Navy SEAL to Die For (7 page)

“So whoever hired the assassins aren’t too attached to their help.” Quentin shook his head. “They don’t want to leave any loose lips behind to spill the beans.”

“Exactly. However, we ran facial recognition software on the guy in the swamp. Fortunately, the alligators hadn’t gotten to his face, yet. We found a match on the CIA’s watch list. The man’s name is Fuad Abuzaid. He was suspected of assisting with the Boston Marathon bombing, but they couldn’t find enough evidence to put him away.”

“Nice character. Why was Fuad in the swamps of Mississippi?” Becca asked.

Royce smiled. “That’s why we’re on our way to New York City. Our friend Fuad has been keeping company with a nasty piece of work out of the Bronx. His name’s Samir Jabouri. The feds suspect him of supplying weapons to jihadists working on American soil. Again, they can never manage to catch him with the goods. The man’s as slippery as they get.”

“And we’re going to find him?” Becca asked. “What do we hope to get out of a meeting with this Jabouri?”

“Answers,” Royce said. “We want to know who provided him with the manpad?”

“How does one get a Russian-made man-portable air-defense system into the country undetected?” Quentin asked.

“I’d like to know that, myself,” Royce responded.

Becca leaned forward. “Couldn’t you trace his banking transactions?”

“Geek’s on it, but hasn’t been successful hacking into the man’s accounts yet. If Jabouri is supplying the assassins, we might get him to rat out the man paying the bill. Or even better, if the man is local in New York City, we might follow Jabouri to his lair.”

Knowing Tim “Geek” Trainer was working the data angle made Becca feel better, but computers and internet wouldn’t have all the answers. “Do you have an address for Jabouri? We could make a call.”

“I have it. We’ll have to sneak up on him,” Royce said. “From what the CIA intel report indicated, the man is usually surrounded by a full contingent of bodyguards. He runs a tobacco shop in the Bronx and lives not far from the shop.”

“Tell me we have weapons,” Becca demanded. “I don’t like going into any situation unarmed. I’d prefer something with the force of a cannon, but is lightweight and can be hidden beneath my shirt.”

“How about an H&K .40 caliber pistol?” Royce unbuckled his seatbelt, strode to a lushly upholstered wall panel and opened it to display an armory of weapons from .40–.55 caliber pistols to AR15s, ready for armed combat. And enough ammunition to start a small war.

Becca selected a .40 caliber H&K handgun, testing the weight in her palm. “I’ll take this one.”

“You know how to stock a plane. And here I thought corporate jets only carried wine and cheese.” Quentin grinned as he selected a Sig Sauer P226. “Just like the one they issue me back home.” He pulled open a drawer. “What’s this? Plastic explosives? Remind me not to make Royce mad.” He pocketed a few bricks of explosives and a couple of detonators.

“You might need one of these,” Royce handed him a shoulder holster. “And check out these.” He handed him a miniature night-vision monocular.

Quentin looked through the lens and weighed the device in his hand. “Nice.” He shoved it into his pocket along with a small flashlight with the ability to change lens colors.

Becca selected a roll of duct tape, unwound it and rolled it into a tight wad the thickness of a cigar. “You never know when you might need some of this.” She stuffed it into her pocket, along with several zip ties, and selected a .40 caliber pistol holster, slipped her arms into the straps and fitted it to her body. With a sigh, she ran her hand along an AR15. “Though I’d love to carry a rifle into the Bronx, I don’t think I could hide it under my shirt.” She glanced around the armory closet. “Speaking of shirts, I could really use some clothing. What I brought with me to Cancun was consumed in the plane wreck and subsequent fire. Until I get back to my place in Virginia, what you see is what I have.” She held out her arms in the fishing shirt she’d purchased at the truck stop and sweatpants the SEALs had provided.

“I thought about that.” Royce titled his head toward a locker-like closet to the left. “You got lucky. Tazer was in town. I had her throw a couple of outfits together for you.”

Becca opened the door, happy to find a section of jeans, trousers, a dress, shoes and undergarments. “Tell her thank you from the bottom of my heart.” She selected a pair of black jeans, a black long-sleeved sweater, panties and a sports bra. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to change.”

“Through that door.” Royce pointed to the rear of the plane. “Take your time. We won’t land in Chattanooga for another thirty minutes.”

Clutching the clothing to her chest, Becca pushed through the door to find a very compact bedroom with a full-sized bed made up in expensive Egyptian cotton. She quickly changed into the clothing. The jeans were a little snug around her hips and too long, but she was able to zip and didn’t care about dragging the hem around. Nicole Steele, affectionately called Tazer, was a good four inches taller than her.

