Fatal Mistake--A Novel

by Susan Sleeman

  Now that thought was smile worthy.

  “One minute,” Zach said.

  Cal lowered his night-vision goggles. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the greenish color tinting his vision and pulled on his assault gloves. Made with a Nomex and Kevlar blend for protection, they had a gun-cut finger for increased dexterity.

  The helo went into a hover, and Cal glanced at Zach, who gave a thumbs-up.

  Go time.

  A burst of adrenaline raced through Cal’s blood, but he regulated his breathing. He nodded at Zach and jerked open the door. Air roared past, sucking and swirling. He kicked out the rope and grabbed it. Sliding down, the friction burned into his gloves. Thankfully, the Nomex shielded his hand. He hit the road hard, jarring his whole body. He wasted no time but signaled a successful landing, and the helo departed like a hummingbird whirling into the black of night.

  He took a moment to get his bearings. To his right sat an open grain field. On his left, a thick grove of trees mixed with the darkness. He pulled out the GPS device and followed the red dot about five hundred yards ahead in the stand of trees. Still moving, Tara had slowed her pace. Probably tiring. Made her more vulnerable.

  He had to move. Now!

  He crept through the woods. Silently. Carefully.

  Step. Step. Step. Break. A quick check of his surroundings.

  Rinse and repeat. Over and over.

  A tedious way to advance, but standard operating procedure for a hostage rescue professional dictated a cautious approach to arrive undetected and alive. After all, he had to protect himself first if he hoped to save another person.

  In the thick of the trees now, Cal heard an owl hoot above, but otherwise deafening silence greeted him as he crept forward. Muggy spring air closed in, the forest feeling like a sauna, and sweat dripped from his body.

  Fifty yards away from Tara’s location, he lifted his goggles and raised his rifle. He sighted in the area ahead and looked through the red crosshairs, but found no one.

  He crept closer and swung the rifle to his right. Held his breath. Searched. Twenty feet ahead, Tara stood with her back to a tree, her chest rapidly rising and falling. No sign of Keeler.

  Cal backed up and skirted behind trees to edge closer for a better look. He wanted to call out to her, but his sixth sense told him something was hinky. He took a stand behind a tree and scanned the area.

  A branch snapped to his right, echoing through the still of the night.

  He swung the scope, saw nothing, but dropped his finger to the trigger anyway. If Keeler and the Lone Wolf were one and the same, Cal wanted to take him alive to gain much-needed ISIS intel. But the most important thing right now—the most important thing at all times to a law enforcement officer—was to protect innocent life. Sure, if he brought the bomber in, or even put two in his chest, Cal might be stopping a future attack, but that attack wasn’t certain.

  Tara’s life was on the line right now.

  He ran his scope over the area, seeing nothing, but his frog sense kept screaming he was missing something. He continued to scan.

  C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Show yourself.

  A sudden explosion in the distance thundered through the air. The ground rumbled beneath his feet in rolling waves, and the sky flashed with brilliant reds and oranges. He estimated the blast came from the pump house, and now any evidence they might have recovered to locate Keeler should he get away burned in a red-hot inferno.

  A gunshot split the night. A cry of distress followed. Cal swung his scope back to Tara in time to catch sight of her collapsing to the ground. He stifled a shout of rage and scanned the area. Saw no one.

  “FBI. Don’t move,” Cal called out, though he didn’t have eyes on Keeler.

  Cal remained in position, his finger itching to jerk the trigger, but he couldn’t very well go firing at random into the forest, hoping to hit a person who may or may not be the Lone Wolf. Who may or may not have just shot Tara. Cal needed more information to discharge his weapon.

  Deep laughter rumbled through the trees behind Tara. “Nice try, Secret Agent Man, but I think you’ll want to check on Tara instead of chasing after me. Adios.”

  The guy charged through the trees, the sound of snapping branches and crunching leaves soon trailing off. A sense of urgency to bolt toward Tara ate at Cal’s stomach, but he eased his way up to her, scanning the area with each step, looking for a trap. She lay on her back, and even in the thick of the night, he clearly saw through his NVGs the dark spot pooling on her abdomen.

