The handler laughed. “‘His own safety?’ That’s a joke. You don’t know what he did to that Dawud bastard. I don’t think it’s Ameen’s safety we have to worry about, but I’ll advise our guys to keep an eye out for him. Okay?”
“Thanks.” She sighed. “Well, I better go.”
“Yeah, it’s time.” He cleared his throat. “Break a leg, Marissa.”
When she walked into the cell’s apartment, it was deserted and unchanged since they’d all left together to go to the hotel. As ordered, the terrorists had not returned before fleeing to Tijuana. From Samir’s box, she snatched the $15,000 in hundreds for Juan and the $5,000 each for Fateen and Masoud. She glared at the beach bag before stuffing the towel inside and slinging it over her arm. She hoped it was a prop she never had to use. If she did, it meant the op was a horrendous failure.
Standing in the living room, she coldly surveyed the place that had been her personal hell and then exited as quickly as she’d entered. She dropped the apartment key in the grass as she approached the agents waiting in the car to gather the evidence. They gave her a nod of recognition and a thumbs-up.
It was time.
* * *
Ameen slid along the side of the building. He was late. The conversation with his uncle had taken longer than planned, but it was important to clear his conscience and to discuss Baheera before… Well, as he’d told her, there was danger in waiting.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t left the mosque until almost one, but he had kept the pedal to the metal the entire trip. Even so, he was worried about who and how many had beaten him to the Otay Mesa site.
Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. He moved with the grace of a ballet dancer, the confidence of a matador, and the precision of a surgeon. He’d need all his military skills before the day was over if he was to insure that the woman he loved finished this op alive.
Yeah, loved. His uncle had opened his eyes to the shocking fact. Ameen knew a new joy filled him, but he hadn’t wanted to jinx it by giving it a name. Abdullah, on the other hand, hadn’t hesitated to call the emotion “love.”
At first, he’d argued with the older man. How could someone fall in love in three days? But the longer they talked, the truer it felt.
Even before the epiphany, Ameen had known he would be here to help Baheera. But now that he accepted the depth of his feelings for her, helping had morphed into protecting her at all costs. Because his future was now entwined with hers.
Thoughts of love and emotions disappeared instantly when the door to the vacant warehouse opened. His military training kicked in, and he was a SEAL again.
Carrying semi-automatic rifles, two Mexicans talked and smoked joints as they emerged from the building. They scanned the area, checked their watches, and moved to their hiding positions at opposite corners of the front of the warehouse.
Only two armed guards? Juan must not be expecting any trouble. Of course, he’d have additional armed men with him to escort Baheera and the cell through the tunnel. He guessed there would be a total of five or six drug goons when everyone arrived at this end.
Ameen wished he knew how many terrorists were with her. There could be as many as eight, including… His jaw clenched. Stay objective. Deal with that personal issue later. I can’t let it cloud my judgment.
He stroked his chin. He’d spotted two snipers, who he guessed were Feds, but the bulk of the cavalry wasn’t here yet, so he wasn’t as late as he’d feared. If Baheera had only shared the op details with him, his job would be much easier. He grinned. She didn’t understand that not telling him wouldn’t make him go away.
His eyes narrowed as he scanned the surroundings again. How would the Feds play this? If everything went according to plan. And if it didn’t.
What would he do if he were planning the op? The first task would be to take out the two outside guards. Then what? He wouldn’t go inside or storm the building, for damn sure. Too many unknowns, too many places to hide. And access to the tunnel would provide an easy escape back to Mexico for the targets.
The Feds would likely bide their time until everyone was outside and then swoop in to close the net around the whole school of deadly fish. That’s what he’d do if he were in charge.
But he wasn’t. However, being a lone, former SEAL gave him options not available to an army of agents. What could he do to protect Baheera that they couldn’t? What risk was he willing to take that they wouldn’t? What hole in the strategy could he fill? What unique role should he play?
His SEAL brain analyzed the situation and found the answers. He checked his watch. Shouldn’t be much longer. Time to move.
