Advance to the Rear (Strike Force Book 3)

by Desiree Holt

  The surface of the table was covered with the materials he would need to assemble the improvised explosive devices. On the wall directly opposite where he sat was a huge diagram labeled San Antonio Rodeo Grounds. It looked exactly like the one he’d memorized during the weeks at the training camp. He was sure by this time he could find his way around the grounds blindfolded. He was equally sure Salman, or someone, would drill him down on it many more times before they actually went to the location. There could be no room for error here.

  He looked down at the table again, gathering what he needed for the next device. Pipe bombs had been deemed the most effective for the size of the crowd they were targeting. Salman had obtained several eight-inch lengths of pipe, plus the caps. Two large open boxes of nails sat side by side, and next to them containers of powder and fuses. Beside those was another container with red bandanas. They had been told this would be the most effective way to camouflage the pipe bombs, wrapping them in something half the people at the rodeo would be wearing.

  And, finally, a large box of burner phones. It had been decided to set a base phone and clone all the others to it. The phones would be connected to the fuse and the charge from the phones would detonate the bombs. One phone call and the rodeo grounds and buildings would be a mass of explosions. It was hoped that those not killed by the explosions would trample each other in their haste to get out of the way. But in any event, the number of deaths would be massive.

  Assembling the bombs and setting the phones was simple enough. They’d been able to do it blindfolded by the time they left the camp in Mexico. Six or eight pipe bombs made a significant explosion, but whoever was running this operation wanted to make a real statement, cause significant damage and death. Salman had introduced him to a couple of strangers who he was told would be replacements, so his team was now back up to four people. They needed that many and each would be carrying several pipe bombs of significant strength into the rodeo grounds. Tonight they would be meeting to learn more about the layout of the rodeo grounds and begin preparation. It was crucial that they were familiar with it so that no mistakes would be made.

  The plan was to place them in various spots in the AT&T Center where the actual rodeo took place, the Freeman Coliseum where the dozens of vendors would be attracting thousands of people and in the carnival area, which would be filled with people at the rides and games. There would be children in the latter area and for a moment that gave Jamal pause. But then he reminded himself those children would grow up to be the enemy, so better to get rid of them now.

  He and Kasim would be ferried into the rodeo grounds in food trucks, carrying the bombs in knapsacks and placing them one at a time at the sites marked on the huge wall map. He looked across the table at Kasim and for an infinitesimal moment, they exchanged a meaningful look.

  Something stinks here.

  On the surface it all looked fine, but everything had changed so much since they’d left the camp in Mexico. Malik getting shot had been no fault of theirs, yet from the moment it had happened, it had been treated as a huge error on their part. Being hidden in that stupid cottage had been a disaster. He wondered if anyone would have come for them if he hadn’t forced the issue.

  Once again, he reviewed the situation in his head, dealing now with a combination of unease and desperation. Their original orders had them headed to San Antonio, just the four of them. Someone would take them to the designated apartment where the necessary materials would be waiting there for them and they could get to work. The person in charge would familiarize them with the layout of the rodeo grounds and on the date of the event, people would drive them to the rodeo and they’d complete their task.

  Instead, here they were in a very unpretentious two-story house in a neighborhood not so different from the one where he’d lived in his home country. Only the building materials were different. He and Kasim were sharing a small bedroom on the second floor, and every room seemed to be filled with some men who didn’t appear to be at all friendly. In fact, they seemed downright suspicious.

  Who were these men? No one had bothered to explain their roles in this, or which of them was a permanent part of the group here in San Antonio. Did they think Jamal had shot his own friend? Then killed Farid, another friend? Deliberately tried to sabotage this job?

  Also, no one had yet explained how they were expected to get the bombs through security. He was sure guards would be at every entrance to the rodeo grounds, so how were they supposed to avoid the metal detectors? Did they have other ways to accomplish this? Why didn’t they tell him? He was, after all, one of the team making the ultimate sacrifice. The more he got into this, the less he liked it. These were supposed to be experienced people, but they didn’t impress him that way.

