Targeted (FBI Heat) (25 page)

She poked her head back into the shaft. Listened. Only fans and generator. She scrambled to her feet, draped the rifle strap and purse over her shoulder, and grabbed the bomb. Standing beside the doorway, she peered cautiously around the corner. She concentrated, remembering the layout of the building from her previous visit before stepping hesitantly into the hallway.

The large, metal, outside door clanged shut.

No sounds came from the room at the front of the building anymore. Alone; she was alone. The premonition flashed behind her eyelids.
Only a few more minutes.
She inched through another doorway into the next room. Closer to freedom and to safety.

Shouting erupted outside. English. Spanish. Arabic.

Her chest heaving with relief, Marissa dropped to her knees and laid everything on the floor. She prayed Rawlings had a bomb tech assigned to appear any minute. Meanwhile, she needed to confirm that Khaleel was in custody and to warn the agents in Mexico about the cell phone. Then, if necessary, her handler would patch her through to someone who could help her quickly disable the bomb or at least disconnect the cell phone detonator.

Marissa smiled as she reached into the purse for her phone.
I did it. I finished the op. We stopped the bad guys. I’ll be spending the night with Ameen. The premonition was wrong…

“Don’t move, Baheera, or whatever your real infidel name is,” a hate-filled voice growled behind her.

B
en watched the lone Mexican search for the two missing guards. The guy did a half-assed job of checking the general area and never came close to discovering the small army of agents surrounding the building. He hollered a few times for José and Esteban before heading back inside.

“Hold your positions,” Stan Williams, the JTTF leader, ordered in his earpiece. “We’re expecting eight to come to our party.”

Seconds ticked by. Then minutes.

What the hell are they waiting for? What the fuck are they doing in there?
Ben didn’t let himself speculate on the possible answers to his questions. He had to stay totally focused on the moment, so instead he tried to pry open the door with his angry glare.
C’mon, you bastards. Get out here.

The door swung open. His fingers automatically tightened on the Glock.

Two Mexicans appeared this time. Both carried semi-automatic rifles. He recognized the one who walked with a self-important swagger as Juan, who’d shown Marissa the tunnel yesterday.

The men surveyed the area cautiously. Juan motioned to his partner to go right while he turned left.

“Evasive action only. Do
not
get spotted,” Williams warned.

Ben eased back from the empty oil barrels and down the side of the building. He dropped around the back corner just as Juan stepped beside the barrels to look behind them. Catching movement in his peripheral vision, Ben spun around to find Wahid had joined him along the rear wall. Their gazes connected and each returned to peek around his respective corner.

The two Mexicans wandered through the area carrying out an ineffectual search. Juan looked pissed but not especially worried.

After several minutes, the sound of the warehouse door closing reached Ben.

“Return to original positions.”

Following Williams’s instructions, Ben nodded to Wahid and slipped back along the wall to the front corner.

Again, time stood still.

Ben refused to check his watch. His gaze remained glued to the damn door.

Any second now, any second. We’ll finish the op. Marissa will be safe. C’mon out, you fucking bastards.

Finally, his wish was granted.

The door swung open.

Juan emerged first, his gun raised. Two other Mexicans came out next, also brandishing their weapons.

Every muscle in Ben’s body tensed, anticipating the appearance of the five terrorists.

One at a time, they appeared, seeming unnerved by the Mexicans’ aggressive actions. The four Arabs hurried toward the car they’d left there earlier.

Four? Shit! Now we’re missing two terrorists.

“Anyone see the fifth motherfucker?” Williams asked, voicing Ben’s alarm.

No one responded.

A terrorist was still inside with Marissa, with the bomb.

Damn!

“Hold positions.”

Juan circled the car, his gaze darting around the area. “I don’t like this. Too quiet. But I don’t see any problems,” he said in English to the whole group. “I’m going back inside for the woman. We…have plans.” He snickered nastily. “And keep your eyes open for any signs of trouble related to that Khaleel dude.”

