Targeted (FBI Heat)

by Marissa Garner

  “Bullshit. You did your best. In the end, we got what we needed. As soon as you can, get the hell out of Washington. And take a few days off.”

  She laughed. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

  “No. You’re done. I’ll let everyone know we got the pig. It’s time to close the goddamn net.”

  * * *

  Marissa rode all the way to Ameen’s condo with her head in his lap, feeling truly safe for the first time in more than two weeks.

  Pushing the remote on the visor to close the garage door, he announced, “We’re here. You have five minutes.”

  She used fifteen seconds of the time to kiss him before they climbed from the truck. He unlocked the door, ushered her into the condo, and led her to the couch in the living room. While she retrieved the burner phone and Gonzalez’s number from her purse, he brought her a glass of ice water.

  “Please wait in the other room,” she said, not looking at him.

  In the passing moments of silence, she felt his wounded gaze.

  “I’m involved in this whether you like it or not, Baheera, but I will do as you ask.”

  “It’s safer for you the less you know,” she explained, but knew it sounded lame.

  “And easier for you to lie to me.”

  He turned to leave and reached the hallway before she relented.

  “You can stay, Ameen, but make no sound. Nothing.” Taking a deep, calming breath, she dialed.

  After eight rings, a man answered. “Hola.”

  Marissa nearly switched to Spanish but caught herself. “Is this Juan Gonzalez?” she asked in English.

  “Who the fuck wants to know?” the man growled, switching to English also.

  “Samir’s…partner.”

  “Samir don’t have a partner. I’ll only talk to him.”

  “That could be a problem. He was killed Sunday night in Tijuana.”

  “Bullshit, bitch! You’re lying. Who are you?”

  “My name is Baheera. Samir was supposed to meet you at the mosque, Monday at eleven, to discuss the deal. I should have come, but there were…complications with his death.” She paused for effect and played a hunch. “I have the map marking the locations in Tijuana and Otay Mesa.”

  “Shit!”

  “I know you don’t like this change, Juan. Neither do we. But we can still make a deal.”

  “Samir never told me about anyone named Vaheena.”

  “Ba-heer-a,” she corrected slowly and firmly. “I don’t think Samir told you about anything. He was afraid to because you’re too smart.”

  “Damn straight.” Juan snickered. “That motherfucker was more secretive than we are. Got his sorry ass killed, huh?”

  “Yes, and Samir was secretive even with me. Now, can we do business, Juan?” She held her breath and tried to ignore Ameen’s disapproving eyes.

  Juan seemed to ponder before responding. “Sí.”

  “Good.” Damn. How am I going to find out exactly what that business is without revealing I know nothing except it had something to do with the map? She swallowed hard. “When you talked to your boss, what…did…he agree to?”

  “You can use our tunnel. One time only. And it’ll cost ya twenty grand.”

  He hesitated, perhaps expecting an argument over the money, but Marissa was too shocked by the news. Tunnel. That’s how they’re getting the bomb across the border. They won’t have to risk CBP intercepting it at the border.

  Juan continued, “No more than two people. We guard both ends and escort you.”

  Only two people; myself and one other. That won’t work. She couldn’t leave any of the terrorists in Mexico where they would easily disappear. She needed to take as many as possible back across the border with her so they could be arrested in the US.

  “We will be nine,” she countered.

  He scoffed. “Too many. Five or no deal.”

  “No less than seven. Also, Samir claimed he had seen the tunnel. But since I haven’t, I need to inspect it from both ends.”

  “The bastard didn’t tell you about it?” Juan asked suspiciously and seemed to forget the issue of the number.

  “Secretive, remember? I was surprised he shared as much as he did. I’m in charge now. And since I’ll be…carrying the package, I’d like to see how good the tunnel is.”

  “Look, bitch, it’s the best. Deep. Safe. Hidden. Electricity and ventilation. No red carpet, but the floor’s damn flat.”