  A gut shot, one of the worst places to take a hit. She wouldn’t survive if he didn’t stop the bleeding and get her to the hospital.

  Memories of the day the young boy lost his life on the raid came rushing back, filling Cal’s chest with apprehension, but he kept moving and grabbed his radio to connect with Zach.

  “Alpha One, this is Alpha Two requesting exfil at secondary location.” A cold feeling of dread twisted through his body. “Hostage has taken a bullet. Radio the ER and let them know we’re bringing her in with a gunshot wound to the left abdomen. And get word to standby deputies that Keeler’s on the move. He’s armed and dangerous and heading due west of my coordinates.”

  “Roger that,” Zach said calmly, the way all operators on the team would respond.

  Cal stowed his radio, grabbed his flashlight, and ran the beam over Tara’s face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth pinched. He swung the light over her body, stopping at the wound. He positioned himself above her yet kept an eye on the location where Keeler had fled.

  “Tara.” Cal put cheer he didn’t feel into his voice. “It’s me, Cal. I told you I’d get here.”

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  “I…he…” Her voice, a mere whisper, evaporated into the inky black sky.

  “Don’t talk.” Cal tore off his gloves and ripped his medical kit from his pack. He flipped on his headlamp and pressed gauze pads on the wound.

  She moaned, and the phone she clutched in her hand fell to the ground.

  “It’s okay, Tara. I’m going to get you through this,” he soothed as her blood easily saturated the gauze, increasing his concern.

  He grabbed a couple rolls of Kerlix and pressed hard. She groaned, a drawn-out, tortured expression of pain, but it was weaker this time. He rested his fingers on her wrist to find a fast and thready pulse.

  Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

  He turned his attention back to her face and cringed at the tightness he found there. He gently swept a strand of hair from her eyes and bent low. Her agony sent a visceral pain piercing his body, hitting him in a place in his heart he thought long dead.

  “We’re going to take a little trip, sweetheart.” He did his best to keep his concern from his voice. “But don’t worry. I’m going with you, and I’ll get you to the ER in plenty of time.”

  He picked up her phone, then lifted her into his arms, his promise hanging in the air. Why had he made another promise? Like the one he’d made to the boy on his failed rescue. Just a kid who didn’t make it.

  What good was a promise when he had no control over the endgame and it was up to God to save her life?

  * * *

  12:20 a.m.

  Pain kept Tara’s eyes clamped down tight, but she was vaguely aware of bright lights overhead, and the medical staff’s frenzied tones as they hurried her toward the ER and shouted words like peritoneal cavity, hematocrits, and pancreas. She remembered having a CT scan, but then her hematocrit had fallen, whatever that meant, and they now rushed her toward a surgical suite.

  The gurney bumped through swinging doors and came to a rest, but she couldn’t summon the energy to open her eyes. The nurse cooed something in her direction. Wooziness along with peace floated around her, and she drifted toward sleep.

  Memories of a man’s face lit by a beam of light from his helmet settled in her brain. He had a wide jaw and nose, high cheekbones, eyes that were dark and narrowed holding strength and conviction, but that
wasn’t all. As he’d gazed down on her, they’d softened and filled with concern and compassion that she’d never witnessed in a man’s eyes.

  Agent Cal Riggins, he’d said his name was. The FBI agent she’d called. He’d told her on the phone that he was there for her, and he had been. Just like he promised. Well, almost anyway. Maybe a few minutes too late. But he had come, and as she’d gone in and out of consciousness on the helicopter, she found him holding her hand every time she woke up, warming her heart. Chasing out her fears as she tried to recall everything she’d seen.

  She remembered running in fear from Oren. He’d pursued her and shot at her, bullets racing past her head. Her arms. Shoulders. Then a fiery explosion shook the earth, and he’d fired his handgun again. She could feel the pain slicing through her stomach. Feel the cold ground rise up to meet her. Agent Riggins tending to her, his hands urgent and inflicting even more pain, yet his comforting gaze and tone holding regret over having to do so.