As he put his plan into motion, his brain did another calculation. Baheera had said she’d come to his condo at nine. If they wrapped up this damn op quickly, he’d have plenty of time to get ready. He needed to buy some flowers and candles. All that romantic stuff. Baheera deserved those fine things and more.
He chuckled. He was more nervous about revealing his feelings to her than he was about facing terrorists and drug goons. Go figure.
Chapter 24
Luckily, the early afternoon traffic on I-5 South was light. Marissa drove the truck on autopilot, her mind focused on the situation at the end of the trip. After a short wait to cross the border into Mexico, she sped through the dirty streets of Tijuana and parked in front of the hideout at exactly 3:10 p.m., only slightly behind schedule.
She glanced around furtively, knowing she wouldn’t see who was there. In addition to the two agents who had just followed her from San Diego, four others were already in position. Six pairs of eyes, six pairs of hands, numerous weapons. Somewhere nearby.
Why do I still feel alone?
Fateen met her at the door. He stepped out into the street and scanned in both directions. For what or whom, Marissa didn’t know, but his behavior bothered her. After she handed him the beach bag, he followed her to the back room.
The terrorists met her entrance with dead silence. No “Allahu Akbar.” No “Death to America” chants.
Something was wrong. Her pulse kicked up a notch.
Marissa’s gaze swept the room. The boarded-up windows, the padlocked back door, and the breath-stealing heat all pressed in on her. The terrorists could kill her without any of the six agents outside knowing their intent in time to save her.
She was, in fact, alone and vulnerable.
Fateen sat down with the other men on the floor, their attention glued to Marissa. The bomb briefcase was perched on a chair in front of them like an idol.
She stopped beside it and met the eyes of each terrorist. One was missing. “Allahu Akbar. Good afternoon, brothers.”
They mumbled an uneasy response.
Her gaze fixed on Khaleel. “Where’s Nadeem?”
“We don’t know,” he said, his eyes shuttered. “Nadeem has abandoned us and run away like a coward. Allah will punish him. I have finished the bomb for you by myself, Baheera.”
He told the lie with such icy self-righteousness that Marissa had no trouble guessing the truth. One friend has killed the other friend. “Is everything ready?” she asked coldly.
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
“What?” His smug smile faded.
“Show me the bomb. Demonstrate how to detonate it,” she said in a demanding, impatient voice.
“You don’t know how?” he asked, his eyes darting to the bomb.
“No, Khaleel. I’m not an engineer, and I have not studied the diagrams. You do know how it works, don’t you?” she said mockingly.
“Of course, Baheera.” He rose from the floor and joined her. Kneeling beside the chair, he unlatched the metal briefcase. His hands shook as he gently opened the lid a few inches. With a trembling finger, he pointed to the detonation switch. “Here. It is simple. You just flip this switch.”
Marissa’s gaze slid from the switch to something barely visible beneath Khaleel’s large hand. In truth, she had studied the diagrams and that piece anchored with duct
tape didn’t belong. She frowned. It looks like a…
Realization took only seconds. Rage and panic ignited. She glared down at him. Khaleel must have felt the burn because he looked up guardedly.
“That is the only way?” she asked in a calm, quiet voice.
“What do you mean?”
“Can it explode accidentally?”
“No, absolutely not.”
She held his eyes captive with her fiery gaze, watching him sweat. “Can it be detonated…,” she paused a beat, “…remotely?”
His eyes widened for a second before he looked away and shook his head no. “Is it time to go?” he asked, closing the lid and latching it to end the conversation.
“Yes.” From her purse, she pulled the cash for Fateen and Masoud and handed it to them before addressing the group. “Each of you has your money. Do you all understand what you must do?”
They nodded.
