Targeted (FBI Heat)

by Marissa Garner

  While he waited and analyzed, he fidgeted. Surveilling Ameen Ali was a waste of time. The man was Mr. Clean. The real risk was that he might interfere with the operation, not that he would harm Marissa or help the terrorists. And it was a risk they just might have to live with.

  He glanced down when his cell dinged with a text message telling him Panuska was safe at Ameen’s residence. He snorted. I figured that out fifteen minutes ago. He chuckled when he pictured her protection detail scrambling to get there from the mall before she disappeared again.

  His amusement was short-lived. He had a serious, personal choice to make. His decision could drastically hinder or terminate his promising career with the FBI.

  He straightened and lifted his chin. To hell with ignoring the personal implications of the situation. Marissa was what mattered most. And Ben was not prepared to risk her life to capture every last terrorist lackey or to find every last screw of the goddamn Herat bomb.

  He was through wasting time keeping an eye on a former SEAL hero. He’d wait until Marissa was safely on her way back to her truck, but then, he was changing his assignment.

  With or without Rawlings’s approval.

  * * *

  Lying in bed with Baheera asleep beside him, Ameen analyzed the information he’d overheard during her phone conversations. Those calls had reinforced how deathly afraid he was for her.

  Whoever was calling the shots didn’t understand the ruthlessness of the al-Qaeda terrorists. Most Americans didn’t. Most Muslims didn’t. In many ways, Islamic extremists were incomprehensible to anyone but themselves. What other group in the history of the world’s religions had encouraged men, women, and children to blow themselves up to murder innocent civilians in the name of their god? While serving his adopted country as a SEAL, he’d decided a reasonable mind could never understand a terrorist’s mind.

  He studied the beautiful woman sleeping next to him. Her Muslim name meant dazzling and brilliant, and Baheera definitely sparkled like a fine diamond. But she was also intelligent, brave, and strong. He was convinced now that she was an operative with one of the many US intelligence agencies involved in antiterrorism operations.

  Still, he worried. He’d connected with her spirit because it was fueled by love. The terrorists’ spirits were fueled by hate. They would eat her alive.

  Anguish and futility weighed on Ameen’s heart. He didn’t know how to stop the cell, and he didn’t know how to stop Baheera. Helplessness was not a feeling he was accustomed to, and it really pissed him off.

  His jaw clenched. He reached a decision that could change his life and their relationship.

  Or end both.

  No more watching from the shadows.

  No more trying to figure out someone else’s plans.

  No more waiting for others to terminate the cell.

  Ameen grinned. Time for me to kick some terrorist ass.

  * * *

  Wahid Jabbar sported a full beard, lighter hair, and glasses when he checked into the Mission Valley Rio Hotel on Tuesday afternoon as Dr. Jabbar. The disguise was probably overkill because he didn’t really think the terrorists would recognize him from the mosque. But he wasn’t taking any chances.

  A large suitcase sat beside him at the registration desk, and a cardboard box waited in the trunk of his car. The good doctor signed the paperwork to reserve the two-room suite for a week. He probably only needed it for a couple nights but better to be prepared. The timetable was not his to make.

  After hauling the suitcase and the box to the suite, Wahid set the stage with all the props. He stripped the bed and replaced the linens with a clear plastic tarp and plain white sheets. On the small chest designed to hold a suitcase, he neatly laid half a dozen syringes and vials, surgical gloves, a speculum, forceps, a stethoscope, a blood pressure cuff, and several other medical instruments. On the dresser, he set the small lead case into which he would place the “extracted” fake pig. After confirming the faux pig and plastic pouches of artificial blood were well hidden in an inside pocket of the suitcase, he locked and shoved it into the closet.

  Slipping on a white doctor’s coat, he checked his image in the mirror and almost smiled. If the reason for the charade weren’t so serious, it would be laughable.

  The clock read 5:00 p.m. He’d met the deadline.