  At first, with Salman and Rafiq angry at the turn of events and accusing them of stupidity and nearly ruining a crucial mission, he’d worried they’d just be shot and the mission given to someone else. He had insisted he and Kasim could prepare with no problem. Rafiq had agreed with obvious reluctance. This was set up to be a major statement, just like others across the country. Enemies called them terrorists or extremists, but in fact they were soldiers of Allah, ridding the world of infidels. It was an honor to be chosen for this and he didn’t want any idiots to fuck it up.

  “How are you coming?”

  Jamal jumped at the sound of the voice, scattering the nails he’d been sliding into a pipe with a loud clatter. Rafiq, who owned the house, had come into the dining room and snapped the question at him.

  Jamal focused on his task to keep from snapping at the man.

  “All is proceeding well. One more day and I should have enough for all the knapsacks.”

  “Good, good.” Rafiq studied the surface of the table. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “I do.”

  “This is the most important thing you will have ever done in your life.” Fire burned in Rafiq’s eyes. “More than five thousand Muslims live in San Antonio alone. Everywhere in Texas people protest our being here, even our just being alive. We must show them that we have the power and the strength. That it is our mission to rid the world of infidels and they must join us. We must make the world ours.”

  The world!

  Jamal’s heartbeat sped up at the words. Yes. Soon it would be theirs and he would have destroyed a significant number of infidels in the process. He could not mourn Malik and Farid. He would take their memories with him as he and Kasim made a statement the entire world would acknowledge.

  He put down the pipe he was holding and looked at Rafiq. “I might do a lot better if I could see my friend. I do not understand why he was not brought here after the doctor saw him. Is there some kind of problem?”

  “It is very crowded here.” Rafiq spoke in a flat, almost toneless voice. “The doctor says he needs quiet and rest.”

  “Where is Salman, the man who brought us here? I want to speak to him.”

  “Salman has other responsibilities. I am in charge here. Make the bombs. When they are ready, we will take you to see your friend.”

  “That is not acceptable.” Jamal pushed the half-filled piece of pipe away from him. “If I cannot see Malik, then I demand to speak to him on the telephone. I am doing Allah’s work here and for that I should get to reassure myself that my friend is on the mend. His brother was killed by infidels, so I have extra concern for him.”

  Again, Rafiq studied him in silence. “Fine. I will call and make sure he is awake and you can speak to him. Keep working. I will be back in a few minutes.” He pulled his phone from his pocket as he walked out of the room.

  Jamal wanted to ask why the man couldn’t just make the call then and there. However, he had a sense that these men would kill Malik, if indeed he wasn’t already dead, so he just nodded. When he and Kasim had been brought to the house, the suitcase with their weapons had been locked into a closet. These men had no idea he and Kasim, anticipating something like this after all the other fuckups, each had a weap
on squirreled away. From now on, he would wear it underneath his loose shirt so it was ready at all times. It didn’t hurt to be prepared, especially when the circumstances had changed so much.

  He would give the man another half hour. Then he would find him wherever he was in the house and demand to talk to Malik. If they killed him, they’d have to find a replacement for the job at hand. And it just meant he’d rise to heaven a little sooner than expected.

  He handed the filled length of pipe across the table to Kasim to finish, picked up another one and scooped some nails into it. Maybe he’d make one to stick in his pocket, one he could set off if things got too out of hand. Although it might not be sacrificing himself for the greater good, it would satisfy him in heaven to have exacted revenge.

  * * * *

  Sheriff Enrique ‘Ric’ Vasquez was big, as tall as Slade but broader and wider. His thick black hair framed an oval face that was defined by dark brown eyes and thick brows. And those eyes looked as if they’d seen enough of the dark side to last a lifetime. Marc knew the man had been sheriff for four years now, a deputy before that and prior to that a Force Recon Marine. Yeah, he’d been to hell and back in a number of different places and ways and knew what he was doing.

