Only Wrong Once: A Suspense Thriller

by Jenifer Ruff

  After seeing her uptown, Amin made a point of buying his lunch from the same place at the same time. He was rewarded the following week when he saw her again. He spotted her first, because he was desperately looking. Black pants, red heels, red blouse, her gorgeous hair grazing her shoulders. She was speaking to another woman as they carried take-out containers toward a trash can. Amin tossed his drink into a nearby receptacle, pressed his shoulders down and back, and hustled to catch up with her.

  “Hello, Isa. What a nice surprise seeing you here again.” He tried to temper his excitement, but it wasn’t easy. How many times had he thought about seeing her, looking into her beautiful eyes, and having her smile back at him?

  “You too, Amin.” Her smile was genuine. Her friend also smiled at him. Isa said, “This is Joyce. We work together. Joyce, this is my friend, Amin.”

  “Hi, nice to meet you.” Amin dipped his chin.

  “And I’m late for a meeting. Again.” Isa laughed, a sound he had replayed in his daydreams. “Sorry I have to go. I’ll see you soon, I hope?”

  “Yes.” Amin nodded. Her silky pants swished between her legs as she walked away with her friend. To whomever might be listening, he said a silent prayer of gratitude. He believed he and Isa had a connection. Next time he saw her, he would ask her to dinner. He would say, “Isa, are you busy this weekend?” Or maybe, “Would you like to catch dinner with me on Saturday night?” He would practice a few lines in his head so when the time came he wouldn’t be flustered. He wasn’t going to let his shyness get the best of him. His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed she had turned around and was walking back in his direction. His heart beat faster.

  “There’s a social at the mosque on Friday night. My father would be overjoyed if my brother and I went with him. I was thinking of finding an excuse, but, any chance you’ll be there?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I can be. Sounds like the sort of thing my father would want me to do if he were here,” Amin said with a conspiratorial grin that quickly disappeared. “I mean if he were here in Charlotte. He’s alive.”

  Isa laughed. “Good. Wonderful. Here’s my email.” She handed him her business card. “Okay. I’ll plan to meet you there. See you later.”

  Over the next few days, he planned his outfit—charcoal grey pants, the black cashmere sweater his mother bought for his birthday, and polished black leather shoes. He planned some small talk to avoid awkward moments with nothing to say. Although he couldn’t imagine that happening, not with Isa, he didn’t want to take a risk. He practiced saying Have you been to Ilios Noche or Carpe Diem—restaurants from a list of supposedly good ones he’d read about in the Charlotte Observer but never visited. What sort of IT work do you do exactly? Where did you grow up, Isa? What sorts of things do you do for fun? All good questions. He allowed himself to imagine beyond the mosque social, beyond their first date. He daydreamed about attending a concert at the National White Water Center and visiting the Mint Museum, two things he’d seen others do on the Channel 14 news.

  At work on Friday afternoon, Amin was anxious with excitement.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Melissa said. “What’s going on?”

  “Maybe I am,” he answered, raising his eyebrows mysteriously in a manner that was out of character and caused Melissa to smile.

  On his way home to change, with only an hour remaining before the event, he felt like a nervous teenager. Something good was about to happen, something for which he had been waiting a long time.

  A message from Kareem appeared on his phone. I need you to come visit me.

  He smiled at the request, and responded without much thought. Can’t. I have a lot going on. You should come here. He wanted to share his excitement about Isa with someone. But he would wait until he had something more than simple anticipation to share. He also needed to call Kareem’s parents to discuss his concerns about Kareem’s extreme views. Soon. He was in too good a mood to ruin it right now with a somber discussion.

  He had to remind himself to breathe as he walked up the steps to the mosque and down into its basement. He wiped his hands against his pants and scanned faces looking for Isa’s family. He intended to tell Isa’s father he was going to ask her out to dinner. Maran would appreciate his respect. He spotted Maran and his wife and walked over to say hello. Maran put his hand on Amin’s shoulder as if he were already family. “Amin. Hello. Great to see you again.”

