Targeted (FBI Heat) (19 page)

After waving her out the door, he studied the card. Samir had not given the real address of the San Diego apartment. An address in Dallas was noted as his previous residence. Probably also a lie. For nearest relative, Samir listed parents at a Boston address. No doubt, more lies. No indication of a brother in LA or anywhere else. The only truth.

Ameen didn’t know who Dawud was, but he was damn sure the stranger was
not
who he claimed to be.

He dropped the information card into the center drawer of the desk. His plans for the morning had just gotten more complicated. Whatever happened at the hotel, he had to be back at the mosque to deal with Dawud at noon.

How serious a complication was the man? Ameen didn’t know, but he’d be ready.

Dressed and ready to leave, Ben stood next to the bed, gazing down at his peacefully sleeping girlfriend. It was only 5:30 a.m., and he hated to wake her. But he didn’t want to say good-bye in a note.

Not today.

He knelt beside the bed and kissed Amber’s cheek. “Babe, I’m going to work early.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “What time—”

“Way early. The alarm is set for six thirty, so you can go back to sleep. I’m sorry to wake you, but I just needed to—”

“I understand.” She offered her lips for a kiss. “And you want to know my decision.”

“Yes.”

She sighed with surrender. “Okay. I’ll call in sick, drive up to LA, and skip the baseball game.”

Relief flowed through him. “Thank you.”

“Will you promise to call me later to let me know you’re all right?”

“I can’t promise, but I’ll try.”

“Can you promise to call me the minute it’s…it’s safe for me to come home?”

“That I can promise. I have to go now. I love you, Amber.”

“I love you too.”

He kissed her again, stood, and started for the door.

“Ben,” she called softly.

He came back and sat down on the bed. “What, babe?”

Her eyes held his. “The operation you’re working that makes it unsafe for me to be here is…is
really
dangerous, isn’t it?”

He hesitated. “Yeah.”

“And Marissa is involved in it too?”

“I can’t say.”

“That’s okay. I know she is. And you must protect her, keep her safe.” Her arms slipped around him, and she laid her head against his chest. “I know you love working for the Bureau, and I admire that. And, of course, I’ve always known it was dangerous. But this is the first time I’ve felt the danger hanging over
our
heads like a black cloud, and I’m frightened, Ben. So while you’re protecting Marissa, please remember to keep yourself safe too. Because, if something happened to you, a part of me would die.”

Ben hugged her tighter. Words escaped him.

B
efore she showered, Marissa reminded the four men that they would not be returning to the apartment. She ordered them to pack a minimum of their belongings and not to take anything they didn’t absolutely need because it would only slow them down when escaping. Of course, the more evidence they left behind, the better it would be for the Bureau’s investigation.

Tension tightened their expressions as they listened. They spoke in whispers when they set to work.

After she dressed, Marissa counted out stacks of bills of $5,000 each, all the while hoping the terrorists would never have a chance to spend a dime of the filthy money. She flattered and praised the men while presenting the cash to them. Bile rose in her throat as she subdued her hatred to lie convincingly.
Soon. Soon, I can speak the truth again.

They left in three vehicles—Marissa alone in the truck and the men split between the two cars. They caravanned west on I-8 to the Hotel Circle exit, crossed under the freeway, and drove into the hotel parking lot at 7:00 a.m. When they found the room on the fourth floor, Marissa knocked.

“Who is it?” asked a male voice in Arabic from inside.

“Baheera Abbas, bearing Allah’s gift.”

Wearing his white doctor’s coat and glasses, “Dr. Jabbar” swung the door open immediately. “
Allahu Akbar.
Allah bless you, Baheera, and our brothers.”

Everyone responded, “
Allahu Akbar
.”

The bearded doctor ushered them into the sitting room of the suite. The men glanced around nervously, but before they could sit down, he waved them into the bedroom. They stopped at the doorway when they saw the medical instruments and the plastic sheeting on the bed.

“Remember, Baheera is doing this without any painkillers. I want you to appreciate the agony our courageous sister will endure to deliver Allah’s gift,” Wahid said dramatically, holding up a large syringe and vial. “First, I will inject her with a strong drug to dilate the cervix.” He pointed to the forceps. “When she is adequately dilated, I’ll insert these to yank the tube from her womb.”

Four pairs of wide eyes stared out of ashen faces.

“There will be blood, lots of blood.”

Rashad and Yasir gagged.

Wahid gazed gravely into each terrorist’s face. His chest swelled. “It is time to begin. Leave us.
Allahu Akbar
.”

The shaken terrorists shuffled out of the bedroom. The prudish culture of the Islamic extremists combined with the expectation of the blood and gore from the medical procedure made the doctor’s description too much for them.

Wahid locked the bedroom door. He switched on the radio and raised the volume before turning back to Marissa. He extended his hand. “It’s a real pleasure, Special Agent Panuska. I’ve been watching you from a distance for two weeks, and I’ve got to say you’re even more beautiful up close. If I didn’t love my girlfriend with all my heart, I could think of many better reasons to be alone with you in a hotel room,” he said with a mischievous grin that lit his dark, bold eyes.