“I know we decided all of you would accompany me through the tunnel to the infidels’ soil and pray victoriously in the sunlight at the other end. I agreed to the idea to reward Nadeem.” She shot a hard glance at Khaleel. “Now that Nadeem has…abandoned us, we will follow a wiser plan. Saleem will drive Yasir, Masoud, and me to the tunnel. Fateen and Rashad will follow in the truck. Tareef will stay here to help Khaleel load the boxes and weapons into his car. When the others return, everyone will depart immediately. Leave nothing in the house. Do you—”
“I should go with you,” Khaleel interrupted, unable to disguise the distress in his voice.
“Why?” Marissa demanded.
He fidgeted. “In case there’s a problem with the bomb.”
Six pairs of anxious eyes fixed on him.
“What kind of problem do you anticipate?”
“None, really. But if the bomb were…were dropped, I would want to check it.”
“I will not drop the bomb,” she responded indignantly. “I am not a clumsy child. Husaam…gave me the honor of being the suicide bomber because I am very calm under pressure.”
“Yes, of course, Baheera. But let this be my last act of service to you, in honor of your great sacrifice. I believe Husaam would approve.” He smiled ingratiatingly.
Is he taunting me? Does he suspect…? Her heart beat faster.
The others glanced nervously at her and nodded agreement.
She hesitated, aware of his cunning, calculating the risk. “Okay. Masoud, you remain here with Tareef instead. Load everything into Khaleel’s car.” Masoud nodded with obvious relief. “All right. Let’s go.”
“Wait. We must arm ourselves,” Khaleel interjected.
“Why do we need weapons?” Saleem asked. The others tensed.
Marissa monitored the group’s reaction, relieved someone else had questioned the need but added her reinforcement. “Guns will slow us down.”
Khaleel had an answer ready. “We need to be armed in case the Mexicans try to steal the bomb or your money. We must guard Baheera until she is safely away from them.” He hurried off to gather up the semi-automatic rifles scattered around the room before anyone could raise another objection.
Marissa’s pulse began to race. She wasn’t winning her battle of wits with Khaleel. He obviously had a plan he would protect at all costs. The best course of action was to get him to the US end of the tunnel as soon as possible.
He rushed back to the group carrying five rifles. He handed them to Yasir, Saleem, Rashad, and Fateen, and kept one himself.
“Where’s mine?” Marissa asked, rage simmering just below the surface.
“You will be carrying the bomb. It is heavy. You cannot handle both.”
“I can handle both.” She extended her hand for his weapon.
He froze. They glared at each other. The others squirmed at the standoff.
“Khaleel!” Fateen blurted out.
“Okay, okay,” he capitulated grudgingly. “There are no more rifles. I will grab a pistol.” He trotted to the bedroom and returned with a pistol stuffed in his waistband.
Following an emotional farewell that turned her stomach, Marissa and the five terrorists piled into the car and truck. She rode shotgun. Referring to the map she’d used previously, she directed Saleem through the maze of streets leading to the Tijuana airport. Khaleel’s gaze bored into the back of her head. Yasir sat next to him, clutching the beach bag to his chest.
Juan Gonzalez and four armed guards met them at the entrance to the industrial building. Marissa resisted the urge to scan the area for the agents she knew were watching. After an awkward round of greetings, the group headed inside. One guard shut and locked the massive metal door behind them.
The air was heavy and hot, the windows covered with interior metal shutters. Once again, she felt isolated from the world.
Juan escorted her into another room away from everyone else. He raked her from head to toe with a leering grin.
“The money, Baheera,” he demanded with an outstretched hand. “Fifteen grand.”
“Yes, of course.”
One by one, she pulled the bundles of bills from her purse. Juan fanned each bundle before stuffing it inside his shirt. He counted aloud and smiled when the last one rested against his stomach. He turned to leave.
“Wait, Juan. I need to talk to you.”
He stopped, eyeing her suspiciously. “About what?”
“One of my men.”
Juan stepped closer. He smelled of sweat, beer, and weed.
Marissa lowered her voice. “Khaleel—the one wearing the scarf. I don’t trust him.”
“Want me to kill him? That’ll cost ya extra,” Juan said matter-of-factly.
