Rawlings interrupted. “For those of you who haven’t met him, this is FBI Special Agent Ben Alfren, from the San Diego office.” Several heads turned to identify the newcomer. “Many of you may have heard of his accomplishments in the Hermosillo and Dream Makers cases recently.” A murmur rolled through the room. “Go ahead, Alfren.”
He was relieved that Rawlings chose not to explain how Ben had become involved in the Counterterrorism operation. “Thank you, sir. I came late to the party, so this may be common knowledge to the rest of you, but what specifics do we know about the bomb? Have we positively identified it as the Herat bomb? How powerful is it? How stable is it? How is it detonated? Is Panuska the only one capable of detonating it or could any of the terrorists do it?”
All eyes returned to the big screen.
Rawlings scratched his head and didn’t look into the camera. The astute man probably had a good idea what was behind Ben’s questions, but there were probably no reassuring answers to give him.
“No, we’re not positive it’s the Herat bomb, but we’re relatively confident it is. Panuska was able to study the diagrams and thought she could confirm its authenticity from the parts she’d seen. It should be stable unless the engineers screwed up the assembly or substituted an explosive other than what was described in the plans.” He cleared his throat. “Based on the diagrams and the amount of explosive, the bomb blast could annihilate everything within a fifty-yard radius. Thank God, we confiscated the radioactive material so contamination is not an issue. Detonation appears to be a simple process of flipping a switch on the inside of a metal briefcase. Anyone knowing that would be capable of detonating the bomb.”
Ben didn’t like the news, and his gut clenched. “What about remote detonation like a lot of insurgents and terrorists use with IEDs?”
“We’re not aware of anything in the diagrams or assembly instructions about remote detonation. Other than the radioactive material, the mechanics of this bomb are pretty damn basic. Have I answered your questions?”
“Yes, sir, and I have a suggestion.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Panuska is supposed to have the Mexicans lead the procession, followed by the terrorists. She’ll hang back as far as possible. We want everyone but her outside before we close in. I think someone should be assigned the specific responsibility of keeping any of the terrorists or Mexicans from reentering the building. They might attempt to seize the bomb and detonate it right there or use it as a bargaining chip to negotiate their way out. And since we can’t count on her even having her Glock at that point, she might need help protecting the bomb.” He cleared his throat. “I volunteer for the assignment.”
“Agreed. Williams, I want Alfren and Jabbar to drop in between the terrorists and the building as soon as everyone exits. Also assign another agent to specifically cover the rear entrance. Alfren’s right. We don’t want those assholes anywhere near that bomb.”
Chapter 23
Wahid and Ben walked out of the videoconference room together, intently discussing a logistics strategy for getting themselves into position to help Marissa guard the bomb.
“Wahid.”
He smiled as he glanced over his shoulder. His girlfriend leaned against the wall in the hallway, waiting for him. “I haven’t seen Jamila since she got back from Washington last night,” he explained without taking his eyes off her. “I’ll catch up with you in fifteen minutes.”
“Sure. No problem,” Ben said and continued on.
The sight of Jamila lifted Wahid’s spirits from where they’d fallen since she’d left more than two weeks ago. With quick strides, he hurried down the hall. He wanted to pull her into an embrace but restrained himself.
“Hey, sweetheart. Damn, it’s great to see you.” After a swift glance around, he pecked a kiss on her lips. He wanted more, but hot kisses and passionate lovemaking would have to wait until tonight.
“You too,” she said, a quiver in her voice.
Only then did he notice the tears in her eyes and the paleness of her skin. “You’re still not feeling good?”
She swallowed hard. “Not really.” She looked down at her feet. “We need to talk, Wahid.”
The words raised a red flag. He narrowed his eyes. “Sure. What’s up?”
“Not here. Someplace more private. Let’s find an empty conference room.”
Her gloomy expression and grim tone started to freak him out. Was she breaking up with him? Had she met someone in Washington? Or was she sick? Seriously sick. “Did you see—”
“Just wait, please.”
