by Laura Scott
Women who got close to him ended up dead.
* * *
September 9 – 7:05 p.m. – Camp Bucca, Lebanon
“Get up.” The guard kicked him in the back as a way to rouse him from sleep. The unexpected pain made him seethe with anger, but he was careful not to let his emotions show.
“What do you want?” Mustaf shielded his eyes from the flashlight trained directly into his eyes. The murdering idiots would pay dearly for this.
“Time to move, dirtbag. Get up or we’ll force you to your feet.”
For a moment, he imagined taking a long knife and slicing this guard’s head off as he’d done so many times before. But he was still outnumbered, and he needed to be patient to allow his people to rescue him. He slowly stood, facing the men who held guns pointed in his direction.
“Tie him up,” one of the guards said to another.
Mustaf swallowed the urge to scream with rage as his arms were harshly yanked behind his back and secured with rope that dug deep into his skin.
They would pay for this.
The guns never wavered, and when they’d finished tying him up, someone threw a hood over his face. A sliver of panic dissected the fury. What was going on? Why the sudden desire to move him to a different cell?
He was ushered forward, but instead of being placed in another cage, he was thrust into a vehicle. The sliver of fear grew as he was driven away from the prison that had been his home for just two days.
This wasn’t right. He’d heard them talking about moving him later in the week. What had changed?
He listened carefully, but these men didn’t talk or whisper. There was nothing but silence.
The vehicle stopped. “Get out. And if you try anything, we’ll shoot you in the knee.”
Maybe they would, but he doubted it. Still, it didn’t pay to try anything now. It was entirely possible this was set up by his man on the inside. That at any moment his followers would come out of hiding to rescue him.
He shuffled slowly, rough hands pushing him forward when he was obviously stalling.
Then suddenly he was lifted up off his feet. He resisted the urge to struggle, waiting for his followers to let him know they’d come for him.
But he was thrown down onto something hard. An engine rumbled, and suddenly he knew he was on a plane.
No! Wait! This wasn’t right!
The plane rolled faster and faster until it soared into the air.
Where were his people?
Where were these infidels taking him?
Hope of being rescued shattered like a crystal goblet at his feet.
* * *
September 9 – 7:12 p.m. – Baltimore, MD
Elam Nagi staggered away from the warehouse district, his ears ringing from the blast. He was fairly certain that he’d given the American enough time to get away, although the timing had been close.
Still, he’d succeeded in destroying the evidence. He knew Meira’s life hung in the balance if he didn’t do exactly as he was told.
Melting into the crowd, he hid in plain sight, seeing the people around him talking and gesturing but unable to distinguish actual sounds. The microphone in his ear had amplified the intensity of the blast.
Hopefully, his hearing would return, but that wasn’t his biggest problem right now. He needed to make sure that he stayed one step ahead, that he had a plausible story to explain the warehouse explosion. At least the place hadn’t been used recently.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, but he didn’t reach for it. Not yet. Not until he was far enough away from the scene of the fire.
He walked to the closest Metro station and took the next available train, regardless of the destination. His phone continued to vibrate, and it felt as if everyone was staring at him.
Wrapping his arm around a pole, he finally took the phone from his pocket, looking down at the screen with trepidation. The number on the display made him break out in a cold sweat. Had they heard the explosion from their location? Was it already on the news?
His ears were still ringing, so he sent a text.
A L breached. Trigger pulled. Unknown results.
He pushed send, then held his breath, waiting for a response.
Nothing. Not then. Not by the time he reached the next stop.
Elam closed his eyes, sending up a prayer for Meira and the baby.
He’d promised Meira that he would do good works, but that was before he’d been followed home from work and taken against his will. For two weeks now, he’d been doing his best to walk a fine line, working for the men who’d captured him, convincing them he was truly converted while at the same time doing his best to sabotage their efforts.
Yet he knew that his small victories weren’t enough. And that if he was forced to choose between two impossible tasks, that he would do whatever was necessary to protect the woman he loved and their unborn child.
Anything.
* * *
September 9 – 7:25 p.m. – Washington, DC
Jordan was married. Was still married or possibly divorced, no way to know for sure.
Diana stood under the steaming shower spray with her hands braced against the cool tile and her knees locked so she wouldn’t collapse in a heap.
Married. Married. Married. The word reverberated inside her skull like a ping-pong ball.
No wonder he and Sun hadn’t acted like a couple.
And really, why was she so upset? Agent Balcome told her Jordan believed she was dead and so did her mother’s family. He’d emphasized how that was better for everyone involved. When she’d discovered she was pregnant, she’d taken the opportunity to start over with a new name. A new career. A new life.
Jordan deserved to do the same. Had she really thought there was even a remote chance of picking up where they’d left off twelve years ago?
Ridiculous fantasy that had no basis in reality.
She’d loved Jordan once, but that was a long time ago. She wasn’t the same woman any longer. Still, she grieved for what they’d lost. The hot water from the shower mingled with her tears. She forced herself to use the shampoo, washing away the layer of grime.
