Targeted (FBI Heat)

by Marissa Garner

  “Why do you insist on the scarf?” Nadeem asked as they studied the instructions explaining how to install the explosive. “We are all brothers.”

  Khaleel’s eyes darted from the papers to the front room and back. He deliberately spoke in Spanish. “It is not the brothers who worry me.”

  Nadeem leaned back on his heels, a perplexed expression on his face. “You do not like Baheera.”

  He shot the other engineer an impatient look. “It is not a matter of like, but a matter of trust.”

  Nadeem frowned. “Are you angry she is our new leader? If you prefer her role, maybe you should volunteer to be the bomber.” Annoyance tinged his tone.

  Resentment burned inside Khaleel. You are stupid like the others. The bitch has deceived all of you weaklings. Allah, help me. He glared at his partner with growing animosity.

  The men fell into a sullen silence as they concentrated on properly installing the C-4. Nadeem read the instructions, examined the diagram, and pointed out the steps. With trembling fingers, Khaleel inserted the material and configured the connections. They double-checked each step before moving on to the next one. The tedious work strained Khaleel’s nerves until he felt ready to snap.

  When they needed a break, they stood and paced around the room, hoping to ease the tension in their muscles. Nadeem opened two bottles of water, and they settled back on the floor.

  “Why don’t you trust Baheera?” Nadeem asked, warily eyeing him.

  Khaleel listened for movement in the other room but heard only snoring. He took a long swig of the water before answering. “Some things don’t seem right.”

  “Like what?”

  His eyes speared Nadeem with a dark glare. “Why do you care? You worship her.”

  “No, I respect her for the sacrifice she’s making. I think you’re jealous that she’s braver than you.”

  His fists clenched. “No, brother. I agree she’s brave. I’m just not sure her bravery is for Allah.”

  “What? You’re crazy. Why would you say such a disrespectful thing?”

  “All right, I’ll tell you. First, I don’t believe her story about the night Samir and Omar were killed. Why didn’t the drug gang come back here and kill her? They wouldn’t have been afraid of one woman—even if she had an AK-47. And why didn’t they take any of the electronic parts?”

  “Samir and Omar could have injured their attackers before they were killed, so the thieves couldn’t come back. The Mexicans were probably hoping to find guns or drugs hidden in here. Instead, they found a bunch of electronic parts they had no use for. Why risk facing a woman with a gun for something they didn’t want?” Nadeem answered, his voice rising.

  “Quiet or you’ll wake those two idiots,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the front room. He wasn’t ready to concede the argument so he continued. “Baheera could’ve used the guns to go help Samir and Omar.”

  “She was carrying Allah’s gift in her womb. Was that not more important?”

  “Okay, so you’ve got an answer for everything. What about the nicknames she gave us?”

  Nadeem shook his head and looked at Khaleel like he was crazy. “We chose not to tell her our real names. Why does it matter what she calls us?”

  “The names Baheera chose are suspicious.”

  “Suspicious? We described ourselves as friends. I think she was clever to pick Arab names that mean ‘friend.’”

  “And she just happened to pick my real name as my nickname,” Khaleel said. “It wouldn’t be so bad if she’d called you Khaleel and me Nadeem. But she didn’t. That’s no coincidence.” He hesitated. “I think she knows who we are.”

  “Would it matter if she does? Maybe Samir told her.”

  “When we joined Samir’s group, he swore he’d never tell anyone our names, even Husaam. Remember? And why does Baheera ridicule our desire for anonymity?”

  “Because we’re being cowardly.” Nadeem seemed to temper his anger. “Okay, let’s assume everything you said is true. What do you think it means?”

  Khaleel narrowed his eyes and stared coldly at Nadeem. Should he trust his partner with his theory? He lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “I believe Baheera is a fake, an infidel. She has betrayed Allah, Husaam, and all of us. I think she killed Samir and Omar. Or someone killed them for her. And I don’t think she was here that whole night.”

  Nadeem’s eyes widened. “You call the wife of our leader a traitor to our cause. You curse her as an infidel. You are crazy!” He sprang to his feet.

