by Laura Scott
“Did you set off the recent explosion in Baltimore?” Jordan asked as he pulled away from the store. “The one in the parking structure?”
Elam met his gaze without wavering. “Does it matter?”
Jordan understood the man’s leeriness. “Not really, although I suspect you used it as a diversion to rescue Bryn.”
Another long pause. “Yes,” Elam said simply. “Although my sole purpose was to free Meira. I must be honest, I knew nothing about the child until I found the two of them together.”
For a brief moment Jordan looked heavenward, knowing God had played a role in this. His heart swelled with gratitude and a humble relief. “I’m glad you were able to help them, Elam. Thank you.”
There was a slight hesitation before the man nodded his head. “You are welcome.”
Jordan had many, many more questions to ask Elam, but he didn’t intend to do that with Bryn listening in. His daughter had been traumatized enough, no need to burden her with the terrorist attack that was in the works.
But he felt better now knowing that Elam had defected from the group.
With Elam’s help, they might be able to prevent the terrorist act from moving forward.
If it wasn’t already too late.
* * *
September 10 – 3:01 p.m. – Washington, DC
“Okay, we’re going to take you to your regular room now.”
Mustaf peered up at the nurse, hiding his resentment and forcing himself to respond politely. “Thank you.”
“You must be someone really important,” she said while disconnecting wires from his chest. “There are soldiers standing guard outside, waiting for you.” She flashed a smile. “We didn’t let them into the operating rooms or the recovery area, but they told me they would be with you from now on.” She smiled and lowered her voice. “I’ve never seen so many handsome men.”
Soldiers? The unwelcome news hit hard. Until now, he’d been convinced that his people would find a way to free him from this place.
No easy task while being guarded by soldiers.
The nurse pushed his bed through the area, making his stomach lurch. He caught glimpses of health care workers and other patients on gurneys much like his as he was wheeled through the recovery area and into the hallway.
Two men stepped up beside him, one on either side of his gurney. They were clearly military men, with their ramrod straight posture and short haircuts. Neither one of them spoke but simply fell into step as the nurse pushed him forward. Mustaf couldn’t see much of their uniforms but figured they had to be from the air force base where he’d been shot.
And he wanted to puke when the stupid woman gushed over them.
“Such handsome escorts, thank you so much for your service to our country.”
“Ma’am,” one said with a brief nod.
He closed his eyes in an effort to ignore them. Two soldiers walking alongside him ready for anything, but were there more? Located at various positions within the hospital, the entrances and exits? If so, how many in total?
He had no way of knowing. The gurney bounced against the wall, sending a shaft of pain spearing through him. He wanted to rant and rave at the stupid female who was being so careless but sensed the soldiers would not take kindly to an outburst.
He needed to remain calm. Lull them into a sense of complacency.
Waiting and hoping that his people would find a way to sneak in and save him.
* * *
September 10 – 3:09 p.m. – Baltimore, MD
Diana had insisted her daughter shower and change her clothes, but when it came time to eat, Bryn could only manage half her cheeseburger and a handful of fries before she pushed the remnants of her meal away. “I’m stuffed. That was good, Mom, thanks.” She eyed Jordan shyly. “And thanks to you too . . . um, Dad.”
Jordan’s smile was gentle. “You’re more than welcome, Bryn.”
Diana had quickly told Bryn that Jordan really was her father, which Bryn seemed happy about. She reached out and rested her hand on Bryn’s arm, unable to keep from touching her daughter. Bryn was alive and relatively unharmed. Oh, she knew very well her sweet little girl would be forever changed over this horrible experience. Bryn was acting normal enough know, but Diana knew she needed to be prepared for Bryn to suffer nightmares and flashbacks at the very least.
Her daughter would need professional help when this was over. But, for now, she was safe. And that was all Diana could ask for.
God had answered her prayers.
“I hope you don’t mind that I told Meira you would help her and Elam escape,” Bryn went on, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “She’s worried about her baby. And you’ve helped so many others, I didn’t think adding two more would matter.”
Diana glanced at Jordan who was listening intently to this new turn in their conversation. The curious and determined expression in his eyes warned that she’d better fill him in on what Bryn meant, very soon.
She swallowed hard and nodded to indicate she understood what he was silently asking. She’d always feared this day would come. She’d done what she’d felt was necessary to honor her mother’s memory, and she wasn’t going to apologize for her actions. Besides, that was all in the past. It didn’t matter, not anymore. “Of course, I don’t mind, baby.” She smiled and hugged Bryn close. “Happy to help those who protected you.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Jordan asked with a frown.
“I’ll explain later.” She glanced at Elam and Meira. “I think we need to understand what we’re up against first.”
Elam glanced at Meira, then at Jordan. “It’s better if we speak in private.”
“Why? Because women don’t understand enough about what’s going on in the world?” Diana tried to take the edge from her tone. “Trust me, Elam, I come from a family with men who didn’t hesitate to do whatever was necessary to get what they wanted. We’re in this together.”
