“Because of the strict rules,” Potter said, “we know next to nothing about the women of Ameen’s family.”
“Put Ahmed Rasheed’s wife back up there,” Gordon said.
Elizabeth clicked the mouse and changed the image. Yes, some of the basic features were similar, but the resemblance wasn’t nearly as strong.
“I think it’s the sister, Fatima.” She clicked the girl’s picture back up. “I know it is.”
“You can’t be sure,” Torres argued. “Not if we’re basing this on a drawing.”
“But look at the hairline, the way it points down in the middle. It’s right there. Even if she changed her name, she can’t totally disguise her appearance. I’m telling you, the woman we’re looking for is Fatima Rasheed.”
“Why are you so sure?” Gordon leaned back in his chair, frowning.
“She has motive, means, and opportunity.”
“Motive being her brother was killed in a drone strike,” he said. “But we now know he probably wasn’t killed.”
“Even if he wasn’t killed, he was still targeted by an American drone,” Elizabeth said. “That’s enough to inspire hate.”
“What’s the last concrete info we have on her?” Torres asked.
“She entered Turkey four years ago. Her father has relatives in Istanbul, and we assume she was staying with them.”
“That’s before the drone strike,” Gordon pointed out.
“Yes, but it’s what she did after that we need to be concerned about. What if she joined the cause? What if someone helped her put a new identity together, and she got on a plane to Canada or Mexico or maybe even New York City? I’m telling you, Fatima Rasheed is the face of this operation.” She waved a hand at the screen. “If you think about it, it’s perfect. Look at all we have on her. A snapshot of a little girl. She’s a face we’d never expect. But I believe she did do this. I believe she got herself over here and started laying the groundwork, finding a safe house and buying a car and coordinating all the meetings, gathering everyone together.”
“What about eliminating witnesses?” Torres asked. “That college kid who sold his car to them—he was murdered before Rasheed and Ameen got over here. You’re saying she did that?”
“Why’s that so impossible?” Elizabeth asked, getting annoyed. “A woman can hold a pistol, same as anybody. This kind of thinking is playing right into their hands, you guys. They know we’re resistant to the idea of a female terrorist. And they’re using that to their advantage.”
Elizabeth looked at the faces around the room—all of them male and most of them skeptical. Why was this so difficult to believe? Maybe they didn’t like the idea of hunting down a woman.
She wished Lauren were here to back her up.
“Okay, so what about Ahmed Rasheed?” Torres asked. “Do we have confirmation he was aboard that submarine?”
“We’re still waiting on the print from that gas can,” Gordon said.
“But it’s looking likely,” Potter added. “Hailey Gardner remembers Khalid talking about someone named Rasasa. That’s Ahmed’s nickname, and it means bullet. He’s got a reputation as an expert marksman, and we’ve got video footage of him teaching shooting at an Al Qaeda training camp.”
Gordon tapped his pen on the table. “If Ahmed Rasheed is alive—which hasn’t been confirmed, by the way—it would make for an interesting scenario. It puts the idea of an assassination back into play. But the discovery of the narco sub had led us to believe they were trying to smuggle in a chemical weapon.”
“Do we know this for sure?” Torres asked. “That there was a bomb aboard that sub?”
“Word from the lab is the submarine tests positive for explosives residue,” Gordon said. “Despite water washing away much of the evidence, they were still able to detect trace amounts.”
“What about white phosphorus?” Elizabeth asked, cringing inwardly at the thought.
“Inconclusive. However, with Zahid Ameen involved, we have to assume chemical weapons are a strong possibility.”
Her stomach clenched. This was sounding more and more like her worst nightmare: a chemical attack on innocent civilians. She studied the sketch posted on the screen, then looked at the smiling schoolgirl in the photo.
“Where’s Lieutenant Vaughn?”
She looked at Gordon. “On his way back to base.”
I’ll catch up with you before I go. It was nearly four o’clock. Obviously, he hadn’t had time for a big good-bye with her or even a phone call.
She dragged her attention back to the matter at hand. “I can see you’re not all convinced, but please listen.” She focused on Gordon. “If Fatima is the front man for this operation, then that is a strategic advantage that this terror cell will want to maximize. The motel clerk told the artist she saw this woman getting into her car in the late afternoons but not the mornings. The woman kept a regular schedule, which makes me think she has a job. Whatever it is, she probably got it in order to gain access to something or someone. That job could tell us what their target is.”
Silence fell over the room.
“Let’s run down the list again.” Gordon nodded at his assistant, and a long list of targets appeared on the screen. “The NSA’s reporting an increase in overall chatter, so the theory is that whatever they’re planning, it’s probably happening soon.”
Elizabeth’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She slipped it out and saw a text from Derek.
Come outside.
Her pulse skipped. I’m at the office, she replied.
A few seconds later, I know.
She subtly excused herself and slipped out of the room, ignoring Gordon’s look. She made her way through the bullpen and downstairs to the lobby. She passed through the security checkpoint and spied Derek’s truck sitting in the visitors lot. Her pulse skipped again.
