THE GUARDIAN (Taskforce Series) (37 page)

“Stay here,” Ibrahim ordered them as he slipped through the glass doors at the front of the building to join his colleague on the marble steps. Conscious of the cameras outside,
Jackson
looked on over the heads of his peers
.

Imam Zakariya was already in earnest conversation with a portly, pompous-looking individual, whom
Jackson
recognized as Attorney General Wilkes of the U.S. Justice Department, the supreme enforcer of federal law. The SWAT team lined up behind him, bristling with weapons, represented the AG’s muscle, but they were only here as window dressing.

With every major television station in the country tuned into his announcement, Wilkes milked the public relations moment for everything it was worth. He no doubt figured that because the imams were religious leaders, they would submit without a struggle, especially with the SWAT team present.

The Taskforce would’ve grabbed and cuffed the offenders the second they stepped out of the building.

Not my problem anymore
,
Jackson
reminded himself. He had completed his part of the investigation. Now it was time to get the hell out of dodge without the media catching sight of him.

Backing surreptitiously toward the stairs to the basement, he could hear the AG, with his voice raised in benefit for the press, shouting the half-dozen charges being brought against both leaders.
You are hereby charged with conspiracy to commit domestic violence by stockpiling bombs with the intent to commit mass slaughter.
Christ, this could take all afternoon. At least
Jackson
had plenty of time to make his getaway.

He was just pulling open the fire door when the AG’s litany cut off in mid-sentence. A commotion at the front of building had
Jackson
peering up the corridor in consternation. When Ibrahim flew into the mosque and slammed the door shut behind him,
Jackson
let the fire door drop shut again.
Uh-oh.

“Quickly,” Ibrahim hissed at the stunned parolees, “into the prayer hall!”

Arming the alarm, the imam ushered them toward the heavy wooden doors that divided the worship space from the entryway. “Out of sight before the Devil attacks!” he urged. That was when he caught sight of
Jackson
, standing alone and indecisive at the other end of the building. “What are you waiting for, Abdul?” he called. “Follow me. We must arm ourselves.”

Arm?
The suspicion that Ibrahim had stashed weapons in the mosque made desertion suddenly impossible. The Taskforce would want to know just how many and what kind of weapons Ibrahim had at his disposal. The fact that the mosque was built like a fortress with all the windows welded shut made the possibility of a stand-off likely
.

Well, fuck.

With a shudder of reluctance,
Jackson
joined the others in the prayer hall. What else could he do? Tackling the imam to the floor in the presence of ten parolees, five of whom had been planning this Friday to swear eternal allegiance to their leader, didn’t strike him as the brightest idea. Plus, if this situation escalated into a siege, having an agent on the inside could make all the difference to the good guys, which was why Ike had asked him to stay put, in case something went wrong. Well, it had
.

Once they were all in the inner sanctum, Ibrahim shut and barred the oak doors with a thick, carved plank, as functional as it was ornamental. Then he swooped across the floor and mounted the
minbar
, taking two steps at a time. With the men looking anxiously on, he got down on his knees and proceeded to pry loose several floorboards. Reaching into the hole he’d made, he pulled out a flat metal lockbox and keyed it open.

The box proved to contain seven semi-automatic pistols. As Ibrahim loaded, one by one with fresh cartridges,
Jackson
swept an eye over the silent parolees.
Reading
dread in the faces of some men, excitement and agitation in others, his concern mounted. He suffered a sinking certainty that he wouldn’t get to see Naomi at all tonight, or any time soon, for that matter.

**

It was dusk by the time
Lena
left Curtis’s single-story, clapboard farmhouse. Escorting her through a garden abundant with lettuce and green pumpkins, he stood by her car in that awkward, unsophisticated way of his that reminded her of the gawky teen she had met for the first and last time at the pretrial hearing. Thunder rumbled in the distance, promising an imminent rain storm and relief from the heat.

“Thank you,” she told him, rolling up on her toes to plant a kiss on his prickly cheek. “I had a wonderful visit. Let’s get together again for lunch or dinner during the trial, okay?”

With a self-conscious smile, Curtis nodded his agreement.

“I’ll see you in court,” she assured him. “Are you going to need a ride to D.C?” 

“I’ve got one.”

Lena
glanced over at the horse, grazing in the fenced area beside his simplistic home. “Not that one, I hope,” she teased.

He gave a rusty chuckle and shook his head. “No, not that one.”

“My sister would have liked the man that you’ve become, Curtis,” she felt compelled to tell him
.
 

He scuffed his toe into the dark earth.

“Good night.” Easing into her sweltering vehicle,
Lena
lowered all four windows and blasted the A/C. Waving through the open window, she headed down the long dirt track to the main road. The cooler air wafting into the car smelled of fertile soil and ripe soybeans.