  “I’m sure it’s the best, but I can’t risk any problems. Can I see it or not?”

  “Damn. I have to check with my boss. He’s not going to fucking like this.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Fine. I’ll call you back in five minutes.”

  Marissa disconnected and glanced at her watch. After laying the phone in her lap, she rubbed her eyes. An average of four hours of fitful sleep a night for two weeks was taking its toll. Exhaustion dulled senses, clouded thinking, and slowed reflexes. She couldn’t let it also lead to a mistake…or her death.

  When she lowered her hands, Ameen’s eyes met hers. His were angry, worried. He’d obviously understood the implications from her side of the conversation.

  “Baheera, this is too dangerous.”

  “It is necessary.”

  “Why do you have to do this?”

  She looked at him in disbelief and then laughed. “Please tell me you aren’t an Arab male chauvinist. Don’t you find it ironic that terrorists will use women as suicide bombers; and yet, in many Arab countries, women cannot vote, or drive, or go out alone? Do you not find that hypocritical?”

  He went rigid when she said the words “suicide bombers” and seemed to be trying to read her mind with his piercing gaze. She squirmed under his scrutiny.

  He drew a deep breath and let the words pass unchallenged. “Yes, I agree. But we do not treat Muslim women that way in America. We treat them with enlightened respect. What I was trying to say was that I don’t want you to get hurt, Baheera, because I…I care about you.”

  There was nothing she could say. She continued to watch him as she pressed redial. “Well?”

  “Okay. When?” Juan said.

  “This evening, at six. I’ll meet you at the Otay Mesa end. You can show me through the tunnel. Give me the address.”

  “Hell, no, you’re not going through the tunnel tonight. You can meet me in Tijuana to see the other end.”

  She exhaled. She’d prefer to inspect the entire tunnel but that apparently wasn’t going to happen. Since she needed to check on the engineers tonight, she had to make the tiresome trip across the border anyway. She might as well let Juan win this point.

  “Okay. I understand. But I want both addresses now. After I inspect the US end, I’ll head for the border. Let’s hope it doesn’t take forever to get across. Once I’m in Tijuana, I’ll call you to set a time to meet at that end. I assume you’ll go through the tunnel.”

  “Hell, yes. I ain’t dealing with all that border security shit.” He snickered. “My boss wants to know when you’re gonna use it.”

  “Soon.”

  Marissa repeated the addresses aloud as she scribbled them on the paper with Juan’s phone number and then hung up. Before she could speak, Ameen stood up and stomped out of the room.

  * * *

  Ben was circling the Grossmont Center parking lot searching for Ameen’s truck when his cell phone rang.

  “Special Agent Alfren, this is SA Sam Clark with the San Diego Joint Terrorism Task Force. SA Tim Hughes and I are currently assigned as Special Agent Panuska’s protection detail.”

  “You’re in the black sedan by the south entrance.”

  A pause. “Right. We understand you’re assigned to surveil Ameen Ali.”

  “Correct.” Ben grimaced, anticipating the next question.

  “Do you have a visual?”

  “No. I’m sure you saw him when he came out of the store. Alone. He went straight to his truck, then drove ar
ound the mall. I cut across straight to the exit, but he’d disappeared. I’ve circled the mall twice, and there’s no sign of him in the parking lot. I’m leaving to check out his residence.” He said a silent prayer before he continued. “Panuska’s Chevy truck is still here. You do have a visual on her, right?”

  “Uh, no. I followed her inside. She picked out some clothes and entered the dressing room. Several minutes later, a woman yelled, and Ameen darted out of there. Before I could get over to investigate, Panuska exited and proceeded to the checkout counter. I waited outside the store entrance, but she never came out.” He swore. “I re-entered the store, searched everywhere. No sign of her.”

  “Shit! How the hell could you lose her? Again.”

  “We blinked…like you did,” Clark replied defensively.

  “There’s a big difference between surveilling and protecting,” Ben blasted back. “Panuska’s life is at risk. Ameen’s isn’t.”

