Targeted (FBI Heat) (7 page)

He hurried around to the back, but he’d pushed the damaged door shut in his haste. He leaned his ear near the cracked frame and listened, but all he could hear was a soft drone of voices.

Shit, I hate feeling helpless
. He needed to know what was being said inside. Were the terrorists buying whatever story Baheera had concocted? At least she was armed, and they weren’t. But this still wasn’t right. He should be the one kickin’ ass and takin’ names.

Several minutes passed. His mind kept flashing on Samir’s knife above Baheera’s neck, and he had to tamp down the fear for her that swelled inside him. He tried, but failed, to convince himself that his main concern should be what evil the cell was plotting, not the welfare of one dazzling woman.

When he heard another vehicle approaching, he moved to the corner and watched the two men with scarves park behind Samir’s truck. They seemed wary about going into the hideout, perhaps because of the presence of the cell’s car, but they eventually got out of their vehicle and retrieved a large cardboard box from the trunk. Ameen studied them as they shut the trunk and carried the box toward the front door. Although he’d watched the men on multiple occasions, this time something seemed oddly familiar about the tall one.

As he hurried around to the back door, Ameen wished he could tell Khaleel about the boxes of electronic parts stolen from his company. Perhaps his friend could even be of assistance by explaining what the cell might be planning to do with them since they obviously didn’t seem to be selling the parts.

He grimaced. He’d promised Baheera that he wouldn’t speak to anyone about any of this. Was there a way he could keep his promise and also get the information he needed?

T
he phone yanked Ben’s mind back from far away. “Alfren,” he answered, praying it was Marissa but knowing it wasn’t.

“Hey, stud. Are you surviving without me?” Special Agent Staci Hall teased.

“Barely,” Ben said, grinning for the first time since the nightmare. “How much trouble are you causing in DC?”

“I’m not causing trouble. I’m getting this place in shape. Seriously, though, it’s not nearly as much fun as when we were here.”

Ben remembered those years well. She’d been part of the same class with him and Marissa at the FBI Academy in Quantico, and they’d become friends. Unfortunately, Staci hadn’t liked Marissa, which caused way too much drama for him. When Marissa had broken his heart by refusing to transfer to San Diego with them two years ago, Staci’s dislike had skyrocketed. Something the no-nonsense, straight-talking woman didn’t try to hide. Even now that he and Marissa had put the past behind them, Staci had trouble forgiving her for the pain she’d caused him.

“How’s that money-laundering class coming along?” he asked.

“It’s okay. Way too much paperwork though. I miss being out in the field.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I’ll probably be wrapping up in a couple weeks. What’s happening out there on the West Coast?” she asked.

He hesitated as the nightmare, Ian’s call, and the meeting with ASAIC Alan Carter flashed by.

“Ben, is something wrong?” Staci’s intuition was ice-pick sharp. “You and Amber aren’t having problems, are you?”

“No, we’re good. Great, in fact. Nothing’s really wrong, just…
weird
.”

She laughed. “Tell me about it.”

He cleared his throat. Because of Staci’s issues with Marissa, he wasn’t sure whether to share his concerns. And then, of course, there was also Carter’s warning not to say anything to anyone.
Screw that.
Ben wouldn’t say anything; he’d ask. “Have you heard any rumors around the proverbial water cooler about a covert Counterterrorism op in San Diego?”

“Huh? Uh, well, uh, no. Why…uh…would I?”

Ben pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it, puzzled. Her indecisive response didn’t sound like her normal, overconfident self. He shook his head and repositioned the phone. “Oh, hell, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re at FBI Headquarters, the center of our universe.”

“Hey, I’m just a li’l ole SA from San Diego. They treat me like a mushroom. You know, keep me in the dark and feed me bullshit.”

He chuckled. Now that sounded like the real Staci. “Sorry, I forgot your lowly status.”

She gulped loudly. “Have you…uh…asked Alan Carter?”

Ben hesitated. “Maybe.”

“That means you have, but he won’t tell you crap.”

“Maybe.”

“Why don’t you ask your old friend, the she-devil? She’s in Counterterrorism now, right?”

Ben cringed. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know where she is.”

A long silence followed. He could practically hear the gears humming.

“Is Marissa…um…in trouble?” Staci asked hesitantly.

Damn the woman’s intuition. Freakin’ scary.
“I can’t talk about it.”

“Damn it, Ben. Would you stop? This is me. We can talk.”

“No, I really can’t.”

“That bad, huh? Well, I probably can’t find out anything, but I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”

“Thanks.”

“Ben…uh…”

“Yeah?”

Another silence. He could feel her frowning.

“Never mind. You behave while I’m gone,” she said, then disconnected.