Vignettes of the afternoon crossed the stage of her mind. Curtis, astonished by her visit, had been blown away when she’d identified herself as Alexa’s older sister. He would never have recognized her for the plump college coed she was then. After much reassuring on Lena’s part that she’d never blamed him for skipping out on
Davis
’s trial, Curtis had invited her to stay for supper. And over a meal of meatloaf and applesauce, he’d admitted, haltingly, that he’d been in awe of Alexa and the way she’d had it all together
.

She was kind and beautiful, just like an angel.

Rolling back the cuff of his sleeve, he’d showed her his tattoo, which proved to be Alexa’s name in black calligraphy. The first letter had angel’s wings coming out of it.

Officer Davis said he’d take her home,
Curtis had recollected about the night Alexa had been murdered.
But I knew he wouldn’t. I knew he was evil because he’d gotten me hooked on drugs then used me to sell them.

You’re doing the right thing now,
Lena
had reassured him.

Turning onto the paved road that wound back to Artie’s and Highway 235,
Lena
raised her windows against the flecks of rain that dropped suddenly from the sky. Drawing a deep breath, she held it a moment before exhaling in a long sigh. Amazingly, after all their reminiscing of Alexa’s death, her heart felt lighter than a balloon. It seemed to sail right up out of her chest, through the roof of her car, to the boughs of the trees now waving in the gusting wind.

Paired with the recording of
Davis
’s partial confession, which Lena was certain she could get back from
Jackson
, Curtis’s testimony might very well bring closure to a wound that had been open and bleeding for a decade. Then Alexa’s spirit would finally be at peace.

The rain began to fall in earnest as
Lena
reached the intersection with the highway. Through her water-streaked windshield, she noticed the lights at Artie’s were all extinguished. Maybe the store had lost electricity due to the storm.

Across the street, Gateway, too, stood in darkness, except for the parking lot which overflowed with official-looking vehicles. Several police cruisers were there, as well, their blue lights flashing. With rising alarm,
Lena
recognized several media vans representing prominent television stations. Journalists stood under umbrellas, telecasting live.

It occurred to Lena that
Jackson
’s investigation had come to a head already. Peter wasn’t responsible for this media frenzy, was he?

Making up her mind to find out, she waited impatiently for the light to change. Just then, her gaze fell on a familiar Crown
Victoria
parked right on the highway in front of the dormitory. As the light turned green, and she pulled up behind it, relieved to spot Toby sitting at the wheel
.

When she rapped on the passenger door, he unlocked it. She slid onto the seat beside him, shaking off the rain that dampened her clothes and hair. “What’s going on?”

Even in the sedan’s dark interior, there was no mistaking Toby’s consternation at seeing her. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

He’d obviously been expecting someone else. “Never mind that.” She gestured over her shoulder. “What’s happening?” she repeated. “Where’s
Jackson
?”

When he just rubbed his nose and stared at the steering wheel, her alarm mounted
.

“The imams’ arrest didn’t go the way it was supposed to,” he finally admitted. “The leader went and locked himself inside the mosque with the parolees.
Jackson
talked some of them into slipping out a couple of hours ago, along with the staff, but he refuses to leave himself. He figures we need a mole to keep us informed of Ibrahim’s next move.”

Lena
swallowed hard. “I take it this Ibrahim is a terrorist?” 

“Oh, yeah.”  Toby didn’t have to ponder his answer this time
.

“So, it’s a standoff,” Lena inferred, concerned for
Jackson
’s safety. “How long do you think the imam and parolees can stay in there?” 

“Without electricity, which we cut off right away—” he shrugged “—I’d say a couple of days, maybe a week.”

A week!

“First they’ll get hot without the A/C, then their food’ll spoil because they have no packaged stores to rely on since they only eat fresh foods, and they’ll get hungry,” he predicted darkly.

“I guess you can’t just blow the doors off a mosque,” she considered out loud.

“Bad PR,” he agreed with a sardonic wink
.

Sensing
Jackson
’s nearness more than ever,
Lena
peered anxiously out the window. The only thing she could see of the mosque was the rain-washed minaret reflecting a muted version of the blue strobes below.

But then a jag of lightning lit the upper half of the building in dramatic fashion, accompanied by a deafening clap of thunder that made her jump.

She looked back at Toby. “Why are you parked way over here?” 

“The plan was for me to get
Jackson
the hell out of here as soon as the imams were arrested. Doesn’t look like he’s going to leave any time soon, now.”

It was then she noticed the words on Toby’s T-shirt:
I’M WITH STUPID,
and an arrow pointing at her. He’d probably worn it for
Jackson
to celebrate the completion of this job. Given the gravity of the current situation, the shirt’s message fell short of seeming humorous.