  Amin’s eyes opened wide when Isa rounded the corner, until he saw she wasn’t alone. A tall man wearing a suit walked at her side and was speaking to her. They stopped in front of Amin and Isa’s parents.

  Isa’s father spoke to the man by Isa’s side. “This is Amin. His family is from my home city.” He turned back to Amin, bursting with enthusiasm, “This is Isa’s fiancé. I thought you might have a few things in common and would make good friends.”

  An angry voice in Amin’s mind yelled What the Fuck! The rest of his body responded in a way that left him queasy and empty inside. His forced smile threatened to crack and reveal his despair. He shook the man’s hand and congratulated the couple, avoiding Isa’s face completely. He quickly made up an excuse and hurried to the bathroom. He thought he heard Isa calling his name as he fled, but he didn’t turn around and he didn’t slow down.

  Why had she led him on if she was seeing someone else? Engaged! After a minute in the bathroom, he exited the mosque without saying goodbye to anyone, hurrying to disappear before anyone witnessed his pain. The future happiness he had built in his mind would never exist. His ability to assess a woman’s feelings—complete garbage. He was grateful, at least, that he hadn’t shared his feelings or his grand plans with anyone else.

  He remembered Kareem’s text – Come visit me. For the first time, he actually thought about visiting his cousin, just to escape his embarrassment.

  Over the next few weeks, he avoided the food court all together and ordered his sandwiches from the Pita Pit in the opposite direction. He didn’t return to the mosque.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Los Angeles

  September 27th

  Quinn heard keys turning the lock at twenty-three-hundred hours. He swung his feet off the leather ottoman and muted the television before the front door swooshed open. He heard Holly’s purse drop to the floor followed by the tap, tap of high heels moving across the hardwood floors, the clunk, clunk of them being tossed to the ground. He moved toward the edge of his seat and set his Dos Equis bottle down.

  “What happened to my pumpkins?” Holly’s irritated voice traveled down the hallway and into the family room.

  “What’s wrong with the pumpkins?” Quinn asked, although he had a pretty good idea.

  “I definitely did not arrange them like they are now.”

  “Sorry. I accidentally walked into them when I was leaving for work. I was looking at my phone. I thought I put them back how you had them.”

  “Not even close. But, forget it. It’s not a big deal. I’ll take care of it,”

  “Holly,” he called, before she could pass the family room. “We need to talk.”

  Sighing, Holly walked toward him on the plush family room carpet, flicking the light switch on her way. “What do we have to talk about?”

  “Please sit down.” He patted the space next to him on the couch. His phone beeped and he glanced at it. Couldn’t help himself. The text came from a friend in the FBI’s legal department.

  Sorry to bother you so late. Call me tomorrow. Need to talk about Redman. Cynthia Fryberg, civil rights attorney and publicity whore, is breathing down my neck. I have some questions for you.

  Holly watched Quinn with crossed arms from a few feet away until he looked up.

  “I want to talk about us. I don’t want our marriage to be like this.” He pressed his palms against his jeans.

  “Like what, exactly?”

  “You seem unhappy and I feel like I’m walking on eggshells every time I talk to you.”

  “Really? Because you could
have fooled me that you give a damn.”

  “Please sit down.”

  Holly rolled her eyes and sat down, angling her back against the arm of the couch so a full cushion separated them. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. “There’s only one problem with our marriage. You’re never around. Ever.”

  Quinn wanted to point out that he was home tonight, he had been home all last weekend, and she was the one who had been out, but he held his tongue. He turned off the television so he wouldn’t be distracted. “Things come up at work and I can’t leave until they’re resolved. You know that. You knew what it would be like when you married me.”

  “It’s harder than I thought it would be.” Holly bit her lower lip and lowered her forehead, resting it against her closed fist.

