Targeted (FBI Heat)

by Marissa Garner

  Or could Baheera possibly be looking for him? He got his answer when she did a double take as her gaze swept past his white truck. She stared at him just long enough to communicate that she’d spotted him, but not long enough for anyone else to notice.

  Squaring her shoulders, she stepped in front of Fateen and Masoud. Ameen laughed at their dumbfounded expressions as Baheera led the way up the stairs and into the apartment instead of following submissively behind.

  Oh, to be a fly on the wall in that apartment. But he couldn’t go inside, of course. He could only wait and watch her from a distance.

  * * *

  The endless lines of vehicles at the border were always a frustration, but this morning Marissa had found them particularly exasperating. Ameen’s laser-like gaze had tugged at her from his truck in the other lane even though she couldn’t see him. What part of “no” did the man not understand? If he didn’t back off, she’d need to have him picked up before he got them both killed.

  This had been her first crossing without the veil, and the agents had given her a closer look. The CBP officer smiled and nodded slightly as he handed back her passport. They were definitely on the lookout for Special Agent Marissa Panuska.

  Rawlings would know by now that she was safely back on US soil. He and the other suits had probably suffered heart attacks with her little disappearing act last night. At the time, she’d been afraid her reasoning was being affected by the trauma of almost being beheaded. Whose logic wouldn’t be influenced by such a heinous incident? But in hindsight, she’d made the right decision. Going with Ameen had given her time in a relatively safe environment to analyze the catastrophic events and reach important conclusions. And as far as she could tell, no harm done. Other than acquiring a Muslim Good Samaritan who was a crack shot and couldn’t take no for an answer.

  Now, if she could just get in touch with her handler—she had so much news. Samir’s domination had made the daily check-in call practically impossible from the beginning. On a few occasions, she’d managed to carry her purse into the bathroom. Even then, she was afraid to speak into the Bureau phone and had to trust that her handler understood that just making the call was the best she could do. Marissa also knew she and the terrorists were under constant surveillance, but that knowledge did little to alleviate the feeling of being alone. Terribly alone.

  With Samir dead, she would have to establish Baheera as a competent leader worthy of their respect, obedience, and loyalty. Would careful manipulation bring more converts than the coercion Samir had used to control them? He had been a strict, dogmatic, and secretive leader of the al-Qaeda cell, a fanatic to his very core. The details of the deadly mission had only been shared with the other men on a need-to-know basis. They had followed and obeyed him unquestioningly. Whether it was out of respect or fear, Marissa couldn’t tell.

  Samir had expected Baheera to fall in line with the others and insisted on submissiveness. He treated Baheera more like a prisoner than a partner. Was it because she was a woman or did he not trust her? For two weeks, she’d fought an overwhelming sense of isolation. Plenty of support existed out there, but that support was faceless, invisible.

  Except him. Marissa shook her head to clear away the image of Ameen’s strong, handsome face. For a few precious moments, the aloneness faded.

  She heaved a sigh of exhaustion when she stepped out of the car. Located in eastern San Diego near San Diego State University, the small, aging apartment complex was run-down and student-infested. Samir had chosen the location partially because of the students, whom he figured would be oblivious to the cell’s presence and activities. The eight-member cell—nine with Baheera—lived in a furnished three-bedroom, two-bath unit. She always slept in the same bedroom, but the men rotated sleeping on the double beds in the other two bedrooms, which meant that many nights they slept on mats on the floor.

  Marissa stretched, and nonchalantly scanned the neighborhood. She spotted her tail in an unmarked black SUV on a side street. The sighting should’ve raised a greater sense of relief, but she’d learned a valuable lesson last night: Even a tail who can hear what’s going on may not be there when you need them most. Sometimes, a white knight…

  Her head jerked back. Sometimes, a white knight is watching from his white truck parked down the street. She allowed herself to stare at the vehicle for a moment even though she couldn’t actually see the man she knew was sitting inside, staring back at her with those captivating eyes. His presence reassured her in a way her professional tail hadn’t.