  Although his greeting was cordial, there was no joy in his expression. His county was being invaded and Marc could tell he was fucking pissed.

  The man ushered them all into his conference room, where someone had made coffee and set out a tray of pastries. Every seat at the table was taken. In addition to Sheriff Vasquez and Steven Hofler, there were four other men who had yet to be introduced, two in plain clothes, and two obvious sheriff’s deputies in uniform, Marc, Slade, Beau and Nikki.

  “Good thing he has a big conference room,” Nikki whispered to Marc.

  “No kidding.”

  Vasquez cleared his throat. “Okay, everyone. Let’s get settled with coffee and whatever and get down to business. We’ve got a hot potato on our hands that I want to contain so we’d best get started.” He looked at the men to his right. “You all know each other, but let’s introduce you to the Deltas. Gentlemen, say hello to Detectives Adam Gorsh, Rob McRae, Greg Handler and Joseph Trainor, and senior deputies Frank Novak and Ward Benton. Joe will be the team leader of this group, Slade, and he’ll be working in tandem with you. You will both lead the planning and execution of this action. Slade, the floor is yours.”

  Marc noticed two things. Joe Trainor didn’t appear to be happy that he wasn’t the single top dog and that Slade caught it right away. But Lieutenant Donovan wore the mantle of leadership well, and did whatever it took to get the job done. He didn’t care who had what title as long as it didn’t interfere with the mission. Planning missions—and this definitely fell in that category—was one of his many strengths.

  And both of them had been trained to follow leadership, execute action plans and to put aside personal feelings. There was no room for them in times of conflict and this was a conflict.

  “You’ve all met Steven Hofler from the Department of Homeland Security. Actually, he’s with the division that coordinates with area law enforcement. He’s going to tell you why we’re all gathered here.”

  “We have a major crisis brewing,” Hofler began. “Sad to say this is not a new story. Homeland Security monitors absolutely everything everywhere and analyzes all the bits and pieces of conversation. It’s critical that we smell out any hint of trouble so we can decide how to deal with it. Sometimes we get the word in time, others like now we’re running to play catch-up.”

  “As I understand it,” Trainor said, “the latter is why we’re here. There’s a bad situation brewing right in our back yard here.”

  Hofler nodded. “We picked up chatter about a team from Agadez, Niger, being smuggled into this country via a terrorist training camp that’s working in Mexico.”

  “Any particular place in San Antonio?” one of the deputies asked.

  “Yes, damn it. Word is the sole purpose of the team is to create an incident at the San Antonio Stock Show and Rodeo. As you all know, last year the event topped the two million mark for visitors. In other words, this would be a massive bombing, so we needed to find ways to verify it. Chief Vasquez reminded me that on any given day that place is packed to the gills, so an attack would take a lot of lives and do a great deal of damage.”

  Hofler pointed to Slade. “We checked with JSOC—Joint Special Operations Command—and learned a Delta Force team was about to leave on a mission for Agadez. The team is led by Lieutenant Slade Donovan.” He nodded at Slade. “I’ll let him present his people and fill you in.”

  Everyone nodded when Slade introduced Marc, Beau and Nikki.

  “Like the man said, the people at DHS who monitor this stuff reported there was way too much chatter about it. But they needed a way to chase down the rumors, try to verify them. I was told to make that another part of our mission to Agadez, but we drew a blank there. In Agadez, all we had were the same rumors and no one was talking. We returned from the mission without getting any valuable information.”

  “So how did we get to where we are now?” Trainor asked.

  “We got lucky, although I’m not sure Marc Blanchard and Nikki Alvarez would think so.” He indicated both of them. “They were supposed to be vacationing at Lookout Lake, in a cottage owned by a friend of mine, when they ran into some unexpected visitors. There are only four cottages on that lake, and the others were supposed to be unoccupied. Imagine their surprise when they discovered the cottage closest to the one they were using was occupied by some people who looked very out of place. And definitely weren’t your average vacationers. So I called my friend.”

