Cal paced up and down the driveway outside June’s house. The bomb squad had arrived and cloaked her for safety. As long as she didn’t move and no one tried to disarm the bomb, June would be safe. But Tara was far from safe.
He kicked a rock, sending it skittering down the drive. Kicked another one and stormed ahead, his hands curled and vibrating with anger.
“Hey, man.” Rick came up behind him.
Cal turned and glared at him.
“Get a grip,” Rick said. “You know Keeler better than anyone. If we’re going to find Tara, you have to calm down and think.”
Right. Calm down.
Rage took over, and he jabbed a fist into his car, striking the driver’s door and relishing the pain. He pulled back his hand to toss another punch.
Rick grabbed his arm, and Cal spun, lifting his fist to his teammate.
Rick planted his feet wide, ready to take the brunt of Cal’s anger. Staring. Breathing hard. His hands hanging limp, but standing rock solid. His buddy’s willingness to take a beating was enough to break through Cal’s fury. He dropped his hands.
“I’m sorry, man,” Cal said on an exhale that carried more of his anger.
“Hey, I get it, but you have to pretend Tara’s another hostage. Someone we need to rescue. What’s the first step?”
Pretend. He couldn’t possibly, but he could gain control. At least enough to move forward. One step at a time.
“We need to find her, of course.” His mind raced with thoughts of how to accomplish the task, until he settled on one. “We’ll pick up the dummy bomb, and when we get back to the office, I’ll study it and the x-rays the techs are taking. The rest of you pore over the evidence again, all of us looking for anything out of the ordinary.”
“Let’s go.” Rick held out his hand, palm up. “I’ll drive so you can think.”
Cal handed over his keys, not because of the offered time to think, but because he was too shaken up to drive. Not something he’d ever experienced even in the thick of mortar shells pummeling the ground in Iraq.
Love will do that to you. The thought came out of nowhere. He’d never been in love before, and he couldn’t fathom why such a notion popped into his brain. He’d never even seen real love modeled on a day-to-day basis. Not with his parents. They barely tolerated each other, much less displayed any affection or sign of love. His only experience with unconditional love was with his SEAL team and God.
His SEAL teammates would give their lives for each other, no questions asked. Sure, they served their country, but the willingness to die was born of love for each other. To give up their lives so others could live. God had done the same thing. Gave His son for everyone. And that meant Cal, too. Even if he’d given up on God, He hadn’t given up on Cal.
Who was he to carry around guilt over lives lost? He’d done his best as June had said, and he had to leave the rest to God. Cal’s guilt was misplaced. Maybe an excuse to not open himself up. An excuse to not let people hurt him the way his parents had.
Well, he was done with that. Starting now, and it was time to admit that even as he’d tried to fight it, he was in love with Tara. Totally in love. He didn’t yet know what to do with that, but he wasn’t going to lose her and miss the opportunity to find out.
He phoned Max and brought him up to speed. “I need Frankie to check the dummy bomb to see if Keeler packed it with real explosives or some sort of clay. If it’s not hot, I’m stopping by the site to pick up the device along with the x-rays.”
“I’m not at the site anymore. I’m questioning Meer and Yasin,” Max replied, and didn’t sound the least bit put out by Cal’s demands. “But I’ll give the locals a call.”
“Frankie has my cell number. Have him text me with an update.”
“Roger that. Oh, and you should also know that the K-9s found an additional bomb large enough to take out the apartment complex.”
Cal let out a low whistle. “Thank God for K-9 officers.”
“Affirmative. Frankie handled the situation like a pro. We should consider recruiting the guy for the Bureau. I’ll get him to text you.”
Cal hung up and filled Rick in.
“What are the odds that the dummy isn’t packed with C-4?” Rick asked.
“I’m guessing pretty good. If Keeler didn’t actually plan for the bomb to detonate, he wouldn’t use up pricey explosives.”
Cal focused out the window and ran through steps he’d take once he reached the office to keep from wasting valuable time. His phone soon dinged, and he glanced at it. “It’s from Frankie. Keeler used modeling clay on the necklace bomb.”
Cal texted Frankie to box up the device, and they met at the perimeter, where Frankie signed out the device and x-rays to Cal. When he arrived at the office, he collected his files and papers from the back of his car along with the items from Frankie and marched straight to the situation room while Rick went to round up the rest of the team.
Cal took the device out of the box and set it on the bench, then grabbed the x-rays and mounted them on the wall along with Tara’s drawings. He studied them but didn’t see anything new.
He moved to the device and ran gloved fingers over the housing seam that had remained intact under the drill’s vibrations. It was smooth and neat, meaning Keeler must have used silicone gel, sanded it, and buffed it with an electrostatic cloth. Precision work. Not surprising since he worked as a security system assembler.