  Khaleel leaped up and grabbed his arm. “Shut up, you fool. Maybe I am, but I don’t want to take any chances. I have a plan.”

  “What kind of plan?” Nadeem’s tone revealed his distrust.

  “A way to complete our mission even if Baheera doesn’t do it.”

  “She’ll do it.”

  “Okay, so consider this harmless insurance.”

  “What?”

  Khaleel pulled two inexpensive cell phones from his pocket.

  “What are those for?” Nadeem asked, his gaze darting in the direction of the snoring terrorists as though he wished they would wake up and support him in the argument.

  “These are my insurance.”

  “Who are you going to call?”

  “The bomb.”

  Nadeem’s engineering brain assembled the pieces. “To detonate it.”

  Khaleel smiled with pride. “Right. All I have to do is connect the bomb to the phone’s ringer. When I call that phone, it detonates the bomb. Quite easy, really. Used all the time in Iraq and Afghanistan. Even in Bali. I did my homework. The Internet was very helpful.”

  Nadeem stared at him, aghast. “This is wrong. You can’t do this to Baheera. She should be allowed to control her own death.”

  “If she does her job, I won’t have to do a thing. But if she doesn’t, then—”

  “No! I won’t let you do this.” Nadeem stepped back, putting his hand out in front of him. “I’ll tell Baheera and the others.”

  You little fool. Why don’t you see her deception? Too bad. Khaleel knew what he had to do. He shuffled his feet nervously. He peered at the bomb and sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I don’t know where all those suspicions came from. I guess I’m being paranoid.”

  “Yes, you are. Give me the phones.”

  He hesitated before handing them over.

  Nadeem jammed them into his pants pocket.

  “Before we get back to installing the explosive, let’s load some boxes of parts in your car to take back to the plant. I’m sure Baheera wants them out of here today,” Khaleel suggested. Without waiting for a reply, he bent down, picked up a box, and turned toward the front room.

  Releasing a loud sigh of relief, Nadeem lifted another box. He chuckled as they hurried past Fateen and Masoud, still dead to the world.

  With the boxes on the ground, Khaleel waited beside the car while Nadeem pulled the keys from his pocket. After raising the trunk lid, Nadeem leaned in to rearrange the contents to make room.

  In an instant, Khaleel yanked up his pants leg and extracted a knife from the sheath strapped to his leg. He plunged the blade into Nadeem’s side and yanked it out. The victim gasped in agony and shock. A vicious shove sent him into the trunk.

  Khaleel rolled the man over and slit his throat from ear to ear. Then he rammed the knife into the center of Nadeem’s chest and left it there. Blood poured from the wounds and gurgled from his partner’s gaping mouth. Frantically, he grabbed the two cell phones from the man’s pocket, stuffed them in his own pocket, and ripped the knife free.

  Nadeem’s lifeless eyes were fixed on him as he tossed the boxes on top of the body and slammed the trunk lid. He jerked the keys from the lock and slid into the driver’s seat in less than a minute. After zigzagging through three alleys, he parked the car behind a boarded-up house.

  Nadeem’s scarf lay on the passenger seat. Khaleel used it to clean the blood from his hands and scrub the spots from his bare chest and abdomen. When he
was done, he tossed the scarf and keys under the driver’s seat. Standing beside the car, he breathed slowly, deeply, to clear his head and slow his heart rate. He locked the driver’s door and then circled the car, checking each handle.

  He cursed the heat with each stride as he raced back to the hideout. While he ran, he formulated his story. Reaching the house, he leaned against the wall, panting to catch his breath. A small puddle of blood on the dirty asphalt caught his eye. Panic ripped through him until reason returned. Quickly, he started his car and moved it to cover the incriminating evidence.

  Opening the front door a crack, he listened. Loud snoring. Perfect.

  He slipped silently inside. Barely breathing, he tiptoed past the two sleeping men and into the back room. He needed to hurry if he was going to finish before Fateen and Masoud woke up.