Wait? He didn’t want to wait.
They found a vacant room and sat down facing each other.
“Did you see the doctor this morning? Are you sick? Is everything all right?”
She wrung her hands in her lap and stared at them. “Yes. No. Maybe.”
It took a second for her answers to make sense, and even when they did, Wahid wasn’t sure he understood. “Does this have anything to do with the radiation that leaked from the damn pig?” he asked, his throat tight with concern.
She glanced up. “What?”
“The radiation. I know you said it was a minor leak once outside the body, but I’ve been worried that you were around the real Baheera so much that you might’ve been exposed to—”
“No.” She cut him off. “This isn’t job related.”
He exhaled with relief. More questions popped into his head, but he decided to just let her talk.
“I’ve really enjoyed the past six months with you…,” she began.
Oh shit, she is breaking up with me. Why now? Can’t it wait? I don’t want a downer before the op.
“…but I-I don’t think we’re really ready for…”
Damn. Get it over with. “Just say it,” he snapped.
She blinked at him, her expression bewildered. “O-Okay.” She gulped. “I’m pregnant.”
It was his turn to blink. So he did and forgot to breathe. From the look on her face, he could only imagine the look on his.
She sniffed and pulled a tissue from her purse. Dabbing her eyes, she said, “I feel so stupid. We used birth control. How could this happen? What am I going to do?”
As she rattled on, Wahid’s wits came back to him. “I? It’s ‘we.’ You’re not in this alone, Jamila.” He moved from his chair to stand beside her and took her trembling hands in his. “Let’s take care of it this weekend.”
“If by ‘take care of it,’ you mean get an—”
“I mean, get…married. Unless you want to plan some big wedding or something, I suggest we hop over to Vegas and tie the knot quickly. Considering, you know…” He patted her tummy. “Quickly is good.”
Shocked didn’t begin to describe Jamila’s reaction. She sat wide-eyed and speechless for several moments.
“Maybe I should make this more official, but you’ll have to take a verbal IOU on the ring.” Keeping her hands wrapped in his, he dropped onto one knee. “Jamila Zafar, I love you with all my heart. I want to spend my life with you. I want to raise a family with you. With Allah’s blessing, will you marry me?”
* * *
“I have good news and bad news, sir.”
Rawlings dragged his gaze away from the computer screen and zeroed in on the agent standing in his office doorway. “Talk to me.”
“We found the Chevy Impala.”
“Is that the good news or bad?”
“Good.”
“Go on.” He sighed, bracing for the bad news.
“Neither Pablo, Liban, or Dawud was in it.”
“Empty. Shit,” Rawlings grumbled.
“Not exactly, sir.”
“Go on.”
“We found a dead Asian man in the trunk. No ID. He’d been shot. No one in the vicinity knew him or saw anything go down. Pablo…er…Liban must’ve carjacked him.”
He swore again. “By the time we ID him so we can figure out what kind of vehicle he was driving, the assassin will be in San
Diego.”
Collateral damage. Is it starting?
* * *
The digital numbers on the hotel alarm clock glowed 11:30 a.m. How could it be that early? So much had already happened. Theoretically, Marissa had time for a ninety-minute nap. She dutifully set the alarm in case she managed to fall asleep, but she honestly didn’t think she would.
Still naked, she curled up on the bed and closed her eyes. Rawlings was right; she needed sleep. Tonight. She would sleep tonight—and make love again—with Ameen. If the premonition…
Making love had uncoiled her body, but her mind and emotions were still wound tightly. She had the op memorized down to the minutest detail. Continuing to review it would only compound her tension.
She wondered about the state of mind of the men waiting for her in Tijuana. Khaleel and Nadeem should be finished assembling the bomb. With that feat accomplished, those two should be feeling some relief. Yasir would be anxious about the key role he still had to play in getting the bomb into Petco Park. The others had little to worry about at this point other than traveling out of Tijuana and eventually out of Mexico. There should definitely be less anxiety for them now.