She strode over as he lowered the driver’s-side window. “Did they cancel your callback?”
“No,” he said. “Come on, get in.”
“What are you still doing here?”
“Get in, Liz. We don’t have time to waste.”
She stood for a moment, debating. Then she rounded the front of the truck and climbed inside. “This better be important. I—”
“What’s the word on the target?” he interrupted, shoving the truck into gear.
“We’re working on it.”
He shook his head as he pulled out of the lot. She looked him over. He wore the same jeans and T-shirt he’d had on yesterday. And he still hadn’t shaved. But what really caught her attention was the tense expression on his face. Clearly, he was amped up about something.
“Why aren’t you on your way back to San Diego?” she asked. “And where have you been all day?”
He laughed, but he didn’t look amused. “Places you never want to go. Talking to people you never want to meet.”
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He pulled into traffic and floored the accelerator. “What matters is I got a hit on that name from Cole.”
“What do you mean, a hit?”
“I tracked the guy down. He’s a slippery son of a bitch, but I finally found him.”
“Who is he, and why does he matter?”
“Name’s Vincent Planter. Works at a pawn shop over on Richmond.”
She braced her hand on the dashboard as he took a sharp right.
“I have good reason to believe he sold Matt Palicek all his hardware recently.”
“Okay.”
“And he might have sold stuff to Matt’s girlfriend, too.”
“So where are we going?”
“To talk to him.”
She looked at her watch.
“Planter’s background raises red flags,” he said. “For one thing, he’s former Army. Fort Hood. Dishonorably discharged five years ago.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know what his file says, but this guy was a unit supply specialist. Rumor is some supplies went missing under his watch.”
She got a sinking feeling in her stomach. “What kind of supplies?”
“You know, MREs, boots.” He cut a glance at her. “Guns, ammo, hand grenades.”
“If that really happened, why isn’t he serving time?”
“They didn’t have enough evidence, from what I hear.” Derek picked up the freeway and quickly merged into the left lane. “I also hear he’s still got connections in uniform, which helps his business. Guy’s popular with the local preppers. People who are busy stocking up for Armageddon.”
Elizabeth looked out her window, absorbing everything. Should she call Gordon or not? She wanted to keep him updated but not if this lead turned out to be nothing. She looked over at Derek. It didn’t feel like nothing. He seemed worried—not exactly his usual state.
They sped down the freeway, weaving in and out of traffic. He was in a hurry, and he hadn’t really explained why.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
“There’s more to this lead. What is it?”
He didn’t say anything, and her anxiety ratcheted up a notch.
“Derek.”
“Let’s just see what we see, okay? You have any luck with the witness this morning?”
Nice change of subject. “We got a drawing,” she told him. “Actually, we got two. Omar and a woman who I now believe is Fatima Rasheed.”
“His sister.”
“That’s right.”
“Good work.”
“In other news, we’re firming up the theory that their brother Ahmed Rasheed actually survived the drone strike.”
He shot her a look.
“I’m predicting fingerprint evidence from the gas can will confirm that he’s the one who hitched a ride on that narco sub and then murdered Matt Palicek,” she said.
“Damn, this news just keeps getting better and better. Next you’re going to tell me bin Laden’s back from the dead.”
Derek cut across three lanes of traffic and exited the freeway. Elizabeth looked out the window as he maneuvered aggressively down Richmond Avenue, flying through intersections and running yellow lights. Finally, the sign came into view, and he turned into a lot.
Ed’s Easy Pawn shared a pitted parking lot with a strip club and a brake shop. Burglar bars covered the store’s windows, and a neon sign proclaimed WE BUY GOLD. Derek swung into a space out of view of the front door.
“Stay in the car,” he said.
“Like hell.”
“You’re obviously a cop. He might not talk in front of you.”
“Then why’d you bring me along?”
He smiled. “You look good in my truck.”
She rolled her eyes and shoved open the door. He’d known full well she wouldn’t stay behind. Whatever plan he had for this was bound to include her.
“I’ll do the talking,” he said, leading her to the door. “You have that picture on you?”
“Of Fatima? Yes, it’s on my phone.”
“We might need it. But keep quiet. Don’t talk unless I give you the cue, all right?”
“Let’s just see what we see.”
He shot her a glare as he pulled open the door.
Elizabeth stepped inside and looked around. The shop was warm and musty. Guitars lined the wall to her right. The middle of the store was devoted to stereo speakers, amps, and other electronic equipment. Straight ahead was a jewelry counter, and to her left was a long glass display case filled with handguns.
Two men stood behind the gun counter, one with a buzz cut and the other with a shaved head and a full beard.
Derek approached them. “Vinnie! Wazzup, man?”
The shaved head snapped up. Derek reached across the counter and grabbed his hand in one of those cool guy handshakes. Vincent looked confused.
“Mendoza says hi.” Derek held his grip. “We need to catch up, bro. Come on out back, take a break.”
“But I—”
“Take a break.”
