Gambling With the Enemy: Horses - Mystery - Suspense

by Toni Leland

  Chapter 40

  The following morning, Jess leaned on the arena fence to watch Beth Caldwell work, but in minutes, her thoughts snapped forward to the plans. She glanced at her watch. In twenty-four hours, she’d be free again–or dead. The thought sent a wave of determination through her mind, then a spark of excitement. For the past few days, she’d been sleepwalking through the surreal activities–almost like watching a play. The final act was about to begin, and now she knew her part. Memorize her lines and don’t miss any cues. This wasn’t about what life handed out, but how one handled it. I can do this.

  “Thanks for calling me last night.”

  Jess jumped, then grinned. “Sorry I woke you–I was really frazzled.”

  Mona leaned her back against a fence post. “You did the right thing, proved you’re a team player–we weren’t sure for awhile. I know this has been hard–you’re on your own turf and used to being in charge. I’ve seen how good you are at what you do. You’re very professional.” She looked Jess directly in the eye. “I think you understand, in this situation, you’re not a pro. But we are. We’ve covered every base, anticipated things you’d never imagine. We’re ready to proceed in the quickest, safest way possible. But you must be conscious–every second–of the potential danger in this operation, and your role in it. We need you.”

  Jess nodded, comforted by her own new attitude about the situation. “I’m ready.”

  Mona pushed away from the post and grinned. “Well, I got stalls to clean.”

  Jess glanced back at the rider in the arena, then fell into step beside Mona. When they reached the door, she caught the agent’s sleeve.

  “Do you think Zada’s part of the plot?”

  “We’re not sure. These guys are very cagey about who they include in their circles. Wives are usually excluded, but Zada’s not your usual subservient wife.”

  “The hell she isn’t! You should have heard her carrying on about wifely duties and obedience and morality.”

  Mona posed a grim smile. “She’s a good actress, Jess. Her background and education belie the character she becomes for you.”

  Jess nodded thoughtfully. What had Shakespeare said? “All the world’s a stage. . .” In the space of a few days, Jess had learned, all too well, that things weren’t always what they seemed. Apparently, she’d lost her sharp insight about people.

  “Are you going to arrest her, too?”

  Mona clucked her tongue. “That’s a need-to-know item. Not included in your script.”

  In the casino coffee shop, Samir concentrated on his friends’ angry conversation. Because they wore the features of the Middle East, they felt scrutinized, suspected, and feared. They had a right to their indignation–most of them had lived in America all their lives, but now felt like strangers compelled to prove their worth.

  Fury burned in Samir’s chest. These were good men, devout Muslims. They should be afforded more respect. But what did Americans know about respect? They entertained themselves with filthy books and films. The women were careless of their bodies, wearing immodest clothing and displaying bare flesh to the world, painting their faces like harlots–even the young girls. No self-respecting Muslim man would allow his wife or daughters to shame him with such actions.

  His thoughts turned to Zada, recalling her sobs of the night before. He felt no pity–she deserved everything he’d handed out. She would never step outside her boundaries again.

  “Samir, when will you make the pilgrimage?”

  He smiled at the elderly man beside him. “Ahh, Mecca. Soon, Insha’Allaah.” He rose and bobbed his head. “I must go now. I will see you all again. Allaahu akbar.”

  He walked away, the group’s echoed good wishes drifting behind him. Moving slowly down the marble concourse, he gazed at the surroundings that had been his personal getaway for so long. The beautiful trappings provided such an elegant camouflage for the relentless undercurrent of addiction. The Achilles’ heel of the Western World. He smiled without humor. Jessica Rayder was one of the fallen. How he wished he could tell her what a helpmate she’d been to his mission. Unfortunately, she would never understand its importance, and her assistance would go unacknowledged. In fact, her very existence had become a liability.

  He passed through the heavy glass doors and headed toward his car. When he reached the jammed parking lot, he pulled out the prepaid cellphone he’d purchased that morning.