  He dropped to his knees beside the bomb. His heart pounded as he studied the diagram, and his hands trembled as he wedged the final piece of explosive into place. Sweat ran down his sides and back. He wiped the stinging drops from his eyes with the edge of his scarf. His chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Finally, all the C-4 was installed.

  Khaleel jumped up and crept to the doorway to check on the men. They hadn’t moved. Pulling one of the cell phones from his pocket, he moved back to the bomb.

  He sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully opening the phone casing with a screwdriver. The instructions and pictures on the Internet had been detailed. He easily identified the mechanics for the ringer. He anchored the phone with duct tape and connected the ringer to the detonator.

  He chuckled. No wonder the procedure had been so successful with IEDs in the Middle East; it was so easy it didn’t really require any engineering skill to install.

  While Khaleel admired his handiwork, car doors slammed outside. He closed the bomb briefcase and latched it.

  He smiled. Baheera was no longer in control.

  Voices filled the front room when the four arrivals woke their sleeping brothers. As Khaleel waited for the six men to join him, he rehearsed his explanation of Nadeem’s absence, then stood up to greet them.

  Rashad led the group into the back room. With his arms fully extended, he carried a small case. Fear etched lines in his face. He marched directly to Khaleel and pushed the case into his hands, obviously eager to be free of it.

  “Allah’s gift,” he said gravely and stepped back.

  “Allahu Akbar,” Khaleel murmured, staring at the ominous object. “How is Baheera?”

  “It was a terrible ordeal for her. She screamed in pain many times, and there was a lot of blood. She is recovering at the hotel with Dr. Jabbar.”

  His gaze jerked to Rashad’s face. “Who is Dr. Jabbar?”

  “We had never met him before, but he’s very dedicated to our cause. He’s the brother who removed that,” he said, pointing a shaky finger.

  Khaleel slowly unlatched the case and opened it. His eyes widened at the sight of the bloody tube. Could I be wrong about Baheera? An infidel would not be willing to carry a tube of radioactive material inside her body to do Allah’s work. Thoughtfully, he snapped the case shut and looked away. “When will Baheera be here?”

  “The doctor said it would take several hours for her to recover, but she’ll come as soon as she can. Her orders are for all of us to wait here for her.” Rashad glanced around, noticing an absence for the first time. “Where’s Nadeem?”

  Khaleel bent down and carefully placed the case next to the bomb. Apparently, he had plenty of time to install the radioactive material. He straightened and addressed the entire group. “I don’t know where Nadeem is. We needed a break and decided to load some of the boxes in his car. When I came back inside for another box, he drove off and hasn’t returned. I’m afraid he is a coward and has abandoned us.”

  The other men stood speechless for a long moment.

  “He seemed so devoted to our mission…and to Baheera,” Fateen finally said.

  They all nodded agreement.

  “I thought so too. And he may yet return. But, in the meantime, I must continue to prepare the bomb.” He looked down anxiously at the case. “I need complete focus, so you must all stay in the other room until I am finished. Understand?”

  Again, they nodded in unison and headed to the front room to discuss the shocking cowardice of Nadeem.

  Khaleel sighed with self-satisfaction. He knelt beside the bomb and opened the small case. He smiled at Allah’s gift, whispered a quick prayer, and began his deadly work.

  * * *

  Ameen lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His arm embraced Baheera, who snuggled against his side. To his great relief, she had not cried before or after their lovemaking this time.

  He wrestled with a secret desire to tie her up in the hotel room to prevent her from completing the operation. But she would never forgive him, and he couldn’t live with that. Besides, it was illegal to interfere with a law enforcement action, and he didn’t want to end their relationship by being thrown in jail. He hated to even end the moment, but he had important business to take care of.

  One of Baheera’s long, smooth legs was draped between his, her hand rested on his abs, her midnight hair fanned across his chest, and her breasts pressed against his side. Those sensations ignited another erection, which he attempted to fight off. He blew out his breath as if to deflate that other part of his anatomy. Additional pleasure would have to wait until tonight.