Becca hadn’t asked Royce where Tazer had acquired the clothing. Her bet was the woman had pulled it out of her own suitcase. Becca didn’t mind. Tazer had excellent taste in clothes, one of the many traits she admired in the agent. That and her kick-ass attitude.

Becca was really glad Tazer had a man in her life after so many years flying solo. Unfortunately, now that Tazer was based out of the West Coast office in Oregon, Becca rarely saw the woman.

Dressed in a pair of jeans that bunched around her ankles, Becca couldn’t be too unhappy. At least the dark tennis shoes fit her feet. She stepped out of the small bedroom and into the cabin where she found Royce and Quentin leaning over a computer screen built into the tabletop between the chairs.

“Ah, Becca, have a seat,” Royce said. “We were just going over our plan to infiltrate Jabouri’s apartment.”

“Our plan?” She raised her brows. “Are you coming with us, Royce?”

He nodded. “I don’t have anyone else to assign to you at this time. Besides, I wouldn’t send any of my people into a situation I wouldn’t be willing to go into myself.”

“I admire the sentiment, but wouldn’t it be easier for one person to sneak in and corner the man?”

Quentin shook his head. “According to Royce’s input, the man could be surrounded by bodyguards. We’ll need to hit him at night when the guards are least aware.”

Becca slipped into the chair beside Royce, reluctant to sit with Quentin. Her body fired up and sizzled when she sat too close to the broad-shouldered SEAL. “Show me.”

They huddled over the monitor for the next twenty-five minutes when the captain announced their arrival into the Chattanooga airport. As soon as the plane came to a halt inside a general aviation hangar, the trio left the plane, slipped from the hangar into the next one and climbed aboard the aircraft there.

Within minutes, the small jet left the ground, bound for Cincinnati. As soon as they were out of the air traffic control airspace, they switched direction and headed for Albany, New York.

With a plan firmly in place, Becca leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “You might want to get some sleep. This mission will require being up late, possibly into the morning hours.” She raised an eyelid and stared across at Quentin.

“Will do,” he replied, closing his eyes. “I just can’t help wondering why someone would pay a lot of money to hire assassins to kill you.”

Becca yawned. “Reason escapes me.”

“I can have someone check your post office box back in Virginia,” Royce offered.

“The key is on my spare key chain.” She gave him instructions on how to find it and where to find the key to her apartment she kept buried in the dirt of a planter on her front porch in case of an emergency. Having her belongings burned in a crashed airplane would constitute an emergency.

“I’ll get someone on it right now.” Royce pulled a disposable cell phone from its packaging and placed a call to one of his agents assigned in the DC area. When he ended the call, he nodded. “Sam Russell will swing out to Virginia some time this evening. I’ll let you know what he finds.”

“Thanks.” Becca closed her eyes and let the roar of the engines sooth her tangled nerves. She had a long way to go before she could call it a day. Having Quentin at her side made it easier to relax. Knowing he would be with her when they sought out Jabouri was both reassuring and a little scary. But for now, she didn’t want to think about what lay ahead. If she wanted to be fully prepared, she needed the little bit of sleep to keep her energy level at prime level.

She must have fallen asleep. A hand on her arm woke her as the plane set down on the tarmac in Albany.

“Ready, Slugger?” Quentin’s voice sounded in her ear, his warm breath stirring the hairs around her neck.
Mmm.
“I was dreaming we were back in that motel.”

A deep chuckle warmed her insides. “Must have been a nightmare. That wasn’t the nicest place I could have taken you.”

She sat up and stretched. “Where’s Royce?”

“In the cockpit, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.”

Becca blinked, fully awake now. “Any concerns?”

“None so far. But we need to get out of here and on the road. It’s getting dark outside and we still have to get to the city.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“Royce arranged for a rental car to be delivered here.” As the aircraft came to a halt on the tarmac, Quentin stood in front of her and extended a hand.

She laid a palm in his, tingles of electricity running from point of contact up her arm and down into the lower regions of her belly. Becca let him pull her to her feet and into his arms.

“Are you ready?” he asked, brushing a strand of her hair back behind her ear.

“Yeah,” she replied. For a kiss, for another caress, any scrap of attention he deigned to give her. Hell, she was getting far too used to having him around, touching her and seeing to her every need.

The door to the cockpit opened and Royce stepped out. “Oh, good, you’re awake. The car is waiting. Becca, you have the identification documents you need, money and credit cards should you run into any problems.”