Cal examined the open seam. Keeler hadn’t secured it at all. No wonder the drill vibrations caused the seam to let go. Keeler was meticulous. He wouldn’t forget to glue the seam. So he left it loose on purpose. Likely to cause Cal to let down his guard, then cause mass casualties with the larger bomb. If so, Keeler had escalated to an extreme level.
The door lock clicked, and the team members minus Brynn filed into the room. Kaci took a seat behind her laptop at the table. Max, Rick, and Shane joined him at the workbench. Shane set down stapled copies of Keeler’s journals.
“How’d the interrogations go?” Cal asked Max.
“I didn’t get much,” Max said. “Except that they know each other and met when they started working together.”
“Where?”
Max shrugged. “I have Kaci trying to find employment records right now, but it’s looking like they were involved in a cash operation, making it harder to find.”
“Okay, so cash could mean something illegal.” Cal looked away to think, his gaze passing over the bags of evidence from Dallas. “Counterfeiting is illegal.”
“Where’d that come from?” Rick asked.
Cal pulled out the switch he’d studied. “This action circuit is counterfeit. I already have analysts looking for Keeler’s source, but so far we haven’t come up with anything actionable.”
“I’ll call my contacts at Customs to see if they’ve got anyone on their radar for counterfeiting electronic parts,” Max said. “That could be a long list, though.”
“China is the main importer of these parts, but India is known for it, too,” Cal said. “With Nabijah having an Indian background, we could cull the list down to those leads.”
Max gave a firm nod and strode to the far corner of the room to make his call.
Rick tapped the x-ray on the wall. “What I don’t get is why go to all of this work for the dummy bomb? He might as well have given us a blueprint of the device.”
Cal had questioned the same thing. “I’m guessing he thinks I’m dumb enough to believe this is the entire device, but he left out a switch or two.”
“But why?”
“He thinks I’ll try to disarm June’s bomb, and he’ll end my life, too.”
“That’s right on target with his profile,” Shane said.
“Explain,” Rick said.
Shane rested a hand on the stack of photocopies. “I’ve been studying his journals where he documents his infatuation with Tara. He may not know it yet—shoot, he may never know it—but he wants her more than anything. So far, she’s been elusive, and he needs to alleviate the pain somehow, which is a logical explanation for why he’s detonating the bombs and killing women.”
Rick frowned. “I still don’t see why he’d tip his hand like this.”
“Simple.” Shane smiled. “He failed to get to Tara because Cal is protecting her. So he hates Cal, too. But, as our bomb expert, Cal’s a worthy adversary in Keeler’s mind. So he wants to show Cal how smart and skilled he is. To point out that he’s better than Cal, and he can take Tara out at any time despite Cal’s protection.” Shane faced Cal. “And maybe, as you said, let you try to disarm a device with limited knowledge and take you out along the way as well.”
Cal pondered Shane’s statement, and many things that Keeler had done now made more sense. “Then if Keeler has Tara, we’d better pray she can remind him of how he once cared for her. If not, he’ll release all of his pent-up anger on her.”
* * *
Dulles Airport area
Tara headed down a narrow walkway between large metal buildings until she found suite C, as directed by Oren. The closer she came, the faster her heart beat, pounding as if wanting to escape her chest. She rounded the corner. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she paused to listen.
The wind whispered down the path, but she heard only traffic whizzing past on the nearby freeway. She started walking again, moving ever closer to suite C. Deep in her soul, she knew she would soon feel the cool PVC of one of Oren’s bombs circling her neck.
Would she trust God then? Remain calm like June, or would fear cause her to panic?
If her perspiring palms and rapidly beating pulse were indicators, the latter was more likely. She prayed again as she continued on.
A door down the narrow alleyway opened and light flooded into the darkness.
“Hello, Tara.” Oren’s voice stabbed through the air like a bolt of fear grating on Tara’s nerves.
Her footsteps faltered for a moment, but then thoughts of the bomb circling June’s neck, of Cal perhaps in equal danger, urged Tara forward until she saw Oren. He wore the same shirt as in the Skype call, but now she could see that it hung to his knees over pants narrowing at the ankle.
He ran his hands over his clothing with a flourish. “I look a bit different than when we last met. An improvement on my Western ways, don’t you think?”
Her negative response would only serve to anger him, so she didn’t say anything.
He frowned and waved his handgun. “Come inside. Now!”
She brushed past him, making sure she focused ahead to avoid looking into the evil lurking in his eyes. She surveyed the cavernous space filled with large cardboard cartons and wooden crates in neat stacks. The musky scent of incense lingered in the air, and the lights were low. She looked for an incense burner but soon realized the smell came from within the crates. She saw no indication of bomb-making materials, but she suspected Oren was more careful with his supplies since the pump house incident.
She turned to look at him. His gaze flicked over her like a serpent’s tongue, leaving her feeling dirty and unsettled. His dirt-brown eyes were rimmed in red, his chin jutted out, and a challenge was building in his body language.