Related to that Khaleel dude?
The name was used for one of the engineers. He hadn’t been identified as one of the two terrorists captured at the hideout, and no terrorists had been seized at the Tijuana end of the tunnel. He obviously wasn’t one of the four standing nervously by the car. Where the hell was Khaleel and why was Juan worried about trouble with him?

Just as Ben reached a gut-wrenching conclusion, the long-awaited order came.

“On my command.” At the same time, Williams stood up from his rooftop hiding place. “Halt! FBI! Drop your weapons! Hands behind your heads,” he yelled. “Agents, now!”

After a split-second of shocked paralysis, Juan glanced up and shot at Williams. Several agents returned fire from their positions. The hits spun Juan around even as his semi-automatic rifle continued to spew bullets. Two burrowed into the ground in front of the empty oil drums and others made a trail to the dumpster where they clanged against the metal and ricocheted wildly.

Seeing their leader go down ignited panic in the other two Mexicans. They fired indiscriminately in broad, sweeping motions as they sprinted for cover. Two of the terrorists hid behind the car, but the other two unwisely joined in the fray. Mayhem reigned.

“Wahid, now!”

Gun raised, Ben dashed into the open from his protected position. A bullet whizzed by, lodging in the wall behind him. He turned, squatted, and fired at the shooter who was advancing toward the building. The hit made the man stumble, but he got off another futile shot. Ben’s next bullet brought the terrorist down.

Ben spun back toward the entrance and ran. His partner wasn’t in sight.
Where’s Wahid? Is he inside already?
A few feet from the door, he glanced toward the dumpster. A pair of shoes stuck out from behind the huge container. Not hesitating a second, Ben raced toward that corner.

Abruptly, the roar of gunfire stopped. The fight was over. Eerie silence returned for a few seconds. Then the air filled with voices.

Williams barked out the next round of orders in Ben’s ear as he skidded around the corner. Wahid lay sprawled on his back, his neck covered in blood.

“Agent down!” Ben yelled at the top of his lungs and dropped to his knees. “Hang on, man, help’s coming.” He pressed his hands against the wound, but he knew it was too late to help Wahid Jabbar.

The wounded man moved his trembling lips. Ben leaned closer.

“Tell…Jam…” Wahid’s voice was whisper-thin. “…love…her…and…ba…by.” He choked once before his eyes fixed on nothing.

“I will, Wahid.” Ben felt for a pulse, found none. “Fuck!” he screamed to no one as he jumped up.

His rage and grief were short-circuited by the sound of several shots from
inside
the building.

Marissa’s heart lurched.
The premonition.
Nooo…

“Hello, Khaleel. I thought you were going to miss the party.” The calmness in her voice surprised her. Was she resigned to her fate?

He laughed an ugly laugh. “No, it is you who is going to miss the party.” He sneered at her. “You think you are so smart. I am curious, though. How did you find me out?”

Shielding the bomb with her body, Marissa twisted around slowly on her knees until she faced him. With one hand, he aimed a pistol at her. In the other, he held a cell phone. Where the hell had he hidden it? In the crate with the handguns at the other end of the tunnel?

She swallowed hard. “I recognized your voice and eyes.”

“Interesting. You know, I also figured out that you were the woman Ameen brought to my house that night. Ameen is a fool and a traitor to Islam. He’s been duped by you American infidels. Does he also work with you?”

“Ameen has nothing to do with this. He simply showed me some kindness that night.”

Gunshots outside jerked their attention toward the door. But at the same time, Marissa grabbed for her rifle.

“Don’t touch it. I’ll shoot!” Khaleel yelled.

More shouting and gunfire. The Mexicans and terrorists weren’t giving up easily. She couldn’t count on help from anyone.
Alone. Just like in the premonition.
She studied Khaleel. He’d definitely be able to get a shot off before she could.
But how good a shot is he?

A shadow passed across the hall doorway. She didn’t blink, didn’t look.
Keep Khaleel talking.
“Won’t this hurt your wife? She’ll miss you and be very disappointed in you.”

“Safiya will understand.”

“Will she? Safiya will not respect you for bringing shame to the Muslim community. She won’t consider you a servant of Allah.”