She patted the pocket on her jeans where she’d stashed the cards and money. “Got them.”

Royce turned to Quentin. “I can’t ask you to go into a hostile situation. Now would be your last chance to back out.”

Before Royce finished talking, Quentin was shaking his head. “I’m in.”

“Then let’s go.” Royce led the way out of the plane into the hangar. A four-door, dark, nondescript sedan stood beside the plane. He slipped into the driver’s seat.

Quentin held the front passenger seat door for Becca, but she opened the rear door instead. “You can keep Royce company. I think I’ll finish my nap.”

Royce drove out of the hangar and away from the airport, heading south to New York City.

Becca sat in the backseat listening to Quentin and Royce talking about football, baseball and the state of affairs in the Middle East. The lulling effect of their conversation made her sleepy. Leaning back, she drifted off, only to be jerked awake when the sedan swerved off the edge of the road and thumped over the rumble strips.

“What’s happening?” she asked, blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

“We’re being attacked. Stay down.” Quentin pulled out his Sig Sauer P226 and leaned out the window of the SUV. A bullet hit the back windshield, shattering the glass.

“Stay down!” Quentin shouted as he twisted around and pointed his weapon out the ruined back window.

“The hell I am,” Becca unbuckled her seatbelt and knelt in the cushions of the backseat. “If they want trouble, they’ve found it.” She leveled her H&K .40 caliber pistol at the vehicle following theirs and fired. A headlight blinked out, the driver swerved, but the vehicle never slowed, quickly catching up.

Royce ran their vehicle off the side of the road, bumped down into the ditch and back up onto the access road paralleling the interstate highway they’d been traveling on.

The vehicle that had been following now ran alongside them. A man wearing a black ski mask leaned out the window with what appeared to be an AR 15 rifle.

Chapter Seven

“Look out!” Quentin shouted.

Becca ducked as a round shattered the window she’d been looking through only a moment before.

Quentin’s insides bunched. “Brakes! Hit the brakes!”

Royce slammed his foot on the brakes as the man fired again.

The front of the sedan took the hit, but the engine kept running. Executing a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn in the middle of the one-way access road, Royce drove against the traffic, back the direction they’d just come.

The trailing vehicle’s driver slammed on his brakes and rolled off the road into the ditch, only the slope was more pronounced, where he chose to exit. When the car hit the bottom, the nose buried in the dirt, bringing it to a complete halt so fast the tail of the car rose in the air and then crashed to the ground.

Becca laughed out loud. “That takes care of them. They won’t be getting that car out without a tow truck.”

Royce pulled off the access road at the first point he could and found a convenience store several blocks away. He parked in the darkest corner of the parking lot. “We need to find the nearest train station that will get us all the way into Penn Station.”

“I’ll ask.” Becca shoved open her door and got out.

“I’m going with you.” Quentin got out, cupped her elbow and escorted her to the door.

“I can handle questioning the clerk by myself,” she insisted.

“Right, but you need to feed the beast. I could do with a candy bar and you’re the only one with money.” He winked and opened the door for her. “I don’t have too big a problem mooching off a girl. For now.”

Becca rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Fine. I’ll buy you a candy bar. Happy?”

“I will be, as soon as we catch the bastard trying to kill you,” he said in a low whisper only she could hear. Quentin pressed a hand to the small of her back and turned his frown upside down as they stepped inside.

While Becca inquired on the location of the nearest train station, Quentin selected snacks to hold them over until they could get a proper meal and brought the items to the counter.

Becca paid for the purchases and they left. Once in the car with Royce, she said, “The station is a couple miles from here. We can park the vehicle a block or two from it and hop on.”

Following Becca’s directions, Royce parked within a couple blocks of the station. The three got out and hurried to buy tickets for the next train to Penn Station. The train was leaving within a few short minutes and they had to run to the platform, leaping on seconds before the doors closed.

Once inside, Quentin selected seating close to a door and sat with his back to the wall so that he could watch everyone entering and exiting the car. Becca sat next to him and Royce across.

Because others were on the train within easy listening distance, they didn’t talk, just watched and waited for their arrival in the heart of New York City. After a while, Becca leaned against Quentin.

The train arrived in the late evening. Passengers in a hurry to get on the train crowded them as they exited.

The station teemed with people heading home after a long day at the office, making it difficult to keep an eye out for any potential threats, while at the same time making it easy for the three of them to blend into the crowd.

Royce purchased tickets for the subway to the Bronx and they hopped on the next one leaving out.

Royce leaned close to the two of them. “It’ll be several hours before we visit Jay.”

