“Returned from where?” Masoud’s rising tone reflected the mounting distress evident on every man’s face. After another sweep of the room, he approached and squatted in front of her. “Are you all right, Baheera?”
“Only by Allah’s will, I am. It has been a terrible night.”
“Wh-what happened?”
The others encircled her, their faces strained with confusion and uneasiness.
“First, I will tell you of Samir and Omar.” She sniffled, and her shoulders shook. “We arrived later than usual last night because Samir stopped to buy a knife. When we came in the front door, we heard noises. We snuck through the house and found four Mexicans rummaging through the electronic parts.” She swept her hand toward the mess she’d made around the boxes, and four pairs of eyes followed. “We hollered, and Samir threatened them with his new knife. They ran out the back door, which is where they had broken in. Samir and Omar chased them down the alley. There was much yelling. Then it grew fainter. Since Samir had previously given me the combination to the gun cabinet, I grabbed these two guns and prepared to protect the bomb components. After several minutes, I heard gunshots.” She paused for a fake sob. “Our two brothers never returned. I have been so afraid the Mexicans would come back and attack me.”
The terrorists fidgeted, and their heads swiveled back and forth, looking at each other, alarm spreading across their faces. Behind the veil, Marissa sneered. Minions, lost without their leader.
“Praise Allah, you are safe,” Masoud said. “We were surprised when we got up this morning and found that the three of you never came home last night. When neither Samir nor Omar answered their cell phones, we decided to come see what was wrong.”
“If Samir had allowed me to have a cell phone, I could have called you. But as you know, he decided I did not need one.”
His expression anxious, Fateen scanned the room, searching for something. “Where is Samir’s satellite phone?”
“Gone with him.”
“How will we—”
All five heads whipped around at the sound of the front door opening. Marissa grabbed the AK-47 from the floor.
“Samir,” called a voice from the entrance.
Before any of the men reacted, Marissa ran to the archway. She greeted the two new arrivals with the assault rifle raised and aimed. Headscarves covered all but their eyes, and those dark eyes widened with shock. The large cardboard box they were carrying dropped to the floor when their arms shot up over their heads.
“Do not shoot!” one man hollered in Arabic.
“Who are you?” Marissa demanded.
Fateen and Masoud peeked through the opening beside her. Obviously recognizing them, the new men chuckled and lowered their arms.
One of them snorted and said, “You must be Baheera.”
“I asked who you are.”
“We are your friends from Abdul-Jaleel Electronics,” the same man, the taller of the two, answered.
She scrutinized them. Why didn’t they remove the scarves now that they were inside the hideout? Are the mysterious delivery elves afraid of us?
“Where’s Samir?” Tall Elf asked, an angry edge in his tone.
Marissa cocked her head at his voice. Paused. “Samir is gone.”
Tall Elf leaned to the side, trying to see through the archway. “Gone?” he echoed.
She let the assault rifle slide down to her side as she watched Short Elf pick up the box.
“Yes. I fear Samir and Omar are dead. Come, I will tell you.” She turned, walked wearily back to the chair in the other room.
When the delivery elves saw the electronic parts scattered across the floor, they swore and rushed out toward the bedroom. They returned a few minutes later, their eyes filled with relief. Marissa watched and listened as they examined the electronic pieces on the floor before carefully putting them back in the boxes. She waited, studying Tall Elf.
Once finished, they pulled folding chairs nearer while the others sat on the floor in front of her. Marissa laid the assault rifle across her lap and repeated the fabricated story of the night’s events.
The entire time, Tall Elf glowered at her with menacing eyes. He was the first to speak when she finished. “How did you get the guns? In…your story, Samir did not open the cabinet before he disappeared. Only we and Samir know the combination.”
The veil proved an unexpected benefit. From behind it, she analyzed his eyes, his body language, his voice. “You are wrong. Samir shared much with me.”
The others glanced at Tall Elf when he grunted in disbelief.