  Clark didn’t argue. “Any chance she left with Ameen?”

  “She didn’t come out with him, and he hit the exit so fast I missed him. But anything’s possible. Ameen is not who worries me. Have you seen any of the known terrorists or any strangers tailing Panuska?”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  “Thank God. Well, I’m heading to Ameen’s place. What’s your plan to find Panuska?”

  “We’ll search the shopping center again. Check with her handler. See if he’s heard from her.”

  “Understood. Give me your numbers. Contact me directly if you spot either of them, and I’ll do the same.”

  As Ben drove away, he tried not to think about the last time Marissa’s protection detail lost her.

  * * *

  Ameen clenched his hands into fists and swore in Arabic. Why did Baheera have to be such a stubborn woman? Did she not see the incredible danger she faced?

  Of course she did, but she would continue anyway. To stop the terrorists. And wasn’t that one of the things he admired about her?

  He slammed his fist into the wall, swore again, and rubbed his knuckles.

  He was such a hypocrite. Her bravery attracted him, but his instincts pushed him to protect her. He respected her independence, and yet he wanted to possess her in the most primitive ways: physically, sexually. How screwed up was that?

  He paced across the kitchen, bringing his frustrations—all storming within him—under control. His SEAL training kicked in, calming him, forcing him to focus.

  The best way to protect Baheera was to defeat their common enemy: the cell.

  Pieces of the puzzle were coming together faster now. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put together clues like “tunnel” and “package.” The cell planned to smuggle something across the border.

  Something constructed with electronic parts in Tijuana.

  His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened.

  A bomb.

  * * *

  Marissa considered going after Ameen. But what would she say? What should she say? When this was all over, she should, could, and would tell him…everything.

  She pulled her gaze back from the hallway and sighed. She glanced around the living room, actually noticing her surroundings for the first time. Ameen’s furnishings were masculine, simple, and contemporary. Chocolate brown and forest green dominated the décor. Strong, intense colors. Like the man. She smiled.

  A framed photograph sat on the end table next to the couch. A much younger Ameen smiled at the camera with a young woman about the same age, probably his sister, and an older couple, most likely his parents. The twin towers of the World Trade Center across the water in the background established the location and timeframe: New York City, pre-September 11, 2001. Was this a reminder of a favorite family vacation or had the Ali family lived in New York then? She would have to ask Ameen—when he wasn’t angry with her.

  The cell phone in her hand rang and startled her out of her reverie.

  “Baheera, it’s Fateen.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In Tijuana. All four of us are here. Saleem and Rashad are afraid to leave because of the police.”

  “Police? What’s happening?”

  “They found…the bodies in an empty building down the street.”

  Marissa could picture it. Exactly. “Are you sure it’s Samir and Omar?”

  “After the police car came, a crowd gathered. Rashad went to listen, but he could not understand much of the Spanish. He thought they said the bodies were discovered because of the smell. But he didn’t notice any odor. He definitely heard it was two men. They’d been shot. No identification, but they weren’t Mexican.”

  “The thieves must’ve taken their wallets. Did Rashad hear anything about the sat phone?”

  “No. They must have stolen it too. The bastards.” He paused. “Should we claim the bodies so they can be properly buried? It is already past the customary twenty-four hours.”

  “Fateen, think what you say. Allah has given us an important job. Should we risk it for two brothers?”

  “But Baheera—”

  “No, Fateen. Be strong.” She hung up on him.

  Marissa yawned, a long one that hurt her jaw. She rubbed her eyes, trying to ease the burn.

  There were many hours left in her day, and they would be filled with danger. Exhaustion made her vulnerable. Unacceptable. She yawned again, her eyes watering as though she were crying. She swiped at the overflow and shook her head. Unacceptable. She drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  Now she needed to check in with her handler. She had so much news and hoped he did also. She retrieved the Bureau phone from its hidden compartment and dropped the cheap cell phone into the purse.

