Gambling With the Enemy: Horses - Mystery - Suspense

by Toni Leland

  Faith walked in the door. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

  “I just called Samir. . .Sometimes I feel like I won’t make it through this.”

  “I know, me too. But after Saturday, we should be able to get back to normal. . .” Her voice dropped. “Whatever that is. Well, I have the pleasure of an audience with little King Mohammed this morning. I think after Saturday, I’m going to make some excuse why I can’t teach him anymore. If I never see another A-Rab, it’ll be too soon.”

  She turned and disappeared into the barn, leaving Jess alone with her own similar thoughts.

  Rage flooded through Samir’s head as he paced back and forth in his tiny office at the back of the shop. How could he have been so careless? Offering Zada the opportunity to go home for an extended visit seemed a good idea at the time. She was thrilled, confirming his suspicions of her unhappiness about living in the United States. His anger flagged a little–his motives hadn’t been completely honest. No matter how deeply ingrained his allegiance to the cause, a fierce desire to protect those he loved still prevailed. In a short while, life in America would not be so easy for his family. His tender thoughts reverted to cold fury. Zada had not only dishonored him, she had put his beautiful Dania in harm’s way. His wife would pay dearly for her loose tongue.

  Pushing his personal problems aside, he concentrated on the work that lay ahead. Some minor adjustments needed to be made, and quickly. Jessica Rayder hadn’t fallen neatly into his plans, and he’d been forced to find another, less convenient safe house. He picked up a folder and removed a large photograph, shaking his head as he gazed at the aerial shot of Easton Ridge. The perfect place, compromised because of a damned woman. With a flick of his lighter, the corner of the paper curled, and he dropped the photo into an empty metal wastebasket. He watched it burn, and the flames fed his fervor.

  Chapter 38

  Mona stood just beyond the office door.

  “Did you call Samir?”

  She’s already heard. Jess donned a mask of innocence. “Yes, he’ll meet me in the office before the end of the lunch break.”

  Mona came into the room, her eyes narrowed slits.

  “Anything else?”

  Jess’s facade faltered. If she wanted to stay out of Kerr’s way, she’d better be up front.

  “I told him I was sorry to lose Dania as a student.”

  “And why, exactly, did you do that?”

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe he’d talk about his plans, and your guys could get it on tape.”

  Mona stepped up close to the desk. “Jess, you’re becoming a liability. We have too much invested in this operation for you to be rodeoing through it. I’m only going to tell you one time. Let us do our jobs–we’re professionals, we know what we’re doing. Don’t do or say anything we haven’t written into the script.” She stared into Jess’s eyes. “Understand?”

  Jess nodded, biting back the urge to snap a retort. Mona was right.

  The agent stepped back and pulled a small notebook from her pocket.

  “You said there’d be about seventy-five guests on Saturday. Can you give me an idea of the mix? Will it be mostly adults? Women? We can’t have only male agents mixed in, if the audience is all women and kids. That would look strange.”

  Jess was amazed at the logistical details of the plan. “Mostly women and kids. Some fathers, but not many.”

  Mona wrote something, then looked up. “Anything else I should know about?”

  Jess started to shake her head, then remembered the surprise visit from Officer Carter. Was it important? Reminded of the repercussions from her last foray into independence, she let out a long sigh.

  “There’ll be an additional guest and his daughter. He stopped by last night. He’s a cop.”

  Mona’s usual restraint disintegrated. “For Chrissake! What was he doing here?”

  As Jess related the story of the taillight, Mona gathered her emotions and stuffed them back into whatever dark hole they inhabited most of the time. When Jess finished, Mona pulled out her cellphone and punched auto-dial.

  “Kerr? We have a situation. . .yeah, right. Anyway, a cop plans to bring his kid to the show on Saturday.” Mona jerked the phone away from her head and frowned, then gingerly put the instrument back to her ear.

  “Calm down. I’ll find out.”

  She placed the phone against her chest. “What precinct is this guy with? Do you know his name?”

  “He’s a State Trooper. Officer Carter.”

