by Gail Barrett
“So how much has Rasheed told you about the upcoming attack?” Ochoa asked her.
“Not much, just that you think my family’s involved.”
“That’s right.” He glanced at Rasheed, and he nodded for him to take the lead.
“To be honest, we don’t have a lot of information right now,” Ochoa said. “Rasheed is keeping watch on the terrorists. We’ve got people monitoring the internet chat rooms, teams dedicated to looking for clues, but we haven’t been able to learn that much. All our informants have suddenly clammed up.”
“Why don’t you arrest my brother? If he’s here on the island, doesn’t that prove that he’s involved?”
“Not necessarily. In fact, we think that’s why he brought his wife here for surgery. It provides him with an excuse to be on the island. He can claim he didn’t know the other men would be here, that it was a coincidence. We can’t prove otherwise.”
“We can’t arrest the others, either,” Rasheed told her.
“Why not? If you know they’re going to do something dangerous—”
“They might not be the only cell involved. Or there could be a contingency plan if these guys fail. We can’t make a move until we’re sure. And we don’t want to blow our covers too soon, either. We still need to work out the money trail. If we can stop the flow of money, we can shut the entire group down for good.”
Her lips pursing, she seemed to process that. “I still don’t see how I can help.”
Ochoa leaned across the table toward her. “For starters, we need your insight into how they think. We don’t even know why they’re planning this attack. The easy answer is that the U.S. is a popular target, and the Rising Light is an extremist group. So on the face of it, it makes sense.
“But the U.S. and Jaziirastan are allies. If they bomb us, and if we can tie the attack to high-level people like your father, our government’s going to rethink those ties. And Jaziirastan has a lot to lose if we do.”
Rasheed stirred in his seat, drawing her gaze. “Do you know Senator Riggs?”
Frowning, she shook her head. “Not personally. Why? Should I?”
“Your father contributes to his campaign. He also acts as a liaison between the senator and some American Islamic groups. In return, the senator does a lot of favors for Jaziirastan, like brokering weapons deals between them and companies in the U.S.
“Right now, Jaziirastan is lobbying for the right to buy E-13’s. That’s an experimental weapon that isn’t on the market yet. Walker Avionics makes it. You might have seen some of the drug cartel members carrying them around.”
“Not really. But how did they get them if they aren’t on the market yet?”
“A shipment got stolen last month. It was supposed to go to the army for testing, but it went to the drug cartel instead. It was a payment, part of the deal they made to bring this terror cell into the States.
“The point is that Senator Riggs is on the Senate Arms Committee. As soon as these weapons go on the market, he can influence which foreign governments are allowed to buy them. And if Jaziirastan is linked to this attack...”
“They don’t get the guns.”
“Right. Everything changes. Senator Riggs’s influence won’t help them anymore. So Jaziirastan has a lot to lose.”
She nibbled her lip, her green eyes troubled now. “I can’t explain it, either. I know he’s a fanatic, but my father likes living in the U.S. I don’t think he wants to go back to Jaziirastan again, at least not permanently. He doesn’t have as much status there.”
“I thought he was a member of the royal family.”
“He is. But he’s a minor one. That’s why he tried to marry me off. The marriage would have increased his standing, strengthening his connection to a powerful man. But in the States, he’s more important than he is back home. I can’t see him doing anything that would jeopardize that, like financing this attack.”
Rasheed slumped back in his chair. “And yet, here we are.”
Still frowning, she rose and went to the minibar. “Does anyone want water?” she asked. When they both declined, she poured herself a glass, then returned to the table.
Rasheed watched her drink, following the movement of her slender throat, noting the sheen of moisture forming on her tempting lips. Trying to keep his thoughts from wandering down that distracting track, he pulled his gaze away.
“So what do you know about my father so far?” she asked.
“Not that much about him personally, but we’ve amassed quite a bit of data about his bank. We’ve been investigating it for years.”
The edge of her mouth tipped up. “Give me the cheat sheet version, then.”
He nodded back. “All right, the gist of it is this. Your father is one of the primary shareholders in a bank holding company, the Royal Jaziirastani Holding Group. So is his good friend, the ambassador.”
“The man he wanted me to marry.”
“Right. We think he invited your father in. The holding group owns several banks, including Jannah Capital. I told you that we started detecting suspicious transactions there years ago, and that a lot of that activity involved a bank called First Bangladesh.
“I was a financial analyst at the time. I went to their main branch in Dhaka to investigate. My job was to track the money coming in from those Jannah Capital accounts and figure out where it went. The problem was, it went all over, to multiple accounts in different banks all over the world. First Bangladesh is only its first stop. But we think the money eventually ends up at a charity, the Islamic Foundation of Jaziirastan. They’re the ones funneling it to the Rising Light terrorists. The charity’s name, and your father’s, keep coming up in our interrogations. But we can’t make the link to shut them down.”
“Do you know anything about his bank?” Ochoa asked her.
“Not at all. I told you, I haven’t been around him in years. And even when I lived there, he never discussed business with me.”