Suddenly she realized she was grasping at the hope that the terrorists would be letting their guard down. She shook her head and changed the direction of her thoughts. Control must be in her hands, not theirs.
Ameen. She gulped. Guilt tugged at her conscience. What had she done? More important, what was she going to do?
She rubbed away the tears stinging her eyes. When had she become such a crybaby? This was not Marissa Panuska.
Benja. She thought of his good-bye. He was so afraid for her. She knew it wasn’t a lack of confidence but simply his protective nature. If something happens to me…
The premonition. Dear God, let it be wrong.
* * *
Ameen burst into the mosque office, startling the secretary. “Is Dawud here yet?” he snapped.
The secretary arched her eyebrows, not only at his brusque manner but also at his disheveled appearance. “No. Where have you been, Ameen? Did you go back to bed?”
“Something like that,” Ameen said, avoiding her eyes.
“You’re a mess. Fix your shirt and comb your hair.”
He waved aside her nagging. “Where’s my uncle?”
“Midday prayers. Where else?”
“If you see him before I do, tell him I need to speak to him immediately.” He swallowed hard. “It’s very important.”
Ameen disappeared into the restroom, his gun heavy in his pants pocket. He combed his hair and straightened his T-shirt. His tortured reflection stared back at him from the mirror. He ran a hand across his face. Now was not the time to think about Baheera. He had work to do.
As he emerged from the restroom, a wiry man strode into the office and marched straight to the secretary’s desk. “Allahu Akbar. I am here to see Ameen. My name is Dawud. Samir’s brother,” he announced in Arabic.
Before she could respond, Ameen stepped up to the desk, his right hand extended. “I’m Ameen.” He peered into the man’s soulless eyes while they shook hands. “You’re just in time for prayers, Dawud. We should pray before we go to Samir’s apartment.” Not allowing the opportunity for disagreement, he immediately led the way out of the office.
When they passed the door to the mechanical equipment room, Ameen stopped. “We’ve been having problems with the air conditioner. I need to check something before the repairman gets here. It’ll just take a second.” He surveyed the empty walkway as he unlocked the door, then swung it open and stepped back. “Can you see if that’s the repairman coming from the parking lot?” he asked, squinting and pointing.
Dawud exhaled impatiently. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned around, giving Ameen the perfect opportunity. The former SEAL landed a vicious chop to the assassin’s neck. The man crumbled to the concrete.
Ameen dragged the limp body into the room and slammed it against the wall. Probably unnecessary, but it felt damn good. After locking the door, he set to work. He thanked Allah he’d taken the time to prepare that morning before going to the hotel to warn Baheera.
He grabbed the roll of duct tape and bound Dawud’s mouth, hands, and feet. The man’s nose and lip were bleeding, but Ameen didn’t bother to clean him up. He removed the wallet, gun, keys, and phone from Dawud’s pockets and set them aside. After finding a knife strapped to his leg, Ameen added it to the pile. A quick frisking revealed no other items.
He scowled down at his victim. Thankfully, the man was much smaller than Ameen, but the setup would still be tricky. He dragged Dawud across the floor and hoisted him onto the metal table he’d moved earlier to stand directly under the large, metal pipe spanning the ceiling. Ameen climbed onto the table so he could lift the body onto the old wooden chair sitting at the edge. As he strapped Dawud to the chair with more duct tape, the man groaned, and his head rolled from side to side. Before jumping down, Ameen tested the rope he’d attached to the pipe. Once everything was in place, he stood back and admired his work.
“Nap’s over,” he said before slapping the assassin’s face. Hard.
Dawud jerked and groaned. Another slap opened his eyes.
The eyes, which had been empty, filled with panic and then rage when he saw his predicament.
Ameen laughed while he stuffed the man’s belongings in his own pockets.
“Before I make the last little adjustment, Dawud, I have a message for you.” His right fist rocketed into the man’s face. Blood ran from a gash near his eye.
Dawud growled his response.
