased his out of the way and he breathed a sigh of relief as he realized one of the bomb squad had locked heavy tape over the pressure point.

  With great care he eased himself from his position on top of the body and pushed himself to his feet.

  “Good job.” Hofler was beside him, shaking his hand. “We’ve got it all under control now.”

  Marc looked around and saw several members of the rodeo security staff dealing with the crowd, pushing everyone back even further to allow the bomb squad to do its work.

  “We got Kasim and Rafiq, too,” Slade told him. “And all the bombs have been neutralized. Crisis past.”

  “Thank god.” Marc blew a sigh of relief. He looked over at the cart where Nikki sat waiting for him. She was still as a statue, her face white with an expression that gave him a distinct feeling of unease. He knew he should have fought harder to keep her out of this.

  “Go ahead and get Nikki away from here,” Slade murmured in his ear. “I’ll square things here. Hofler will want a debriefing, but we can put that off until tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” He looked from Slade to Nikki and back again. “I think I need to get her home and help her deal with this.”

  “Just be sure and tell her we’re all very grateful for her help.”

  “Will do.” He hopped into the cart, backed it up and drove it away toward the parking area. He hoped to hell that whatever was wrong, he knew how to fix it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘I can’t do this, Marc. I can’t deal with the danger.’

  The words played over and over in Marc’s head, like a bad tune he couldn’t erase.

  ‘You put yourself in such dangerous situations. What if I lose you like I did Jon?’

  He had tried his best to make her see the difference between a situation he could control and an illness that no one had control over, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. He had to find a way to handle this.

  Slade had called, and Marc had told him they were dealing with some issues and could he please hold off the dogs until tomorrow. Hofler had called him, and he’d sung the same song to him, telling him he needed some room to deal with personal stuff. He didn’t give two fucks about anything else. Nikki and this thing between them was his priority. His only priority.

  ‘You put yourself in situations that can turn deadly at any minute. I don’t care how much practice you’ve had, you can’t eliminate all possibilities of harm. Look how long it took me to get over Jon. If I lost you, I’d never recover. I can’t take that chance.’

  He’d tried his best to ease her fears, to make her understand that his training would always protect him, even as he had to admit to himself that with any op there was a chance he’d never return. He’d used every option he could think of—a massage, a hot shower, telling her how he felt about her—everything, but nothing had worked.

  They had both slept fitfully, albeit in the same bed, even though she’d rolled away from him, sending a silent signal. He’d tried again in the morning, but nothing had seemed to be working.

  At last, with all his choices exhausted, he’d packed his stuff, called the ranch and asked Slade if he could camp there for a few days. He hated to intrude on Slade and Kari, who were still in the honeymoon phase, but he knew if anyone could understand, it would be them. The lieutenant had married a real gem there.

  “Hofler’s having a debrief at Sheriff Vasquez’s office,” Slade reminded Marc. “I was planning to call you, anyway, to see if you wanted me to pick you up. I know you’re not in the mood for this, but you really need to be there. How about if I pick you up in thirty and we’ll head over?”

  “Got it.”

  No matter how shitty his life might be, he never ducked out on responsibility or a mission debrief. And wasn’t that what this was? A mission?

  “I’m not throwing in the towel on this,” he told Nikki as he tossed his gear into his duffel. “I’m just giving you some space.” He paused. “To think about this. About us.”

  “All the thinking won’t help,” she told him, her voice low and flat. “I told you. I just can’t put myself in that situation. Not ever again. I thought I’d never get over Jon. I know for sure if anything happened to you, it would finish me off.”

  “Space,” he insisted. “I know when you can back up and think about this, you’ll know how special this is between us.”

  “I already know it’s special,” she cried. “That’s the problem. I have to cut this off before it destroys me altogether.”

  She was silent as he packed his gear, but the moment he carried his bag into the living room, she retreated to the bedroom and closed the door.

  Damn.

  He meant what he’d told her. He wasn’t done with this. He’d never thought to find what he and Nikki had together, not after the stupidity of Ria. And now he was going to fight for it, doing whatever he had to do to make her take down the walls she’d put up.

  When Slade pulled up in front of the apartment building, Marc tossed his duffel into the back seat and climbe
d in the front.

  “Stay as long as you need,” he said without asking questions. “We’ve only got a couple more days until we have to leave.” He studied Marc’s face. “And Kari and I are here if you want to talk. Or not.”

  “Thanks,” was all Marc could manage.

  He kept his shit together during the debrief. He for sure didn’t need to air his personal problems with a bunch of hard-assed cops and agents. Steven Hofler gave them a full after-action report.

  “As we suspected, Jamal and Kasim were part of a four-man team sent here after six months at a training camp in Mexico. We’re all aware that one of their team was shot crossing the border and another was killed by Delta Force team member Marc Blanchard as they escaped the cottage where they stayed.

  “They were plagued by problems from the git-go, especially when two men ended up having to carry out an assignment meant for four. Still, if we hadn’t learned about this, and if we hadn’t had invaluable help identifying them, they could have done incredible damage. Hundreds of people would have been killed or injured and the fallout would have gone on for days, maybe even weeks.”

  Vasquez cleared his throat. “Marc, we owe you and your lady a huge debt of thanks. She’s a smart woman who kept her head even when she was kidnapped, and helped us a lot with this.” He smiled. “A definite keeper.”

  Marc couldn’t agree more. Now he just had to find a way to get Nikki on board.

  Hofler went on to tell them that the injured terrorist had been found near death from infection and was currently under guard at a hospital. Rafiq and his crew had been rounded up, and Homeland Security was continuing to follow threads to see where else they led.