  Mona rolled her eyes and put the phone back to her ear. “It gets better. He’s a Statie. Name’s Carter.”

  She listened for a few minutes, then nodded, said goodbye, and pocketed the phone.

  Jess scowled. “What the hell difference does it make if a policeman comes to a horseshow on his off-time? I can’t read your mind, so if you have guidelines about this plan, I’d like to know what they are.”

  “Jess, there’s always a chance for casualties in an operation like this. We’d prefer to have no civilians around if a takedown happens. We could fill the audience with skilled agents, but it would send all the wrong signals if no parents or families are watching the show. If something goes wrong, a trained law enforcement officer would react, and that could blow this whole operation to hell. He cannot be here.”

  “But how can you keep him away?”

  “We’ll get in touch with his supervisor, get him called in for relief duty or something.”

  She left the office and Jess leaned back in the chair. In twenty-four hours, her world would become the stage for God-only-knew what. Visions of violence played through her head, a concept that had never occurred to her until Mona’s warning.

  How could a run of bad financial luck spawn the treachery that now festered inside the once-secure boundaries of her life? Why hadn’t her intuitive skill for dodging bullets kept her out of trouble? She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to keep the painful answers from crowding into her tired brain.

  Angry shouting outside the window brought her back with a jolt, and she leaped up to have a look. Faith stood facing eleven-year-old Ibrahim, who waved his arms wildly while he ranted. Faith’s body language indicated something would give any second, and Jess raced outside, heading toward the two at a brisk trot. As she came closer, she cringed at the nasty tone in the boy’s voice.

  “You are a stupid woman! I want to ride the black horse! Do not tell me what to do!”

  Faith’s cheeks were crimson with anger. “You listen! I’m the boss here, and you’ll ride the horse I tell you to. In fact, you’re not going to ride any of my horses! How does that sound?”

  Jess broke in. “What’s going on?”

  The boy turned his haughty gaze on her. “I pay a lot of money to come here to ride. I do not expect to use your old broken-down nags for my lessons.”

  Jess narrowed her eyes at the miniature replica of what she now considered the enemy.

  “Well, then, Ibrahim, I think you need to take lessons somewhere else.”

  In Jess’s peripheral vision, Nadia Mohammed hurried toward them, her features rigid, her dark eyes cold.

  The woman slipped her arm around Ibrahim’s shoulders. “What is the problem?”

  Faith’s tone was firm. “Ibrahim is a difficult child to teach. He’s not ready to take lessons here. We’re geared toward more advanced students, young people with strong desires to excel at the sport. Ibrahim’s riding is recreational. I can recommend other stables that are more suitable.”

  The boy turned to his mother. “She only gives me boring old horses that have no fire. I want to ride the good ones!”

  Mrs. Mohammed gazed at Jess. “I’m sorry you feel my son’s interest in riding is beneath your standards. We came here as a favor to the Mahfoods. We understood you were in financial trouble and needed money. Obviously, your own pride is more important than your future.” She gave the boy a gentle nudge. “Come, Ibrahim. We will go home.”

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nbsp; Adjusting her hijaab, she looked directly at Jess. “The Holy Qur’an teaches the virtue of humility. No one should boast over one another, and no one should oppress another. Allaahu akbar.”

  She turned and walked away.

  Faith muttered under her breath, “Speak for yourself, Lady.”

  Chapter 39

  By mid-afternoon, Jess felt as though she’d been slogging through mud. Nadia Mohammed’s knowledge about Easton’s finances proved that a strong tie existed between the Middle Easterners who’d suddenly peppered Jess’s life. Were they all an integral part of the plot? Or just convincing window dressing–a clever ploy to cast a sense of normalcy over a deeper undercurrent?

  She tried to concentrate on all the details for the horse show, but her subconscious ticked off the hours as her fate moved closer. The numbers blurred on the accounting page in front of her, as her brain focused on Saturday’s schedule. The youngest riders would go first, followed by a couple of the advanced students. Then, Alex and Beth would demonstrate the various riding gaits, just before the lunch break. Jess’s breath caught. The beginning of the excitement–or terror. She tried to imagine the FBI’s apprehension of the suspects. Would armed men crash into the office as soon as Samir handed over the check? Would there be shooting? She closed her eyes tightly. All those kids! How can these guys protect everyone?