  “Mustafa? Yes, the weather looks very good for Saturday.” He listened for a moment, then nodded. “Quy-eese. Be sure to feed the horse. Ma’assalama.”

  By mid-afternoon, all the students had been coached one last time, saddles and bridles were polished to a fine sheen, and the barn hummed with excitement. Jess listened to the happy young voices out in the aisle, and thought back to her own youth, her first horse, her first show–the excitement and fright pounding through her chest as she’d waited at the in-gate. Her eyes misted. The beginning of the dream. Captured by the euphoria of victory, she and Faith had made a pact to someday open their very own riding stable. Those were the days. Not a care in the world except getting on that horse and beating Felicity Smarty-Pants.

  Beth Caldwell’s pert face appeared in the office doorway.

  “See you in the morning, Jess.”

  “Right. You get a good night’s sleep. It’ll be a big day.”

  Jess’s thoughts sobered. Faith’s girls were all good friends, with only a touch of friendly rivalry. Nothing like the nasty and devious undercurrent that could thread its way through a group of serious show-jumping competitors. Her heart lurched at the thought of putting the children in harm’s way. If something went wrong and one of them was injured or killed, she’d never forgive herself.

  Suppose there is gunfire? Or hostages? Good grief, what

  better way for the terrorists to escape than to take a couple of little girls with them?

  “Dammit, I need to talk to Mona.”

  Jess leaped out of her chair, and it careened into the file cabinet. Out in the aisle, she assumed a pleasant smile and looked around. Lexie Troy walked toward her, leading Jazz Man.

  “Hey, Lex, how’s he doin’?”

  The teenager’s face blossomed into a big smile. “Really good. The vet says I can start riding him again next week.” Her smile faded and she stuck out her lower lip. “But no jumping for another month.”

  “I’m sure sorry, honey, but you know you can ride Danny as long as you want.”

  The girl smiled again. “Thanks–he’s, like, really a neat horse.”

  She headed out the door toward the paddock, and Jess remembered what she’d been doing.

  “Anybody seen Mona?”

  The agent emerged from Buster’s stall. “I’m down here. What do you need?”

  Jess motioned for her to follow, then walked briskly toward the barn door. Outside, she lowered her voice.

  “I have to know how you’re going to protect the students.”

  Mona’s mouth twitched into a patronizing smile, and Jess stepped up close. “No crap, Mona. You’ve let me know I’m no pro, but I have a responsibility to these kids and their parents. You tell me right now what the plan is, or there won’t be any plan.”

  The agent’s features hardened. “Don’t even try blackmail, Jess–it won’t work. I’ll fill you in, but know this: it’s not because I’m afraid you’ll take your ball and go home.”

  Jess stood her ground, unblinking, and the old instincts returned: if the opposition can read your face, it’s over. As far as she was concerned, if they couldn’t protect the kids, the agents were her opponents.

  Mona’s confident tone lent credibility to her answer. “Once the riders and families begin to arrive, Mustafa and Hafez will never be left alone, and Samir will be surrounded in the spectator section. If they make any threatening moves, we’ll stop them.”

  “Why can’t we have protective vests for the riders, like I’m going to have?”

  Mona snorted. “Why don’t we just tak
e out an ad in the local newspaper? ‘Terrorist Cell to be Caught.’ Jess, I’m telling you one more time–don’t start making your own plans. You have to trust us. The kids will be safe.”

  Jess’s hostility faded, and she exhaled slowly. “Boy, I hope so.”

  Mona touched her arm. “I promise.” Her gaze moved across the field. “Looks like you have company.”

  Howard had set up shop on the breakfast bar. His open briefcase sat on one of the stools, and stacks of papers lined up neatly across the countertop. His rolled-up shirtsleeves revealed tanned, muscular forearms, and Jess’s stomach gave a little jump.

  She whistled softly. “Looks like Legal Central here.” She climbed up on a stool, and hooked her heels over a rung. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been working on a statement for the press. You and Faith need to rehearse it, be sure you both say the same things. Obviously, the FBI won’t want you to give away any of their planning secrets, but–”

  “Howard, you have to be kidding! We have to talk to the press?”