“Why did you not go help them after you got the guns?” Saleem, one of the terrorists from the San Diego apartment, asked.
“Would you have me leave the bomb components unprotected? That would’ve risked our entire mission. Allah and Husaam would not have been pleased,” Marissa explained, adding impatience to her tone.
“Where is the sat phone?” Tall Elf asked, his head swiveling as his gaze searched the room.
“Samir had it with him when he disappeared.”
“But we need that phone to get our instructions,” he said, his voice rising. Marissa listened carefully as he spoke. “I mean, who knows the plans?”
She swallowed hard. This part of her charade would be incredibly tricky. “That is the other news. Husaam called while we were driving here last night. Samir gave him a report, and Husaam was very angry. Then Husaam spoke to me about the problems.”
“You spoke to…to Husaam?” Fateen asked, voicing what everyone was probably thinking.
“Yes, Fateen, I did. He said Samir did not realize that the way he was treating me was keeping me from doing my job. I felt bad for Samir because I know he was doing his best, but he did not understand how Husaam wanted things done. Samir was very upset that Husaam was appointing a new leader for us. It may have led to his stupid decision to chase the Mexicans. I do not know. But Husaam is worried. He wants changes. Now, I will have to make them.”
The men stared at her, struggling to comprehend her statement.
“You? You are our new leader?” Saleem said in a disbelieving tone.
“Yes, I am.”
“Why you?” Tall Elf demanded.
“Because my husband, Husaam Abbas, chose me.”
Jaws dropped. She had guessed correctly. They didn’t know who Baheera was. The only terrorist not openly intimidated by the revelation was Tall Elf.
“Do you have a way to contact Husaam?” he asked.
“No. But he has already told me what he wants done.”
“What changes does Husaam want?” Tall Elf sounded suspicious as he continued to question her.
“Many. First, I will no longer be treated like a prisoner. Husaam sent me to do a job, and I must be allowed to do it. I arrived here wearing American clothes so I could blend in. Samir insisted I wear these clothes and go nowhere alone. With these restrictions, I cannot bring our mission to its glorious conclusion.” She saw the shock in their eyes. They definitely didn’t know her role either. “Yes, brothers, I am the one.”
A heavy silence settled on the group as the men absorbed the idea that Husaam had sent his own wife to be the suicide bomber.
“You know the whole plan?” Fateen asked, awestruck.
“Yes.”
“Where’s the radioactive material?” Tall Elf demanded.
“I will tell you when you need to know.” She took a deep breath, and another chance. “Are you ready to assemble the bomb?”
He glanced nervously at his silent companion. “I think so.”
“You think so? You don’t know?”
“Yes, yes, we are ready. The box we brought today contains the remaining components.”
She watched the man’s eyes. “What’s your name?”
Abruptly, he stood and paced, not looking at her. “The two of us cannot use our real names. We live here, work here. We have wives. You may call us whatever you like.”
Marissa cocked her head again as she li
stened. She observed him until he stopped pacing and turned back toward her. His eyes, voice, and movements were all familiar. Her conclusion rose to the surface, tightening her chest and throat.
She breathed slowly, pushing her disgust deeper inside. “You said you two are our ‘friends,’ so I will choose Muslim names that mean ‘friend.’ The quiet one will be Nadeem, and you will be…Khaleel.”
He jerked and blinked but recovered quickly. His eyes narrowed. “For you, Baheera, I am Khaleel, a good name for a good friend.”
Liar. Her gaze traveled across the entire group. Her fingers touched the edge of the veil. Suddenly, she wanted these horrible men to see the determination in the eyes of their new leader. A woman. How awful for them. Except for the two elves, the others had seen her face before. But now they all knew they would have to bow to her will, to follow her orders. She yanked the cloth up over her head and removed the entire headpiece. Her long hair fell across her shoulders. She brushed it aside, straightened, and raised her chin. Her eyes flashed from man to man, as she enjoyed the sight of them gaping at her, dreading her power over them, and perhaps, even fearing her. Men, such weak men. It will be a joy to destroy them all.
