Danger Close (24 page)

He checked his watch. Less than an hour from now, the tide of this war would shift. By then he’d be out of the port and on his first leg of the journey back to Pakistan.

And by then, Sandberg would be long dead.

He tugged his ball cap down low on his forehead and looked around, pulling in a deep breath of the cool, salt-tinged air. The docks were alive with activity, the cranes busy loading and unloading cargo from the four container ships docked here. Longshoremen drove forklifts as they moved cargo and supervised the loading of containers onto trucks. In the leaden sky that promised more rain, gulls and terns circled, their cries carried by the damp wind.

Stepping out from behind the pallets, he paused to let a forklift pass by, its driver barely sparing him a glance. Rahim smiled to himself. Everything had gone smoothly—far more smoothly than he’d ever dared hope. Customs officials had come aboard to check passports and do a search of the ship with sniffer dogs looking for drugs and bombs. Thankfully the container of medical equipment hadn’t been flagged.

It had been a ton of work behind the scenes to get what he needed to pull this off. His network had outdone themselves this time, hacking into various sites to get him the necessary documentation to pass through the tight security, then digging into employees’ backgrounds. They’d found someone here willing to take a bribe and look the other way while Rahim oversaw the loading of the container onto the truck because the man’s daughter had leukemia and he needed the money for medical costs his insurance didn’t cover.

There’d also been luck involved that the container hadn’t been one tagged to be searched at random—luck he knew had come directly from Allah. It was His hand alone guiding Rahim from this point onward.

He glanced down the length of the dock at the ship he’d come in on. It was already unloaded and refueled, about to leave port. Originally he’d planned to sail with it into international waters, but he’d since changed things so that a private helo would pick him up aboard a different ship once they were an hour out of port.

His boots made hollow thuds on the wooden planks as he strolled down the length of the dock. When the burner phone began to ring in his front pocket, he pulled it out and answered it, careful not to look around or do anything else that might cause suspicion.

“It’s me,” Safir said in English.

Anticipation tightened his muscles. “What’s up?” He turned sideways to squeeze between another forklift and a stack of pallets.

“How did the unloading go?”

“Great, no problems. How are things on your end?” He assumed that’s why Safir was calling.

“Couple things have come up.”

His focus sharpened on the conversation though he still maintained an awareness of what was going on around him. Safir must have news about the assassination. “Really?” A heady sense of anticipation bubbled up inside him.

“Heard back from a guy on the other crew. Apparently they missed the shipment.”

Rahim stopped walking as dread sliced through him. “All of it?”

“Yes. But there was a lot of damage. Emergency crews are at the house trying to put out the fire. And there was someone else involved, apparently. A man.”

Rahim frowned. “They don’t know who he was?”

“No, he just showed up at the start of everything. He left with the other two.”

The hit team had missed
all
of them? How was that possible? Where was the rest of the crew while the sniper had been engaged? He might not have had many options to choose from, Rahim had still hand-picked the crew, all American-born former military, and all willing to carry out the hit for the amount of cash Rahim had offered.

“Where are they now?” he asked, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. He’d personally checked their backgrounds and credentials. There was no way all four of them could have let Sandberg, the woman and the stranger slip through their fingers, unless they were completely inept. For God’s sake, he’d made sure they’d been supplied with a top-of-the-line sniper rifle and a rocket launcher. How hard was it to hit a house with an RPG? A freaking twelve year old could do it.

“The shipments? No idea. The crew’s likely scattered, I would think.”

Because the cops and likely some Feds or CIA employees were combing the area for them, now that Sandberg and the others had reported everything. Rahim’s heart rate quickened and he resumed walking toward the waiting ship. “Is that it?” The bitter sting of disappointment filled him. He’d wanted Sandberg to die before this new phase of the war began. But maybe it was Allah’s will to let him live to see it.

“No, there’s more. I got an interesting phone call from our source a few minutes ago.”

“What did he want?”

