Jake didn’t have a good answer for that question. Instead, he asked, “What’s our next move?”
“I’m going to get in touch with some of the people I’ve worked with in the past. Word needs to get out to the intelligence community and law enforcement that Saddiq is in this country and may be connected to the incident with the train in Nevada. That way the authorities will know to be on the lookout for him. And I should be able to get any effort to haul us in quashed, too.”
“You’ve never talked that much about the people you work for,” Jake ventured.
“Work with,” Barry corrected. “Not for. And I don’t talk about them because they don’t like to talk about me. I guess we all just figure it’s better to act like the others don’t exist.” He smiled. “Plausible deniability and all that.”
“The secretary will disavow any knowledge of you or your mission, as they used to say on that TV show.”
“Yeah, that’s it exactly.” Barry closed the laptop. “I’ll make those calls, and then we can go get something to eat.”
“After everything we saw today, I’m not sure I have much of an appetite,” Jake said with a sigh.
“Maybe not . . . but Saddiq’s out there somewhere, and he’s plotting something bad. When we figure out what it is, we’ll probably have to move fast to stop him. The truck can’t go without being fueled up, and neither can we.”
“When you put it like that . . . maybe a nice thick steak’s not a bad idea.”
CHAPTER 25
The dark blue sports car pulled up to the entrance of an exclusive gated community in El Paso. It was late enough in the evening that the guard on duty in the little brick gatehouse during the day had left.
The driver of the sports car knew the code to punch into the keypad that controlled the gate, though. It swung open, and he drove through at a careful, deliberate pace.
Beside him, Bandar al-Saddiq looked back at the gate closing behind them and said, “Typical of the West’s decadence. The Americans are weak, so they fear and have to hide behind walls and gates.”
“I seem to remember seein’ plenty of footage of the compounds where your leaders live behind walls and gates,” the driver drawled. “So I don’t reckon you’ve got a lot of room to talk, amigo.”
He was a lantern-jawed man in a cowboy hat, which, unlike Saddiq’s, looked right at home on him.
“Usually drone footage, right before bombs blow the places to smithereens,” he continued. He paused, then repeated, dragging it out, “Smithereeeens. What a great word. It’s a shame folks don’t use it much anymore.”
“You should not make light of my people’s sacrifice,” Saddiq snapped.
“Sorry, hoss. I’m just sayin’ that folks all over the world are kind of alike. Your country or mine, if they’ve got something to be scared of, and they have the money to do it, they’re gonna build themselves a big ol’ fort.” The driver waved a hand at the huge, cookie-cutter houses they were passing as they drove serenely through the neighborhood. “Or the twenty-first century equivalent of one, anyway.”
He brought the car to a smooth stop in front of a house with a real estate company’s sign in the yard. Saddiq looked at it and said, “This house is for sale?”
“A good way to make sure it’s empty in the middle of the night, wouldn’t you say?”
Saddiq made a vague, revolving gesture with his hand that took in all their surroundings. “Aren’t there security cameras everywhere in a place like this? I thought Americans had no privacy anymore and were always under surveillance. For their own good, of course.”
“Sure, but by the time anybody looks at the footage from those cameras, you’ll be long gone—and I will be, too. This car will be in pieces, bein’ scattered all over the country. Nobody’ll ever be able to trace it.”
“But certainly, a car like this is very expensive, isn’t it?” Saddiq protested. “You can afford to destroy it just to cover your trail?”
“I’m not affording anything. I’m just a hired hand, old son. Come on.”
The driver got out and led Saddiq up a flagstone walk to the house’s fancy entranceway. He had a key ready and unlocked the door.
Inside, a few dim lights burned, as they might in an empty house that was for sale. Saddiq and the driver waited in the gloomy, marble-floored foyer. In front of them, a staircase curved down from the second floor. As they watched, a pair of female legs, indecently bare atop garish high heels, descended those stairs, followed by the young woman they belonged to.
She was a blonde in a little black dress who looked more like she was heading for some high-society cocktail party than meeting a notorious terrorist in an empty house.
She barely gave the driver a look, her gaze flicking over him without real interest for identification purposes only, and then moved on to Saddiq, where her eyes lingered as she took him in from head to toe. Something that might have been approval showed on her face, but only for a second.
“Bandar al-Saddiq,” she said.
“His own self,” the driver replied with a grin. The blonde ignored him.
Saddiq took a step toward her. A frown of disapproval creased his forehead. He was a man, and certainly not blind, so he was aware of her beauty. But she was a decadent American slut, not worthy of his time or attention.
“Where is your master?” he asked harshly.
Her chin lifted and jutted out defiantly.
“There’s a man I work for, but he’s hardly my master,” she said. “And if you’re thinking of auditioning for the position, you can just forget it.”
“I have no interest in a shameless woman,” he said with a shake of his head. He looked at the driver. “Take me away from here. I will not deal with this female.”
The driver held up his hands, palms out, and started backing away.
“My part of the job’s done, hoss. I got you here. That’s all I was supposed to do.”
