Authors: Irene Hannon
Tags: #Mystery, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thriller, #Contemporary
Against All Odds (7 page)
“I have soda here. You didn’t have to order that.”
“The Bureau’s paying the bill. Enjoy it.” Coop pulled out a chair for her at the small dinette table.
As she slipped past him to take it, he caught a faint whiff of some subtle, pleasing fragrance he couldn’t quite identify. While he wasn’t usually given to poetic musings, it brought to mind idyllic, carefree summer days and happy endings.
“Coop?”
Mark’s voice pulled him back to the present, and he had a feeling this wasn’t his partner’s first attempt to get his attention.
“What?”
“Ms. Callahan asked if we want glasses for our sodas.”
“No. Thanks.”
As Coop took his seat, Monica reached for a piece of pizza. “Is there any rule against using first names in your line of work? This Ms. Callahan business is going to get old very fast.”
“The customer calls the shots. First names are fine with us if that’s what you prefer.” Coop snared a piece of pizza too.
“Definitely.” She took a bite and surveyed the stack of papers off to the side of the table. “Why do I think you gentlemen have been planning my life for me?”
“We’ve been arranging security coverage here, at church, and for your speech at the Jefferson,” Mark confirmed.
“What about the book signing?”
Mark shot Coop a look but remained silent.
“We’re taking this a couple of days at a time,” Coop replied.
“Why is it okay for me to do the convention speech, but the book signing freaks you out?” Monica directed the question to Coop as she took a hearty bite of pizza.
“The Jefferson is easier to secure. The speech is part of a private event in a place where we can control the access points. The signing is in a bookstore at a public mall. It’s far more risky.”
She finished off her first slice of pizza and took another. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
“We’d appreciate it.”
“In the meantime, why don’t we go over our plan while we eat.” Mark wiped his hands on a paper napkin and pulled out one of the papers from the stack. “The HRT is sending another two-man security detail down here tomorrow. We’ll work twelve-hour shifts. The Richmond field office will provide exterior surveillance at the house and will give us additional support for the outside commitments you can’t change.”
“What about church tomorrow?” Monica asked.
“Coop and I will go with you, and the Richmond office will provide backup.”
“Do you honestly think I’ll be in danger at church?” She gave them a skeptical look.
“No place is safe, except a safe house.” Coop leveled a direct look at her. “The kind of people we’re dealing with hold very little sacred, Monica. Including life—as 9/11 proved.”
At his grim tone, some of the color drained from her face. She set her half-eaten slice of pizza on her plate and clenched her hands in her lap.
“I still can’t believe I’m in the middle of some terrorist plot. I’m sure you guys are used to this kind of situation, but the whole thing is surreal to me. It seems more like a thriller movie than real life.”
“People in pretty high positions think it’s very real.” Mark took a swig of his soda, his expression somber.
As she lifted her own glass, the sudden, intrusive ring of the phone on the counter shattered the insular quiet of the room. Her arm jerked, sloshing dark liquid on the table. Mark tossed some napkins on the puddle.
“Sorry.” She gave him a shaky smile and started to rise.
“Just so you know, we’ve put a tap on your phone. We want a recording of any messages or conversations.”
At Coop’s quiet comment, she sank back into her chair, letting the call roll to her answering machine.
“Hi, Monica. Sorry I missed you. I was hoping you might be available for lunch on Monday. Give me a ring.”
The male voice on the line left no name or number.
Interesting, Coop reflected. According to her file, she had no close relatives. Based on a conversation earlier in the day as they’d gone over her schedule, she’d indicated there was no one close enough to her to merit an alert about her unavailability for the next few days. He tilted his head and regarded her.
“Matt Haley.” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “A colleague. I’ve been reviewing a paper he hopes to get published. I expect he wants to get together to discuss it. I can put him off for a few days. Or have him come here.”
“If he comes here, our presence will raise questions. Put him off.” Coop’s decisive tone left little room for argument.
“Okay. No problem.” Monica tipped her head toward the counter. “By the way, how do you know they—whoever ‘they’ are—haven’t also tapped the phone?”
“We already checked.”
Monica drew a shaky breath and reached up to massage her temples.
“Headache?” Coop gentled his voice.
She summoned up the semblance of a smile. “Yes. I’m afraid I’m not used to all this cloak-and-dagger stuff. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I’m going to take a couple of aspirin and call it a night.” She rose, waving them down as they started to stand. “Finish your pizza.”
They remained silent until the soft click of a door told them she was out of hearing range.
“I think she’s beginning to realize the situation is as dangerous as it is inconvenient.” Mark sopped up the remainder of the spilled soda and deposited the soggy napkins in the empty pizza box.
“Yeah.”
“We have her to ourselves all day tomorrow until the other HRT security team arrives. My advice is work on the book signing.” He yawned and stretched. “And now I’m going to get a little shut-eye on the couch. Unless you want me to take the first shift.”
“No. Go ahead. I can hold out for a while.”
