stuffing the information into her purse, Marissa pushed herself to her feet. Still unsteady, she gripped the back of the chair. “Thank you. Promise me you’ll tell no one about any of this.”
He cupped her face. “Only if you promise to call me if you need help.”
The crunch of approaching tires on broken asphalt ended the conversation instantly. Marissa jerked her thumb toward the back door.
Cursing under his breath, Ameen ran.
With a groan, she settled the hated niqab back on her head and covered her face. With far more enthusiasm, she hoisted the AK-47 off the table and assumed a firing position.
Four car doors slammed. Anxious Arab voices shattered the morning quiet. The front door burst open.
The moment of truth had arrived. Had Samir and Omar warned the cell about the fake Baheera?
Marissa leveled the gun.
* * *
FBI Special Agent Wahid Jabbar snored loudly, with his head resting on the desk in the Joint Terrorism Task Force’s secret offsite in San Ysidro, California, within spitting distance of the Mexican border. When a tune blared from the cell phone lying beside his ear, he opened one eye and glared at it. His brain took several seconds to convince his hand to pick up the phone.
Too exhausted to check the screen, he put the phone to his ear and answered with a generic, “H’lo.”
“Wahid, is that you?”
“Jamila?”
“Yeah. You sound awful. You okay?” his girlfriend, FBI Special Agent Jamila Zafar, asked.
Wahid rubbed his eyes and roused himself enough to sit up. “Not really.” He yawned and shook his head hard to clear it. “What’s up?”
“You first. Sounds like you had a tough night. How’s the op going at your end?”
“Like shit.”
“That good, huh?”
He propped his elbows on the desk and cradled his forehead with one hand. “Damn it, Jamila, we lost her.”
She gasped and went silent. “Marissa’s dead?” she whispered several seconds later.
He exhaled. “We don’t know. She’s just gone. Vanished without a trace.”
“What happened, honey?”
“We tailed them to the Tijuana hideout and set up to listen as usual. Samir was farting around inside with a goddamn knife he’d bought. He got a call on the sat phone. Then, out of the blue, Marissa’s on the phone. Obviously, we could only hear her side of the conversation, and it was seriously…weird. After Marissa hung up, she said she was going to the bathroom. We even heard the bathroom door close. Next thing, the phone rang again. Then all hell broke loose. Samir was hollering for Omar, yelling something about infidels. All that crap. At first, we thought maybe some Mexicans had broken in, but we never heard any unidentified voices speaking Spanish.”
“Strange.”
“Yeah. And Samir and Omar started cursing Marissa because she was in the bathroom. Then it sounded like they—the guys, not her—ran out the front door, and their voices faded away, but we never heard a word from Marissa after she went into the john. The situation didn’t feel right so we left the car and started scouting around the hideout while I called in to get authorization to intervene. By the time I got through to Rawlings, we heard two shots down the road. There’s always gunfire around here, but—”
“Oh my God.”
“It gets worse. Rawlings was at the NSA call center. Husaam had just blown Marissa’s cover during that weird call and then phoned back to order Samir to kill her. I reported the gunshots, and he told us to fucking find her. Then it got really freaky. We hit the hideout, hoping like hell we didn’t find her dead in the john. No one was home, but her purse with her Glock and phone was still there. The guns and bomb parts were still locked up, but Samir’s knife was gone. We worked our way down the street toward where the shots had come from, trying to figure out where the hell everyone went. Eventually, we found this butchered dog outside an abandoned building. Inside, we discovered Samir and
He cupped her face. “Only if you promise to call me if you need help.”
The crunch of approaching tires on broken asphalt ended the conversation instantly. Marissa jerked her thumb toward the back door.
Cursing under his breath, Ameen ran.
With a groan, she settled the hated niqab back on her head and covered her face. With far more enthusiasm, she hoisted the AK-47 off the table and assumed a firing position.
Four car doors slammed. Anxious Arab voices shattered the morning quiet. The front door burst open.
The moment of truth had arrived. Had Samir and Omar warned the cell about the fake Baheera?
Marissa leveled the gun.
* * *
FBI Special Agent Wahid Jabbar snored loudly, with his head resting on the desk in the Joint Terrorism Task Force’s secret offsite in San Ysidro, California, within spitting distance of the Mexican border. When a tune blared from the cell phone lying beside his ear, he opened one eye and glared at it. His brain took several seconds to convince his hand to pick up the phone.
Too exhausted to check the screen, he put the phone to his ear and answered with a generic, “H’lo.”
“Wahid, is that you?”
“Jamila?”
“Yeah. You sound awful. You okay?” his girlfriend, FBI Special Agent Jamila Zafar, asked.
Wahid rubbed his eyes and roused himself enough to sit up. “Not really.” He yawned and shook his head hard to clear it. “What’s up?”
“You first. Sounds like you had a tough night. How’s the op going at your end?”
“Like shit.”
“That good, huh?”
He propped his elbows on the desk and cradled his forehead with one hand. “Damn it, Jamila, we lost her.”
She gasped and went silent. “Marissa’s dead?” she whispered several seconds later.
He exhaled. “We don’t know. She’s just gone. Vanished without a trace.”
“What happened, honey?”
“We tailed them to the Tijuana hideout and set up to listen as usual. Samir was farting around inside with a goddamn knife he’d bought. He got a call on the sat phone. Then, out of the blue, Marissa’s on the phone. Obviously, we could only hear her side of the conversation, and it was seriously…weird. After Marissa hung up, she said she was going to the bathroom. We even heard the bathroom door close. Next thing, the phone rang again. Then all hell broke loose. Samir was hollering for Omar, yelling something about infidels. All that crap. At first, we thought maybe some Mexicans had broken in, but we never heard any unidentified voices speaking Spanish.”
“Strange.”
“Yeah. And Samir and Omar started cursing Marissa because she was in the bathroom. Then it sounded like they—the guys, not her—ran out the front door, and their voices faded away, but we never heard a word from Marissa after she went into the john. The situation didn’t feel right so we left the car and started scouting around the hideout while I called in to get authorization to intervene. By the time I got through to Rawlings, we heard two shots down the road. There’s always gunfire around here, but—”
“Oh my God.”
“It gets worse. Rawlings was at the NSA call center. Husaam had just blown Marissa’s cover during that weird call and then phoned back to order Samir to kill her. I reported the gunshots, and he told us to fucking find her. Then it got really freaky. We hit the hideout, hoping like hell we didn’t find her dead in the john. No one was home, but her purse with her Glock and phone was still there. The guns and bomb parts were still locked up, but Samir’s knife was gone. We worked our way down the street toward where the shots had come from, trying to figure out where the hell everyone went. Eventually, we found this butchered dog outside an abandoned building. Inside, we discovered Samir and
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