“They know where you are. The main shipment is on its way to the docks right now.”

Rahim stopped and whirled, scanning the leaden sky above as his bravado evaporated. The cries of the gulls and sounds of the port surrounded him as he strained to listen for the thud of approaching rotors. Jihad—Sandberg, he corrected angrily—was coming
here
? In the wake of the shock of that piece of intel, the quick burst of elation he felt was smothered by a layer of fear. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t even anticipated it. Was that why Sandberg had escaped death this morning—so Rahim could deliver it by his own hand? Was this Allah’s will at work?

“I’ve already contacted your driver,” Safir went on, meaning the helo pilot. “He left about ten minutes ago and should be showing up within the half hour. I told him to keep the same pickup point.”

Rahim heard the words but his mind was racing. If what Safir had been told was true, the port would be swarming with tactical teams by then. Even as he thought it, he noticed a group of security personnel dressed in black step out of a building partway down the adjacent dock. One of them was a dog handler, his big Belgian Malinois waiting calm but alert at his side. The men were looking at a piece of paper together, and Rahim knew it was an APB about him.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he said to Safir, and quickly disconnected. They could only trace his phone if it was on so he turned it off and shoved it back into his pocket in case he needed to call the pilot directly and change plans again. For now he needed to get out of sight and hunker down.

Tugging the brim of his cap even lower, he put his hands in his pockets and made for the ship waiting second-to-last in line. A sense of urgency drove him, made his heart thud in time with his rapid steps. He didn’t see any security personnel at the ship yet, but the tingling at the back of his neck told him the danger was increasing. At least the truck had left port without any problems. Even if authorities suspected what was happening and were searching for radiation signatures throughout the city, the bomb’s reading should be low enough that it was unlikely they’d find it in time to disarm it.

Everything hinged on that. If he died, so be it, but not until the bomb detonated. And not by some random bullet fired by a stranger. No. If he died here, it would be while taking Sandberg with him.

He showed his fake credentials at the ship and received permission to board. Other crew members—a mix of mostly Americans and Puerto Ricans—went about their business as he passed them on the way to his locker where he stopped to pick up a backpack before heading up to the cargo deck.

Once up there he found a good vantage point and hid himself behind the corner of a container to take another look with his binoculars. Sure enough, security teams were sweeping the port, slowly working their way from the access road toward the docks. Though he might be able to sneak past if he left now, it was unlikely he’d make it to the access road and find a vehicle without being noticed.

His chances of escape were dwindling by the second, yet he couldn’t bring himself to run. More and more, this seemed like a test. As if Allah was testing his loyalty and how devout he was to Islam. He’d passed every one of those tests placed before him. This was his chance to truly prove how dedicated he was to this cause.

The security teams had a lot of ground to cover and a whole hell of a lot of places to check before they reached the ship, but he knew there would be more men coming, and once they fanned out he wasn’t sure how much time he had before they boarded his boat.

No sooner had he thought it than an announcement came over the ship’s PA system, announcing that all crew members were being ordered to go ashore while a security check was conducted. Rahim’s mouth tightened as he hung there, deciding what he should do. Seconds later men began streaming down the ship’s gangplank, and when he checked, he could see the same thing happening in the neighboring ships. Security agents dressed in dark fatigues converged in groups on the dock, assembling to begin the hunt.

Time to find a better hiding spot.

He was partway down an access ladder when he caught the faint throb of rotors in the distance. He froze, training his gaze on the sky. The thumping became louder and louder until the unmistakable silhouette of a helo broke through the low hanging cloud deck in the distance. Rahim stayed where he was as it came closer. Too early for it to be his ride out of here. Coast Guard? He watched it take shape, the sleek outline of a military-issue Blackhawk.

Hidden in the shadows, he pushed back the anxiety clawing at him and watched as it flew toward the ship, hovering over a clear spot near the bow on the main deck. Strong gusts of wind battered him from the powerful rotor wash. Shielding his face with one hand, he squinted as four men dressed in black fast-roped from the belly of the helo and slid to the deck. Rahim focused on each man in turn, and when the first one turned around, he held his breath.

