by Laura Scott
And what on earth had triggered the explosion? Touching the padlock? Or a secret camera he hadn’t seen? The thought made him wince. If there had been a camera, and it was linked to the terrorists, then they’d have a recorded image of his face.
He told himself the camera theory wasn’t likely. Still, even the remote possibility was disturbing.
At least the flight to Lebanon hadn’t left yet. Once the plane was in the air, and he wasn’t on it, he’d have to be doubly careful.
Enough about that now, they needed a lift out of here. He pulled out his phone to call Sun. “How quickly can you get here?”
“Twenty minutes, maybe less.” Sun’s tone was all business. “I caught a glimpse of the fire from the news app on my phone. Impressive.”
“Gotta love technology,” he muttered. “We’ll be at the coffee shop at the corner of Blakemore and Landry. Pick us up there.”
“Will do.” Sun disconnected from the line, and he hoped she’d speed if necessary to get there as quickly as possible.
He didn’t like the way this situation was unraveling right before their eyes.
“You have the computer,” Diana said in relief.
“Yep. Come on.” He nudged her toward the coffee shop. “Sun is on her way.”
Diana barely acknowledged his words, inwardly focused on their next task, getting to the coffee shop.
The place was packed. Jordan didn’t like it. He needed to find a quiet corner where he could turn on the laptop, make sure the kidnappers hadn’t sent him another link.
Threading his way through the crowd, he came upon a table just as two teenagers stood. “Thanks,” he muttered, quickly sliding the computer case onto one of the empty seats. He pulled out a second chair for Diana, then sat down. He opened the computer, then reached for his wallet.
“Here’s some money, will you please get us something to eat and drink?” He thrust a twenty-dollar bill into her hand.
“I’m not hungry,” she protested.
“I know.” He reached over and lightly touched her arm. “I understand this is difficult, but you need to keep up your strength. Passing out from lack of food won’t help Bryn. Besides, we need to buy something to look legit.”
“Fine.” She rose to her feet and went over to place an order.
The satellite signal took longer to boot up compared to using a Wi-Fi network, but of course his connection was secure whereas the café’s was not. When his screen loaded, he held his breath and accessed his email account.
No message or link from the kidnappers. He let out his breath in a rush, the tension easing from his shoulders. Good. That was good.
Wasn’t it?
He honestly didn’t know. The warehouse blowing up couldn’t be a coincidence. He stared at his cell phone, waiting for it to ring.
Nothing.
Diana returned with two bottles of water and two muffins. She picked at hers halfheartedly. “I don’t understand,” she said, finally breaking the silence. “Why did the warehouse blow up like that?”
He glanced around. No one appeared to be paying them any attention. “I don’t know. The only thing that makes sense is that somehow I triggered it to blow.”
“But that’s just it. Why was it wired with explosives in the first place?”
Jordan swallowed a wave of frustration. “I wish I knew. Nothing about this entire mess makes any sense.” He turned his attention to the keyboard and typed in American Lumber, LLC. There was the one building listed as being owned by the corporation. He pulled up the original property listing, scanning the titles.
Freedom Shoppes, Inc. and Justice Textiles, Corp. abruptly jumped out at him. The words American, Freedom, and Justice linked together in his mind. As if they’d been chosen on purpose.
Dread seeped through his gut.
Was it possible all of these properties, and possibly several others, were linked to the terrorist cell?
And if that was the case, there had to be more to this scenario than freeing Mustaf.
Something bigger and much more sinister.
* * *
September 9 – 6:12 p.m. – Baltimore, MD
“Wake up.” A soft hand shook her shoulder. With a muffled groan, Bryn rolled over, opening her eyes to the darkness of her blindfold. The band of fabric must have loosened a bit because she could see some light along the bottom of the blindfold. “Meira?”
“It is time to eat.”
“Eat?” Bryn struggled upright, tipping her head back in an effort to see below the blindfold. She caught a glimpse of dark cloth and imagined it was Meira’s burka. She’d seen many women wearing them in the past. She was about to try once again to convince Meira to escape when she heard the heavy thunk thunk of footsteps crossing the room. She wrinkled her nose when she smelled the stinky bad man.
“Are you ready to obey?” His harsh voice sent icy fingers of fear down her back. Obey what? Bryn reached out to grasp Meira’s clothing, as if the woman could prevent this man from doing whatever he planned.
“Are you?” he demanded again.
Bryn nodded, ducked her head, and trembled, fearing another smack from his large brutal hand or worse. It never came. After what seemed like eons, the heavy thunk of his footsteps retreated. Still, she couldn’t relax until she’d heard a door open and close behind her.
“Time to eat.” Meira helped her upright. She gripped Meira’s arm tightly, terrified she’d be separated from the woman.
“What did he mean, ready to obey? What’s going to happen to me?”
Meira didn’t answer. The woman placed the familiar bowl containing the usual gloppy stuff in her hands.
Bryn tipped her head back, attempting to see beneath the blindfold, but Meira tightened her grip on her fingers in warning, so she dropped her chin to her chest, tears squeezing out from beneath her lashes, trailing down her cheeks.