  Wahid removed the white coat and picked up the room service menu. He’d eat while he could. Later, Dr. Jabbar would have to be ready at a moment’s notice.

  Chapter 16

  Good morning, beautiful,” Ameen teased.

  “What? No!” Marissa’s eyes opened wide. She pushed away and rolled over.

  “No, no, Baheera. I was only joking,” he said, grabbing for her flailing arm.

  Unsmiling, she froze. She knitted her brows and scrunched her eyes shut. Her hand covered her face as she stifled a sob.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you knew I set the alarm for four.” Remorse filled Ameen’s voice.

  She lowered her hand to reveal an impish grin. “I knew.”

  She punched his arm, and he attacked her with kisses. But the horseplay died quickly, and the mood turned serious.

  “Ameen, please listen to me and respect what I have to tell you. Just as you had a job to do as a Navy SEAL, I also have a job to do in service to my country. You wouldn’t have allowed someone to interfere with your assignments, so you must respect mine. I know your intentions are good, but you have to stop interfering. You might put me and many others in greater danger. You’re smart. I don’t have to spell it out. Please, I beg you, stay out of this.”

  “You and your people, whoever they are, don’t understand what you’re dealing with.”

  She threw her head back on the pillow in exasperation. “We know more than you think we do. This is far more serious than Samir and his little cell.”

  “Yes, a bomb, maybe even a dirty one, detonated in San Diego is damn serious,” he said defiantly.

  Marissa looked at him blankly, hiding her surprise. “Don’t push me into a corner. You’ve heard things you shouldn’t have because I trusted you. You know things that could put the op and me at risk. I can have you arrested for obstructing a federal investigation.”

  She sighed and softened her tone. “But I don’t want to do that. Forget everything, except that I care for you and share your feelings of connection. When…when this is over, I would love to explore those connections. But now, I’m telling you, warning you, to back off.”

  Ameen rolled away and stood up. Without looking back, he marched to the door and stopped. “I care about you, too, Baheera. But remember, there’s danger in waiting…to do anything. There may not be another opportunity to explore our connections.”

  She knew what he meant, and he wasn’t talking about sex. Baheera might not live to have the chance to explore any of their connections. Well, she’d do her best not to let that happen. But, of course, there were no guarantees.

  “We should go now if you don’t want to be late for your appointment with Juan at the tunnel,” Ameen said as he stomped out of the bedroom.

  Marissa clenched her fists and pounded them into the pillow.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, they were on the road to Grossmont Center.

  “Please tell him to stop following me,” Ameen said.

  She twisted around from her slouched position in the passenger seat. Neither of them had suggested she lay her head in his lap again. Peering out the back window, she spotted Ben’s blue BMW and an unmarked black sedan several cars back.

  “They’re following me, not you.”

  “No. The one in the blue car, the man in the baseball cap who spoke to you at the mosque, has been following me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. He does not act like the others. Who is he?”

  Marissa’s heart squeezed. “We used to…work together.”

  “And?”

  She frowned. “And…we’re still friends.”

  “And lovers?” />
  Ameen’s penetrating gaze made her wonder if he could read her mind.

  “Not any longer. More than two years ago.”

  “I see.”

  But she knew he couldn’t see. Not really. Her relationship with Benja had been different. Not like the connections she prayed she’d have a chance to develop with Ameen.

  As she glanced over her shoulder again, Ben flashed his headlights before he exited the freeway. Marissa sighed.

  Ameen dropped her off where he had picked her up. A curt good-bye and he was gone.

  With her bag of new clothes, she rushed across the mall and through the store. When she exited, she made eye contact with her protection detail, who scowled at her as the sedan barreled around the corner of the shopping center.

  While she raced back to the apartment, Marissa tried to focus on the meeting with Juan, but she kept seeing Ameen’s hurt and angry face instead.

  When she walked in the door, four pairs of anxious eyes greeted her. She spoke to the men calmly, but without pausing, on her way to the bedroom.