  She thought about Dania and sympathy sifted into her heart. The girl became a different child when she rode a horse. Open, curious, enthusiastic–happy. In the shadow of her mother or father, however, she withdrew behind her small hijaab, disappearing into the mysterious world of a Muslim female.

  In a century where women in many countries excelled at most things–even surpassed their male counterparts in some–the antiquity of the Middle Eastern woman’s submissive role glowed like a hot coal. In America, Dania had the opportunity to be anything she wanted, but if Zada and Samir kept her pressed into the cookie-cutter mold of the culture, she would never even recognize the freedom she’d missed.

  Pain replaced the empathy in Jess’s heart at the images evolving in her head. What would happen to Dania when her father was arrested? Would Zada be taken, too? The visions sharpened. A frightened little girl, shuffled between foster homes, or maybe even sent back to Yemen to live with relatives she’d never met. And how would that affect her? What lasting impression would she have of America? A bitter taste rose in Jess’s mouth. The drama about to unfold would plant the seeds of hatred in yet another young Middle Eastern heart, and America’s battle with terrorism would be a never-ending conflict.

  Tires crunched on the gravel outside, and Peterson’s black pickup pulled into the parking area.

  An hour later, Jess leaned her head in her hands and closed her eyes. Peterson and Mona had drilled her and Faith relentlessly, taking them both through every step of the operation, over and over, coaching, haranguing, pelting them with questions, pushing them to the edge to find any weak spots. With each assault, Jess’s courage grew, strengthening her determination to withstand the intense pressure. Even Faith’s subdued attitude disappeared as she got used to the idea

  Peterson grinned and snapped his notebook shut. “You did good, ladies. See you Saturday morning.”

  Jess watched the agents drive away. The silence in the office felt ominous, and she wondered, for a second, if she should use the opportunity to try to break through Faith’s barriers.

  Her partner’s soft voice answered the question.

  “I don’t hate you, Jessie.”

  Tears sprang to Jess’s eyes, and her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Faith. You have every reason to be angry with me.” She turned, blinking the moisture away. “I get so involved in problems, I think I can beat them single-handed. . .and I’ve been worried about you.”

  Faith sighed, deep and long. “I’ve been a bigger part of the problem than I should have. We’re partners, and I failed you miserably.”

  Jess gestured toward the chair by the desk, but Faith shook her head and smiled sadly.

  “I think better on my feet.” She began pacing. “When I went home that first night, I was so angry I wanted to kill you–I blamed you, and our financial mess, for my problems. Later, when I cooled down a little, I wanted a drink. Really wanted a drink.”

  She stopped and leveled a serious look at Jess. “It was a pivotal moment. I had a choice to make: the easy way–and flush my life down the drain again–or the tough road–find the strength to overcome my demons.” She resumed pacing. “I had a helluva time for about an hour. I even poured a glass of wine. . .stared at it, touched it, smelled it. . .”

  Jess ached with the pain of Faith’s struggle, feeling it seep into her own heart.

  “What did you do?” she whispered.

  Faith’s sad expression almost broke Jess’s heart.

  “I dumped it down the sink, then called Bill.” She smiled at Jess’s surprise. “Yeah, I needed a partner to talk me through the temptation–someone who’d been there. I had to swallow my pride.”

  “And?”

  “Hardest damned thing I’ve ever done, Jessie. But he was so good about it, even offered to come over, but I said no.”

  Jess had a sudden worrisome thought. She tried to keep her tone level.

  “What all did you talk about?”

  Faith’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t worry–I didn’t say anything about what’s going on. I’m not as blonde as you’d like to think.”

  “I didn’t mean–”

  “Yes, you did, and it’s okay–I can’t blame you for not trusting my judgment.” She exhaled sharply, and her tone softened. “I told him the financial mess was getting me down. . .and that I missed him terribly.” Her chin trembled and she fell silent.