  Connections. She sighed again and turned away.

  Marissa led the way to the apartment and opened the door. The white and gray blandness of the cheap, functional décor always reminded her of sun-bleached bones. An appropriate decorating theme under the circumstances, but definitely a depressing one. She longed for the bright, vibrant colors of her Georgetown condo.

  Immediately after they entered, Fateen and Masoud began recounting in rapid-fire Arabic to the other two members, Tareef and Yasir, the shocking story of what had happened in Tijuana.

  “Enough. There is work to do,” Marissa interrupted. “And speak English, even here where we are safe. If you don’t learn to speak it naturally, you will draw attention in public.”

  The four men turned annoyed glances her way but didn’t speak.

  I have to establish control quickly to deter anyone from trying to usurp my leadership. She squared her shoulders and glared back at them. “Fateen and Masoud, you will find the extra key and return to Tijuana to retrieve Samir’s truck. Before you cross into Mexico, purchase plenty of supplies for the hideout. The house should be equipped so two of us can be there at all times to guard…our precious assets. No longer will we leave the fate of our mission at the mercy of the drug gangs.”

  Frowning, the men seemed to mull over her words but then nodded agreement.

  She hid her relief that they were oblivious to her real motive. From now on, she would keep two members tied up in Tijuana day and night. Less terrorists surrounding her meant less opportunity for them to spy on her, and the safer she would be. With Fateen and Masoud gone for several hours on their errand, she’d have to deal with the prying eyes and eavesdropping ears of only two terrorists. For a moment, it almost felt like freedom.

  She waited patiently on the couch until one of the men found the key. After a hasty good-bye, Fateen and Masoud hurried out of the apartment. Tareef and Yasir shuffled their feet and shared nervous glances, their uneasiness with Baheera’s new role glaringly evident.

  Marissa enjoyed watching the minions squirm. But a yawn interrupted her observations. The traumatic night and lack of sleep were catching up with her. For the moment, the risk level had subsided, and with it, her adrenaline. She needed time, alone, to rejuvenate…and to make an important phone call.

  “I’m exhausted from staying awake all night guarding our hideout. I must sleep. Do not disturb me,” she announced.

  Tareef’s and Yasir’s eyes widened. Whatever Samir had told the cell to justify the constant surveillance of Baheera had worked well, but Marissa didn’t expect any resistance. These men were underlings, who didn’t think for themselves and simply followed orders. They weren’t strong enough to object on their own.

  As expected, they watched in silence as she headed to the bedroom. After locking herself inside, she dug the Bureau cell phone out of its hidden compartment and crouched in the far corner of the room. Although extremely risky, she had to check in. Days had passed since her last contact, and so much had happened.

  “Benja,” she whispered, a faint grin emerging despite her stress. No one knew her code word was her pet name for a former lover.

  “Secure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn, am I glad to hear from you. You scared the shit out of us,” her obviously relieved handler exclaimed. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I’ll explain when I can, but I’ve got a lot to update.” She drew a deep breath. “Samir and Omar are
dead.”

  “Yeah, we found the bodies. How—”

  “Later. I’m establishing myself as Samir’s replacement. Two Abdul-Jaleel employees are starting the bomb assembly tonight. Research and report to me on Ameen Ali, who works for his uncle, Abdullah Ali, at the San Diego mosque where the cell prays. Baheera Abbas is Husaam’s wife. I believe him to be the Husaam Abbas who’s the leader of al-Qaeda of Syria.”

  “Agreed. We have confirmed those identities.”

  “I had to speak to Husaam…” Her throat tightened. “I believe he’s blown my cover.”

  “We were on the call. Your cover has definitely been compromised. Husaam called back to warn Samir that you were an imposter and to order him to kill you.”

  “Well, Samir tried…to behead me last night.”

  “Good God! How—”

  “Later. I don’t think he or Omar warned the others. Did you hear anything?”

  “No calls to the men at the apartment. They were quiet and inactive until early this morning.”

  “Good.” She gulped. “I believe Baheera is the suicide bomber.”