Quentin understood Jay was code for Jabouri. “That should give us time to recon and come up with a plan.”

“The main thing is to get in and out without getting killed,” Becca reminded them. “This op isn’t over until I find the one responsible for my father’s death.” Her determination blazed in her eyes.

Quentin found her hand and held it in his. “We’ll get the information we need.”

The train stopped at their destination. Royce pulled up Jabouri’s last known address on the disposable phone and studied the street map. With a mile and a half of city streets between them and their destination, they had time to prepare for what they had to do next.

Their first stop was a store in the subway station selling baseball caps and jackets. The temperatures at night in New York City were quite a bit cooler than Mississippi. Becca selected a black cap to hide her hair.

Quentin found a long, black, baggy jacket to cover the designer black sweater Tazer had provided Becca. “We’ll be entering some of the toughest gang-ridden neighborhoods of the city. The less like a fashion model you look, the better.”

“Thanks for looking out for me.” She smiled up at him. “So, you think I look like a fashion model?”

Quentin and Royce selected a couple of hats, jackets and dark, long-sleeved T-shirts. Once they’d purchased the items they found a bathroom in the station. Quentin left Becca with Royce so that he could change out of his short-sleeved shirt into the new one.

When he came out, he found Becca with her hair tucked up into the cap she’d bought, wearing the jacket that completely hid her curves and the expensive sweater. Royce entered the bathroom to make his change.

“Are you all right?” Quentin asked.

Becca stared across at him. “I’m fine. I’ve worked several operations in New York City. I know what to expect. Have you ever been in the city?”

Quentin shook his head. “Can’t say that I have. I spent most of my life out west—Washington, Oregon, Montana, Colorado.”

“How did you end up as a SEAL?”

He shrugged. “Someone told me I would never make it.”

Becca touched his arm. “I’m betting it was someone close to you.”

He nodded. “My father.”

“So you had something to prove to him.”

“More to myself.” Quentin gazed out at the people passing through the station like a river of humanity. “I was on a one-way trip to nowhere until I joined the navy.”

“How so?”

“Fresh out of high school, no direction, no desire to go to college and hanging out with the wrong crowd.”

“So your dad challenged you to join the navy?”

“No, he kicked me out. Told me I’d never amount to anything.”

“Well, you did, as a member of one of the most elite fighting teams in the US military.”

He grinned. “Yeah. But I might not have done it if my father hadn’t given me the needed kick in the pants.”

Once they were set in their city camouflage, they left the station and ambled toward their destination. Though they looked like they had nowhere to be at any given time, they were carefully studying the streets, the people and the buildings along the way.

Tattooed men stood at street corners with their pants hanging halfway down their butts. Some had their ball caps turned backward, others smoked cigarettes.

Quentin could have been one of them had he not joined the navy when he did. Never had he been gladder that his father had more or less shamed him into taking that first step.

What he didn’t like about walking on the streets was that the three of them were highly outnumbered by any one group. Thankfully, all three of them had training in self-defense. If things got bad, they could fight their way out. Preferably without use of one of the weapons they carried hidden beneath the layers of clothing.

“Hey.” A big guy with droopy drawers, silver chains dangling low from one belt loop to another and wearing a Giants ball cap backwards stepped in front of Becca. “What you doin’ hangin’ with these losers?”

Quentin started forward, but Becca’s hand held him back with a light touch, barely noticeable by the group of young men gathering around. This could be Quentin’s worst nightmare about to happen and Becca could get hurt. Every protective instinct reared up and screamed to take the lead on this one.

Becca ran her gaze from the tip of the man’s head to the toes of his ratty tennis shoes. Then she tipped her head with a jerk. “Better these losers than you.”

Chuckles sounded from the teens and young men surrounding the big guy in the Giants hat. His eyes narrowed. Apparently he didn’t like being laughed at in front of his peers.

Quentin’s fists clenched and he braced his feet, ready to take on every last one of them if necessary.

“Do you mind?” Becca said, her voice low, tough, gravely and sexy as hell. “I gotta kid brother waiting for me at home. These two are just seeing that I get there.”

Giants hat guy stared down his nose at her, his gaze slipping to Quentin and then Royce. Finally, he shrugged and stepped back. “I gotta kid brother, too.” He glared at Quentin. “Make sure she gets there.”

Quentin nodded without saying a word. The group of young men parted, allowing them through.

When they were a block away, Becca said through barely parted lips. “Thanks for not hitting him.”