  She locked the door and changed into a new outfit. Silently, she took Samir’s box from the drawer, unlocked it, and counted out $5,000. Juan hadn’t mentioned a deposit, but she wanted to be prepared.

  From her purse, she pulled the map pinpointing the ends of the tunnel and the piece of paper with the addresses Juan had given her on the phone. She marked the route from Interstate 5 to the Otay Mesa location on the US side with a pen. She stared at the map and traced with her finger the route she had memorized from the San Ysidro border crossing to the hideout.

  The tunnel entrance was much closer to the border and also in an entirely different area of Tijuana. The house was in a drug-infested slum; the tunnel was in an industrial area near the airport. After studying the map, she decided on a route and marked it too. Instead of trying to find the way from the tunnel to the hideout after her inspection, she concluded it would be easier and safer to return to the border crossing area and take the familiar route. By then, it might be dark, and the last thing she needed was to get lost in Tijuana. Since she would be alone in the truck though, she could always use the GPS map feature of her Bureau phone if necessary. And her tail shouldn’t have problems following since her handler would have previously advised them of the two addresses.

  Marissa’s heart pounded in her ears as she stuffed the box back in the drawer and then collapsed on the bed. Closing her eyes, she took several slow, deep breaths.

  With her eyes still shut, she reviewed the plan for the night. Did she have everything she needed? Was she prepared to improvise? When she forced her eyes open, the clock read 4:45 p.m. Time to go. A feeling of being very alone washed over her.

  When she stepped out of the bedroom, she almost collided with Yasir coming out of the bathroom. He was dressed in his uniform to go to work at the Padres’ game. She needed to know more about his role, but she didn’t have time to question him fully now. And she had to act as if she already knew.

  “Samir worried that you weren’t ready to do your part in our mission. Is that true, Yasir?”

  He huffed. “I’m ready. I had trouble driving the delivery truck through downtown San Diego at first. Stupid American one-way streets. But now I know the best route from the company warehouse to the ballpark.” He sneered. “This is a dumb job. Who wants to deliver paper plates, napkins, and cups for a living?”

  So that’s how they plan to get the bomb inside. Marissa nodded her support. “Delivering paper supplies is not your real job. Delivering the bomb is your true goal. Samir told me how he wanted you to transfer the bomb to me, but I think you might have a better idea based on your special knowledge of the site. Will you think about it, Yasir, and discuss it with me later? I would appreciate your help.”

  He smiled and stood taller. “I will think of the perfect plan, Baheera. I will work hard to please Allah.”

  “Thank you. Come. I must share some wonderful news with all of you before I leave.”

  They walked into the living room together, and she motioned for him to sit with the others.

  “Brothers, it is almost time to deliver Allah’s gift. I am meeting this evening with the man who will provide safe passage for us across the border. I will also insist Khaleel and Nadeem finish the bomb assembly tonight. Tomorrow morning, the doctor will deliver Allah’s gift from my womb.”

  She delighted in the amazed expressions on their faces. “Yes, I have carried the gift as I would a child. While I recover from the operation, you will take the gift to the engineers for them to finish their job. Yasir, you must be sure everything is taken care of at the ballpark for tomorrow night. Saleem, Rashad, and Tareef, you must be sure you are ready to perform your roles. Tonight, we will pray for Allah’s blessing and discuss all the details to complete our mission.”

  She glanced from one pair of eyes to the next until she had pulled them all to her. Then she marched to the door, leaving them stunned.

  Once inside the old truck, she gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands while she steeled herself for the tasks ahead. Had two years as a desk jockey diminished her ability to deal with the stress? If she had a partner, someone to share the responsibility, she wanted to believe it would be easier.

  She checked the truck’s mirrors, taking a few moments to spot Clark and Hughes because they’d switched to a white Ford Explorer this time. With the motor idling, she signaled to them with the left blinker. They flashed a response, and she drove away from the curb.

  Marissa turned right at the intersection and was soon out of sight of the apartment complex and the Explorer. Already aware of her destination, they could hold back and gradually catch up. She drove west on Interstate 8 for two miles before she spotted them behind her.