For a second, she considered the offer. It would eliminate the potential threat, but also traumatize the others, produce unpredictability, and put the rest of the plan at risk. “No, just watch him closely. Keep him near you in the front. Don’t let him use his cell phone.”
Juan grinned. “The phone won’t work in the tunnel. Too deep.”
“Good. But when we get to the other end, take the phone away from him immediately. I want you and your men to escort him up the ladder before the others.”
Juan’s face twisted with disgust. “Who’s he gonna call? The Feds?”
“Not who, but what,” she said, pointing to the bomb.
Understanding dawned, and Juan’s eyes widened. “¡Dios mío! It would be easier to just fucking kill him.”
She chuckled. “I agree, but the others wouldn’t understand.”
Concern creased his forehead as he watched her turn to leave. He’d probably discounted the chance of any real trouble from a group led by a woman.
Back in the first room, Marissa listened while huddled with the terrorists as Juan explained the game plan. Two of the Mexicans were assigned to stay and stand guard. He led his other two men, the five terrorists, and Marissa down a hallway and into another large room.
The gang members laid down their guns and began moving a stack of several dozen large boxes. The process took only a few minutes because the boxes were empty, simply props to hide something important. Beneath the pile, a trap door covered an opening approximately six feet by eight feet. After Juan removed the padlock, his men raised the heavy wooden door and leaned it back toward one wall. The Mexicans stood aside, proudly enjoying the amazed expressions on the terrorists’ faces.
Juan knelt beside the opening and reached down to a control panel. Immediately, the growl of a generator rose from the tunnel. A glow emanated from below, and the loud whirring of fans drifted up into the room. He raised and secured a wooden handrail. After he fiddled with the equipment for a few moments, he signaled his men to lift two large pulleys and a wooden platform. The pulleys were anchored to metal strips screwed into the concrete floor.
Marissa shook her head: a drug dumbwaiter. When the agents closed the net on this end, they would be impressed.
Juan scooted close to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. “The ladder is very tall and steep. I know you wanna keep an eye
on it, Baheera, but you can’t carry that,” he warned, nervously pointing to the briefcase. “Pedro,” he hollered to one of the Mexicans who’d stayed in the first room. “After the rest of us go down, put it on the platform. Pedro will lower it. One of your men will holler when it reaches the bottom. Then you climb down. ¿Comprende?” His hand slid slowly down her arm as his bloodshot eyes dropped from her face to her breasts.
She flinched at his touch. The memory of her slap must’ve faded since yesterday. “Yes, I understand.”
Juan addressed the group. “We go down first. Then you.” He yanked Khaleel by the arm and scowled in his face. “Then the rest. The woman comes last. You…,” he pointed to Saleem, “…grab the briefcase off the platform and holler up that you’ve got it. In the tunnel, walk single file. Keep those guns on your shoulders. Touch your weapons—we shoot you.” His lips curled into a nasty grin, and he glared straight at Khaleel. “And keep your hands out where we can see them at all times. ¿Comprende?”
The terrorists nodded obediently.
Juan slung his semi-automatic onto his back, grasped the handrail, and lowered a foot onto the top rung of the ladder. Step by step, his body sank through the opening. The other two Mexicans quickly followed.
“You’re next, Khaleel,” Marissa ordered when no one moved.
He shot her a deadly look, but didn’t argue.
After the last terrorist had disappeared into the earth, she set the bomb on the platform and watched as Pedro slowly lowered it into the shaft. Saleem’s distant voice announced its arrival at the bottom.
Marissa stood frozen, staring down the ladder. Alone. So much could go wrong in the tunnel. The premonition. Panic threatened to engulf her.
“Señorita,” Pedro said. “They wait for you.”
Wait? What had Ameen said? There’s danger in waiting. And she had already waited two excruciating weeks for this opportunity to stop these evil men.
The horrendous images of 9/11 filled her mind. The famous faces of al-Qaeda sneered at her from her memory. The hate she had witnessed during the past weeks made her shudder.
Targeted (FBI Heat) Page 24