For the first time in two weeks, she felt empowered.
Her gaze returned to the tall elf, Khaleel, who stared along with the rest. Thankfully, he couldn’t recognize her. When Ameen had ushered her through his friends’ living room last night, she’d been completely covered by the abaya and niqab, and she’d never spoken.
“You will begin assembling the bomb tonight,” she said.
“But—”
With a dismissive gesture, she interrupted. “No excuses. Tonight, you start.” Then she turned to Fateen. “We need the spare key to Samir’s truck.”
“It is at the apartment.”
“Good. Saleem and Rashad will stay here to guard the house. Our friends, Khaleel and Nadeem, will buy the hardware necessary to secure the back door and fix it. You and Masoud will drive me back to San Diego in your car and then return with Samir’s key. From now on, I will use Samir’s truck.”
“You can drive?” Saleem asked.
“Of course. Do you think Husaam would have sent me if I was not qualified?”
Saleem shrank from her icy glare. “No, Baheera.”
Her commanding gaze swept around the group. “Any more questions?”
“What about Samir and Omar?” Rashad whined.
“What about them?” she practically sneered.
“Aren’t we going to look for them…or their bodies? They should have a proper Muslim burial. If we call their cell phones, perhaps we can hear the ringing and locate them that way.”
“Do not be stupid, Rashad. The Mexican thieves would have stripped them of all valuables by now. Their cell phones could be anywhere.” She glared at the terrorists, lifting her chin again. “Samir and Omar were fools. They left me alone to guard everything while they risked our entire mission to chase some common thieves. They are Allah’s problem now, not mine.” She grabbed her purse and stood. “We must work harder now to please Allah…and Husaam.”
The men scooted out of the way as she passed through the group. They glanced nervously at each other, but said nothing. Fateen and Masoud scrambled to follow her out the front door to the car. Marissa chose the front passenger seat, delegating Masoud to the back. His scowl revealed he was not pleased.
They drove away from the house in a cloud of dust. Marissa caught a glimpse of a white truck driving parallel to them in the alley behind the buildings. If the situation weren’t so serious, she might have smiled.
Fateen maneuvered the small car through the dirty, narrow streets of the slum. After a few miles, he turned onto a larger street with traffic, and they cruised through Tijuana. Finally, the car joined the long lines of vehicles waiting at the San Ysidro border crossing to get into the US.
Marissa didn’t dare turn around and look, but she didn’t really have to. She had felt the connection being fused. She knew Ameen was behind them, somewhere, watching over her.
* * *
As soon as he burst out the hideout’s back door, leaving Baheera to face the terrorists alone as she’d requested, Ameen skirted around the house to spy on the terrorists as they emerged from the car. Only four, not all six, had come to check on their truant comrades. He could take four, no problem. His hand went to his gun before he could stop himself.
But then, he did stop, released his grip on the weapon. His gut tightened as he drew on his military training to curtail his natural impulse to rush into the house and drag Baheera to safety. She didn’t want to be rescued, but he didn’t believe she knew how dangerous these guys really were. Correction. Two of the assholes had tried to behead her, so she definitely knew what they were capable of. But that didn’t make it any easier for him.
He exhaled frustration as the nervously chattering men pushed open the front door and disappeared inside. Seconds later, a scream made him rip his gun from his waistband and take two quick strides toward the door. Once the scream registered in his brain as a man’s, he grinned. Probably the AK-47. He’d witnessed Baheera’s familiarity with the guns. Another interesting connection between them.
He hurried around to the back, but he’d pushed the damaged door shut in his haste. He leaned his ear near the cracked frame and listened, but all he could hear was a soft drone of voices.
Shit, I hate feeling helpless. He needed to know what was being said inside. Were the terrorists buying whatever story Baheera had concocted? At least she was armed, and they weren’t. But this still wasn’t right. He should be the one kickin’ ass and takin’ names.
