Staying Alive

by Webb, Debra

  Her pulse racing, Claire stood. Darlene did the same.

  “Miss Vernon, I’ll have to ask you to remain here until Miss Grant has completed her briefing.”

  Darlene started to argue but Claire stopped her. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” A briefing she could handle. A briefing meant information. She needed information. She wanted to know what the heck was going on.

  Darlene didn’t like it, but she relented.

  Claire turned to the man who’d given the orders and took a deep breath.

  With a hand at her elbow, he steered her into the adjoining room on the right. To Claire’s surprise what should have been a bedroom had been transformed into a conference room. A long mahogany table with royal-blue upholstered chairs lining all sides dominated the center of the space. Against the wall were credenza-type tables with everything from copiers and fax machines to stacks of files and other office equipment not readily identifiable but ready for use.

  “Have a seat, Miss Grant, the team will be with you in a moment.”

  The team? She pivoted to ask what that meant but the man who’d ushered her into the room walked out before she could manage the question, pulling the double doors closed as he went.

  Sitting wasn’t an option. She wanted to know why she was here and who these people were. FBI? Homeland Security? Maybe CIA. Who knew?

  Claire walked straight over to the stacks of files and surveyed the mounds of paperwork and the gray folders. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the Federal Bureau of Investigation emblem on the letterhead of one page.

  It was the FBI. Darlene had guessed right.

  Made sense, she supposed. But why did they want to talk to her here?

  They could have questioned her at the police precinct or the bureau field office.

  Why the elaborate setup? The secretiveness?

  Claire Grant, you will die for your transgression. Over and over again.

  A chill ran through her, making her wish she’d grabbed a jacket. This was about him. The idea that she had been ushered over here immediately after that call couldn’t be coincidence.

  Even she wasn’t that naive.

  Did that mean…?

  The doors flew open drawing her attention to the other side of the room.

  A man, another she hadn’t seen before, followed by an entourage, strode purposefully toward her. The leader of the group wore the same uniform as the others, suit and tie. He was tall, broad shouldered and carried himself with an air of importance. He had the most unusual green eyes. It was impossible not to notice. Classic good looks and that air of importance one saw in high-profile politicians.

  “Miss Grant, I’m Special Agent in Charge Luke Krueger.” He indicated the long mahogany table with a sweep of his right hand. “Please join me at the conference table.”

  The man’s deep, authoritative tone made Claire uneasy somehow, but she pulled out the closest chair and sat down. Cooperation was likely the key to learning as much information as possible.

  Krueger strode to the opposite end of the table and waited until his colleagues had settled in. Four men and one woman. She didn’t recognize any of them from the scene at the school yesterday. Krueger stood at the head of the table, a statement of his position. Claire chose a seat at the end farthest from him and with two chairs separating her from the next nearest agent. That was perfectly fine by her.

  The man who had brought her to the room appeared and passed out a bound report of some sort to everyone seated, including Claire. He then assumed a position at the door as if guarding it to ensure no one else entered. She didn’t open the report since no one else at the table bothered.

  She wondered if Darlene were alone in the parlor now or if one of the other men they’d met on the journey over here had arrived to keep her company. Darlene would definitely like that.

  “Miss Grant, if I may have your full attention.”

  Embarrassed that she’d been caught with her mind elsewhere, Claire shifted her gaze to Krueger, who remained standing.

  He stared directly at her with an unsettling intensity. Those extraordinary green eyes seemed to bore right through her but she didn’t look away. She couldn’t have at this point, even if she’d wanted to.

  “To my left,” he said as he gestured to the woman sitting on Claire’s side of the table, “is Special Agent Betty Nance. Next to her are Special Agents Craig Carver and Skyler Goldbach.”

  Claire looked from one agent to the next, presented the best smile she had to offer under the circumstances. Some part of her wondered if a mistake had been made. Why would the FBI invite her to a briefing?

  “On my right are Special Agents Ronald Maxwell and Andy Talkington. That’s Special Agent Todd Holman at the door.”

  She managed an acknowledging nod as she surveyed the group, wondered again what in the world she was doing with this room full of federal agents.

  “Today,” Krueger said, drawing her gaze as well as her attention back to him, “at 2:04 p.m., you received a telephone call from Abdul Nusair.”

  She blinked, startled or maybe unsettled. The FBI had been monitoring her calls?

  “That’s right.” She moistened her lips. Everyone at the table was staring at her now.

  “What do you know about Nusair?”

  Krueger took off his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair in front of him. Her gaze followed the movement, noting the graceful action with maybe a little too much interest. She was going to have to stop letting Darlene’s desperation for a relationship rub off on her. Fixating on a stranger’s physical assets wasn’t her usual style.

  “Nothing,” she admitted in answer to his question. She chewed her lip as she considered what Darlene had told her. “Well, I mean, I’ve heard the name on the news.” She cleared her throat softly in a futile attempt to give her brain time to string together the proper response. “He’s a terrorist.”

  Krueger pulled out the chair and lowered his tall frame into it with that same undeniable grace. “That’s correct.”

  Claire felt like a student the teacher had singled out for humiliation. No one had made her feel this on the spot since college.