  Her eyes jerked back to the rearview mirror a second time. She recognized a blue vehicle farther back. She smiled and sighed. The overwhelming stress eased. The crushing weight on her shoulders lightened.

  She did have a partner.

  * * *

  From the rooftop, Ameen surveyed the bird’s-eye view of the industrial park. The target building was directly south of his location with no obstructions in between. The access road was clearly visible, as were several other routes in and out of the area.

  He had parked three blocks away between two eighteen-wheelers. Getting to this location carrying his large duffle bag had been a cat-and-mouse game. Ameen was not the only one hiding, lying in wait. His advantage was that he knew they would be there. They weren’t expecting him. They had settled into their spots, and he grinned as he confirmed the locations of the three Mexicans and the four US agents, all armed.

  It was too hot for the black mask and clothes he wore, but he needed to lose himself in the shadows. He stretched out the neck of his black T-shirt and blew down on his chest. But his breath was as hot as the still air and provided no relief. Next, he wiped sweat from beneath the mask with the hem of the shirt.

  Suffering was not new to him, and the black outfit might save his life later in the darkness. It had saved him before.

  He moved back from the edge of the roof to the center where the duffle bag lay. Unzipping it, he kept alert for any sound of approaching vehicles. From the bag, he withdrew a high-powered rifle with a scope, a pair of binoculars, and his favorite handgun. He quickly checked both guns before crawling back to the edge.

  The trip to Otay Mesa had been spontaneous and hurried, but he was calm. Other things made him nervous, but this was as familiar as his old job.

  Ameen studied the Mexicans through the binoculars. All three were smoking joints. He grinned again. They would be easy to take out. He panned down the access road as the old Chevy truck came into view, turning into the industrial park. Right on time.

  Baheera drove slowly, probably trying to spot the building numbers. A Ford Explorer darted past a block behind the truck and approached on a parallel alley. As he followed the truck’s slow progress, a third vehicle raced into the park. A blue B
MW sports car. Baheera’s friend was certainly persistent.

  Ameen watched her pull to the curb and check the gun in her purse. Good girl. With the truck idling, her eyes darted from place to place, scrutinizing the location. She looked poised to flee.

  At 6:05 p.m., the door to the vacant building opened, and Juan Gonzalez swaggered out into the sunshine. His gun was jammed into the front waistband of his pants. He squinted at the woman in the truck before motioning for her to join him.

  After killing the engine, Baheera climbed out. She left the key in the ignition and the door slightly ajar. She tossed her ebony locks off her shoulders as she did a 360-degree turn. When she spotted two of the hidden Mexicans, she waved.

  Ignoring the sweat pouring from his body, Ameen chuckled at the show playing out on the ground below him.

  Juan gaped at the sight of the beautiful, sexy woman walking toward him. Obviously, she was not at all what he had expected a female Arab terrorist to be. Ameen’s hands clenched on the binoculars as he read the lust in Juan’s expression. If he touches her…

  Juan and Baheera shook hands and disappeared inside.

  What Ameen wouldn’t give for x-ray vision. He checked his watch. Twenty minutes should be enough time. Longer than that or any aggressive movement on the part of the three Mexican guards, and he’d dispose of them and go in after Baheera.

  He waited, sweat running over his hot skin. Five minutes. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Damn. He crawled across the roof to the right edge. Peering over the side, he spotted the man sliding along the wall of the building across the road to the right. The man moved smoothly, gun held steady with both hands. It was only one of the four agents changing positions. As the agent’s gaze swept upward, Ameen ducked. After a minute, he peeked down again. The agent was hiding in a new position where he could observe two of the Mexicans, but he showed no signs of taking offensive action.

  Ten minutes. Ameen crawled back to his position. The Explorer and BMW weren’t visible, but he knew the eyes inside them were watching everything. No change in the Mexicans. Drops of sweat marked each passing second.