  “What can I do to make things better?”

  “Be around more. All I want is for you to be around.”

  “I’m not going to quit my job. I don’t think you really want me to, do you?”

  She looked up. “I don’t know. I’m just tired of being alone all the time.”

  “We’ve got the best security system money can buy, short of having armed guards at the door. You must feel safe.”

  “I never said I didn’t feel safe. I feel plenty safe. I’m lonely!”

  How could she be lonely? Quinn wondered. She always seemed to be out with friends doing social things, but arguing with her wasn’t going to help. “You changed your mind about children, and I’ve respected your choice, even though…” Quinn swallowed the taste of bitterness rising in his throat. “Look, we could get a dog.”

  “I don’t want a dog or I would have a dog!” Holly looked up and met his eyes with a defiant stare that ended with a vigorous head shake. “Don’t you get it? I want you home more. And I want to be able to plan things with you and then actually do them. When is the last time we took a vacation?”

  “Umm. We went to Tahoe.”

  “That was so long ago, I can’t even remember when that was.”

  “You’re right. Maybe it’s been too long.”

  Holly’s glared without blinking, as if challenging him to admit that their uncomfortable situation was all his fault.

  “Why don’t you plan a vacation?” He tried to push away the discomfort his suggestion generated. “We can go anywhere.”

  “I know we can go anywhere, because I’m the one who has the money to pay for it. That’s not the issue. The real issue is, can you make yourself available? Remember the last time we tried to go away? You cancelled at the last minute.”

  Quinn felt the quick pain of her verbal blow, but resisted the urge to fight back. He made a good living, but he didn’t have a go-anywhere-buy-anything type of salary. She’s lashing out because she’s not happy, and she’s not happy because of me. He swallowed hard and reached his arm forward, placing his hand gently on her arm. A peace offering. Holly looked down at his hand. Something in her eyes changed.

  “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. It won’t happen this time. I promise.”

  “I’m sorry I told our friends the story you said not to tell.”

  "And I’m sorry I had to make something up. I wish I could tell you everything.” He looked down. “No. That’s not true. I don’t want my work on your mind or in your life in any way, because it’s disturbing. I want you to be happy.”

  “I just wish your everyday work wasn’t so totally separate from our life.” Holly sighed.

  He cupped her chin with his hand and looked deep into her eyes. “The whole point of my job is to keep the people and things I deal with away from you, to prevent them from interfering with your world. When you bring home a new painting, it improves our surroundings. Sharing my job would not improve anything. Every day, I’m thinking about keeping you safe. So, how about the vacation?”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “Okay. Where should we go?”

  Quinn felt the tension dissipate. “Wherever you want. Skiing?”

  “No, I’m thinking Caribbean.”

  “That sounds great t—”

  “Or France,” Holly said, interrupting. ‘“I haven’t been to France since I was thirteen.” Her eyes glistened with excitement.

  “France isn’t safe right now.”

  “Really? Why? What do you know?”

  Quinn only shook his head.

  “How about Italy?” Holly asked.

  He shook his head again.

  “Italy isn’t safe either?”

  “We could go to Spain.”

  Holly rubbed her hands together. “Okay. Spain, it is. Can we go soon? I have a show scheduled for next week, but I can have someone else cover it.”

  “How about at the beginning of November?”

  “That long from now?”

  “It will give both of us time to plan and really enjoy the trip, not be rushed.” Quinn reached for his phone so he could check his calendar. “How about leaving on Saturday, November 5th?”

  “Okay. I’ll find a resort, or a chateau.” Holly’s voice rose with excitement. “Maybe we can ski too.” She folded her legs to the side and scooted closer to Quinn, weaving her arm through his and nestling her neck against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her against him. Together they sat, staring at the black television screen. Holly sighed again, but snuggled against his shoulder,

  “Here’s something I can tell you about my job. I think Rashid has a thing for Stephanie.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. She’s beautiful. And if he works as much as you, he probably doesn’t have a chance to meet anyone else.”

