The door entered to a narrow hallway that opened into the main room. Everything happened at warp speed as their team flooded the apartment.
“Fuck,” Jack mumbled as they charged down the hallway in single-file. They were easy pickings like this.
“FBI!” yelled Agent Hurtz as he led the team down the narrow hallway. As they entered main room, the suspects were reacting. The one closest to him pulled a gun and shot.
Agent Hurtz felt the kick as the bullet slammed into his vest. He’d be feeling that for a while.
Agent Kouri stepped around Agent Hurtz and aimed at the shooter. The shooter adjusted his stance, bringing his gun to focus on her, but she was faster than he was. As her bullet tore through his chest, his knees gave out. His head clunked on the floor when he collapsed, and Agent Kouri continued into the room.
Mike saw the man before Agent Kouri did. The scrawny bald man by the sofa pulled a gun from behind his back and raised it at Agent Kouri. Mike’s position was poor, but he took the shot anyway.
The man’s body jerked on impact, throwing off his aim. His arm swung upwards, and his bullet sped through the ceiling and into the floor of the apartment above them.
“Shit!” Mike cursed. He hated that the civilians were above them. He’d known it was wrong to not remove them before the mission, but he wasn’t lead. This whole mission would go up Shit Creek in the media if innocent civilians were killed.
Mike paced to the shooter and flipped him onto his stomach. The man roared in pain as Mike jerked his hands behind his back and zip-tied his wrists together.
Omar had known they were in trouble, but he hadn’t expected to be attacked in his own home. As the agents flooded his apartment, he flipped open the cover on the ottoman and shoved his hand in. Gripping the AK-47, he raised it and readied to let loose on the FBI agents.
Jack spotted Omar in the corner of the room as he readied the assault rifle. Jack stared into Omar’s sinister eyes as he double-tapped the hulk of a man.
Omar’s head snapped back when the first bullet entered his head at the bridge of his nose followed by the second bullet slamming into his forehead. The AK-47 dropped to the floor as Omar’s body smashed into the side of the sofa and then smacked onto the floor.
The other two suspects watched in horror as their friends were shot without a moment’s hesitation. They held up their hands and shouted, “Don’t shoot!” Their hands visibly shook as adrenaline flooded their systems.
The FBI agents flanked the remaining two suspects, keeping their guns on them the entire time. The men put their hands behind their heads and then got on their knees. The FBI agents cuffed them.
Jack scanned the room for any other signs of danger. Everything looked good for a millisecond.
Then suddenly, a shrieking woman rushed into the room from the hallway that led to the bedrooms. She clutched the edges of her bathrobe around her and rushed to Omar’s side. Her black hair tumbled around her face as she knelt over Omar. Gripping his shoulders, she shook him as she screamed in Farsi. She seemed oblivious that the back of his head was missing or that her knees rested in his bloody tissue that littered the carpet.
A scared, little voice came from the hallway.
“Shit!” Mike said when he turned and saw a young boy peering around the corner. No one had said anything about Omar having a wife and child. Regardless of how bad a parent is, no child should have to see his parent’s brains splattered on the carpet. Surely the FBI agents had known. He just didn’t see why they chose not to share that tidbit with them?
Agent Kouri shut off her headset and holstered her gun as she rushed to the youngster and soothed him in Farsi. Slipping her hands under his arms, she set him on her hip and headed down the hallway from where he’d come. Two other agents followed her, ready in case anyone else was in the apartment.
The mother stood and screamed when Agent Kouri picked up her child. She hurried to move towards Agent Kouri, but Mike blocked her, shaking his head. He didn’t know if she knew English so he used his little knowledge of Farsi to tell her to sit down. He pointed at the table across the room in the kitchen.
The woman rattled off something to him through tears and sobs, but he couldn’t make out most of it. He pointed at the table again. He’d gladly pass her off to the Feds. Let them deal with her and the boy.