  He repeated to them the details of that conversation.

  “I’m embarrassed to say I took it at face value, until the situation went sideways.” He rubbed his jaw. “I guess I need to be more careful of who my friends are from now on.”

  “So how did you connect those people with whatever is going on?” one of the men asked.

  “Just by accident, although it was a pretty harrowing accident for Nikki and Marc. It seems one of the team members was shot crossing the border, just as they were being picked up. They were stranded at the cottage and needed help for him.”

  He went on to fill in the details of Nikki’s kidnapping, the fact she was almost killed, Marc’s killing of the man waiting to ambush him and the shooting of the neighbor as the remaining men made their escape.

  Marc held Nikki’s hand when she gave them more details about her very frightening episode. He saw the skepticism on all the faces being replaced by grudging admiration for the way she’d handled herself and kept her head.

  “You’re a smart young woman,” Vasquez said, as the others nodded. “And very courageous. We’d like to keep you out of this as much as possible, but you‘ve spent the most time up close and personal with these guys. We’ll give you full protection but you’re going to be very critical in identifying them.”

  She squeezed Marc’s hand. “I want to do whatever I can.”

  “And I’ll be handling her protection,” Marc announced in a voice that brooked no argument. Damn straight I am.

  “Do we have any idea just who is on this team?” Frank Novak asked.

  “Working on it,” Hofler said. “Miss Alvarez’s car has been gone over inch by inch. We’ve pulled fingerprints and anything else that could give us some identification. Not that we expected it to. None of these foot soldiers have prints anywhere. However, we do have a headshot of the dead man, plus Miss Alvarez worked with a sketch artist to give us likenesses of the other three as close as she could come. Homeland Security is running them through every possible facial recognition software we have. If we’re lucky, he—or any of them—got their picture taken somewhere, sometime, and we have a starting point. Meanwhile, we also have copies of these for you.”

  He handed out packets to everyone containing copies of the photo and sketches.

  “Scan these into your phones so
you have them with you at all times. Maybe we’ll get lucky and spot them at the rodeo grounds before they get a chance to do any damage.”

  “That’s like hunting the proverbial needle in a haystack,” Trainor reminded him.

  “I agree, but we need every resource, no matter how farfetched.” Vasquez looked at Nikki. “If not, our best resource is Miss Alvarez, who has unfortunately for her been up close and personal with this group.”

  “DHS is also looking for a money trail to see if they can find out who’s pulling the strings on this one,” Hofler added. “We don’t hold out much hope, though. Most likely the funds come from overseas and don’t go through any bank transfer. We’re pretty sure they chose this particular target because of the size and the statement it would make. For all we know, they have a series of attacks planned on or around the same time, but we have to be concerned with this one.”

  Vasquez cleared his throat. “Sheriff Schumacher called here to tell us John Lester is still in critical condition, but it looks like he’ll make it after all. He’s going to hold off on filing any charges until we clean up this mess here. If we’re lucky, there won’t be anyone left to file charges against. So, let’s go over what we know. There is an attack planned for sometime during the rodeo. The event is eighteen days long and every day brings its own special crowd. No one day stands out as more likely than any of the others, so we’ll have to be prepared every single day.”

  “I’ve been a couple of times,” Slade offered. “When I was in town. I know the security force is huge.”

  Vasquez nodded. “Two of our neighboring counties have deputies that join the force for that period of time, plus police from this city and from the Texas Rangers. More than one hundred and fifty in all, with a commander for each shift.” He rattled off the names of each shift commander. “But their duties are pretty much what you’d expect. On a typical shift, officers might direct traffic, staff security booths, check vehicles for parking permits, ensure horse trailers leave with the animals they brought in or reunite lost children with parents or school groups. Sometimes they might break up a fight, or even catch a purse snatcher. But nothing out of the ordinary. Steven, you want to take it from here?”