  “They can’t date if they’re working together.”

  Holly laughed. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

  “How come?”

  “Umm…let’s see. He’s short.”

  “He’s not tall, but he’s not short.”

  “He has a bald spot. He wears glasses.”

  “You make him sound like George Costanza.”

  Holly tipped her head back and laughed, but Quinn didn’t.

  “He’s brilliant. He has too many IT degrees for me to remember all of them. Fluent in five Arabic languages. He almost beat me when we ran a 5k together. Under twenty-one minutes. He’s a great guy.”

  Holly shrugged.

  “Besides, you know, there’s a significant discrepancy between your father’s appearance and that of his girlfriends.”

  “Well, they’re not after my father because of his looks, Quinn. They’re after my inheritance. Take away his money, and my father’s companions would look very different. If Stephanie is as smart as you say, she’ll wait for someone who is brilliant and handsome, or brilliant and rich. But, like I said, she’ll end up alone if she works the hours you do.” Holly lifted her head away from his shoulder. “How old is she anyway? Thirty-something?”

  “Thirty-five. Your age.”

  “Too old to have children now.”

  “No, she’s not. And neither are you.”

  “This again? I don’t want children, Quinn. I only want you.” Holly frowned and scooted a few inches away.

  Two steps forward, one step back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Los Angeles

  September 28th

  In the center of the FBI building, Quinn dropped his cell phone in a box outside the secure conference room where all intelligence briefings took place. The windowless room-inside-a-room had one secure phone and no Wi-Fi. Nothing the team shared in the room would be discussed outside until it became public knowledge.

  He entered the meeting in time to see Stephanie leaning toward Rashid. His face sort of lit up when she spoke to him. She laughed and turned to her right, presumably to share the same anecdote with Rick. Rashid’s smile slowly deflated like a leaky balloon.

  Quinn nodded to Jayla, his assistant. Jayla had smooth dark skin and long, thin microbraids. Seated next to Ken and his bulging muscles, she looked even more slender than she was. She started the PowerPoint present
ation using the only computer permitted inside the room, an encrypted laptop connected with its own unique and permanently secured cable.

  “Since this is your first intelligence meeting, let me give you a summary of what we do,” Quinn said to Rick. “Jayla shares updates, current intelligence on terrorist activities, from all the federal agencies. We speak up if we have anything to add, or to share what we’ve done to mitigate or monitor each situation. She’ll capture all of our information.”

  Jayla tossed a section of braids over her shoulder and smiled at Rick.

  “Let’s get started,” said Quinn.

  The slides projected on to the white wall at one end of the room. Jayla read the information aloud.

  TOPSECRET//NOFORN//FVEY

  September 2017 INA special forces’ assets have secured intel during a routine raid in Fallujah indicating Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi is in contact with known USPER Kabir Assad and may be in the planning stages of facilitating travel to Mexico for the purpose of illegally entering the US Homeland through the Mexico/US border area. //DOD

  USPER Kabir Assad is known to FBI and is confirmed to have been radicalized by Anjem Choudary in the United States and traveled to Turkey with the intention of crossing into Syria and joining IS //FBI

  USPER Kabir Assad no longer holds a valid US Passport and has been placed on the NO FLY list per DHS but may be seeking alternate means to enter a country with weaker travel restrictions and travel to Mexico/US border //DHS

  September 2017 Local FBI undercover agent intercepted courier message to Abu Bagdaddi indicating Kabir Assad has acquired Visa with the intent to head to Mexico and cross southern border and start a cell.

  SECRET//NOFORN//FVEY

  September 2017. A local ally in Sudan turned over a copy of oil baron/ISIS warlord Usama Onamar’s handwritten will. The signature has been verified. Onamar indicated thirty million dollars be released to fight jihad against the West. The money is expected to be funneled to Muhammad Al-Bahil in Syria.