  Two rings. Silence answered.

  She whispered her code word.

  “Secure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you all right?” her handler asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Where the hell are you? Your tail just reported you missing again.”

  “I’m at Ameen Ali’s condo. This is a safe location where I could make my calls,” she said with a grimace. “You have the address?”

  “Affirmative.” Her handler swore. “Stop disappearing. You’re giving me and Rawlings ulcers.”

  She grinned. “Deal with it. Do you have anything for me?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got some great news. We found the pig.”

  Marissa squealed with joy. “Oh, my God, where was it?” She listened to five seconds of silence. “Hello?”

  “Sorry, but this is a little awkward for me. First of all, you’re not going to believe it.”

  “Please, just tell me.”

  “Right. The pig had been inserted into the al-Qaeda woman’s…uh…uterus. The reason Husaam asked you about a doctor is that she needed drugs to dilate the…um…cervix so it could be retrieved.”

  “That’s incredible. Is that how you got it?”

  “Uh, no. The Hazmat guys removed it.”

  She frowned. “Hazmat?”

  “Remember I mentioned Baheera was getting sick? Well, she got really sick. Even on heavy morphine, she was screaming in pain. They rushed her to the hospital to do a full-body scan. The radiologist spotted the tube. The damn thing wasn’t even radiation-proof. The leaking radiation was…well, killing her from the inside. Her karma, if you ask me.”

  Marissa gagged and covered her mouth.

  “There was nothing we could do to help her, much less save her. Maybe if she’d told us about it two weeks ago… Who knows? Anyway, after she died, the Hazmat guys took the body to remove the tube even though the leaking radiation was hardly detectable outside her body. But I guess after more than two weeks, the soft internal tissue just… Sick, huh?”

  “Very.” She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “Now how do I fake getting the radioactive material?”

  “Dr. Jabbar is going to remove it from your uterus.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yeah, it’s already in mot
ion. Should be ready by five o’clock tonight, but you pick the time. The San Diego Bureau lab is making a duplicate pig based on the specs we sent. Special Agent Wahid Jabbar is going to play doctor with you in a suite at the Mission Valley Rio Hotel.” He read her the hotel phone number and the suite number, which she repeated back to him as she wrote it down. “You’re to bring some of the assholes with you so they can sit in the other room while you scream in pain during the extraction. Dr. Jabbar will give them the fake pig to rush to Tijuana while you stay at the hotel to ‘recover.’ Good, huh?”

  “Very clever. You just make damn sure Dr. Jabbar knows he’s not really going to touch me.”

  “Will do. What’ve you got?”

  “The target is Petco Park during a baseball game this week.”

  “Holy shit! You’re sure?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Yasir has a job at the ballpark during the games. I don’t know what yet. I think he’s assigned to smuggle the bomb into the Park and then pass it off to me at a predetermined time and location.”

  “We’ll alert the appropriate officials and get agents inside. Which game?”

  “Looks like it’s my call. Now that we have the radioactive material, I want to get it over with ASAP.”

  “Understood. Rawlings said to close the net. Time to snare all the terrorists and get that goddamn Herat bomb in our possession.”

  “Hopefully, we won’t have to take the charade all the way to the ballpark,” Marissa said.

  “Agreed. We don’t want the bomb anywhere near downtown San Diego. We’ll get cranking on some plans to catch the most fish with the net you’ve thrown.”

  “All right. I’ll work on some ideas too. Also, the bomb is coming across the border through a drug tunnel. I’m meeting with Juan Gonzalez at six o’clock today to make the deal and inspect the entrance and exit.” She read him both addresses.

  “Do you need cash?”

  “No, Samir left plenty. By the way, the Tijuana police found our two boys.”

  “We know. We were the source of the tip. We’re making arrangements to get the bodies.”

  “What did you find out about Ameen Ali?”

  “I thought…uh…Special Agent Alfren…reported to you?”