She knew the icky men were still watching. Waiting.
How long before they killed her?
* * *
September 9 – 6:19 p.m. – Camp Bucca, Lebanon
The guards were whispering amongst themselves despite being the middle of the night. Mustaf didn’t like it. His English was impeccable, but they were speaking too softly and standing too far away for him to make out what they were saying.
He tried not to panic. His loyal followers led by his people would come through for him, of that he had no doubt. Yet the attitude amongst the guards bothered him. Was it possible they knew a rescue attempt was underway?
He didn’t see how they could possibly know of his plan. His followers had a man on the inside aiding their cause. Supporting their mission. He’d be rescued before these men knew what had hit them.
Turning over on his pallet, he closed his eyes and attempted to sleep.
But the whispering continued, like tiny lashes assaulting his mind, making it impossible to rest.
Staring through the darkness, he reminded himself that this nightmare would be over soon. He would escape. And he would fulfill his goal of seeking revenge against all of those who made him suffer.
Every last one of them.
* * *
September 9 – 6:22 p.m. – Baltimore, MD
Diana startled badly when Jordan’s phone rang. The kidnappers?
“It’s just Sun,” he assured her.
She nodded and pushed aside the remnants of her blueberry muffin, the cloying sweetness turning her stomach. Or maybe it was the not knowing about Bryn that had destroyed her appetite.
“Thanks, Sun.” Jordan disconnected from the phone and began packing up the computer. “Our ride is here.”
She rose to her feet, following him outside, grateful to once again be doing something constructive rather than sitting around while Bryn was in danger.
Alive. She refused to believe the worst.
Sun wasn’t tall, her head barely two inches above the wheel, and Diana rolled her eyes when Jordan indicated he wanted to drive.
Earlier she’d been g
rateful for his strength, but now she found the macho attitude that had once attracted her more than a little annoying. He’d always insisted on driving during their time together, and that obviously hadn’t changed in the years they’d spent apart.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Sun said. But she obliged him by sliding out from behind the wheel.
“Sue me.” Jordan tossed the bulky computer case into the back seat of the four-door sedan before climbing in. Sun ran around to the passenger side door, leaving Diana to sit in the back seat like a little kid.
Not that she cared one way or the other. Jordan and Sun didn’t act like a couple, but that didn’t mean Jordan didn’t have another woman in his life. She’d only broken the rules of witness protection for her daughter’s sake. The important thing was to find Bryn.
Jordan pulled seamlessly into traffic, heading back toward the downtown area of Baltimore.
“What’s our next move?” she asked. “There must be more warehouses to check out, right?”
Jordan met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Are you crazy? After what just happened, that’s the dead last thing we should do.”
The word dead made a muscle twitch near her eye.
Bryn was not dead. Bryn was not dead.
Not. Dead.
“I don’t necessarily agree, Jordan,” Sun interjected. “The explosion could be related to some other criminal activity, like drugs or guns. Doesn’t make a lot of sense for the terrorists to have rigged the place to blow.”
“Sure it does,” Jordan countered in a grim tone. “Each and every attempt to take American lives is considered a win for them.”
“But our mission is to free Mustaf, that’s why they kidnapped Bryn. So why risk hurting her in an explosion?” Diana asked.
“Who knows?” Jordan headed for the interstate.
“Come on, Jordan. We need to stay on track here, we need to keep searching for our daughter.” Her tone was sharp with exhaustion.
“I’m aware of the fact that we need to find Bryn. But you need to understand this is bigger than Mustaf,” Jordan said. “I found more company names that could all be linked to the terrorist cell I’m supposed to be infiltrating.”
“Like what?” Sun asked.
“Freedom Shoppes and Justice Textiles are two examples I’ve found so far. Not all that different from American Lumber, right? Only American Lumber is now nothing more than a pile of ash.”
Freedom Shoppes? Justice Textiles? The nausea returned with a vengeance. “Do we know where those places are located?” Diana asked in a hoarse voice. “We could rent a car so we can split up again.”
“Not happening. A rental car would leave a paper trace. Besides, we don’t even know for sure where these other places are yet. I think it’s time to bring my FBI contact in on this.” Again, Jordan’s gaze clashed with hers in the rearview mirror. “All of this—Mustaf’s capture and the demand to free him, Bryn’s kidnapping, the warehouse explosion—must be connected.”
She didn’t want to believe him. “You don’t know that for sure.”
“Yeah, I do. Factor in the timing and I’d say we absolutely know for sure.”
She frowned. “What timing?”
“Don’t you realize what the date is?” Jordan asked.
“September ninth.” The minute the words left her mouth, she sucked in a harsh breath.
Two days from the anniversary of September 11, the biggest terrorist attack ever on US soil.
Jordan was right. This wasn’t just about Bryn.
It was about ISIS supporters making a bold move against the United States of America.
Chapter Five
September 9 – 6:45 p.m. – Washington, DC
“Try calling Ray Pallone again,” Jordan told Sun as he took another turn, determined to avoid any chance of being followed. He planned to head back to his place, a small house sandwiched between two other structures in a long row of suburban properties.