  She’d wanted to tell him something as he’d cared for her, but what? Could it be something she’d seen on the way out of the pump house? At the pump house?

  She tried to remember, honestly she did, but the images danced out of her reach and sleep pulled harder. She gave in, letting her body sink into the black void and drag her under.

  The next thing she knew was light and an insistent male voice.

  “Wake up, Tara,” he commanded.

  Hoping Agent Riggins stood beside her bed, she fought through the haze, struggling to climb free and lift her eyelids. She spotted a man, tall and string-bean thin. She worked hard to focus in on his face, but she needn’t have. With his slight frame, he couldn’t have carried her through the woods and held her close on the chopper. He was so not Agent Riggins.

  But Aunt June was there, her warm hand wrapped around Tara’s fingers, a smile washing over the anxiety in her face. Tara squeezed her hand.

  “You came through surgery fine,” the man said. “The bullet bruised a few internal organs, but barring any post-op infection, you should be back to normal soon.”

  He ran a hand over a shiny scalp with little tufts of hair sticking out the sides. He reminded her of an asparagus stalk wearing a doctor’s white coat. Laughter bubbled up inside, but his frown stifled it.

  “Any questions for me?” Impatience narrowed his gaze.

  Questions? She could barely keep her eyes open much less summon up any questions. She shook her head but managed to move it only a fraction of an inch.

  “Don’t worry, Tara. You’ll be just fine. You just rest for now,” Aunt June said. She glanced at the doctor. “We may have questions tomorrow.”

  He gave a clipped nod of his pointy head. “I’ll stop by in the morning to assess your progress, and we’ll take things from there.” He headed for the door, this tall stalk of asparagus, moving fluidly and quickly away.

  She closed her eyes, sleep waiting again with the promise of peace. Though comforted by Aunt June, Tara hoped when she next woke that Agent Riggins would be waiting at the door. His strong presence would be a comfort in itself, until…until he filled in the voids in her memory, and her worst nightmare once again became a reality.

  Chapter 3

  3:10 a.m.

  Cal leaned against the wall in Tara’s hospital room. Her aunt had gone home reluctantly after Cal’s solemn assurance that they’d call if Tara’s condition changed. She lay asleep in the bed, her face as pale as the bleached pillowcase. Layers of auburn hair poked out at odd angles, likely from the cap she’d worn in surgery. And yet, even in such disarray, men would find her very attractive. After all, he did, but he didn’t have the time or energy to think of her as a woman right now, only as a person who witnessed important information that could help him catch the Lone Wolf.

  Oren Keeler. They now knew his name. A disappointingly plain name for a notorious bomber. Cal had spent hours during Tara’s surgery researching the man. His appearance was the only thing extraordinary about him. He had a long face, crooked nose, and buckteeth. Cal suspected women found him homely, far from the confident sort of man you’d expect to be brave enough to withstand the threat of an accidental detonation as he built his devices.

  Tara stirred and moaned.

  “No!” She shot upright, her eyes wild and searching. She locked gazes with him, then collapsed back.

  He approached her bed.

  “Do you need me to get the nurse, Tara…Ms. Parrish?” From her call and rescue, he’d come to think of her as Tara, but as a law enforcement officer, he needed to keep things professional and wait for her to suggest he call her Tara. Even then, he shouldn’t do so, as he couldn’t let her suffering distract him from his purpose.

  “No, I…” She bit her lip, then took in several deep breaths and firmed her shoulders with a resolve he didn’t expect. “Unless my memories are wrong, you’re the agent I spoke to on the phone.”

  “Agent Cal Riggins.” He flashed his credentials, then held out his hand.

  She slipped her slender fingers into his, and he was surprised to find them warm. “I’m Tara Parrish, but then you already know that. Thank you for saving my life. If you hadn’t come when you did—”

  “Let’s not go there, okay?” He smiled as much for himself as her. Three women had already lost their lives from Keeler’s bombs and Cal didn’t want to think about how close another woman had come to dying on his watch. “Are you up for answering a few questions, Ms. Parrish?”