  “Shit! Are you requesting to be brought in?”

  “No, of course not. I confiscated the sat phone so I should have some time before Husaam can reestablish contact. Listen closely for that. Also, research a doctor’s role in the plot and report.”

  “Already on it. We didn’t understand Husaam’s questions either.”

  “Have you located the pig?” Marissa asked hopefully.

  “No.”

  “Any news on the carrier or route?”

  “No.”

  “The target?”

  “No.”

  “Timing?”

  “No.”

  “Damn! Work with me here.”

  “The online and wiretap chatter have dried up. The interrogation in Washington isn’t getting anything out of the real Baheera. They’re taking a break because she’s getting sick.”

  “Sick? Damn it, I was almost beheaded last night. I don’t care if the woman’s on her deathbed. Get me some decent intel to work with.” A sharp rap on the bedroom door made her jump. Instantly, she disconnected the call and stashed the phone in its hidden compartment. “What?” she called irritably.

  “Baheera, are you all right?” Yasir asked from the other side of the door.

  She swore silently. The men had been trying to eavesdrop.

  “Leave me to my prayers. I am praying for success in our mission. You should do the same.”

  Her heart pounding, Marissa stood and stared at the doorknob. Would they have the courage to break open the locked door?

  “Sorry, Baheera.”

  Two sets of footsteps moved down the hall.

  She rubbed a hand across her tired eyes. She still felt like a prisoner. That had to change and soon.

  Marissa stretched out on the bed but couldn’t get comfortable. She got up and removed the hot, cumbersome abaya and the plain Muslim clothing beneath it. The thought of Tareef and Yasir barging in and finding her in her underwear brought a wicked grin to her lips.

  Feeling freer at last, she sprawled across the bed. While she hoped for sleep, she didn’t expect it. Hearing the voice of her handler gave her some relief, but he hadn’t provided any help.

  She was still very much alone.

  Chapter 10

  While he pulled his iPad from the glove compartment, Ameen prepared a mental list of research to do. He grimaced as he brought up the Internet browser screen. He’d convinced himself that the cost of having mobile Internet access always available wasn’t a luxury but a necessity, since he spent so many hours away from home and the mosque spying on the cell. However, the need didn’t make it affordable. Although his uncle paid him a reasonable salary for the work he did, he certainly didn’t have any money to waste.

  Pushing his concern about the cost aside, he set to work. Googling “Baheera” provided useless information: Muslim baby names websites, a Baheera Afghan hounds website, and a few Twitter and Facebook listings. Not that he’d expected much. He didn’t have her last name, and even “Baheera” was probably an alias.

  Next, he located the website for Abdul-Jaleel Electronics. Now that he knew the source of the mysterious boxes, he needed to know more about the company. Could it be the front for a terrorist organization? And why would the terrorists want toaster, stereo, or any other variety of electrical components? Asking Khaleel seemed a more direct route, but he had to agree with Baheera. The fewer people who knew what was going on, the better. Besides, he would hate to endanger his friends. He grinned at the coincidence, because both Khaleel and Safiya actually meant “friend” in Arabic.

  After he finished researching Abdul-Jaleel, he would perform his daily check of the multitude of Islamic jihadist websites, looking for some clue, some communication, to solve the puzzle of what the cell was plotting. Although the cell used burner phones to communicate among themselves, Ameen suspected Samir’s sat phone was their primary line of communication with their boss, wherever in the world he was. Could it possibly be their sole line? Obviously, Baheera had confiscated the phone to disrupt or stop the communication between the leader and the local terrorists. If that worked, the head of the snake would have to find another way to give orders. And if he did it on the Web, Ameen would find it.

  Another puzzle nibbled at the edge of his mind. What did the Hispanic man want with Samir? What kind of deal would an Islamic extremist make with a Mexican drug goon? And how the hell was Ameen supposed to figure it out?

  Sighing at the prospect of many long hours of surveillance ahead, he lifted a bottle of water to his lips and stared at the windows of the cell’s apartment. He pictured the beautiful woman inside, wondering what she was doing and whether she was safe.