  “Honey, will you stay with me tonight? Please?”

  “No, I have to be able to function on my own. I can’t be someone else’s responsibility all my life–but I will call you if I need to.”

  Jess jumped up and slipped her arms around Faith and hugged her tightly.

  “I promise I’ll always be there.”

  Late that night, Jess lay in bed, staring into the darkness, thinking about all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. It seemed an eternity since Howard had gone, and she couldn’t wait for him to return. Surprising as it seemed, she needed his strength and support.

  Her thoughts snapped back to the situation. What terrible plot might be in its last stages? American bloodshed in the war had reached a level no one could ignore, and it seemed logical that more blood would be spilled on American soil to emphasize al Qaeda’s hatred of the infidel.

  She shuddered and threw back the quilt. I need a horse fix. Controlling the tangible, manageable aspects of her life would be the only way to confront her feelings of powerlessness.

  The crisp night air chilled her face as she walked across the field toward the barn. A sliver of waning moon hung below a cloud, casting an eerie glow over the landscape. Something crackled in the underbrush and her heart thumped. An opossum scuttled across the driveway and into the dark protection of the trees. Jess quickened her pace.

  The large sliding doors at both ends of the barn were always left open a crack to allow fresh air to circulate through the warm building. As she approached the closest door, she suddenly felt she was not alone. Her step slowed. A hard knot rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard. She’d just flown in the face of Mona and Kerr’s stern warnings. What in God’s name is the matter with me?

  Standing just outside the barn, she listened. Something was definitely wrong. At well past midnight, the horses should be sound asleep. Instead, sounds of restless feet and curious snuffling drifted through the open door. Someone was inside the barn.

  A wave of fright crashed over her, and she darted past the door and into the dark shadows behind the building. From that vantage point, she could see the carriage house. The apartment windows were dark, but the silhouette of the van was visible in the thin moonlight. Hafez and Mustafa had returned.
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  She closed her eyes and took deep, measured breaths, willing her pulse to stop racing. She needed to get back to the house quickly, and without being seen. She looked again toward the carriage house, and her breath froze. At the back corner of the structure, a tiny light flared, illuminating a man’s face for a moment. The flame died, and the small orange dot of a cigarette glowed steadily in the dark.

  Jess could barely breathe. Terror paralyzed every muscle. A small noise behind her sent a blast of adrenaline careening through her system, and she crouched down. The glowing cigarette moved slowly toward the dark barn.

  She listened, hearing only her pulse thundering in her ears. A minute later, she began to move through the trees toward the house. Feeling her way, she tried to move silently. Brambles tore at her bare ankles. Every step crunched on dry leaves and twigs. She stopped once and looked back, listening intently for any sign she’d been detected, but the night air was heavy and still. Another step found a rabbit hole, and she went down on one knee. Pain seared through her hand as she connected with something sharp. She finally reached the edge of the woods next to the house, and sank onto a fallen tree. Inhaling deeply, she willed her pulse to slow, and tried to stifle the sobs crawling up her throat.

  The moon reappeared, brightening the arena and pastures. At that moment, two figures emerged from the barn. They each appeared to be carrying something. Their muffled voices drifted on the night breeze as they skirted the arena, then headed across the pasture toward the main highway. Terror bore down on Jess like a gale force wind. They’re moving the weapons. A deadly plot was imminent.

  When the figures were out of sight, she slipped around the side of the house and into the kitchen. A minute later, Mona answered the phone.

  “Mona? It’s me, Jess. They’re moving the weapons. . .I just saw–huh? No, I couldn’t sleep. I went out for some fresh air.”

  Mona thanked her for the heads-up, then said goodnight. Jess closed her eyes and pondered the agent’s unsurprised tone. Without a doubt, Mona already knew, which meant agents were hiding out there in the dark. The noises in the woods–for sure, they’d seen her lurking near the barn. Nothing to do about it now. Tomorrow she’d probably be taken into protective custody.