Quentin had yet to release his fists. He glanced to the left and right, getting a look at the guys they’d left behind in his peripheral vision, not so sure he wouldn’t need to hit someone yet. “I would have.”

“Me, too.” Royce chuckled. “Nice line to deflect them.”

“I figure even though they think they’re tough, they have to have family.” Becca kept walking, her head slightly down, her gaze seemingly on her feet. Quentin could tell she was looking all around her, but the hat made it hard for anyone else to know that.

Royce led them through a maze of turns, down one street then the next, leading them farther away from the main road into a labyrinth of tenements with laundry lines strung between the buildings. Windows were open to the evening breeze and some people stood on the metal fire escapes to get a breath of air or smoke a cigarette. The cries of children playing inside or a baby screaming for his mother reached them on the streets below.

But it was the smell of trash and human waste that filled Quentin’s senses. The last place he’d been that had smelled this bad was New Orleans during Mardi Gras. Even the villages in Afghanistan didn’t smell this bad. But then the buildings weren’t stacked twenty to forty stories high, with garbage lining the gutters and filling the alleys.

“Jay’s building is coming up on the left,” Royce warned. “Time to split up. I got the front. I’ll meet you two blocks past the building and two blocks to the left.” He kept walking, while Quentin and Becca turned left at the intersection before they reached Jabouri’s apartment building.

The people in this neighborhood appeared to be a mix of Middle Eastern descent. Women wore scarves over their hair and faces and dressed in long robes and were accompanied by men. Though they’d dressed for the rough neighborhoods, the three of them stood out.

Quentin had a tan from training outdoors and his time in Cancun, but his skin wasn’t nearly as dark as that of most of the men in this community. He kept his head down as he passed others on the street, hurrying with Becca to the alley leading to the back of the apartment building.

Several huge trash bins lined the alley and rickety metal fire escape landings and ladders reached to the top of the twenty-story complex. Clotheslines stretched from the apartment building to the next one with everything from sheets to baby clothes, jeans and dresses hanging out to dry.

Without knowing the layout of the inside of the building, Quentin couldn’t tell which apartment might be Jabouri’s. They’d have to go in. He found that the worst combat situations were in urban terrain. Whether it was an Iraqi city or one in the US it could get hairy. He didn’t have the equipment he usually had when conducting a military operation. No night-vision goggles or submachine guns equipped with sound suppression devices. But he did have the tiny night-vision monocular and a handgun. He’d have to make do.

Though he was certain Becca was a highly trained agent, they hadn’t trained in this kind of operation together. It would be a crapshoot on how each would react to a tense situation.

He didn’t like it. One thing was certain. If he didn’t go with them into this operation, Becca would go in without him.

* * *

B
ECCA
CHECKED
EVERY
WINDOW
, noting which ones were open and which were closed with blackout curtains. Based on the address provided, Jabouri’s apartment was probably located on the sixth floor. One set of windows on the farthest corner was closed with the curtains drawn. In fact, she couldn’t see even a gleam of light escaping around the edges. Either all the lights were out, or they’d painted the windows black to keep anyone from seeing in or out.

At the end of the alley, Quentin and Becca emerged onto the street and nearly ran into a group of men hurrying toward the building they were studying.

Quentin stepped back, pulling Becca with him.

Several of the men gave them narrow-eyed stares. One in particular stopped, said a few words to another and then continued on. The one he’d spoken to fell to the back of the group, moving slower.

Quentin gripped Becca’s arm and hurried across the street, turning left. He didn’t slow until they reached the next road where he turned right.

As soon as he and Becca cleared the corner, she stopped. “Did he follow us?” Becca spun, preparing to peer around the corner.

Quentin laid a hand on her shoulder. “I think so. Now wouldn’t be a good time to check and see. Let’s take our time getting to the other corner. Maybe he’ll step out and reveal himself.”

He was right. If the man found Becca looking to see if he followed them, he’d be suspicious and alert his leader to the possibility of trouble.

Becca fell in step with Quentin, walking away from Jabouri’s apartment building as if they were on their way somewhere and just passing through the neighborhood. As they turned to the left at the next street, she glanced back and noted the man leaning on the corner of the building.

A shiver slithered down the back of her neck. The man had to be one of Jabouri’s men.

They kept moving, going one block past their designated meeting place. Through the gap in the buildings, Becca spotted Royce sitting like a homeless man at the corner. She could tell by the tilt of his ball cap it was him.

Once they were certain Jabouri’s man wasn’t still on their tail, they would circle back and join Royce. At times like these, she wished she had use of her cell phone to pass information to her boss. But the less communication by devices that could be easily tracked, the better.