Needing to stall and at the same time figure out how to get away from him once he’d deactivated June’s bomb, she forced a calm into her voice that she didn’t feel. “What is this place?”
He arched a brow, his narrow face appearing longer. “A warehouse.”
Duh! She bent down to read an address label. “What does Unique India Arts do?”
“It’s an online business specializing in quality Indian imports.”
She remembered Cal saying that Nabijah Meer might have been Indian. “This is your connection to Nabijah.”
“Wait.” He shot across the room so fast he blurred in her eyes. “Say that again.”
“Nabijah Meer. Your accomplice. This is where you met her.”
“You are not fit to say Nabijah’s name.” He hauled back a hand and swung it toward Tara’s face, but she stepped back before he could connect.
His rage sent panic rushing through her veins, but she took a breath and let it out. “She’s special to you.”
“Special?” He seemed confused. “Oh, I get it. You think she’s my girlfriend, and you’re jealous.”
“Right,” Tara said to keep him talking.
He scratched his head, shifting the cap and messing up pageboy bangs that he must have hoped would cover his receding hairline. “Nabijah and I are only friends with the same goal.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Which is?”
“To kill women who have turned their backs on the Islamic faith and let American infidels have their way with them. The way you did when you turned your back on me.” His words flew out like a curse, letting her see the depth of his anger, not only at her, but at these women, too.
“So that’s what your bombs are all about?” she asked, pretending calm when fear inched along her nerves. “Women who renounced their faith to have a relationship with American men?”
“Not a relationship. Letting these so-called Christians defile their purity.” He shuddered. “Nonmarital sex is punishable by execution, so they have to die, don’t you see?”
“I can see where in your very deluded mind that this makes sense, but how do you justify killing my friends? They weren’t Muslim. They’d done nothing wrong.”
He waved his gun in the air, and his eyes lost focus. “No, but they still fornicated.”
“Please. Bombing them was all about getting back at me.”
He gasped and advanced on her, his eyes narrowing into cold shards of ice.
She’d pushed him too far. She backed away, putting a large crate between them.
He raised his gun, pointed it at her forehead. “We’ll see who gets back at who.”
His focus fixed on her, he eased around the box like a large cat hunting its prey.
Panic cut deep into her being, sending her head spinning, but she took a breath. Then another. She refused to give in to the terror that he obviously wanted. He placed the gun against her forehead and smiled. His minty fresh breath wafted over her. Odd. She’d thought the odor would be as foul as his attitude.
“Turn around,” he commanded.
She complied, and the gun came up against the back of her head.
“Now walk straight ahead until you reach the office.”
She moved slowly, hoping, begging God to send Cal to her aid before Oren trapped her in a confined space. But all too soon, they reached the office holding a desk and three chairs. She stopped in the doorway to run her gaze over the walls displaying rainbow-colored tapestries, wooden flutes, drums, and exotic apparel like she’d seen in Bollywood movies.
He shoved her forward. “Sit.”
She settled into a wheeled chair, and the gun never left her head.
With his free hand, he opened a cardboard box on the table and withdrew a zip tie. “I only have one hand, so you’ll have to help me fasten your wrist to the chair.”
“And if I don’t?” She tried to put bravado into her tone.
“I detonate June’s bomb.” He chuckled.
His laughter held a hint of the boy she’d once played with. “What happened, Oren? To us, I mean. We were such good friends. I once thought nothing could ever come between us.”
“Until you discovered the one thing most boys wanted from you.”
She swiveled to look up at him, and the gun briefly left her head until he jabbed it back into place. “You think I was sleeping around in high school?”
“Tommy Simmons said you were.”
“Tommy Simmons? I would never have gone out with him. Besides, no one believed a word Tommy said.”
“But he shared the intimate details with me. Told me about the birthmark on your lower back.”
“That wasn’t a secret. Anyone who’d seen me in a swimming suit could have described that.”
“He was very convincing, all right.”
“And so you shunned me.”
“What else was I to do?”
“Gee.” She filled her tone with sarcasm. “I don’t know. Ask me about it.”
“I couldn’t talk to you about that. It’s forbidden in my religion.”
“Please don’t tell me that a lie Tommy Simmons told our freshman year is the reason all these poor women had to die.”
“They had to die because of their promiscuity. You, on the other hand—”
“I what? Have to die because Tommy lied to you?”
He glared at her, his anger burning through the air. “Help me with the zip tie, or I will detonate June’s bomb.”
She believed he meant it, so she took the hard plastic strip from his hand and laid it over her wrist. Together they slipped the tab into the hole, and he jerked it tight. He placed the gun on a shelf out of her reach and fastened her other wrist.
He stepped around her, smoothed his beard, and pressed his hand down the front of his tunic as if she’d ruffled him. He opened another box, and from it, he withdrew a terrifying white PVC contraption she’d come to know as a necklace bomb.