He was banking on the fact that the property being in his grandmother’s name, Colleen McCray, would keep it from being connected to him. The men who kidnapped Bryn had obviously found out about his relationship with Diana, but he was hoping their intel was old. He’d only moved into his grandmother’s house three months ago, after her death.
Jordan knew his father’s name was Ali Rashid, and according to his mother, Ali had died shortly after Jordan’s birth. His mother, Maureen Rashid, had died in a car crash shortly after he graduated from high school. He’d never lived with his grandmother, yet she’d always been supportive of him. After his grandmother died, she’d left him the house and her ancient Buick automobile, which was twenty years old but had less than eighty-five thousand miles on it since his grandmother used it only for church and grocery shopping. He’d been debating whether or not to sell the house and the car but hadn’t gotten that far. He’d also searched through her things, looking for additional information about his father because his mother and grandmother never talked about him.
Without success.
His jet-black hair and dark skin indicated he looked more like his father than his redheaded Irish mother. And frankly, his paternal heritage was something he’d used to his advantage while working for the Feds. Exactly why they’d asked him to infiltrate the terrorist cell. A possible connection? Doubtful, but no way to know for sure.
“Still no answer from Pallone,” Sun said, dragging him from his thoughts.
He sighed heavily. “What is up with these guys? They ask me to infiltrate a terrorist cell, then decide not to answer my calls?”
“Maybe they’re trying to protect you,” Sun answered logically. “After going undercover, communication can be deadly.”
“Yeah, maybe.” But he wasn’t really buying it. “I need them to know about these other possible shell corporations, so they can start investigating them.”
“I’ll work on that after dropping you off,” Sun offered.
He nodded, knowing Sun’s help would be invaluable. “Thanks.”
“Speaking of being dropped off, where are we going?” Diana asked. She still looked shell-shocked, strands of her dark hair hanging loose around her face since the explosion at the warehouse.
She was holding up far better than he’d imagined. He’d only just learned about Bryn, but she’d raised their daughter for the past eleven years. He couldn’t imagine anything more difficult than not knowing if your child was alive or dead.
He didn’t particularly care for it much either.
“My place, at least for now. We’ll need to keep a low profile since I’m supposed to be at the airport boarding a plane for Lebanon.”
Diana grimaced. “How long do you think it will take them to figure out you’re not on the flight?”
“Not long enough.” Maybe if they’d had more time, he could find someone to take his place. Then again, once Mustaf arrived on US soil, certainly the men who had Bryn would figure that out for themselves. He hoped the kidnappers would contact him again—the more communication, the better their chances of uncovering their location.
“Lebanon is seventeen hours ahead of us,” Sun said. “Depending on when Mustaf’s flight leaves, he’ll lose almost a day, which should help give us time to prepare.”
“Good point.” Pathetic how that thought was the bright spot of their otherwise awful day.
“We need to know exactly where they’re taking him,” Diana said.
He didn’t answer, knowing that Yates wasn’t about to open up to him about national security issues. Then again, he had some former friends in high places who may be able to shed a little light on the subject.
“We need more information on Mustaf. There must be a connection between him and the terrorist cell operating here in DC.” A connection wouldn’t be easy to find, but nothing about this case was simple. He pulled over a few blocks from his grandmother’s house and glanced at Sun. “We’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”
“Do you want to keep the car?” Sun asked. “I c
an always use the Metro.”
“No, I have my grandmother’s old Buick if we need wheels.” He made a point of driving the vehicle every few days.
Sun shrugged. “Okay.”
Jordan got out from behind the wheel, then opened Diana’s door and offered his hand. She stared at it for a moment, then accepted his assistance. After securing the computer case, he took Diana’s hand and strolled along the sidewalk lining the row of townhouses.
Diana glanced around curiously but didn’t say anything when he led the way up the short flight of stairs to the home that once belonged to his grandmother.
“Feel free to freshen up.” He set the computer case on the kitchen table. “Bathroom is down the hall.”
“Thanks.” Her attempt to smile failed miserably, and he wished there was something he could do to make her feel better.
She turned away, then stopped abruptly, her gaze zeroing in on the large framed photograph hanging on the living room wall. The one featuring a close up of Shari, Sloan’s sister, and him at their wedding. Shari wore a white dress, a stark contrast to his black tux.
Oh boy. Diana stared at the picture for what seemed like forever while he grappled with what to say. The photograph was almost three years old now, and he’d lost his wife within the first year of their marriage.
“Diana, I . . .”
“Don’t!” The word was hoarse with emotion, and she quickly wheeled away, disappearing down the hall. The bathroom door shut firmly behind her.
He stood frozen for a moment before crossing over and yanking the picture off the wall. Sloan always blamed himself for Shari’s death, assuming the Russian mafia had gone after his sister in revenge.
But Jordan knew that wasn’t really the case at all. Truthfully, the blame for Shari’s death rested squarely on his shoulders. He’d left Shari alone to follow up a bogus lead, and the Russians hadn’t waited to take advantage of his stupidity.
For a moment, he stared at Shari’s innocent laughing features. A chilling reminder of how he needed to keep his distance from Diana.