Saddiq reached for something under his coat at the small of his back. “You will—”
He stopped short both his movement and the angry words as he found himself caught between two guns, a revolver in the driver’s hand and a flat little automatic pointed at him by the blonde. He hadn’t known the driver was armed, and it was definitely a mystery where the blonde had produced her gun from, since it didn’t look like there was room to hide anything in that little black dress other than the firm female flesh that was already packed into it.
“Mr. al-Saddiq,” the blonde said, “I realize there are substantial cultural differences in play here. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have the same goal. If you’ll just cooperate with me, I’ll see to it that you’re reunited with your allies before the night is over.”
Saddiq jerked his head toward the driver. “Why can’t he take me to them?”
“For the same reason you’ve been handed over to someone else several times during your journey. We don’t want you leaving a trail.”
“A trail that could lead to you and your . . . the man you work for.”
“We just don’t want anything to disrupt your plan. It’s vital that every step be carried out.”
Saddiq stared at her for a long moment, then nodded.
“All right,” he said. “I suppose it makes sense. No one who knows anything about me would ever think to look for me”—his lip curled—“traveling with an American whore.”
“If you think being called names bothers me, you’re wrong. I’m devoted to my cause, just as you are. Now . . . shall we put away these guns and get you started on the next leg of your journey?”
Saddiq nodded. He would do what the whore said . . . for now.
But when this was over, he vowed, she would be punished for her shamelessness. And who better to carry out that punishment than him?
CHAPTER 26
The blonde didn’t tell Saddiq her name during the drive to their next location, which was perfectly all right with him. He had no desire to be friends with any female, and certainly not this arr
ogant infidel woman.
The same was true of the mouthy American cowboy who had driven him to El Paso. Clearly, the man was selling out his country for money. Saddiq could have no respect for a man such as that.
The two Americans in the big truck—those men he could respect, even while he hated them and wanted to see them dead for trying to interfere with his plans. Fortunately, they had failed to stop him.
Perhaps when this was all over and the Great Satan had been vanquished and a different order was in charge, not only in America but worldwide . . . perhaps then, he could have them hunted down and dealt with. That was something to look forward to.
In the meantime, there was much work to be done, and Saddiq was ready to take the next step.
When they reached their destination, a small apartment, Saddiq saw a familiar face. He embraced Omar Habib and pounded the hulking man on the back.
“Omar, my great and good friend! How wonderful it is to see you again.”
“You, too, Bandar.”
Omar had been born and raised in America—Houston, Texas, to be precise—so instead of the faintly British accent in Saddiq’s voice, Omar had an unfortunate twang. Not much of one, but enough for Saddiq to be annoyed by it.
He always put those feelings aside, however, because Omar was a good man, big and dependable and reasonably smart.
“I heard you had some trouble getting here,” Omar went on.
Saddiq waved away that concern. “Nothing that the Mexicans could not deal with, although it was a bit irritating at times.”
“Well, you’re here now. Is the plan still on track?” Omar smiled. “So to speak.”
“Nothing has changed.” Saddiq’s tone was a little sharp. Their holy mission was nothing to joke about. “You and your group performed well in Nevada. You left nothing that would lead back to you?”
“Nothing,” Omar said.
Saddiq believed him and nodded in satisfaction.
Briefly, when the blonde had first brought Saddiq here and told him that Omar was waiting inside, Saddiq had suspected a trap. He had looked over at the blonde in the faint glow from the instruments of the luxury sedan she was driving. Her short dress had ridden up even more, leaving her long, sleek legs indecently bared for almost their entire length.
She had smiled an infuriatingly smug smile when she saw him looking at her.
“It drives you crazy to have to work with somebody like me, doesn’t it?”
“Someone who would betray her country for money, you mean?” Saddiq’s casual gesture dismissed that. “I expect that sort of dishonorable behavior from an American slut.”
That had gotten under her skin. She snapped, “It’s not the money. I’m loyal to my boss. I happen to believe what he’s doing is right.”
“It is ordained by Allah.”
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, you go right ahead. It’s enough for me to know that I’m doing the right thing.”
Unable to stomach any more of her, Saddiq had gone into the apartment to be reunited with Omar. He felt cleaner now that he no longer had to look at the blonde.
However, the comfortable, middle-class apartment with its flat-screen TV and other symbols of Western decadence also made him a bit uncomfortable. He and Omar sat in armchairs, and Saddiq asked, “Tell me about the plan’s progress.”
“It’s going really well, my friend,” Omar assured him. “The explosives are all lined up. We’re going to take delivery on them tomorrow night.”
“From Francisco Zaragosa’s people?”
“That’s right. You met Zaragosa himself, didn’t you?”
“And his wastrel brother.” A curt shake of Saddiq’s head. “Such creatures will have no place in our new world.”
“The cartel has been useful, though,” Omar pointed out.
Saddiq shrugged. “The time will come when their usefulness is at an end.”