As Mark disappeared into the living room, Coop gathered up the remnants of their dinner. Half of the second pizza was untouched, and he slid the box into the refrigerator. He and Mark had cleaned their plates, but Monica’s contained the half-eaten piece she’d abandoned when the phone rang. He slid it into the garbage.
In the back of the house, he could hear the water running, perhaps indicating a glass being filled. He was sorry she had a headache, sorry she was frightened.
But if that was the worst thing that happened to her during this assignment, he could live with it.
“Yes?” Tariq nodded to Anis as he answered his cell phone, and the man rose from his cross-legged position on the floor and left the room.
“It is as you suspected. They are watching the house.”
The connection was excellent. If he didn’t know Nouri was halfway across the world, a couple of hundred yards away from Monica Callahan’s house, Tariq would think he was in the next room. Technology had its uses.
“How many?”
“Two men inside. It appears there are two more outside.”
“Who are they?”
“We’re checking with our contacts. Not local police. They may be State Department security personnel or FBI.”
“Is there any activity that indicates they’re planning to leave?”
“No. The lights have been dimmed for the night. All appears quiet.”
“Does the security in place present a problem for the next step?”
“It shouldn’t, assuming they leave the house at some point.
We only need a few minutes.”
Tariq took Nouri at his word. His older brother’s son headed up his most experienced U.S. cell and had personally checked out Monica Callahan’s house weeks ago. His loyalty was solid, and he would carry out Tariq’s bidding without question. With the funds Tariq was funneling his way, he could buy any information he needed.
“Good. Alert me of any changes in status.”
“I will.”
The line went dead. Unlike Anis, Nouri hadn’t questioned Tariq’s strategy or his timing. He would find a place for Nouri in his organization when he regained power, Tariq resolved.
For now, however, he would wait. The enhanced security around Monica Callahan indicated her father wasn’t dismissing the threat to her as cavalierly as he dismissed those directed toward him. But in truth, Tariq had been prepared for a more dramatic response. He’d expected the woman to be whisked away to some secret location. Not that it mattered. Nouri was prepared for all contingencies.
The next forty-eight hours were critical. If David Callahan didn’t reconsider his stance by then, he would take the next step. And the one after that. And the final one. After all, he didn’t need the diplomat to achieve his goal. He could regain power without his help. In fact, some of his supporters advocated the man’s elimination.
Yet Callahan’s influence was powerful, and Tariq planned to use it if he could. If anyone could convince the American president to meet the terrorist demands, it was the respected diplomat. That was the easier route to success, and Tariq always took the easy way, if possible.
Besides, the benefits to Callahan’s cooperation were substantial. The list of prisoners whose release Tariq had demanded included key supporters, interspersed among red herrings. And the ransom money would help him buy the arms and influence he needed to achieve his coup.
Humiliating David Callahan by forcing him to renege on his principles and negotiate with terrorists in order to save his daughter was a bonus.
But in the end, with or without Callahan’s help, Tariq would reach his goal.
No matter what it took.
No matter who had to die.
5
By seven Sunday morning, the sun hadn’t yet crested the distant, jagged peaks of the Hindu Kush Mountains visible outside the window of David Callahan’s office. Wiping a weary hand down his face, he stared at the distant, shadowed landscape. In between, hidden from his sight but vivid in his mind, lay the cacophony that was Kabul, where destroyed and decaying buildings offered mute testimony to decades of division and violence.
Violence that now threatened his family.
He’d done everything he could to protect Monica. Gone to the highest levels to ensure the best security available. Called in favors. Pulled strings. Taken measures he would never have considered employing on his own behalf. She was as well guarded as was humanly possible.
But that didn’t ease his worry.
Nor muffle the voice of his conscience.
She wouldn’t be in danger if you’d done what Elaine asked years ago and taken a different job. One that would have allowed you to be a real husband and father.
Like a looped recording, that refrain had replayed over and over in his mind during the long, dark night. In general, David didn’t believe in dwelling on regrets. Besides, he had few—on a professional level, anyway. His career had been everything he’d hoped it would be. There was very little about it he would change.
On the other hand, his decision to forfeit his family gave him pause. Had he known twenty-four years ago what he knew now, his choice might have been different. At the time, however, he’d accepted the sacrifice because he believed what he did was important, that it made a difference and contributed to the greater good.
But that wasn’t the only reason.
The sun found a crevice in the remote, isolated peaks and aimed an illuminating shaft of light through it, exposing the cracks and fissures in the distant mountains—and the blemishes on his soul. Though he’d danced around it for years, in truth his other reasons for choosing career over family had been selfish. He’d liked the adrenaline rush of working with the movers and shakers of the world. Liked feeling important. Liked the power and prestige and perks that came with the job. And he’d grown arrogant too, believing no one could do his job as well as he could.
In the end, the position came to matter to him more than the work itself. Not that he didn’t do a good job. That was well documented. As was his fearlessness in the face of personal threats, a trait praised and respected by foes and allies alike.
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