Agent Kouri stepped into the little boy’s room and noted how typical it looked for a child his age. A single bed with a safety bar was pushed against the wall. An old dresser was against another wall, and a child’s sized table was in the corner. A bin of Playskool characters sat on the table.
Setting the boy on the bed, Agent Kouri handed him the stuffed monkey that lay on the pillow. Speaking to him in Farsi, she calmed him and convinced him to rest his head on the pillow. She prayed he’d think the bloody scene was a dream. If he was lucky, he’d forget the horrific image that would be forever plastered in her mind.
Mike and Jack watched as tears streaked the woman’s face. She rocked back and forth mindlessly on the chair and kept scanning the room until her eyes finally stopped on her dead husband.
Two agents grabbed the suspects and helped them stand. Then they walked the three men out of the apartment to the van that waited for them.
Agent Kouri brushed her hand over the little boy’s head. Her heart broke at the knowledge that this child’s life would forever be impacted by his father’s actions. Was he better off with the hateful man out of his life? Would he now have a chance to have a good life, or would his anger towards his father’s killers destroy his future?
Agent Kouri nodded to Agent Smothers and said, “You stay here,” she looked at the child. The child’s dark brown eyes and beautiful eyelashes were locked on her. Agent Kouri patted the child’s leg and said, “I’ll get the mother.”
She hated this side of her job. The children were her weakness. Seeing the pain and suffering in kids when they couldn’t begin to understand what was happening ripped her apart. She knew that this child would forever see her and her team as the bad guys. More than likely, this child would grow up to have a violent end too.
Agent Kouri walked into the main room and glanced at the two bodies that littered the floor. She’d hoped this could go down without a bullet being fired, but she might as well have hoped that a fairy could sprinkle pixie dust on the bodies and revive them.
Agent Kouri glanced at one of her agents and pointed to the ceiling. “Did someone check on the family upstairs?”
“Yes,” the agent replied. “They’re safe.”
Maybe there was a God. She had two dead terrorists and three that would give them some more insight into the cells in the area. Agent Kouri knelt on the kitchen floor beside Omar’s wife and spoke to her in Farsi.
The woman nodded her head and stood. Agent Kouri led her across the room and into her son’s bedroom.
25
1 AM Thursday morning
Esam Tomir shrugged his broad shoulders as he zipped up his heavy winter coat and slammed the car door. The parking lot was empty, lit only by the occasional streetlight. He hated the freezing winters and the harsh, biting winds that accompanied this time of year. And the fact that winter was still in its infancy for the season irritated him even more. At least his beard helped to keep his face warm.
Pulling a woven skull-cap out of his pocket, he pulled it down over his ears. The fur-lined hood of his coat rested on his back rather than his head so the bulk wouldn’t limit his visibility. Shoving his gloved hands into the pockets of his coat, he headed in the direction of Omar’s apartment.
The streets were dark and empty. Even the lights in the apartments and shops were off. A few stores had theft deterrent lighting and heavy bars over the windows and doors. He knew this wasn’t a safe part of town, but it was a hell of a lot nicer than where he’d grown up in Afghanistan. As a kid, he’d lived in a tribal village without running water, toilets, or electricity. When he’d moved to the city, he’d been amazed at the ease of life when on
e could just turn a tap and have water, flush a toilet to remove the filth of human waste, or open a refrigerator and enjoy cold milk. Americans took so much for granted. He’d love to teach them some humility.
When he’d gotten the call from Omar, he’d been pissed. The last he’d heard from Hazeem regarding the mission was that everything was going great. Two people had successfully infiltrated the Savage Security circle of friends, which gave them a few options on how to eliminate the team. But then something had gone wrong. Hazeem was missing, and Adeel would not answer his cell. Esam had nearly thrown his mug into the television when he saw Aditya Chopra’s picture on the news. It was reported that she committed suicide at the home of a friend, but he wasn’t so sure about that. The men from Savage Security were killers, and they’d know how to frame a scene. Had they killed her? Had they questioned her first? Esam didn’t have answers to those questions. And now Omar was dragging him into this mess to help sort it all out.