  “Jess, did you think something this big would go unnoticed? This place will be crawling with reporters and television cameras within a few hours after the horse show. You need to be prepared.”

  He handed her a sheet of paper. “Here are some logical questions they’ll ask, and some innocuous answers. I’ve put in a call to Peterson. I want his approval on these, and any guidance he might give us.”

  Jess scanned the list. “You’ve certainly thought of everything.”

  “Considering the seriousness of what you’re doing, I can’t afford not to.”

  Chapter 41

  Snuggled deep into her warm bed-nest, Jess dozed, listening to the weather.

  “. . .storms in Texas and Oklahoma. Here in Hartford, the wind is steady at five miles per hour, temperature is fifty-one degrees, and we’re looking at the chance of heavy rain sometime after midday.”

  She looked out the bedroom window, dismayed by the gloom on the other side of the glass. Even that early, the sky should have been a little brighter. The show would start at nine and, with any luck, finish before the weather turned nasty.

  “It’s six o’clock. At home, Americans are rising to face another sorrowful anniversary of the September Eleventh attacks on our nation. Around the country, memorials are planned, and President Bush has called for a national minute of silence at 8:45 this morning. God bless America.”

  A soft country-rock tune whined through the speaker and, with a heavy heart, Jess rolled out of bed.

  Waiting impatiently while the coffee brewed, she watched the mahogany liquid dribble into the pot, her mind taking a painful journey through the past few days. A lump rose in her throat and her eyes misted. After today, Howard would return to his forest refuge to surround himself with the positive things he’d built into his life, and she would return to the shell of an existence she’d worked so hard to attain. How in hell had she ever imagined she could make him part of it?

  The coffeemaker finished its task, she poured a mug, then walked out to the porch to collect her thoughts for the day ahead. On the horizon, a strip of sky brightened beneath low clouds, and a moment later, the sun leaked through a cleft in the billowy gray blanket. At the end of the road, headlights turned into the drive, and a couple of minutes later, Faith stepped onto the porch.

  The strain of the past few days etched her features. “Well, Jess, you ready for this?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. . .You know, I think about this nightmare and how it happened, and all I can see is a trail of my screw-ups, bungled chances, and poor judgment calls.” She shook her head. “God, I must have done something worthwhile at some point in my life.”

  Faith grabbed her, hugging fiercely. “You have! Don’t do this to yourself–especially not right now. We need you to be strong. You’re the glue that holds this plan together.” She stepped back, her eyes bright with tears. “You’re gonna be a hero, Jessie. I’d say that’s a pretty worthwhile accomplishment.”

  A car turned into the lane, followed by Mona’s truck, and Jess let out a long, slow breath.

  “Looks like the players are taking up their positions. Let’s go.”

  A small spurt of adrenaline pumped through her system, and her confidence rose. Today she’d have the chance to use her biggest and best bluff ever. The Poker Face of the Century.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, students began to arrive, and the barn echoed with noisy enthusiasm. Youthful laughter ricocheted off the rafters, horses whinnied and snorted, and someone boosted the volume on the barn radio, filling the air with the strains of good boot-stompin’ country music. Faith plunged into her mentor’s role, and Jess directed the guys putting up the food tent.

  Hafez and Mustafa went about the morning feed routine, and Mona cleaned stalls after each horse was taken out to groom. Jess assessed Mona’s diligence. She certainly knew how to play the part. I wonder if she feels any remorse for deceiving us. Or sadness that she won’t be coming here anymore. In the fervor of the past week, Jess hadn’t considered what emotions might be tormenting Mona. With the exception of that one brief glimpse of her personal dedication to wiping out terrorism, Mona had simply been a stranger in the midst of Jess’s chaos–a stranger who, under the wrong circumstances, could mutate from friend to foe in the blink of an eye.