“Yeah, I suppose . . . Anyway, once we have the explosives, we’ll split them up among the men who’ll plant them on the tracks. Everyone knows his assignment. We’ve been over and over the plan. When that eastbound freight rolls into El Paso a couple of mornings from now, the explosions will derail it right there next to downtown.” Omar chuckled. “The city won’t know what hit it.”
Saddiq studied the other man for a moment, then said, “An accident like that in an area with a high concentration of people should cause considerable loss of life. Your fellow Texans, Omar. Does that bother you?”
“My duty is to Allah and to my brothers in Islam,” Omar answered without hesitation. “An accident of birthplace does nothing to change that. I realized that a long time ago, Bandar. It’s why I first traveled to Afghanistan several years ago, to help my Islamic brothers.”
“The Americans would consider you a traitor if they knew that you’d turned your back on them.”
Omar blew out a disgusted breath.
“Do you think that I care for one second what the infidels think? What I do for the glories of Allah is all that matters.”
Saddiq nodded slowly and smiled. “It is good to hear you say such a thing, my friend. That way, I will not worry when the blood of the Americans is spilled.”
Omar shook his head. “No need to worry at all,” he assured Saddiq. “Bring on the blood of the infidels. Rivers of it.”
CHAPTER 27
A notification chimed on Barry’s phone just a minute or so after he and Jake returned to the motel room after eating supper at a restaurant across the street. It was no fancier than the motel, but the steaks were good.
Barry looked at the phone, then went to the computer on the desk and opened it. He tapped a couple of keys, and a video call screen opened up with an angry-looking man’s face on it.
“The first thing I want to know,” the man said, “is if you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” Barry said.
“Physically, you mean. Because I know you’ve lost your mind.”
Jake laughed and nodded toward the screen.
“Whoever he is, he’s obviously well acquainted with you,” he said.
“Wait a minute,” the man said. He appeared to be in his forties, but his hair was already a premature iron gray. “That’s your nephew, isn’t it? You’ve dragged him on this . . . whatever it is?”
“Jake’s giving me a hand.”
“You’ve compromised the FBI?”
“He’s not here officially. He’s off duty.” Barry’s voice sharpened. “Anyway, I seem to recall that the bureau did a pretty good job of compromising itself for a few years, or at least the leadership did, what with trying to undermine a legally elected president and all.”
The man on the computer screen waved that away.
“Ancient history.”
“Not so ancient. And a lot of people still remember it.” Barry shook his head. “But as far as I know, that doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on here. And don’t worry about Jake. Like I said, he’s here on his own time.”
The man on the screen sighed wearily.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll just worry about you being charged with a couple dozen murders. How about that?”
“I didn’t kill anybody who didn’t need killing,” Barry said. “It was the fellas we were after who were shooting civilizans.”
“Actually, I figured that was the case, but that’s not what the official reports are going to say. There are several dozen versions of the story going around—”
“Because there were several dozen eyewitnesses,” Barry broke in.
“That’s right. Officially, you haven’t been identified yet, and there aren’t any charges pending. But whoever was in that big rig of yours is definitely regarded as a person of interest in a whole slew of serious crimes.”
“I can tell you what actually happened,” Barry offered. “I assume this is a secure connection.”
The man on the screen answered by rolling his eyes, then said, “I’m assuming this has something to do with y
ou reaching out a few days ago about anything unusual happening along the border.”
“That’s right.” Barry launched into a quick summation of recent events, starting with the meeting with his old friend working undercover for the DEA.
He concluded by saying, “The man we were after turned out to be Bandar al-Saddiq. I imagine you recognize the name.”
The man on the screen frowned and said, “Minor-league Afghan terrorist?”
“Maybe not so minor-league anymore. A new group, Lashkar-e-Islami, claims responsibility for that train derailment in Nevada the other day, and then Saddiq shows up, being smuggled into the country by a Mexican cartel. I can’t believe that’s just a coincidence.”
“It does seem like quite a stretch to think so,” the man on the screen said slowly. “Let me look into this, Barry, and see if I’m hearing whispers of anything.”
“I was going to get in touch with you and ask you to do that exact thing.”
The man snorted. “I’m always quicker on the uptake than you are. I’ll be back in touch.”
“Thanks,” Barry said. He closed the laptop.
“Okay,” Jake said, “are you going to tell me who that was?”
“One of those people I work with that we were talking about earlier.”
“Yeah, but I recognized that guy. I’ve seen him before, maybe on TV at, like, presidential news conferences . . .”
“You might have,” Barry admitted.
“He’s one of the guys who stands in the background—”
“A lot of good work gets accomplished in the background.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jake frowned. “Is he going to tell my boss that I’m mixed up in this?”
“He has a habit of not telling anybody anything unless he believes they have a need to know.” Barry chuckled, but the sound didn’t have much genuine humor in it. “That tendency has bitten me on the butt more than once. I think there’s a good chance he’ll give us both free rein and do what he can to help us . . . for now. As long as we don’t embarrass too many of the wrong people.”
“Like starting World War III in southern New Mexico.”
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