Esam turned onto First Street and continued walking down the sidewalk towards Oak Grove. He’d hated the fear he’d heard in Omar’s voice over the phone. The man was typically gruff and never let his guard down, but the way Omar’s voice shook on the phone concerned Esam. As Omar explained that men from Savage Security had been at Sultan’s Feast, he’d begged Esam for a meeting. Esam finally agreed, even though his gut told him not to. They didn’t need a meeting. The others just needed to disappear.
If the Americans had Hazeem or Adeel, it was only a matter of time before the men broke and gave up the names of their accomplices, or worse yet, gave up his name. He couldn’t let that happen.
At a niggling in Esam’s gut, he slowed his pace despite his desire for the warmth of Omar’s apartment. Looking around, he spotted a white van parked along the side of a road. It was detailed as a locksmith’s van, but he hadn’t seen it in this area before. He doubted that it belonged to a resident. He was familiar with the people in this neighborhood, and none of them were locksmiths.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Esam noted movement from an alley near Omar’s apartment. Men dressed in fatigues with bullet proof vests and helmets filed out of the alley towards the entrance to Omar’s apartment. They carried MP5s and wore the FBI badge on their vests. Esam’s heart raced with frustration as he realized that shit was about to blow up in his face.
Esam slid into the shadows of a doorway and watched as the men disappeared into the building. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he pulled out his cell. The least he could do was warn Omar. Maybe they’d get a few of the FBI agents in the attack before they were slaughtered by the Feds. Holding his cell close to his chest to hide the glow, he searched his contacts for Omar’s number.
As Esam’s finger was poised to tap Omar’s cell number, the sharp staccato of gunfire echoed in the distance and flashes of light brightened the darkened windows of Omar’s apartment. Esam stood frozen in place, knowing that death had come to his friends. It was probably better that way. If they were dead, he would still be safe.
He shut off his phone and slid it back into his pocket. There was nothing he could do for the others. He wasn’t sure what to do, so his mind raced with scenarios for his response. If any of the men survived the FBI raid, they could possibly give up his name. He’d have to regroup and think through his next steps. He wasn’t spending the rest of his life on an island in the Caribbean.
26
2 AM Thursday Morning
Tyson eased the truck off the interstate and pulled onto the main road. Hotels, restaurants, and stores lined both sides of the street. At this hour, everything was dark and closed. They’d been lucky that traffic was nonexistent, or they never would have made it in time. The FBI would only wait so long for them before they’d make the move on Adeel. They were thankful that it had taken a while to communicate with the FBI and get everything organized for the raid.
Both men were surprised to see that Adeel had only gotten a few hours out of the Carrisburg area in his quick exodus. But as Tyson and Ryan drove, it became obvious why Adeel didn’t get farther away from D.C. before stopping for the night. Heavy construction had forced traffic into a one-lane highway for miles along busy sections of the interstate. According to news reports and traffic cams, cars had crawled along the interstate for most of the evening. Tyson and Ryan figured Adeel had grown frustrated and felt safe enough to stop.
“At least we didn’t have traffic,” Tyson said, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness.
“That’s because all the smart people are in bed,” Ryan replied, glancing at his watch. It was just after two. “Let’s make sure to get out of here before the morning rush.” The thought of crawling back to Carrisburg through the morning commute traffic churned acid in his gut. He hated standing still in traffic. He liked to move, get where he needed to be. Treading in place drove him crazy.
Ryan shut the truck door and gazed up at the hotel. It was an economy grade family hotel chain. He was used to the type. Small, clean rooms with just the necessities. No fancy sheets or high-end toiletries would be found in this place.
The automatic doors slid open and hot air blasted them as they entered the hotel alcove and then stepped through the second set of automatic doors into the lobby. Bistro tables and chairs where the complimentary continental breakfast would be served were to the right. A television was set to a news channel with the closed captioning scrolling across the bottom of the screen. To the left, a black woman stood behind the counter in her navy suit jacket and white shirt. Her beautiful braids were styled into an intricate bun at the top of her head. Her eyes grew large as they walked in. Tyson noticed the subtle tremor in her lip as they approached.