  “Tara, it’s Tara.”

  “And you can call me Cal.” Now where had that come from when only a moment ago he’d vowed to keep things professional?

  Her brows knitted in worry. “Do you really think Oren is the Lone Wolf? That he’s actually killing for ISIS?”

  “My team and I have spent the last few hours researching him, and we’re certain he’s the Lone Wolf. Whether he’s motivated by his misguided beliefs or not has yet to be determined.”

  “But all the news reports about him mention ISIS.”

  “News reports can be inaccurate, but I can’t go into details.” He wished he could share more with her so she better understood the sense of urgency he had in finding Keeler, but Cal's team had just begun a comprehensive background investigation on her and would hardly share sensitive information until she was fully vetted. Maybe not even then.

  They kept many investigative details private. Details like the fact that Keeler used necklace bombs and drew a skull and crossbones on the front of his devices. At first they’d thought the common symbol of death was meaningless, but the literal translation of the symbol told another story. The X shape of the skull and crossbones was often interpreted as man being wrong about the truth and therefore he died. ISIS believed that anyone who didn’t hold their beliefs should die. A perfect symbol for Keeler’s cleansing.

  Tara closed her eyes and sighed. “Oren and I were once such good friends. I didn’t think anything could ever come between us.”

  Had she sighed because she’d learned a friend was a bomber, or because she was still involved with Keeler and was lamenting the guy choosing to turn on her and shoot her?

  It sent Cal’s gut churning to think this woman lying in front of him could be helping Keeler, but until their background check on her was complete, he had to at least consider the possibility. “Tell me more about your friendship with Keeler.”

  She pressed the remote to raise her bed, her face contorting in pain as the frame groaned upward. “There’s not much to tell. I think I mentioned on the phone that we grew up next door to each other. My parents owned a farm until they died in a car crash. I was only thirteen, so I went to live with my aunt June. Oren’s family farm was located between June’s and my parents’ place.”

  Cal grabbed a chair and slid it over to the bed. “But the Keelers lost that property to foreclosure about seven months ago.”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “Your research, right? Did you learn anything else that I should know?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t share
details of my investigation.”

  “I understand.” She ran a hand over her face, and he doubted that she could begin to understand the complexity of this investigation. “This is all so surreal. My friendship with Oren might have ended in junior high, but still, how could…I mean…he…I can’t believe he shot me. I just can’t.”

  “When’s the last time you saw him?”

  “Last time?” She peered up at the ceiling. “In January, I guess. At June’s place. Before that, I hadn’t seen him since his mother’s funeral. We both lost our mothers in a car crash, so I reached out to him. But he didn’t want to talk.”

  “You also mentioned on the phone about his conversion to the Islamic faith. Did his family convert, too?”

  “No. No.” She shook her head hard, the wayward strands of hair settling in place on her shoulders. “He did that all on his own, and his parents didn’t support the change.”

  “Do you have any idea why he converted?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it was timing more than anything. Our freshman year, kids were starting to date, and I think he felt left out.” Her eyes narrowed. “I imagine by now you’ve seen a picture of him.”

  Cal nodded.

  “There’s not a nice way of saying it, but he’s not a good-looking man, and he wasn’t a good-looking teenager. All gangly and disproportioned. He was teased a lot, and girls didn’t find him attractive. So I think he chose a Goth lifestyle because it made him seem odd on purpose. And he changed faiths for added shock value.”

  Interesting. “Did he tell you that?”

  “No. Just a guess. I tried to get him to talk to me about it in high school, but he refused and became withdrawn. That’s when our friendship totally fell apart, and we barely talked to each other.”

  Cal nodded and wanted to dig deeper, but he’d hold additional questions until the team had completed their preliminary research on Keeler. Then, when Cal knew the right questions to ask, he’d come back to her relationship with Keeler.