When she finished, she thought she’d feel better, but exhaustion weighed her down. Getting dressed seemed an insurmountable task. She drew a comb through her straight dark hair, leaving it to air dry.
Thinking of Bryn, of what her daughter might be going through, provided her the strength she needed to walk back into the kitchen. Her gaze landed on the large space where the framed photo of Jordan and his bride had been. There was a pale square on the wall where the picture had hung, but the image itself was nowhere in sight. She wondered why Jordan had bothered to remove it.
The scent of fried eggs made her stomach twinge with hunger. He turned to look at her, his expression wary. “Will you try to eat something?”
She shrugged and dropped into the closest chair, belatedly noticing that he had the satellite computer set up nearby. “Why not?”
“Good.” He slid what looked like omelets onto two plates and carried them over to join her.
They ate in silence for a few moments before he glanced up at her. “Shari was my partner Sloan’s younger sister. She was killed nine months after our wedding.”
The mouthful of cheese, mushrooms, and egg lodged in her throat. She forced herself to swallow. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nodded, his expression bleak, but didn’t say anything more.
She didn’t ask anything either. She didn’t want to know how much he’d loved Shari. How happy they’d been together. And yes, that made her a terribly selfish person.
Jordan’s love life wasn’t any of her business. He could have a new girlfriend by now for all she knew. It didn’t matter, but finding Bryn did. She stared at her half-eaten omelet, wondering if the kidnappers had provided her daughter with anything to eat. Or if she had a place to sleep.
Her stomach rolled, and she pushed her plate away. She couldn’t take another b
ite, not when she had no idea what Bryn was going through.
“What’s our next step?” She met Jordan’s gaze head-on. “I have a right to know. Besides, we don’t have much time before the kidnappers realize you’re not on that flight to Lebanon.”
“I know.” Jordan resumed eating, his movements mechanical, giving her the impression he wasn’t enjoying the meal but that he was only fueling up to face whatever was to come. “There are several things in the works. I’m hoping Pallone returns my call. If not, we’ll see what Sun digs up from her research. I’m also trying to find a connection between Mustaf and the terrorist cell operating here in DC. If all that doesn’t work, I’ll connect with the man who is suspected of recruiting for the terrorist cell.”
“Recruiting how?”
He grimaced. “Supposedly by seeking believers, also known as radicals, to further their cause. The church is one way of finding recruits, if you can believe that.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. And what would she do while Jordan meets with this so-called recruiter? Besides go out of her mind with fear. “I’m worried about what will happen once the flight leaves for Lebanon,” she confessed in a soft voice. “I’m afraid they’ll hurt Bryn.”
Jordan’s eyes darkened, and he reached out to touch her arm. “Let’s agree not to think about the worst. Yates mentioned that they were transporting Mustaf here to the US. If the kidnappers call, we can use that information as a way to convince them that I’m on their side, still working on a plan to free Mustaf in exchange for Bryn’s life.”
His logic eased the tightness in her belly. That could work, providing that kind of information could actually work in their favor.
Provided the kidnappers didn’t physically hurt Bryn in retaliation before they had a chance to talk.
Chapter Six
September 9 – 7:38 p.m. – Washington, DC
“Where is Rashid?” It was a struggle to act casual when what he really wanted to do was punch Clarence Yates, hitting him over and over again until he spilled his guts related to the information Rashid may have given him already.
Not yet. Patience. The time isn’t right.
“He’s undercover.” The blasé response made him grind his teeth. “Don’t worry, I’m confident he’ll figure out the nature of the threat.”
He forced himself to take a sip of the awful wine his boss favored. “You have a lot of faith in this former agent of yours, are you sure it’s well placed?”
“What makes you ask that? Rashid has proven himself worthy in more ways than one.” His boss’s smile revealed teeth stained purple by the red wine. He had to swallow the urge to tell his superior how ridiculous he looked.
“Maybe.” He shrugged, sipping the bitter sludge while trying hard not to grimace with disgust. Real men drank scotch, not this garbage. “Although I can’t help thinking about the sketchy details of the disaster twelve years ago.”
Yates waved an impatient hand. “Old news. Besides, he took out Omar Haram Shekau, what more could you ask for? That was a huge boost in our war against terrorism, since we know one of the pilots, the one on the plane headed for DC, was one of Omar’s men. And don’t forget the coup he and his partner Sloan did for us this past Fourth of July. POTUS is still singing his praises.”
His fingers tightened with annoyance, and he let go of the stem of the wine glass, fearing it might shatter beneath the pressure. He and another colleague had both been recruited as a direct result of what had transpired back in July. The multiagency task force was well underway, but he planned to succeed when so many others had failed. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to remain calm. He couldn’t afford to lose his focus. His goal here was to find the details around Rashid’s current location and the terrorist group he was to infiltrate.
Knowledge was power. And with power, anything was possible.