  Krueger leaned back in his chair and stared at her as if waiting for additional details. She didn’t really have much more to give him but something was better than nothing she supposed.

  “My friend said he’s on some sort of top ten list.” Wait, that wasn’t right. That was the other terrorist she’d told her about. “Nusair is the…ah…most evil terrorist in the world. I suppose he’s at the very top of that list.”

  Krueger loosened his tie. He had long fingers. Broad shoulders, too, she realized as her gaze traced the path from the tie he’d loosened to the tested seams of the crisp white shirt outlining those wide shoulders. Wait, she’d already noticed the shoulders. Stop it, she told herself again.

  “Abdul Nusair,” Krueger went on where she’d left off, “rose up from a well-known terrorist group with cells in a number of Middle Eastern countries, including Israel, most major European capitals and far too many cities to name here in the States. He specializes in blowing things up. He made a name for himself rather swiftly, became the new leader to watch, as we say in the Bureau.”

  If she was supposed to comment on that information she had no idea what to say, other than her first thought of Dear God. She was reasonably sure that the depth of her dismay would not impress these people.

  “As you suggested, Nusair is at the very top of our wanted list. Our agency, as well as the CIA, has focused unparalleled effort on trying to capture him, dead or alive.”

  He paused, apparently to permit that statement to penetrate fully.

  Claire worked hard to maintain eye contact. She didn’t generally have this much trouble doing so but Krueger made her tremendously uncomfortable. Nervous to the point of needing to fidget. Incredibly, she kept her hands at rest and tucked away in her lap.

  “That effort has failed to this point. Nusair is not onl
y a highly intelligent adversary, he is fiercely cunning and utterly ruthless. He prefers to manipulate his army of devoted followers rather than risk personal involvement in his schemes. His followers look up to him in a way not unlike Christians do Jesus Christ himself.”

  Just when Claire thought nothing he could say would shock her, those words did. The idea that there were people out there who believed in a mere man to the point that they would kill masses of innocent people made her sick to her stomach.

  “Nusair has claimed credit for the recent bombings in London where upwards of one hundred civilians lost their lives. Last year his followers bombed a dozen nightclubs in Europe, claiming that the clubs promoted American music and, therefore, embraced American ways.” Krueger pushed away the report lying on the table before him, not bothering to open it. “I could go on and on, Miss Grant. Nusair is responsible for thousands of wrongful deaths. He is pure evil and no one seems to be able to stop him since he never does his own dirty work. He stays in hiding and masterminds his monstrous plots.”

  All eyes were on Claire then.

  Was she supposed to say something now?

  “The man who died as a result of your intervention in yesterday’s kidnapping attempt,” Krueger said, drawing her attention back to him, “lived here in Seattle under an alias.”

  Thomas Odem. The name reverberated through her. She found it almost humorous the way Krueger danced all around the fact that she had killed Odem. She couldn’t be sure if he was being kind or was simply leading up to something and didn’t want her on the defensive.

  He needn’t have worried. She was all too aware of what she had done in that classroom yesterday. Forgetting wasn’t likely.

  Krueger went on, “One year ago Odem transferred to Washington University from an engineering institute in Toronto. We’ve been watching him since. To date, more than a dozen suspected followers of Nusair have converged upon Seattle. Similar cells have formed in Los Angeles and San Francisco, as well as three southern cities and four more along the east coast. In each case, most of the cell members are enrolled in local universities and appear to be quiet, honor-roll students.”

  Again Krueger’s silence sat heavily on her shoulders.

  “The man involved in the horrific events at my school yesterday, the one who escaped, Bashir Rafsanjani, was a part of the cell here in Seattle?” She knew he was, but she had to say something. She needed to know where this was going and how it involved her. Every instinct told her that Krueger was going some place specific with this history lesson.

  “That’s correct. Rafsanjani was a student at Washington University, as were the other two men involved in yesterday’s attack.”

  Students. Unbelievable.

  Claire abruptly remembered the other element in the equation—how the men who attacked her classroom were trying to gain freedom for their colleague.

  “How is Hamid Kaibar connected to all this?”

  Krueger and the agent sitting to his immediate right shared a look that set her on edge…further on edge than she already was.

  “Hamid Kaibar,” Krueger began, “is our number-two dirtbag on that list you mentioned. Catching him was a major coup.”

  “Is he cooperating? Kaibar, I mean.”

  “Not yet.”

  Another of those covert looks between the two men. This was really making her nervous.

  “Yesterday was about getting Kaibar freed,” she said, deciding to fish for more information. “Does your agency believe that this group—this cell—has some major terrorist event planned for Seattle?”

  Krueger didn’t answer her right away, but that relentless gaze continued to drill right through her. She began tapping her right foot nervously beneath the table.

  “Miss Grant, we believe that Nusair is in the process of orchestrating a major event in nearly a dozen cities across our country. The Seattle cell, in our estimation, is the final positioning in preparation for that multicity event.”

  Fear sank its sharp talons deep into her chest. She knew what this meant…possibly something far worse than the catastrophe on September 11, 2001.