Before she could respond, the closet door behind Wahid burst open. Ben stood framed in the doorway.

“You’re not
alone
, Dr. Jabbar. Did you forget about me?”

“I was trying to,” Wahid said as he watched with obvious surprise as Marissa threw herself into Ben’s embrace.

“Benja, you are not angry with me about last night at the church?” Marissa whispered against his neck.

“No, Gypsy, but I haven’t changed my mind either.”

Wahid cleared his throat. “I take it you two know each other. Would you like me to disappear into the closet for a while?”

“Just old friends,” Ben said, his chin resting on top of her head.

“Right.” Wahid rolled his eyes. “I hate to break up this touching reunion, but you better get changed. The show must go on.”

In the bathroom, Marissa intentionally kept her gaze averted from the mirror as she undressed. She didn’t want to see the emotions reflected in her eyes. She feared how the hatred was changing her, poisoning her psychologically. Wearing the flimsy hospital gown, she hurried across the bedroom and crawled onto the bed.

“I don’t know how long this takes in real life, but I’m sure they don’t either,” Wahid said, jerking his head toward the other room. “But the timetable you and Rawlings set for today requires us to proceed now. Which means, you’re on.” He turned the radio volume down slightly.

Ben sat on the bed holding her hand. “Make it a good show,” he whispered.

Marissa started with low moans and then increased the intensity. Gradually, she punctuated the groaning with cries of “No” and “I can’t.” Hysterical crying blended into the mix. The charade continued for over an hour. Finally, with Ben’s help, she wet her hair and dripped water on her face and chest. She tossed her hair until it was a disheveled mess. He fastened the blood pressure cuff around her arm. Together, they smeared a pouch of fake blood on the bed, the gown, her legs, and the white coat.

With a nod to Ben and Marissa, Wahid opened the bedroom door a crack. The “doctor” glared at the four terrorists. Holding the door ajar with his bloody, gloved hands, he warned, “It is time. Pray for Baheera. Are you ready to take Allah’s blessed gift to our brothers in Tijuana?”

Wahid mimicked their nods when they couldn’t speak. Then he relocked the door.

Ben retrieved the faux pig from the suitcase and laid the ominous prop at the end of the bed. He kissed Marissa’s cheek and closed himself in the closet, his gun in his hand.

“Ready?” Wahid asked.

“Yes.” She muffled a scream with the pillow, whimpered briefly, and went silent.

After smearing blood on the forceps and tube while Marissa wiped some on her hands and face, he opened the bedroom door. Dr. Jabbar held the bloody cylinder aloft like a hard-won trophy. “Bad news, brothers. Baheera has fainted. But you are to follow her earlier instructions
exactly
.” He stopped and glanced back at the bed. “Come here,” he demanded sternly, motioning them to the doorway.

Marissa surmised that no one responded because Wahid erupted. “You cowards!” he jeered. He did not wipe the blood from the tube before placing it gently into the lead-lined case and closing it. “Is anyone brave enough to carry this?” he asked, holding the case at arm’s length.

Marissa could barely see them from beneath her almost closed eyelids, but the men kept their gazes glued to their shoes. Finally, Rashad rose awkwardly from the chair. The others watched and then followed. Rashad cautiously accepted the case and peeked into the bedroom. The other three passed by as quickly as possible.

Still scowling, the “doctor” made a show of wiping his gloves on the already disgusting white coat. “I will give Baheera a shot for the pain and one to put her to sleep for several hours, but I’ll stay with her. She’ll meet you at the Tijuana hideout as soon as she can. Now go, deliver Allah’s gift.”

The four terrorists couldn’t escape out the suite door fast enough.

Wahid disappeared to confirm the “Do Not Disturb” sign still hung on the outside door handle, to relock the deadbolt and chain, and probably to give her a little privacy. They couldn’t start cleaning up the props until there was no chance of the men returning.

Marissa pulled her Glock and the Bureau phone from her purse. She avoided Ben’s eyes while she called her handler.

“Rawlings wants to talk to you,” he said.

“Rawlings? Really?”

Marissa caught Ben’s eye. He shrugged and shook his head.

“Yeah. Hold on. I’ll connect you.”

Fifteen seconds later, Rawlings was on the phone. “All done?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure they believed every bit of it. What’s up? The op’s a go, right?”

“We’ll discuss that in a minute.” Rawlings hesitated, cleared his throat. “First, I want to warn you that we haven’t located Liban, the assassin. Enough time has passed that he’s probably in the US by now. Possibly even in California. I’m concerned about the time we’ll need to play this out. The trip through the tunnel to get everyone into the US is risky in many ways. I think we should close the net in Tijuana. Your thoughts?”

Marissa gulped. The idea was tempting.
Easier. Faster. Safer. But not the best
. “I think the idea of finishing this in Tijuana is crap. It won’t work, and I’ll tell you why. Precisely because
it is
Tijuana. We’re not even supposed to be there. It’ll be a nightmare getting the bomb and the terrorists back under our jurisdiction.” She exhaled. “Besides, how’s this Liban going to find me anyway?”