* * *
September 9 – 7:45 p.m. – Baltimore, MD
Bryn silently prayed and sobbed as the icky men tied her arms behind her back. She cringed, scared to death they were going hit her again.
Please, God, save me! I want my mommy!
She could smell Meira’s familiar spicy scent, but even knowing Meira was near didn’t help her relax. She was so mad at the woman for not even trying to escape.
If they waited much longer to run away, she feared it would be too late.
Two men were speaking to each other in a language she recognized as Arabic, even though she didn’t understand what they were actually saying. Her mother knew some Arabic, but the only phrase Bryn had learned to say was I love you.
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. These men didn’t love anyone or anything. Except maybe hurting people.
Anger helped get her crying under control. She sniffled loudly, then immediately wished she hadn’t when the men abruptly stopped talking. She tensed, anticipating a blow.
The sound of footsteps made her cringe, and it was all she could do not to scream. She heard a door shut and wished she could see if one man left or both of them.
Meira didn’t come over to untie her, so Bryn remained still. Waiting. Wondering. Fearing the worst.
After what seemed like a lifetime, the mechanical voice echoed in the room. “Infidel, you will be told when to speak, until then remain silent.”
She bobbed her head up and down, having learned the hard way that when he said remain silent, he meant completely quiet. No sound. Her heart raced and she felt short of breath, panic threatening to overwhelm her. With an effort, she tried to slow down her breathing.
Would the man with the mechanical voice allow her to speak to her mom this time? Or to that Jordan guy who they claim was her dad? Had they been able to break Mustaf, whoever he was, out of prison?
Bryn tried not to get her hopes up but found herself praying for rescue anyway.
And if that didn’t work, she needed to find a way to convince Meira that the longer they stayed with these men, the more likely they would be killed.
Bryn bit her lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. She was scared to death, but at the same time, if they were going to kill her anyway, better that it happened when she tried to escape rather than just sitting here waiting for the death strike to come.
* * *
September 9 – 7:48 p.m. – Washington, DC
Jordan’s phone rang, the number blocked the same way it had been the other times the kidnappers had contacted him. He quickly answered, putting the phone on speaker. “Rashid.”
“Are you on the plane?” the mechanical voice asked.
Jordan looked at Diana’s wide eyes, hoping he was making the correct decision. “No, but only because I learned from my sources at the FBI that Mustaf is being transported here to the US as we speak.”
There was a long silence as if the news was unexpected. Diana’s expression was full of anguish, and he hoped and prayed they would believe him.
“Did you hear me? Mustaf is being transferred here to American soil, which will make my job much easier. I already have an idea of where they may be taking him. This is good news, freeing him from an American prison will be much easier than trying to get him out of Lebanon.”
“I will verify your claim,” the mechanical voice said. The line went dead.
A long silence stretched between them.
“What if they can’t verify the facts?” Diana finally asked, her brow furrowed with worry. “They’ll hurt Bryn. And worse, they’ll make us watch!”
Jordan reached over to take her hand. “Take a deep breath, I’m sure they will find out the truth. Once they’ve verified that Mustaf is in fact on his way here, they’ll call us back with additional instructions. Bryn will be fine. They won’t hurt her as long as we’re doing what they ask.” He didn’t bother to add that once Mustaf was free, they wouldn’t have a reason to keep their daughter alive.
Where on earth were they holding her? He thought about the additional companies Sun was checking out. Maybe they’d find Bryn at one of those loca
tions. So far his search on Mustaf hadn’t revealed much.
The warehouses were their best bet, but he wasn’t keen on setting off another explosion. Especially since he would have no way of knowing if Bryn was there or not.
Now he was the one getting ahead of himself. First, he needed to convince the kidnappers that he was telling the truth about Mustaf. Then, he needed to find a way to follow their instructions while trying to pinpoint Bryn’s location.
Last, but still very critical, he needed to figure out what the terrorists had in store for Washington, DC. The Secret Service should be able to keep them from getting too close to the White House, but there were plenty of other monuments to use as a possible target.
Too many.
* * *
September 9 – 7:55 p.m. – Baltimore, MD
Elam’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Bitter fear filled his mouth as he pulled out the device and glanced at the message on the screen.
Report to Liberty.
His blood went cold, but he knew better than to disobey a direct order, so he quickly texted back, Of course.
Since he was headed in the wrong direction, he got off the Metro at the next stop and boarded the appropriate train that would take him back to the location known as Liberty. Their main headquarters, which he’d been able to avoid.
Until now.
His mouth was so dry he couldn’t swallow. Rigging the padlock to blow had been the right thing to do, certainly the men he worked for would see the explosion as a good thing. They couldn’t be angry with him when he had done nothing wrong.
Well, except for allowing the American to get away unscathed, but the men who forced him to do their bidding couldn’t possibly know about that.
Could they?
Elam closed his eyes and struggled to remain calm. What if they hurt Meira as a way to punish him? It didn’t make sense, though, because it was only through his skills that the men had gotten this far. They needed him. His knowledge. His skill. The dwellings were only structures.