Tamika Baker knew she’d never forget this night. Most night shifts were boring with nothing special to break up the monotonous hours. She’d often killed time by reading and surfing the internet. But tonight was unlike any other night duty she’d ever done or hoped to do again.
Earlier, when the FBI had stalked in and asked for a conference room so they could set up a command center, she hadn’t known what to do. Did they have a warrant? Did they need one? Was she supposed to cooperate? It wasn’t like she could kick the FBI out of the hotel.
After her inner debate, she figured cooperating would be the best thing. The hotel would probably look bad if she didn’t cooperate with the Feds on a manhunt. The hotel didn’t have a conference room, so she’d set them up in the employee lounge. She wasn’t sure what she’d do when the morning employees showed up and started asking questions. She hoped this mess would be over by then.
She knew the two men who walked towards her now had to be with the FBI group. At least that’s what she hoped. Swallowing hard, she said, “Welcome. May I help you?” Tamika did her best to paste on a smile, but she felt her lip tremble, so she pressed her lips together. What if they were with the terrorists?
Ryan stood back a little from the counter. He didn’t want to crowd the woman who was obviously already nervous. They wore bullet proof vests, so he was certain they looked bulkier than the average hotel guest, and they were carrying, although the guns were not in view.
Tyson casually rested an arm on the counter and smiled at Tamika. She was attractive. Smooth dark skin, big brown eyes, and a sweet voice. Tyson read her name tag and then made eye contact. “Hi, Tamika,” he started, “We’re looking for Agent Moore.”
Relief swept over Tamika. She nodded her head, “Of course. Please, follow me.” She stepped from behind the counter and led the men down the hallway until they came to a door with a sign that read ‘Hotel Personnel Only’. She stopped and studied the two men again. “I put them in the work lounge.” She pointed to the door, as if signaling to what lay behind it.
Pulling open the door, she led them down a shorter hallway until they came to a door with a sign that was labeled ‘Lounge’.
Tamika wasn’t sure if she should knock on the door or just go in. Typically, she’d just enter, but she didn’t want to see anything she wasn’t suppose
d to see or get shot for barging into a room full of commando types. Giving a nervous smile, she rapped on the door and waited. Folding her hands together in front of her, she pasted on her smile and glanced between Ryan and Tyson as she waited for the door to open.
Tyson felt bad for the woman. He’d peg her at early twenties. Probably just out of college. She clearly wanted to do the right thing but had never been prepped for dealing with FBI agents commandeering a hotel.
Agent Moore stepped to the door when he heard the knock. One layer of stress that froze the muscles in his shoulder blades melted away. Now that he had everything prepped and a plan in place, he wanted to move. At least he hadn’t had to wait too long for the security team to show up. He opened the door to see a nervous Tamika and the two men from Savage Security.
Tamika moved to the side and extended her hand towards Tyson and Ryan. “These men would like to see you,” she said politely. She was doing her best to be professional, but her nerves had her stomach in knots.
Agent Moore cleared his throat and said to Tamika, “Thank you,” his voice was gruff and scratchy from the years he’d spent smoking a pack a day. Then, facing Tyson and Ryan, he added, “Glad you’re here. Come in.”
The men joined him in the room and with a nod to Tamika, Agent Moore shut the door. He’d already known what the two Savage Security agents would look like since he’d seen their pictures, along with a summary of their skills, in an email. “I’m Agent Moore. Happy to be working with you on this.” The happy part was a gross exaggeration of his feelings concerning their assistance, but he knew what to say to make things go more easily.
Tyson extended his hand to Agent Moore. He’d peg him at mid-fifties, for the most part physically fit, but the beginning of a pudge was claiming residence right above his belt. The stench of cigarette smoke wafted from him. “Tyson Smith and my partner, Ryan Marks.” The men exchanged handshakes.
Coveted Kiss (Savage Security Book 3) Page 13