“If we knew that, we could catch him. After 9/11, our people infiltrated every mosque in San Diego County, and right now, all of them are onsite with eyes and ears on the lookout for him. It’d help, though, if we knew what the hell he looked like. I even stationed two extra agents at the cell’s mosque. But the probability of identifying Liban is slim. Very slim.”

The faceless man in her premonition came to mind.
Is he Liban?
She gulped again. “This will be over by this evening, sir. I want to finish it. I want to take these bastards down.”

Ben had been listening and watching closely. Now he stomped out of the bedroom.

Marissa gripped the phone tighter, heart pounding, waiting.

“Are you sure, Panuska?”

“Yes, sir.”

A long silence passed before Rawlings spoke again. “All right, but if the slightest thing goes wrong, the cavalry is riding in, and you’re to get the hell out of there. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Let’s go through this. Two agents are standing guard, invisibly, outside the hotel. They’ve already reported that the four terrorists have left the premises. Once you vacate, they’ll sanitize the suite. You’ll make a quick stop at the apartment. Two agents will be waiting there also. After you leave, they’ll take responsibility for the evidence onsite. Two other agents will follow you to Tijuana. There are four at the hideout already. Small change of plans here: I want you to leave three of the terrorists at the house. I think we could have too big a crowd in that damn tunnel. Something could happen to incite a confrontation between the drug-gang escorts and the terrorists. You could get…caught in the resulting mayhem. We’ll just have to accept the additional hassle of extraditing those three. Let me worry about dealing with the Mexican authorities.”

“Understood. I had to create a reason for all of them to accompany me anyway, but I’m sure I can undo it. Maybe I’ll tell them to pack up the guns and electronics for the engineers to take home because I want them out of there sooner than later.”

“Sounds real to me. Of course, we’ll have them in custody before they pack a damn thing. Moving on. Six agents will be positioned at the Tijuana end of the tunnel. At the US end, I’ve assigned a dozen.”

“That’s a lot more personnel than I requested.”

“Yes, it is. Sorry to overrule you, but this is my call. Coming out of the tunnel, I want you to hang way back. We’ll take out the drug goons guarding the Otay Mesa end well before your entourage arrives. I’d like to get everyone else out of the building and into the open before we pounce. I want you to stay inside the empty warehouse with the bomb. Remember, you may only have your Glock for protection, and you won’t be wearing Kevlar.”

The premonition passed before her eyes again, and she shuddered.

“Panuska, did you hear me?”

“Yes, sir. Stay inside and protect the bomb.”

“Right. You may or may not be able to control whether the terrorists carry weapons. We’ll assume they’ll be armed. I doubt if more than two drug goons escort you, but they’ll be packing for sure. Try to put them out front, as far from you and the bomb as possible. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes, max, to bring down all the bastards. Then we’ll treat you to a fancy dinner.”

The premonition reappeared. She couldn’t keep the damn thing out of her mind. Her mouth went dry, and she didn’t respond.

“Marissa, are you okay?”

Rawlings never called her by her first name.

“Yes. Yes, I’m…fine.” Was she trying to convince him or herself?

Rawlings went silent, contemplating, calculating. “Alfren and Jabbar need to head out soon to their next locations, but I want you to lay low in the suite until it’s time for you to move. You’re safer at the hotel than back at the apartment, just in case Liban manages to find the address and shows up. Let’s see, it’s about nine there now. You set the start time from the hideout at three. You’ll need to leave the hotel by one thirty. That means you have time for a nice, long nap.”

“You’re kidding. There’s more adrenaline than blood in my veins right now, Rawlings.”

“I understand. But sleeping is the best preparation you could do at this point. I’m not pampering you, Panuska. Anyone would be exhausted after what you’ve been through. Besides, you just gave birth to radioactive waste.” He chuckled, trying to ease the tension.

“Okay, Boss, I’ll try to sleep.”

“Thank you. I need to update a few hundred people now, so I may not talk to you again until this is over. Check in with your handler as often as you can. We may have news for you.” Rawlings swallowed hard. “Go get ’em, Marissa.”

“Yes, sir.” She listened to the dead phone for a long time after he disconnected.

Looking grim, Ben and Wahid strolled in from the other room.

“I don’t think the bastards will be coming back. They were too thrilled to get the hell out of here. Why don’t you take a shower while Ben and I clean up?” Wahid suggested.

“Sounds like a good idea. Rawlings wants me to take a nap.” She rolled her eyes.

Ben pulled the suitcase and box from the closet and didn’t join the conversation. Marissa tried to catch his eye, but he seemed intent on keeping his attention elsewhere. She gave up and dashed into the bathroom.

She emerged twenty minutes later, clean and wearing only a towel. The bed had been remade with the hotel linens and looked very inviting. There were no signs of the medical instruments, bloody props, or Dr. Jabbar.

In the other room, Ben slouched on the small couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He glanced up when she came through the doorway, his face tense.