Ochoa leaned forward, his expression suddenly intent. “Is there any chance he keeps bank records in his house?”
She shrugged, causing her thick braid to slither over her arm. “I don’t know. He used to run his hawala out of his home office, so he might still do business there.”
Rasheed blinked. “Wait a minute. Your father’s a hawaladar?”
“He used to be. But he shut that down a long time ago, when I was still in elementary school.”
Rasheed exchanged a glance with Ochoa, the agent’s obvious excitement echoing his own. Hawalas were ancient financial remittance systems common in a lot of countries, particularly in the Muslim world. They operated parallel to the banks—not exactly underground, but off the record and exempt from government control. Funds were transferred without formal documents, based on personal connections and trust.
And if Nadine’s father was a hawaladar, a former broker...it explained why the CIA hadn’t made any headway. They were looking in the wrong place. And it explained why al Kahtani was part of a high-powered holding group, despite his low status in the royal clan. He’d have extensive contacts—family, friends, former clients—he could call on to move the Rising Light’s funds through the current banks.
“Do you think you could find the records?” Ochoa asked.
Rasheed’s head jerked up as Ochoa’s words sank in. “Forget it. She’s not doing it.”
“Why not? They’re delivering her to her father. They’ll never suspect anything. It’s the perfect opportunity to get someone inside.”
“Someone, sure, but not her. Her father intends to kill her. She’s not taking that kind of chance.”
“What kind of chance?” Nadine asked, looking confused.
“We’ve tried to get someone inside his house before,” Ochoa explained. “But security’s too tight. We need access to his files.”
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“She’s not doing it,” Rasheed repeated. “She’s not going near that house.”
Ochoa threw up his hands. “She’s our only hope. Hell, you know that. We’ve tried everything else. And if al Kahtani was a hawaladar, he’ll have records, lists of his contacts. It could be the break we need.”
“No, absolutely not.” Rasheed shoved away from the table and paced across the room to the window, his agitation increasing with every step. “That was never part of the bargain. The deal was that she’d talk to us—that’s all. She’s not going back to the States.”
Bad enough that he’d exposed her to her brother. There wasn’t a chance on earth he’d risk letting her near her father, too. “We’ll have to use a decoy.”
“But—”
“It’s nonnegotiable, Ochoa.”
The agent sighed. “Fine. I’ll see if I can bring in another agent, a woman who can play her part. She can go on the plane in her place.”
Nadine wrinkled her nose. “How would that work? They’ll know it isn’t me.”
“Not if she wears a burka,” Rasheed said. “Could you train her, teach her what she needs to know to act like you?”
“I don’t know.” She looked even more skeptical now. “She’d have to speak Jaziirastani. And what about her voice? The minute she speaks they’ll know it isn’t me.”
“We’ll work something out. We just need to get her into the house. She can take it from there.”
Ochoa gathered his surveillance detectors and stood. “I’ll get right on it. We don’t have much time, though, just a few days at most.”
“A few days? To teach her how to act like me? I need more time than that.”
Ochoa shrugged. “We’ll try to delay the flight, maybe come up with a mechanical problem that might buy you a day or two, but you’d better plan on working fast.”
Still looking doubtful, she sat back and crossed her arms. But then her gaze turned inward, taking on an expression he’d seen once before—in the village before she’d gone searching for that coca pit.
And suddenly, he sensed where her thoughts were heading. She didn’t intend to train that decoy. She was planning to get on that plane and search her father’s house herself.
“I’ll be in touch,” Ochoa told her, heading toward the door. “I’ll bring the agent by as soon as she arrives.” He opened the door and slipped outside.
“I’ll be right back,” Rasheed told her. Hurrying, he followed on Ochoa’s heels. “She’s not doing it,” he warned him again when he got outside. “I don’t care what she says. She’s a civilian. She’s not getting involved in this.”
Ochoa tossed his satchel in the wheelbarrow, then shot him an assessing gaze. “We’ve used civilians before. Any reason this one’s different?”
Good question. One he didn’t care to answer now. Scowling, he planted his hands on his hips. “The reason doesn’t matter. She’s not getting on that plane.”
“Fine. We’ll use the decoy.”
“Damn right we will.” Now he just had to convince Nadine.
Chapter 9
His jaw set, Rasheed swung open the cottage door and strode inside. No matter how stubborn Nadine was, no matter how convinced she was that only she could get inside her family’s compound, he had to persuade her to listen to sense. It was bad enough that he’d brought her to this island, putting her under her brother’s control. But entering her family’s house would be suicidal. She’d never make it out alive.
He tugged the door closed behind him, then started across the room. She stood facing the window, silhouetted by the waning light. She turned at his approach, her dark-lashed eyes filled with resolve. And before he could block it, a jumble of emotions swarmed inside him—admiration, respect, desire.
He ruthlessly shut them down. He couldn’t let her beauty confuse his thinking. He couldn’t let her impressive spirit influence him to change his mind. No matter what she believed, entering her father’s house would be far too dangerous. He’d never be able to keep her safe.