“Shut up!” His wild, fanatical eyes glared at her. “How dare an infidel speak to me of Allah? I don’t care what Safiya or you or Ameen or anyone thinks. I know the will of Allah, and I obey only him.” He cocked his head. “I’m trying to decide whether I should shoot you first or let you feel the blast of the bomb as it tears your body into tiny pieces.”

“As it will also tear yours.”

“Yes, but Allah will reward me.” He held the phone out toward her. “Listen, infidel, as I dial your death.”

At the sound of the first button, Marissa snatched up the rifle.

A gunshot exploded and searing heat tore through her right shoulder.

“The phone!” she yelled.

The next few moments sped by in a haze of pain.

A second blast. From the doorway.

A scream. Clattering on concrete. Cursing.

A heavy shadow landed on her. Her head slammed hard against the floor. Darkness crept into her vision.

A third shot. The shadow jerked, groaned, shuddered. Warm wetness…

Fourth blast. So loud. From on top of her.

A groan, a thud…

Pain. Darkness.

The premonition…

Voices drifted through the fog in Marissa’s head. A great weight pressed her against the floor. It took all her strength to simply breathe air into her lungs. She smelled the sticky wetness bathing her. Blood?
But
I’m not dead.
She forced her eyes open.

“Nooo!” she screamed when she saw the body, bloody and limp, draped across her. “Ameen!”

No response.

Khaleel. Cell phone. Bomb. Gun
.

She jerked her head up to see past Ameen and found Khaleel. He was sprawled on the concrete, a puddle of blood spreading across the floor under his head. His left hand was also a bloody mess. His cell phone and pistol lay several feet away.

Ignoring her own pain, she pressed down on the floor to lift the upper half of her body and rolled Ameen gently off her onto the floor. “Ameen!”

Kneeling beside him, she checked for a pulse. Weak. Feathery.

She ripped open his shirt. Blood spilled from his chest.
No, God, no.
She tore off her blouse, wadded it into a ball, and pressed it hard against the wound. “Help!” she shouted despite knowing no one outside could hear her.

He groaned.

She bent close to his ear. “Ameen, hang on.”

His eyes opened. “Ba…hee…ra?”

“I’m here. Be strong. Help is coming.” Tears filled her eyes and cascaded over. “You saved my life again, Ameen. Surely Allah will save yours.” She gently kissed him.

“We…connected…many ways,” he managed to whisper.

“Yes.” Marissa touched her heart and then his.

His eyes closed, and his body shuddered. Marissa’s chin dropped to her chest but she continued to put pressure on his wound. She choked back a sob. “Help! We need help!” she cried, hoping against hope she’d be heard by someone outside.

Ameen groaned again—softer, weaker. His eyes barely opened a slit as he struggled to form words. “Real…name?”

“Marissa.”

“I…love you…Ma…rissa.”

“I love you too.”

He trembled and went still.

As she pulled him into her arms a deep, savage hatred, like nothing Marissa had ever experienced before, roiled up inside her. A cry of unspeakable anguish burst from her lips and filled the building.

B
en kept a close eye on Marissa as he drove across the San Diego–Coronado Bay Bridge. After she’d collapsed in the morgue at 11:00 p.m., he had finally convinced her to stop. He couldn’t tell if her insistence on working had been an attempt to keep her mind off Ameen or to close this hellish chapter of her life as quickly as possible. Whatever her motivation, everyone—not just Ben—was worried about Special Agent Panuska.

Many hours earlier at the Otay Mesa site, Ben had raced into the warehouse to find Marissa holding a dying Ameen. Refusing first aid for her own injury, she’d insisted on keeping pressure on his wound herself until the paramedics arrived. Then she’d watched stoically as they loaded him into the ambulance. Only when she learned of Wahid’s death did she break down for a short time, turning and walking away with Ben for a private moment of grief. Even after Fateen, the lone surviving terrorist, had been taken into custody and the other bodies carted away, she still wouldn’t leave. The medics had bandaged her shoulder, insisting she get to the hospital immediately, but she’d refused. Everyone but Ben, who stayed at her side, remained at a respectful distance.