Ben pushed the odd conversation out of his mind and focused on the unanswered questions from the meeting with ASAIC Carter. Waiting was torture. His sense of impending bad news grew with every passing minute, his thoughts frequently drifting to the nightmarish images that had jumpstarted his heart during the night.

Finally, the call came.

“Carter wants us,” Rex said.

“I’m on my way.”

The two men didn’t talk as they walked through the building to the Counterterrorism leader’s office. Alan was leaning against the wall outside his door. He seemed surprised, and then embarrassed, when he saw Rex.

“Sorry, old man,” Alan joked. “I didn’t make it clear that they only want to talk to Ben. Don’t bother asking why. They didn’t tell me.”

Ben started to protest, but Rex tapped his shoulder and motioned him down the hallway. Once they were out of earshot, his boss leaned closer.

“Don’t let this throw you. You can handle it. I don’t know who’ll be talking to you—just remember: they piss the same way you do. Play your cards close to your chest. You know
what
I’m talking about.” He arched his eyebrows.

“Yeah, Boss. Thanks. I’ll be careful.”

Rex nodded. “Good luck,” he said solemnly and walked away.

When Ben turned back, Alan’s office door was closed. “Videoconference room,” he explained curtly and led the way down another corridor.

Two technicians had the equipment and connection ready to go when the men marched into the room. The super-sized screen on the wall displayed an empty conference room with no identifying signs or emblems.

“Where are we?” Ben asked the techs as he took a seat.

They answered with blank stares.

Alan paced for a minute before choosing a seat two chairs away.

They waited.

To keep his hands from clenching and unclenching, Ben stuffed them in his pockets. His right leg started to bounce.
If I was wound any tighter, I’d need to hit something
.

Finally, ten—he counted twice to be sure—suits filed silently into the room on the screen.
Holy shit!
The group sat down at the large conference table, and the meeting began. The solemn-faced, middle-aged man on the far left spoke first.

“Let’s get the introductions out of the way. Gentlemen, that’s FBI Assistant Special Agent in Charge Alan Carter on our left and Special Agent Ben Alfren on the right.” Heads nodded. “I’m John Gardner, Department of Homeland Security, Director of the Domestic Nuclear Detection Office.”

A wrecking ball slammed into Ben’s gut.

Gardner turned to the man seated next to him.

“Bill Marshall, NSA.”

They continued down the line.

“Mark Fieldman, CIA.”

“Tom Evans, FBI, Counterterrorism. Good to see you again, Alan.”

“Kevin Rawlings, Homeland Security.”

“Bob Miller, NJTTF.”

“Rudy Stevens, NNSA.”

“Steve Thompson, NEST.”

“Carlos Sanchez, Customs and Border Protection.”

“Charles Winslow.”

Ben automatically filled in the blank for the last fellow: White House. There were enough letters in the introductions to fill a bowl with alphabet soup, but it was some of the N’s that worried him.
Nuclear. Damn, Marissa, what have you gotten yourself into?

Gardner moved on. “Let me start by summarizing. I understand that a civilian named Ian Boyd…”

We didn’t tell Alan her boyfriend’s name,
Ben recalled instantly. Someone had already done some checking and probably found Ian’s call to Marissa’s boss.

“…has contacted SA Alfren about a rumor of an undercover operation in San Diego involving al-Qaeda wiretaps. This civilian believes his former girlfriend, SA Marissa Panuska, is involved in the operation. Something Mr. Boyd said raised concerns about the op. Is that about it?”

Alan slid his gaze over to Ben, who answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Let’s hear it. What the hell did he say?” Gardner asked.

“She’s missing.”

“Missing?”

“She’s a week overdue, and there’s been no communication.”

Gardner paused, disappointment darkening his expression. “Special Agent Alfren, do you consider
that
a reason for concern?”

“Not normally, sir. However, based on my
full
conversation with Mr. Boyd, I do feel Agent Panuska’s behavior is…unusual. But if nothing’s wrong, tell me SA Panuska is safe, and I’ll communicate that one fact to him. Is she safe?”

Gardner glanced down the line of suits. Most of the men did not make eye contact. The man in charge cleared his throat. “I understand that you were…are…very close to Panuska.”

Ben tensed. “Is that in my personnel file?”

“Not exactly.”

“As far as I’m concerned, my personal relationship, past or present, with Panuska is irrelevant.”

“We disagree.”

“Sir?”

“Is your concern personally motivated?” Gardner’s tone revealed his disappointment had turned to frustration.

Ben glanced at Alan, who refused to look at him. Rex’s warning echoed in his ears. He chose his words carefully. “Because I know Marissa, her failure to communicate or return as scheduled raises significant questions in my mind. Having ten of you in this meeting tells me that my concerns are not without merit.” Ben kept his expression stoic.

Gardner cleared his throat again. “Has she communicated with you in the past two weeks?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you have any other information relevant to this situation?” More frustration surfaced.