  Jess glanced around her office, so familiar, so secure–the stage for the most important thing she’d ever do. She wondered if hidden cameras and microphones had been placed to document her meeting with Samir. Her stomach pitched, and she looked at the clock. Seven-thirty. In less than five hours, she would be the catalyst in one more strike for freedom.

  Through the office window, the sky had brightened, patches of blue interspersed the light gray clouds, and thin sunshine cast pale shadows over the arena. A group of parents drank from cups of steaming coffee, and chatted amiably, oblivious to the peril lurking in the depths of Easton Ridge. Would those parents string her up for putting their children in harm’s way? Jess closed her eyes and whispered a prayer of deliverance.

  Mona’s voice intruded. “Okay, Jess, time to get dressed.”

  She held up a clothes bag, and motioned toward the bathroom door in the corner. Inside the cramped room, she unzipped the bag and pulled out a dark blue vest. Jess’s breath caught again at the notion she might be in enough danger to need body armor. Mona fiddled with the garment, unhooking the four Velcro® straps that kept it together, then held it up and squinted at Jess’s figure.

  “This should fit. Peel off your shirt.”

  She wrapped the bulky vest around Jess’s chest, then hooked the shoulder straps.

  Jess exhaled sharply. “Wow, it’s really heavy–I had no idea.”

  Mona grinned. “Only seven pounds, but it’ll stop a .44 dead in its tracks.”

  The rough fabric against bare skin sent fear blasting through Jess’s head. This was for real–seriously deadly. Her life could depend on her skill at the bluff.

  Mona hooked the side straps tightly, to the point that Jess almost couldn’t breathe normally. The thick Kevlar® pad rubbed uncomfortably along the bottom of her rib cage, and the tiny bathroom closed in, wrapping her in the only brief safety she’d feel for the next few hours. Muted sounds from the show ring trickled through the cracks around the door, reminding her why she was closeted.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  Mona’s smile was less than reassuring. “Relax, Jess. You’re tight as a tick. You’ll be fine. This is just a precaution in case something goes haywire.” She shook her head emphatically. “But it won’t–trust me. Here, put your shirt back on.”

  Jess’s agitation grew. “How can you be so sure? These people are animals–they’ll do whatever they have to. You said so yourself.”

  Mona laid her hand on Jess’s shoulder. “They are, and they might. But we’re right on top of them. They’ll never know what hit ’em. We’re the pros, remember?”

  Except when you make a mis
take. Jess shuddered, thinking about Howard’s story of an operation gone bad.

  A few minutes later, she headed for Casey’s stall, frightened by the compulsion to talk to her horse one more time before the day began.

  “Hey, Sweetie, ready to go out?”

  Casey’s whiskery muzzle tickled Jess’s chin, and she giggled. The amusement caught in her throat and her eyes burned.

  Resting her face against the mare’s warm cheek, she whispered, “I love you.”

  Hafez and Mustafa were in the arena, setting up the jumps when Jess led Casey out of the barn. She watched them for a minute, noticing their mechanical movements and tight faces. They seemed nervous, as though they were in a hurry to finish.

  A steady stream of cars paraded up the lane, quickly filling the parking area. She glanced at her watch. 8:00. A quiver of anticipation and excitement raced across her skin. The chase was about to begin.

  In the paddock behind her, the students were exercising their horses and letting off nervous energy. Inside the barn, Beth Caldwell’s shrill voice rang out.

  “Alex! Did you take my crop?”

  Lexie’s response was typical. “Like, why would I take your crop?”

  Jess grinned, listening to the teenage spat sparked by the undercurrent of nerves. She led Casey through the pasture gate, then turned her loose. The old lady immediately dropped to her knees to roll in the dust.

  As Jess headed back toward the barn, she focused on the spectator section. Faces she didn’t recognize appeared throughout the crowd. The newcomers were a mix of young and middle-aged women, plus a couple of older men with gray hair. Grandfatherly types. The picture clearly illustrated what Mona meant. The whole crowd looked normal, a blend of ages and genders. No one would suspect that armed FBI agents peppered the audience.