Unable to do anything to ease her pain, he shadowed her, supported her, as she shuttered her anguish behind a professional demeanor. He knew Marissa, and he knew the depth of her emotions and her feelings for Ameen that he’d witnessed after the shooting.

But this was
her
op, and she refused to give in to emotions and feelings. She updated Rawlings on the phone. She conferred with Stan Williams, the JTTF leader. She watched the techs defuse the bomb. Although she received updates on Ameen’s condition by phone every half hour, she stayed on site until everything was finished. Completely finished.

Finally, she allowed Ben to drive her to the hospital. Before going to the emergency room, they checked on Ameen. He had survived the surgery to remove Khaleel’s bullet but remained in ICU. He’d lost a lot of blood and had not regained consciousness. The prognosis was uncertain.

The ER doctor had wanted to admit Marissa, not only for her physical wound but also for psychological observation. The trauma she had endured for more than two weeks, culminating with Ameen’s life-threatening injury while saving her life, had obviously taken a significant mental and emotional toll. But Marissa was adamant in her refusal to be admitted. She explained that she couldn’t stand the idea of being confined someplace she didn’t want to be for even one more night. When she’d threatened to call a cab to take her to the San Diego FBI office, the doctor and Ben capitulated. They negotiated a compromise for her to spend the night at his apartment.

Afterward, Marissa endured hours of tedious debriefing, interrupted by frequent calls to the hospital. Her emotions fluctuated wildly between pride, relief, rage, joy, and grief. But she showed no emotion at all when the report came that the last terrorist had been located, dead in the trunk of his car. While identifying the bodies at the morgue, she collapsed. No one was surprised. After they revived her, she refused all assistance and walked, back straight, head held high, to Ben’s car.

Now Marissa was calm but distant. Wearing sky blue hospital scrubs, she looked fragile and vulnerable. As they drove across the bridge, she stared at the dancing reflections of downtown San Diego in the dark water of the bay far below them. She drew a deep breath and exhaled a long, heavy sigh.

She turned to him, her face pale and eyes sunken, but still amazingly beautiful. “Thank you, Benja. I could not have survived without you.”

“You know I’d do anything for you, Gypsy.”

“I know.”

“Are you…okay?”

Her long lashes veiled her eyes for a moment. “No…but I will be. Your Amber is okay that I’m staying with you, yes?”

“Of course. Amber was in LA, but when I called her from the hospital, she insisted on driving home immediately. She’s excited about meeting you. You’ll like her.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be a very pleasant guest.”

“She’ll understand. I told her that you’d be staying with us for a few days. I want you to relax and decompress before going back to Washington.”

Marissa nodded absently, drifting away. Ten minutes later, Ben ushered her into his apartment.

Amber greeted them with comforting hugs. “You both look exhausted. I already got the inflatable mattress ready in the office.”

“Thanks, babe. I’ll get Marissa settled, and then I’ll be right to bed.” He gave her a kiss that he hoped told her how glad he was to be home.

“I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Marissa, but we’ll talk tomorrow. Sleep well.”

“That will be nice. Good night, Amber.”

After the bedroom door closed behind Amber, Ben led Marissa down the hall to the office. She sat down wearily on the mattress.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, shutting the door and leaning against it.

“There are no words yet,
Miláčku
, only pain. Give me time.”

“But I want to
do
something.”

She managed a weak smile. “I need to talk to Ameen’s uncle, tell him how Ameen saved my life.” Her voice caught. “Will you drive me to the hospital tomorrow?”

“Yeah, no problem.” He paused. “He’s gonna make it, Gypsy. He’s a fighter.”

She rubbed her hand across her eyes. “The doctors were not so confident.”

“They said the surgery went great.”

“But he’s been unconscious for hours.”

“He lost a lot of blood.” Ben sighed. Facts weren’t going to ease her pain. “Will you be able to sleep?”

She gazed at the window. “I doubt it.”