  “Baheera, I must leave now,” he whispered in Arabic.

  “No, please, not yet. There is time, yes? You want more of me, yes?”

  Her eyes popped open when the words escaped her mouth. The words were English, soft and seductive but spoken with an accent he didn’t recognize.

  Ameen gently turned her head to meet his gaze. “Is this the real you?”

  “Close.”

  “You have many secrets, Baheera. Will I ever know the real you?”

  “This morning has been a good start, yes? Tonight, I will tell you, show you, more. Much more.” Her fingers crept south of his navel.

  His hand captured hers. “That, too, will have to wait for tonight.”

  “Ah, but you said waiting can be dangerous.”

  “Sometimes you have no choice. I have to get back to the mosque to take care of Dawud.”

  “I don’t want you to take care of him. I want you to point him out to my people and let them nab him.” The sensuous accent had disappeared. She was all business again.

  “I’ll let them have him…when I’m done with him,” he muttered under his breath.

  “I’m serious, Ameen. He’s on a jihad. He will be armed and dangerous. Don’t mess with him.”

  “I am also on a jihad against those who blaspheme true Islam.” His face softened. “Like you, I have a job to do.” He smothered her next protest with his lips.

  Once he released her, he rolled from the bed and pulled on his jeans and T-shirt. He refrained from looking at her, not trusting himself to resist her tempting nakedness.

  She watched him in silence until he was ready to leave. “Ameen, are you really okay with this?” She swept her hand across the bed, her words returning to Arabic.

  He smiled. “Much better than okay.” He placed his hand over his heart. “You have awakened a new joy in me. I will see you later. Be careful, Baheera.” His smile faded as he turned away.

  She sprang from the bed and dashed after him to the suite door. She plunged into his arms and pulled his mouth to hers. They embraced and kissed with a passion he guessed they were both afraid to acknowledge.

  “You’ve given me a new joy too,” she said, tears gliding down her cheeks.

  Her tears were the last thing he saw as he slipped out the door.

  * * *

  The air in the videoconference room practically crackled. Tense agents filled the room, eager to complete their mission.

  Ben sat with fellow San Diego FBI agents Wahid Jabbar and Alan Carter. Others were from Homeland Security and the
San Diego JTTF, but at this moment, they were all one team.

  Voices hushed. People paced.

  Intensity strained every face.

  They waited.

  Kevin Rawlings appeared on the large screen. “Good morning, team,” he said, his voice grave and commanding. “Everyone please take a seat so we can proceed. I’m turning this meeting over to Stan Williams, the San Diego JTTF leader. He’ll review the details of the op, which I’m sure you’ve all studied, and answer any questions you may have. Each of you should be fully informed of the entire op as well as your individual assignments. After the review, we’ll spend as much time as necessary brainstorming any damn thing that could go wrong. I want solutions to every possible snafu.” He paused thoughtfully. “Special Agent Panuska is going to be carrying a crudely constructed bomb through a drug gang’s cross-border tunnel. She’ll be surrounded by al-Qaeda terrorists and Mexican drug goons. She won’t be wearing any Kevlar and may not have access to her Glock. Not exactly a walk in the park. We need to be prepared for anything. Now give Williams your full attention.”

  All eyes focused and all ears listened intently as Williams displayed the operation details from the computer onto the screen. There were few questions and even less comments. Hearing the plan described aloud seemed to magnify the dangers and risks—especially those facing Marissa.

  Ben was riveted to the presentation, feeling the weight of Marissa’s safety on his shoulders. He memorized her every step, her every move. Were there any holes in the plans? What would Marissa’s physical, psychological, and emotional states be by this afternoon? No one in the room understood her passionate personality like he did. He was the only one who could factor her soul into the equation.

  Williams wrapped up, and Rawlings returned to the screen. “Thanks, Williams. Any questions or potential problems?”

  Ben mulled over his issue while two others were addressed, discussed, and resolved. Finally, he spoke up. “I have a question about the bomb. What—”