Elam didn’t seem to agree, but he didn’t push the issue either. “I only know my role in the master plan, nothing more.”
“And your role was to bring me to the men in charge?” Jordan asked.
Elam shook his head. “No, I believed you were one of them, like those in charge. I didn’t know you were working for the US government.”
Intrigued, Diana leaned forward. “You thought Jordan was one of the bad guys?”
“Yes. I was told there was a new recruit ready to die for the cause.” Elam glanced at Jordan. “I believed you to be one of them. Your accent and your Arabic is flawless. Very impressive.”
“Thanks, I think,” Jordan drawled.
A hint of a smile tugged at Elam’s mouth. The first Diana had witnessed since picking them up outside the Walmart Supercenter.
“What were the warehouses used for?” Diana asked.
“Various things,” Elam responded. “The one I blew up contained bomb components; another is a location to make false IDs and passports. There were a few others, one specifically to store guns, but I was not involved in the level of detail you are asking for.”
“Who’s in charge?” Jordan pressed. “I mean, you must know something that will help us find them.”
Elam was silent for a long time. “I do not know the name, but the main headquarters is known as Liberty.”
“Liberty?” Jordan repeated, his gaze clashing momentarily with hers. “The warehouse where we believe Bryn and Meira were being held was known as Liberty Bell.”
“Yes, but Liberty is the main location.” Elam glanced at Meira, then reluctantly added, “It is located in Washington, DC.”
Diana inwardly groaned. Of course, it was. Why on earth did all roads have to lead back to DC?
The terrorist plot couldn’t be centered around the White House, there was no way in the world anyone would get close to planting a bomb there. The place was crawling with Secret Service, and anyone going in and out had to be carefully vetted.
No backpacks or other carry-ons were allowed in e
ither.
“Do you know the target?” Diana asked. “Knowing that is half the battle.”
Elam shook his head. “I make bombs, that is all.”
Bombs. Plural. The magnitude hit hard. How many possible targets could there be? Five? Ten? A dozen?
She swallowed hard.
Too many.
* * *
September 10 – 3:17 p.m. – Washington, DC
He slit the man’s throat, grimacing at the copious amount of blood.
He despised getting his hands dirty. He paid men to do this for him. But they were useless, every single one.
Except perhaps his third-in-command. Yes, he believed the young man known as Amar was eager to make his mark within his command structure. Dropping the dead man to the ground, he moved back and turned toward his second-in-command. The guy stood stoic, as if unmoved by seeing his cohort’s demise.
Then his second-in-command bowed down before him, offering the vulnerable back of his neck. “I understand the punishment for failure.”
The sacrifice gave him pause. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe this man and Amar could turn this mess around.
Sadly, things couldn’t get much worse.
“You will find Rashid, his woman, and the girl and return them to me.”
“Yes.”
He hesitated, wondering if he was getting soft. Normally he wouldn’t tolerate any of this.
But the clock was ticking, and they were running out of time.
He needed answers, soon. And he needed to know everything was going to fall into place as planned.
“Amar, you are with me.” He turned and walked away, with Amar following close behind.
His second-in-command remained kneeling with his head bowed low, knowing that he must deliver on his promise.
Or die.
* * *
September 10 – 3:28 p.m. – Baltimore, MD
Jordan asked Sun to get a second motel room connected to theirs for Elam and Meira. He knew that Elam would require privacy for his wife. He plugged in the satellite computer that had no battery left, then drew Elam aside. Despite Diana’s desire to be included, he wanted a few words alone with the man who had briefly been his contact within the terrorist cell.
“Tell me about the bombs,” he said in a low voice.
Elam avoided his gaze and shrugged. “There is nothing to tell. I make as many as they order. When I’m finished, they take them to the appropriate locations.”
“And you have no idea what the locations might be?” Jordan pressed. He knew that it was common for the plan to be parceled out in isolated pieces without any communication between members, but he wanted, needed more.
“No.” There was no hesitation in Elam’s tone.
Jordan battled a wave of frustration. “Come on, Elam, you must know something. Was each bomb the same size and type?” He thought for a moment about the padlock that was on the door of the warehouse. “Did you make a bomb in the shape of a lock for the warehouse known as American Lumber?”
“Yes, that was my work.” Elam almost looked proud of what he’d created. “I’m sorry about detonating that device, but you and the woman were too close. I waited for you to be far enough away but needed to detonate the device to maintain our mission.”
“I doubt the man who died felt it was necessary,” Jordan said testily. “You realize more innocent people may have suffered or died in the parking structure explosion too.”
Elam lowered his gaze to the floor. “Yes, I am aware. It was necessary to do as I was told until I could free Meira.”
Jordan blew out a breath. “Yeah, okay. I get it. You did all of this for Meira.”
“For my wife and our unborn child.” Elam glanced up with a hint of defiance. “As I’m sure you would do the same for your woman and your daughter.”
Jordan couldn’t help glancing over to where Diana and Bryn were huddled together on the bed. Diana would bristle at being thought of as his woman, but he couldn’t fault Elam’s logic. “Yes.”