Several minutes passed. His mind kept flashing on Samir’s knife above Baheera’s neck, and he had to tamp down the fear for her that swelled inside him. He tried, but failed, to convince himself that his main concern should be what evil the cell was plotting, not the welfare of one dazzling woman.
When he heard another vehicle approaching, he moved to the corner and watched the two men with scarves park behind Samir’s truck. They seemed wary about going into the hideout, perhaps because of the presence of the cell’s car, but they eventually got out of their vehicle and retrieved a large cardboard box from the trunk. Ameen studied them as they shut the trunk and carried the box toward the front door. Although he’d watched the men on multiple occasions, this time something seemed oddly familiar about the tall one.
As he hurried around to the back door, Ameen wished he could tell Khaleel about the boxes of electronic parts stolen from his company. Perhaps his friend could even be of assistance by explaining what the cell might be planning to do with them since they obviously didn’t seem to be selling the parts.
He grimaced. He’d promised Baheera that he wouldn’t speak to anyone about any of this. Was there a way he could keep his promise and also get the information he needed?
Chapter 8
The phone yanked Ben’s mind back from far away. “Alfren,” he answered, praying it was Marissa but knowing it wasn’t.
“Hey, stud. Are you surviving without me?” Special Agent Staci Hall teased.
“Barely,” Ben said, grinning for the first time since the nightmare. “How much trouble are you causing in DC?”
“I’m not causing trouble. I’m getting this place in shape. Seriously, though, it’s not nearly as much fun as when we were here.”
Ben remembered those years well. She’d been part of the same class with him and Marissa at the FBI Academy in Quantico, and they’d become friends. Unfortunately, Staci hadn’t liked Marissa, which caused way too much drama for him. When Marissa had broken his heart by refusing to transfer to San Diego with them two years ago, Staci’s dislike had skyrocketed. Something the no-nonsense, straight-talking woman didn’t try to hide. Even now that he and Marissa had put the past behind them, Staci had trouble forgiving her for the pain she’d caused him.
“How’s that money-laundering class coming along?” he asked.
“It’s
okay. Way too much paperwork though. I miss being out in the field.”
“When are you coming back?”
“I’ll probably be wrapping up in a couple weeks. What’s happening out there on the West Coast?” she asked.
He hesitated as the nightmare, Ian’s call, and the meeting with ASAIC Alan Carter flashed by.
“Ben, is something wrong?” Staci’s intuition was ice-pick sharp. “You and Amber aren’t having problems, are you?”
“No, we’re good. Great, in fact. Nothing’s really wrong, just…weird.”
She laughed. “Tell me about it.”
He cleared his throat. Because of Staci’s issues with Marissa, he wasn’t sure whether to share his concerns. And then, of course, there was also Carter’s warning not to say anything to anyone. Screw that. Ben wouldn’t say anything; he’d ask. “Have you heard any rumors around the proverbial water cooler about a covert Counterterrorism op in San Diego?”
“Huh? Uh, well, uh, no. Why…uh…would I?”
Ben pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it, puzzled. Her indecisive response didn’t sound like her normal, overconfident self. He shook his head and repositioned the phone. “Oh, hell, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re at FBI Headquarters, the center of our universe.”
“Hey, I’m just a li’l ole SA from San Diego. They treat me like a mushroom. You know, keep me in the dark and feed me bullshit.”
He chuckled. Now that sounded like the real Staci. “Sorry, I forgot your lowly status.”
She gulped loudly. “Have you…uh…asked Alan Carter?”
Ben hesitated. “Maybe.”
“That means you have, but he won’t tell you crap.”
“Maybe.”
“Why don’t you ask your old friend, the she-devil? She’s in Counterterrorism now, right?”
Ben cringed. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know where she is.”
A long silence followed. He could practically hear the gears humming.
“Is Marissa…um…in trouble?” Staci asked hesitantly.
Damn the woman’s intuition. Freakin’ scary. “I can’t talk about it.”
Targeted (FBI Heat) Page 6