  With a jolt, Ameen realized his mission had changed. Yes, he still wanted to stop whatever evil the cell was plotting, but more importantly, he needed to protect Baheera. She wasn’t one of them. Although she was intelligent, she didn’t fully comprehend the evil she was up against. Could he find a way to persuade her to work with him, to be his partner against the terrorists?

  They could do more good together than alone.

  * * *

  At 1:00 p.m., Rawlings called. “I’ve got good news, Alfren. Panuska’s safe. She’s back in the San Diego apartment with only two of the remaining terrorists.”

  “If you can call that safe. How’d you find her?”

  “First, CBP alerted us that she’d crossed the border with two of the cell members. Once she was back at the apartment, she was able to call her handler with an update. She didn’t explain where she’d been, but she did confirm our belief that Husaam had blown her cover.”

  “Confirmed what?” Ben practically shouted.

  Rawlings cleared his throat. “On the call last night, Husaam Abbas figured out he wasn’t talking to his wife.”

  “You knew that and didn’t tell me this morning? How can Marissa be safe if they know she’s an imposter?” His tone bordered on insubordination. Again.

  “Look, Alfren, I don’t have to tell you shit. And I sure as hell don’t need your attitude. You’re not even part of the task force, so stop whining or you’re off my radar.”

  Several tense seconds ticked by before Ben could respond civilly. “Understood, sir.”

  Rawlings huffed. “To answer your question, the two terrorists in Tijuana didn’t have time to alert the others before they were killed. That means the remaining members don’t know she’s an imposter. She seems to have eliminated the only communications link between Husaam and the cell, but he’ll be scrambling to fix that problem. We recognize it’s a risky situation so her handler asked if she wanted to come in. She said no.”

  “Of course she did. Didn’t I tell you that about her? You’re going to have to bring her in over her objections.”

  “Says who?”

  Ben swallowed hard. Play nice or he’ll kick me out of the sandbox. “Just a suggestion, sir.”

&
nbsp; “FYI, I considered that option right after her handler told us she’d almost been beheaded.”

  Suddenly, there was no air in Ben’s lungs. My nightmare. “Jesus Christ. She’s got to be too traumatized to continue the operation. Get her out of—”

  “Alfren.” Rawlings’s tone made the one-word warning perfectly clear.

  Ben drew a slow, deep breath. What had happened to his objectivity? “Is there anything I can do to help, sir?”

  “Actually, there is. Panuska asked for information on a guy named Ameen Ali who works at the mosque where the terrorists pray. Dig up what you can on him and post it so her handler can pass it on. I’ve already authorized you to access all the operation files. And if you want to keep an eye on the guy, that’s fine, but no contact. Got it? Absolutely no contact.”

  Rawlings was gone before Ben could ask why she wanted to know or accept the assignment. Of course, there’d been no question that he would.

  Swallowing his frustration, he focused on his immense relief that Marissa was safe. As soon as Husaam regained contact, though, he’d warn the cell of her deception. Unfortunately, terrorists worldwide had access to lots of modern technology they could use to communicate. Thank God, she was alive, but she was definitely running on borrowed time.

  The word “beheaded” had grabbed everyone’s attention. Especially Ben’s. A gnawing pain in his gut warned that his nightmare had been eerily accurate. He frowned. How in the hell had that happened? Marissa had her premonitions, but he’d never experienced anything like this before.

  His nightmare had ended abruptly with Marissa screaming his nicknames while a man held a massive knife above her neck. Had she wrestled the knife away and…? Ben shook his head. Rawlings had previously said the two terrorists had been shot. But he’d also said Marissa’s gun was still at the hideout, so she hadn’t shot them before disappearing. He frowned. Who had killed them?

  As Ben logged on to the operation files, his chest tightened. Had Marissa identified an additional threat in Ameen Ali? Was he a lone-wolf terrorist or associated with a different cell? Possible scenarios, all bad, raced through his brain.