“Well, let’s put you to bed anyway.” He pulled back the comforter and smoothed the sheets, thankful Amber had readied the room. Then he reached for the gown she’d left on the desk. When he turned back, Marissa’s face was frozen and pale. Tears spilled from her eyes as she stared down at her bloodstained shoes. Ameen’s blood mixed with her blood. Sobbing, she buried her face in her hands.

Ben caught her in a tight embrace as anguished sobs racked her slumping body. He’d recently almost lost Amber so he understood what Marissa was feeling. He just let her cry until, eventually, she shuddered and sighed.

“Benja, the pain is so bad. But I’m beginning to understand why. I have been poisoned by a new passion: hate.”

He waited quietly while she collected her thoughts.

“This poison pulses through my heart with crazed vengeance. It fogs my mind with irrational thoughts. It is consuming me.” She grimaced. “Not only do I hate Khaleel for shooting Ameen, but I also hate the San Diego cell, all of al-Qaeda, every Islamic terrorist who lives and breathes while Ameen fights for his life. How do I destroy this heinous passion before it becomes a permanent part of me?”

“Now that you’re no longer surrounded by life-threatening hatred, I suspect your natural, loving nature will return. Even this traumatic experience can’t change the core of who you are.”

“I hope you’re right, Benja. But this will certainly leave scars, yes?”

“Probably. But it may also give you a better understanding of the minds of the Islamic fanatics that we’re trying to stop.”

“Ameen said he doesn’t believe a rational mind can truly understand a fanatical mind.”

Ben considered the premise. “Yeah, I agree with him. Your experience may not give you understanding, just insight.” He hesitated. “You and Ameen have…connected pretty damn fast.”

“Yes, I feel deeper connections with Ameen after only a few days than I ever felt with Ian.”

Ben wiggled his eyebrows. “And during these crazy few days, I suspect you managed to find some private time to explore those deep connections in a…physical way.”

Her eyes widened. “You know?”

“Of course I know, Gypsy. I saw it in your eyes when you held him in the warehouse.”

“We’ll never be able to keep secrets, yes?”

“Afraid not.”

Marissa paused thoughtfully before she explained. “My relationship with Ameen is not just sexual. You know me better than that. Just as you and I share a passion for catching bad guys, Ameen and I found we share a certain passion. And I suspect there are even more that we have yet to discover.”

“You won’t go back to the desk work?”

“I don’t want to. Now that Homeland Security sees Muslim women getting more and more involved in the terrorists’ activities, they will find better things for me to do with my Arab-like appearance and Arabic fluency.”

They lapsed into a pensive silence. Ben’s mind retraced the events of the past few incredible days to the point where it had all started for him. An unbelievable incident that still made no sense.

“Gypsy, I don’t understand about my nightmare Sunday night. What was it? How the hell did I dream what was actually happening to you when Samir…?” His voice trailed off.

She didn’t respond immediately. “You always think I understand these things, but I don’t. Sometimes, it is easier to simply accept, instead of worrying about explanations.”

“If you say so. The thing that really freaks me out is how real it was. I’ll never forget the terror in your eyes. It was like I was feeling it, not just seeing it.”

She grimaced at the painful memory. “I have never felt such fear, Benja. Not even with Khaleel and the bomb. That night, I truly believed I was going to die…in that terrible place, in that terrible way. Maybe my fear was a telepathic conduit.” She smiled faintly and laid her hand on his. “Perhaps, we have yet another connection that cannot even be explained.”

After Ben left the room, Marissa undressed and slipped on the borrowed gown. She strolled to the window and peered into the night sky.

Passion had always been her lifeblood. Positive passions. How would she purge this hateful one from her soul?

She wanted to believe what Ben had said about recovering now that she was no longer surrounded by the terrorists’ hatred, but she didn’t think he could fully comprehend what she was feeling. They shared the passion for catching bad guys, but this new emotion went far beyond that.

Only one person she knew might be able to understand: Ameen. Perhaps he would be able to help her heal. But if Ameen died, at the hands of his terrorist “friend” Khaleel, she feared hate would become a permanent part of her soul.

Oh, Ameen, please don’t die. I love you. I need you. We have so much passion to explore. Together.

After a long time, she lay down and cried herself to sleep.