His look of confusion morphed into a pained grimace. Derek was still gripping his hand. “Sure, fine.” He darted a look at the heavyset woman eyeing them from the jewelry counter.
Derek let go, and Vincent led him through a door into the back. Elizabeth followed. As they made their way down the dingy hallway, she studied the suspect and tried to imagine him in uniform. She couldn’t. Whatever shape this guy had been in by the end of boot camp was long gone.
He pushed through an exit door and into an alley, where he turned to face them. He dug a pack of cigarettes from his cargo pants and glared up at Derek.
“I been talking to your clients, Vinnie.” Derek folded his arms over his chest. “Lot of unhappy customers around town, I gotta tell you. Mendoza says you ripped him off.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I’m a guy with some questions.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck off.”
Derek sighed and gave Vincent a look of disappointment. Then he exploded, jabbing him in the jaw and sweeping his legs out from under him. Elizabeth jumped back as the man landed on the concrete beside her.
“Shit!”
“On your feet,” Derek ordered.
Vincent writhed on the pavement, clutching his mouth.
“On your feet!”
He rolled onto his side, then pushed himself to his feet, scowling. He shot a hostile look in Elizabeth’s direction as he spit blood on the asphalt.
Derek stepped closer, backing him up against a Dumpster. “Matt Palicek. When was the last time you saw him?”
“I don’t know.”
Derek jammed his arm against his windpipe. “Listen up, Vinnie. I’m punching a clock today. Know what that means? Means I don’t have time for some fat fuck like you giving me shit. When did you see him?”
Derek stepped back and waited.
Vincent darted another look at Elizabeth. She took out her phone and scrolled through her photos.
“Last week,” Vincent finally said.
“When last week?”
“Tuesday.”
“He alone?”
“What?”
“He come to see you alone, or did he have someone with him?”
“He had a girl with him.”
Elizabeth eased closer. “Name?” she asked.
“How should I know?”
Derek motioned for her to hand him the phone. He showed Vincent the photo of the composite drawing. “This her?”
He shrugged. “Could be.”
Derek eased closer.
“Yeah, fine. That looks like her. What the hell’s this about, anyway?”
“What did Palicek buy?” Derek asked.
“Guns. What do you think?”
“What kind?”
“A couple nines and a shorty shotgun.”
“What about an AR-15?”
“That was the time before.” He looked at Elizabeth, obviously not liking the fact that she was a cop.
A cop who hadn’t identified herself. A cop who was—for all intents and purposes—assaulting a suspect in an alley. She looked at Derek.
“What else?” Derek’s voice was tight.
“What do you mean?”
“What else did you sell them? C-4? Det cord? Willie Pete?”
“No way.”
Derek slammed him against the Dumpster. “Don’t lie to me, you piece of shit.” He shoved his arm against his throat and pressed until the guy’s face turned red.
“Detonators,” he choked out.
Derek backed off, and Vincent clutched his neck, wheezing.
“He wanted some detonators, okay? I sold him some.”
“Where’d you get them?” Derek demanded.
“People I know. I’m a businessman.”
Elizabeth’s mind was reeling. She wanted to get out of there and call Gordon.
“What else? What’d you sell the woman?”
“An SR-25. Shit. Look, this isn’t personal, all right? It’s busine
ss.”
“Business? It’s called treason, motherfucker. It’s called murdering innocent people.”
Suddenly, Derek’s arm snaked around her. He jerked the handcuffs from her waistband and slapped a bracelet on Vincent.
“Hey!”
A loud clink as Derek snapped the other bracelet to the bar on the front of the Dumpster. Then he was frisking the guy.
“Derek, what—”
“Hey, that’s my phone!” Vincent yelped.
“It’s mine now.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Let’s go.”
“You can’t just leave me here!”
He grabbed Elizabeth by the arm and propelled her down the alley and around the side of the building.
“Derek, what the hell are we doing? We can’t leave him there like that!”
“He’s a squirter.” He tossed the cell phone at her, and she caught it one-handed.
“A what?”
“If we let him go, the second we leave he’ll be out the back door, calling up everyone in his distribution chain. This way you guys can arrest him.” He looked at her. “What? You should be thanking me.”
He popped the locks on his truck and jumped behind the wheel. She slid inside. “Are you crazy?”
“No. But I’m a little pressed for time.” He shoved the truck into gear and rocketed backward out of the space. “Check out that phone. See if there’s anything from Rasheed or Ameen.”
Elizabeth’s heart hammered as she stared down at the phone.
This was bad. Everything about this was bad. And that didn’t even take into account the extremely illegal “apprehension” they’d just made.
“Stop the truck.”
He looked at her.
“Stop the truck! I need to think a second.”
“No can do.”
“But—what’s an SR-25?”
He shot her a look. “You really don’t know?”
“What is it?”
“A sniper rifle.”
Chapter Twenty-three
She blinked at him across the truck. “A sniper rifle.”
“That’s right.”
Beyond Limits Page 25