“Good. Just so you know, the scratchy feeling around your neck is a noose. It’s attached to the overhead pipe, and there’s no slack. Now for that little adjustment.” Ameen grasped the legs of the chair and pulled them forward until the front edges hung off the tabletop. “There. Perfectly, but barely, balanced. If you move even a little, the front legs will slide off the table, the chair will fall forward, and the noose will… Well, you can figure that part out yourself.”
A few minutes later, Ameen jogged up to a black sedan parked across the street from the main entrance to the mosque. He extended his hand to the stunned agent in the passenger seat.
“I’m Ameen Ali. Dawud is in the mechanical equipment room. Here’s a key to the room and all his stuff. I don’t know where he parked. Prayers will be over in five minutes. Wait until the grounds have cleared and be discreet. I don’t want our people frightened. I’ll warn my uncle about your presence.”
The agent bristled. “You shouldn’t have made contact with Dawud. And we can’t wait. We need to take him into custody immediately. We can’t risk him escaping.” He pushed the car door open.
Ameen slammed it shut. “No. You will wait. Dawud is going nowhere, I promise.”
The agent spotted the blood on Ameen’s hands. He looked down at the gun and other items. “Okay. We’ll wait fifteen minutes. Then we’re going in.”
Ameen nodded and strolled back to the mosque.
* * *
The numbers on the alarm clock tormented her. Marissa stared, almost unblinking, at the taunting, glowing numerals, and then, in the blink of an eye, one or two would change. Half the time, she wished they would speed up her race toward fate. The other half, she wished they would freeze. Of course, neither happened. Instead, the numbers continued changing at the maddeningly measured pace of Chinese water torture.
Marissa’s mind wandered. She thought of her parents. Before she’d left Washington, she had phoned them. Just in case. But now, the need for a final farewell swelled inside her, and she took the unwise step of calling them again.
Luckily, both parents were home. Her father was the US correspondent for a major newspaper based in Prague. Her mother was a freelance translator for companies wanting to do business in the Czech Republic. Her genes were the source of Marissa’s linguistics gift. They were also the source of Marissa’s other gift, or more accurately, her burden, since her
mother’s ancestors had been Bohemian gypsies.
Despite the fake smile in Marissa’s voice, her mother detected the truth. After her husband clicked off, she said, “Remember, Marissa, fate can be changed. Attack it with passion. We love you.”
Marissa answered with a muffled sob and hung up.
Benja. She contemplated their new friendship. He would be busy setting up on location with the other agents. She shouldn’t call him. She was comfortable with the good-bye they had shared earlier. Her heart ached with worry about how he would cope with his grief.
Ameen. He had saved her life. Marissa closed her eyes, felt his touch, saw the passion of lovemaking in his eyes—the magnets that tugged and pulled at her own. The intense connections between them had been forged fast and furious.
They shared passions, physical and non-physical. They could share so much…if fate allowed. If her premonition didn’t come true.
The numbers taunted her: 12:58, 12:59, 1:00.
It was time.
The steaming shower washed away the emotions, and her mind focused on the op. After dressing, she called her handler. The clock read 1:20 p.m.
“It’s a go,” he said. “We’re in place in Tijuana, at the house and the tunnel. Our agents will be arriving at the US end about 2:15 to take up their positions. I’m expecting their final check-in by 3:00, before you ever leave the hideout. We have Dawud in custody. Your friend Ameen did quite a job on him, by the way. Thank him for us.”
“I…I will. Where is he now?”
“Let me see his last reported location.” The handler paused as he checked the computer information. “At twelve fifteen, he notified our agents of Dawud’s location and returned to the mosque office. That’s the last time we saw Ameen.”
“He’s still at the mosque?”
“Don’t know for sure. Our guys were busy apprehending Dawud without attracting too much attention. What’s your concern about Ameen?”
“I just don’t want him anywhere near the action. Maybe we should take him into custody…for his own safety.”
Targeted (FBI Heat) Page 23