Jihad
.

His betrayer said something to the others then waved the helo off. Even though they couldn’t possibly see him up here, Rahim shrank back against the cold, steel ladder, breathing fast. How had they known he was on this ship? Bracing his shoulder against the ladder, he shrugged off the backpack and took out the pieces of the rifle. His hands were slightly unsteady as he put them all together and loaded a full magazine into it. He shoved the four spares into the various pockets on his cargo pants and slowly climbed down toward the deck, ready to begin the hunt.

But first he had to find a way to isolate Sandberg from the others. This had to be between only the two of them. It was clearly what Allah wanted. Then Rahim would send him to hell where he belonged.

****

Wade knew Rahim was here. He could feel it.

Where are you, you slippery bastard?

They’d traced the cell phone signal from the dock, and based on the direction he’d been heading, this was the analyst’s best guess as to what ship he’d boarded. Agents on the ground had already spoken to the crewman in charge of checking credentials, and he’d confirmed that someone matching Rahim’s description had come aboard less than half an hour before. Teams of Feds and SWAT guys were already on scene, along with snipers and field agents from a half dozen other government agencies. HAZMAT and military personnel were being dispatched also.

He was horribly aware that he was acting as human bait. Robert had had Aaron call his contact within Rahim’s network again, to “leak” the intel that U.S. authorities knew where Rahim was and that Sandberg was part of a team being dispatched. They were all counting on that being enough motivation to make him stay and fight.

Standing on the deck of this ship with his three teammates, Wade felt like he had a neon sign blinking over his head.

Here I am, Rahim. Come get me
.

They’d kept his team purposely small in the hopes of lulling Rahim into a false sense of security. All the guys were former Tier-One operators from either the SEALs or Delta, and two of them were currently serving on the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. They all knew the score: provide backup and assistance where necessary, but give Wade enough room to lure him out into the open. Upholding standard policy, Robert had been adamant in his instructions to Wade before boarding the Blackhawk with the others.

The CIA wanted Rahim captured alive, but that was laughable and they all knew it, so Wade hadn’t made any promises he didn’t intend to keep. The bastard would absolutely put a bullet in his own brain before allowing himself to be captured, and he’d take out anyone he could before then.

If it came down to either dying in order to bring Rahim in or taking him out and walking away to get back to Erin, he wouldn’t even have to think about what his decision would be.

Knowing he couldn’t afford to let thoughts of her distract him, Wade locked the door on his mental vault and focused on his quarry. He knew Rahim better than anyone. If he were in Rahim’s shoes, where would he hide? It’d been a long, long time since Wade had trained to take down a ship. Even though there were teams already checking out the lower parts of the ship, Rahim currently held the advantage. He could be fucking anywhere on this monster of a boat.

Wade signalled to the others. They split into two-man teams and began methodically moving their way along the cargo hold. The containers were arranged in horizontal rows, each placed tight to the one next to it with no room for a man to hide between them, leaving only narrow corridors between the rows. Snipers positioned up on the crane platforms and other observation points had eyes on the ship and its cargo, and would alert him if they saw anything suspicious. That didn’t do much to ease the buzz of unease in Wade’s gut.

He and his partner moved their way cautiously from row to row, receiving occasional updates from the teams sweeping the interior of the ship. Intel came in that the bridge was clear, as were the mechanical, medical and crew areas. Two other teams were moving up to the cargo deck to assist in the search, where they’d move toward the bow.

Wade and his team kept moving toward the stern. With the butt of his M-4 tucked firmly against his shoulder, he swung around and checked each alley created by the rows of containers.

“I got movement,” one of the snipers suddenly said via the earpiece. “Eighty meters to your two o’clock. Zeroing in on that position now and will advise. Over.”