  She stared at the official emblem on the report in front of her. Then she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to know about this.

  How could she go on with her life now, pretending that the threat wasn’t there? Now she knew firsthand these sorts of radical extremists were never going to stop.

  That tragic September day not so many years ago had only been the beginning.

  She lifted her gaze back to Krueger. He, like the others around the table, waited patiently for her to make the next move. She had no idea what they wanted from her. “Why are you telling me this?” Maybe the question sounded selfish or cowardly, but she was only a teacher. What did she have to offer that would help in a national security crisis?

  “Miss Grant,” Krueger said, his voice lower, softer now, “we have utilized every asset at our disposal and we have not been able even to get close to Abdul Nusair. Until now.”

  Claire realized that the other shoe was about to drop.

  “As I told you before, Thomas Odem was an alias. We ascertained the man’s identity several months ago and that caused us to focus our investigation on Seattle. The Seattle cell is the primary cell,” he explained. “Whatever is planned for Seattle is the key, the catalyst, so to speak, of Nusair’s ultimate plan. We are absolutely certain about that.”

  Now she started to see the big picture. Odem, or whoever he was, had been the FBI’s prime suspect. The most pivotal part of their investigation.

  And she had killed him.

  Renewed dread congealed in her belly.

  “Thomas Odem,” Krueger said somberly, “was born Habib Nusair.”

  Claire frowned. The full implications of this statement hit her as Krueger continued.

  “Habib was Abdul Nusair’s only son.”

  Chapter 6

  “Miss Grant and I will need a few moments alone.”

  The people in the room rose from their chairs and filed out, each stealing a last fleeting look at Claire as they passed.

  She told herself to breathe deeply, to focus on slowing the runaway pounding in her chest. Hands clasped tightly in her lap, she stared at the unopened report in front of her as if it might reveal the answers she needed. A part of her just couldn’t evaluate Krueger’s revelation all at once even though she had connected the dots mere seconds before his confirmation. She had to take it one facet at a time.

  Habib Nusair, the man she’d killed, was the only son of Abdul Nusair, the single most vicious terrorist on the planet.

  She swallowed hard, let that knowledge absorb fully.

  Abdul would want his revenge.

  On her.

  …you will die for your transgression.

  “We have a very sensitive situation, Miss Grant.”

  She looked up at the man, Special Agent in Charge Luke Krueger. It was only the two of them now. The others most likely waited in the parlor with Darlene.

  He hadn’t asked his team to leave for no reason. He had something on his mind. Something he wanted to discuss with her in private.

  Since she couldn’t read minds, she opted for her own line of questioning. “Am I in protective custody, Agent Krueger?”

  Those extraordinary green eyes peered fully into hers, making her want to widen the distance between them. There was something about his eyes that made her restless or uncertain of herself.

  “Yes, you are.”

  Okay. Deep breath. “The FBI has been monitoring my calls?” That was fairly obvious, but she needed an explanation. A confirmation of her assumptions actually. She had some ideas about that, but she wanted it straight from the source.

  Krueger got up from his chair and walked around to where she sat. He pulled out the chair next to her and settled into it. This close her senses picked up on the subtle hint of fruity aftershave, something fresh and natural, he wore.

  He turned slightly in his chair so that he coul
d face her more fully. Her pulse stumbled erratically making her feel totally foolish.

  “Miss Grant, the moment Habib Nusair’s body was identified, the Bureau started monitoring everything about you.” He propped one elbow on the table and the other on the back of his chair. “By the time my flight from Reagan National arrived at Sea-Tac International, I already knew what flavor of ice cream you prefer.”

  If his intent was to intimidate, he had succeeded on a grand scale.

  “Why would you need to know so much about me?” The idea that he knew about her past, all of it, made her want to squirm, but she wouldn’t. She was one of the victims here. She wasn’t the bad guy.

  This close she could see the darker, almost black, inner circles around his irises. The slightest crinkling around his eyes suggested he’d likely seen the last of his early thirties. Thirty-five or-six perhaps. That he was incredibly charismatic made bad matters way worse. She didn’t want to notice any of this.

  This was not the time to be needy and hopeful.

  “Whether you know it or not,” Krueger said, his voice low and quiet, lacking the intimidation factor this time, “Miss Grant, you are now the linchpin of our ongoing investigation. For all intents and purposes you’re our ace in the hole.”

  How could she be a key player in this? If anything she was a target for terrorists. Her stock quotient had bottomed out in any trading market other than one that was very black and very lethal.

  “I don’t know anything, Agent Krueger. The terrorists didn’t say anything during the time they held us in that classroom. As much as I’d like to, how could I possibly help your investigation?”

  For three or four frantic beats of her heart he studied her, looked so deeply into her eyes she could scarcely breathe. Why did he do that?

  “Abdul Nusair had only one son.”

  Yes, they had established that fact already. She didn’t say as much since she didn’t want to antagonize the man.

  “Nusair isn’t a young man. He fathered a half dozen daughters before getting the son he wanted. He’s well into his sixties now. He had high hopes for his son. Hopes that included his carrying their cause into the next generation. This loss is probably the one tragedy that could truly devastate the man.”