“I meant what I said.” He closed the distance between them. “You aren’t getting on that plane.”
She leaned back against the window and crossed her arms. “Don’t you think I should decide that?”
“No. This isn’t your job.”
“Maybe not, but it’s my family. I’m not exactly a disinterested bystander. And I know how dangerous they are.”
The hell she did. He came to stop close beside her, forcing her to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “They’re going to kill you. You told me that yourself.”
“Right. But they aren’t going to do it the minute I walk in the door.”
“Which is exactly why we’re sending in a decoy, a trained operative, a professional who can search the compound, then get away before they figure out who she is.”
“You’ll never pull it off. He’ll insist on making sure it’s me. There’s no way it’s going to work.”
It had to. He could not let her risk her life. Frustrated, he braced his forearm against the window and glanced outside, trying to think of a way to get through. A palm frond scratched the glass. The late-afternoon sun had dipped toward the horizon, lengthening the shadows across the path. A sudden movement caught his eye, a cat prowling past on the hunt. Beyond the cluster of cottages, the mansion’s security lights winked on.
Unable to come up with a persuasive argument, he shook his head. “You’ll just have to believe me. We can’t take the risk.”
“But—”
“For God’s sake, Nadine, look at what happened here. I thought I could protect you. I thought I could get you off the island before anything went wrong. And your brother showed up. We’re going to have a hell of a time getting you away as it is. And we’d have even less control at your father’s house. Anything could happen to you once you go inside. By the time we mounted a rescue, it could be too late.”
For a moment, she didn’t answer. Her arms stayed crossed. Her stubborn gaze challenged his. But then she slanted her head, her eyes turning thoughtful, her brows gathering into a frown.
“This isn’t only about me, is it?” she asked slowly. “There’s another reason you don’t want me to do this, something you haven’t told me about.”
His jaw tensed. He cut his gaze back to the window encased in the wrought-iron bars. She was right. There’d once been another woman, another hapless victim he’d failed to protect. But he didn’t want to tell her that.
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s really going on here? I think I deserve to know.”
Her gentle voice rippled through him, drawing his gaze. And for several long moments he simply looked at her, her unflagging courage, her fierce determination to help mistreated women impressing him so damned much. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being harmed.
“You’re right,” he admitted, dragging the words out. He never spoke about the past. He never discussed the horror of that attack, or his role in the affair. But something about this woman compelled him to tell her the truth of the harm he’d caused. Turning back to the window, he focused on a thin crack snaking across the glass, then fracturing into a dozen lines. “I told you I went overseas to investigate a bank, First Bangladesh. I got hired as a midlevel manager, nothing important, nothing that would attract any attention, but it gave me the access I needed to the accounts I wanted to check.
“My contact, the CIA station chief, worked at the embassy. I met with him about once a month and passed him anything important I’d learned. We varied our locations each time for security reasons. Terrorism in Bangladesh had been heating up.”
He worked his jaw, dread rising inside him at the memories, but he forced himself to go on. She had to understand exactly how monstrous these men were. “I’d just made a discovery. I’d tracked some of the funds coming from y
our father’s bank, Jannah Capital, to a third account in A’lam Financial, a Saudi Arabian bank. It’s notorious for its terrorist ties. I needed to tell him what I’d found. So we arranged to meet.
“My wife, Sarah... I took her to Bangladesh with me. She hadn’t adapted to life there too well. She’d had to quit her job when we moved, and she wasn’t happy about that. She’d worked for a marketing firm back in the States and had a great career. She was bored in Bangladesh. It wasn’t safe for her to go out alone, so she was cooped up in the house a lot. And I was never around.” Thanks to the ungodly hours he’d put in, trying to crack the case.
“She was desperate to get out of the house, so I arranged to meet my station chief at a mall, a place where a lot of foreigners shopped. I figured Sarah would provide me with the perfect cover. I’d be the long-suffering husband waiting by the food court while his wife browsed in the shops.”
The pressure in his chest increased. He closed his eyes and inhaled, the terrible memories piling in on him, making it hard to breathe. “She’d just found out that she was pregnant. We’d decided it was a good time to start a family since she couldn’t work.”
But instead of providing comfort, the pregnancy had made her even lonelier. She’d missed her mother, her girlfriends from college, the extended family who should have shared her joy. “There was a maternity store at the mall, so that’s why I suggested we go there.”
He turned his head, meeting Nadine’s gaze straight on. “What I didn’t know was that your father was onto me. One of his men, a Bangladeshi national who worked in the embassy, had already discovered the station chief’s identity. He’d been monitoring his activities to find out who he was contacting at the bank. Another of their contacts, a guy who worked at the bank, figured out that it was me. So they followed us to the mall.”
“Oh, God.” Horror filled her voice. “They didn’t...”
He nodded. “They saw us meet. But they didn’t go after me right away. They went after Sarah instead. They shot her as she came out of a store. They wanted me to see her die.”