No way in hell am I mentioning the nightmare.
“No, sir. My boss and I didn’t tell ASAIC Carter that we had intel; we said we had questions. And…I didn’t ask for this meeting.” He didn’t much like how this conversation was going so to hell with worrying about insubordination.

Gardner shook his head, resigned. “Fine. Thank you, Special Agent Alfren, for answering my questions.” He nodded at the nine other men, signaling the end of the meeting, and pushed his chair back from the table.

“Mr. Gardner, you never answered
my
question,” Ben said pointedly.

The man’s cold stare would have rattled most young agents, but Ben refused to be intimidated.

“I know,” Gardner finally said, and the huge screen went dark.

“Shit!”

With only a nod to Alan, Ben stomped out of the room. Obviously, the op was in trouble. The question was how much. They were fishing for information from him. And Gardner hadn’t revealed a damn thing. Not intentionally, anyway.

Rex was leaving his office when Ben approached. “That was quick. How’d it go?”

“They’re not talking.”

“That tells you something.”

“Yeah. I can’t believe how many agencies—”

“Stop.” Rex held up his hand. “Did they tell you not to talk?”

“No. Besides, they didn’t say anything worth repeating.” Ben’s hands clenched into fists.

“Okay, but remember I wasn’t invited to the party, so be careful what you say to me or anyone else.”

“Look, Boss, I need your advice on this. Can we talk?”

“Sure.” Rex checked his watch. “But I should’ve been out of here ten minutes ago. And regrettably, I’m tied up at the Federal building downtown for the rest of the day. You’re first in line tomorrow.” He patted Ben’s shoulder before hurrying away.

Ben returned to his desk and pounded his fist repeatedly into his other palm. “Damn, damn, damn.” His cell phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket. He frowned at the screen before answering. “What’s up?”

“Nothing good,” Staci began, but had to stop to catch her breath.

“Don’t keep me in suspense. I’m not in the mood.”

“Crap, I’m sorry. I’m just a little spooked.”

“Calm down and talk to me.”

“Um, there’s something I didn’t tell you when we talked earlier.”

Ben scowled. “But you’re going to tell me now, right?”

“Right.” She drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Before lunch, I was waiting for the elevator with Jamila Zafar. She’s with Counterterrorism in San Diego. Do you know her?”

“I know the name, not her.” He clearly recalled Carter mentioning Zafar to him and Rex earlier.

“Okay, well, Jamila’s in DC working on…a special assignment. Anyway, when the elevator arrived, but before the doors opened, we overheard a comment from inside, something I’m sure no one was supposed to hear. But the guy sounded upset and was talking way too loud when he said, ‘Rawlings…crazy…find…radioactive material…agent…missing.’ Then the doors opened, and there stood the Secretary of Homeland Security and the Director of the CIA surrounded by a bunch of suits.” She paused for a breath. “I think they knew we’d heard what they said. I thought they might zap us with one of those memory-erasing things from
Men in Black
.”

“Jesus, Staci, c’mon. I’m dyin’ here.” He feared the man named Rawlings on the videoconference call was the same person.

“Okay, okay. There wasn’t a sound. They stared at us. We stared at them. My friend and I stood there in the hallway, frozen like idiots. One of the guys pressed the button, and they were gone.”

“Shit,” Ben muttered.

“Yeah. It just felt too weird. I figured there must be something big going on for those honchos to come here to meet with our Director. But I didn’t think
too
much about it until you asked me earlier if I’d heard any rumors about a covert op in San Diego. Then I wondered if there was a connection. I mean, fill in the blanks for the words I couldn’t hear, and there are lots of possible scenarios. All bad.”

“Agreed.”

“Anyway, I called a couple of old buddies who work in Counterterrorism at the Washington field office. They owe me a few favors. They blew me off until I dropped the name ‘Rawlings.’ Turns out, Kevin Rawlings is a big shot at Homeland Security with a reputation for being a shadows man. Definitely covert ops. My buddies were disgustingly tight-lipped, but they did confirm there’s a high-level op going down in San Diego. If that ties in with the elevator gossip, you’ve got a big problem out there.”

Ben pondered a moment. “Unfortunately, I don’t know anything specific.”

“Well, I…” Staci stopped, sighed.

“You what?”

She groaned. “Jamila’s special assignment is part of the same op. And she’s real worried about it. So worried, in fact, that it’s making her sick.” Staci paused and swore quietly.

“Go on. I won’t breathe a word—”

“You damn well better not. She…we could get—”

“Don’t worry. I won’t. What did she tell you?”

“I called her after getting the info from my buddies and…” Her words stalled again.

“And…?”

“Damn it. She confirmed that the Rawlings guy sent Marissa to San Diego and pulled Jamila back here. Now she’s totally freaking out because Marissa’s in trouble, and it should’ve been her.”