“In answer to your question, no, the bombs I have made are not all the same size and shape,” Elam said. “They are each different.”
“Different how?”
Elam spread his hands wide. “They tell me what they want, and I make each device according to their request. There are often repeats, but in different sizes.”
A thrill of anticipation hit hard. “Give me an example.”
“I have made several birds, baby rabbits, pinecones, and rocks,” Elam said.
“Birds, baby rabbits, pinecones, and rocks?” This wasn’t at all what he’d expected. “How much damage can one of those small bombs do?”
“Plenty,” Elam admitted. “I used a seagull for the parking structure. Have you seen the end result of the explosion on the television?”
Jordan hadn’t, so he quickly crossed over and turned on the television. It wasn’t difficult to find a news station covering the story. There would be drones and/or helicopters flying above the area taking photographs.
A female reporter stood in front of the camera, fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars cluttering the background. He couldn’t tell how much damage there was to the structure from the current angle and was about to switch stations when the camera switched views and showed the gaping hole along the northwest section of the building.
A sick sense of dread settled in his gut. “That was done by one of your small devices?”
“Yes.” Elam stared at the television screen with sad eyes. “I hope God will find a way to forgive my sins.”
“God does forgive us, but we also need to do our part,” he pointed out. “Elam, your part of this atonement is to help me figure out where your devices were taken. Can you make a list of what you’ve made?”
“Yes, but I cannot write very well in English.”
“I’ll write, you talk.” Jordan pulled paper and a pen from the motel desk drawer. “How many birds, pinecones, and rocks?”
“Three birds, three baby rabbits, four pinecones, and four rocks,” Elam recited. “And I have made a few”—he waved a hand, searching for the right word—“decorative types of things, like with flowers and such. They showed me a picture, and I made what I saw in the picture.”
Jordan set the pen aside and glanced at Sun. “The decorative bomb with flowers might be a clue we can follow up on. Sun, use the sat computer that’s fully charged to help Elam review all the tourist attractions in DC to see if he can identify any of the decorative things with flowers he made. Can you do that with him?”
Sun nodded.
Jordan stared at his brief list. Sixteen items so far, with likely a few more. All with the ability to leave gaping holes in structures or kill dozens of people.
They needed to find each and every one of Elam’s devices, before it was too late.
* * *
September 10 – 3:58 p.m. – Washington, DC
Mustaf heard the soft swish as the door to his hospital room opened and the muted squeak of footsteps on shiny linoleum approaching his bed. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing even.
Friend or foe?
He hated feeling helpless and at the mercy of others. Even if this was a foe, he was too weak to fight, doing his best to handle the throbbing pain in his abdomen.
“Can you hear me?” The low voice spoke in Syrian, his native language.
Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge the stranger standing near his bed in any way. If this man was here to silence him for good, there was nothing he could do to stop it.
But . . . where were the soldiers who were allegedly standing guard outside his room? Had they been paid off by his enemies to leave their station?
“I know you can hear me, Ahmed Mustaf,” the voice continued. “I am here to tell you to be ready to move in roughly four hours.”
Be ready to move? Mustaf opened his eyes to see a man with a face mask covering his nose and mouth looming over him. “I will be ready,” he said in a guttural tone.
“Good.” The man turned and left.
Mustaf glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly four in the afternoon. It would seem he would be freed by eight o’clock as promised.
Nothing would get in the way of their mission.
Nothing!
Chapter Eighteen
September 10 – 4:23 p.m. – Baltimore, MD
Diana slipped away from Bryn, who’d fallen asleep. Leaving her daughter’s side wasn’t easy, but she needed to do her part in helping Jordan understand what the terrorists planned to target.
“We need to talk.”
Jordan glanced up at her, then nodded. They went to the far corner of the room, away from the spot were Sun and Elam were scrolling through websites.
“What did Bryn mean when she said you helped others escape?” Jordan asked in a low voice.
She licked her dry lips. “You already know that after my uncle found and murdered my mother, and his son Tariq tried to kill us, I was taken into witness protection. But after a few years, I learned about other women who were suffering at the hands of their husbands, fathers, uncles, grandfathers . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I did some research and found there was a Muslim Shelter in Raleigh, which was only two and a half hours from where we lived.”
“You decided to volunteer?” Jordan asked when she paused.
“Yes, they welcomed me with open arms because I could speak Arabic.” She hesitated, then told him the rest. “Soon, though, they asked for additional help.”
“Like?”
She met his dark gaze. “There is an underground railroad of sorts, a way to transport women who fear for their lives from one area to the next. Because I lived close to the ocean, I became a drop-off point. The boats would come in at night, and I would take the woman and hide her until she could be transported safely to the shelter.”
Jordan blew out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “You took a huge risk, Diana. Part of being in witness protection is to sever all ties to your former life. I doubt participating in an underground railroad for Muslim women is exactly keeping away from your roots.”