THE GUARDIAN (Taskforce Series) (39 page)

“Can’t do that,” Wilkes countered stubbornly. “Too many people around here rely on the cell towers—merchants, law enforcement, and doctors. Imagine how many folk’s will die when they can’t call 911. I shudder to think of the law suits.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Ike Calhoun flushed to the roots of his short silver hair. “If we don’t take decisive action now, more people are going to get hurt in the destruction and mayhem about to take place. Do this my way and the only person who’ll get hurt is Ibrahim. Say the word and my sniper can take him out right now. Done. Finished.”

“Good God, we can’t kill the imam! What happens when his followers hear that we’ve executed him? Don’t you think that’ll incite them even more? You think the country is divided now? We’ll have a full-blown revolution on our hands!”

“I disagree. You’ll be disbanding revolutionaries that are already—”

Lena
’s cell phone buzzed unexpectedly, distracting her from Calhoun’s terse argument. Pulling it from her purse, she realized she had a message from Peter.
Senator Huxley just stated in an interview with CNN that there’s an undercover agent in the program, but he didn’t name him
.

“Oh, no.” Her cry of alarm prompted Toby to wrest her phone from her limp grasp and scan the message. At the same time, the team lead’s radio crackled.

“Sir?”

He answered it with a single syllable. “Speak.”

“Our insider’s identity has just been compromised by Senator Huxley in an interview with CNN.”

Ike’s green eyes jumped up and intercepted Toby’s worried stare. He turned to the AG. “We need to get our man out,
now
.”

“No.” Wilkes shook his head so hard his jowls jiggled. “We are not going to storm the mosque and that’s final.”

Lena
’s empty coffee cup crumpled without warning in her tense grip. Dear God, Jackson was going to be butchered by the parolees when they realized that he’d betrayed them!

**

The soft
click click
of a round being advanced into a chamber was often the only warning a Marine got before all hell broke loose. When that sound rattled down from the
minbar
where Ibrahim was starting down the steps,
Jackson
instinctively knew his number was up.

Pushing stealthily to his feet, he stumbled over the dark forms that strewed the floor as he sought desperately to find a hiding place
.
 

“Ow!”

“Man, watch it!”

In this large, echoing space, there were few places to take cover, a fact he had been aware of since Ibrahim forbade anyone else to leave
.

Ducking behind one of the thick, sandstone columns that supported the domed ceiling,
Jackson
prayed his intuition was wrong and that Ibrahim wasn’t after him. But the deafening crack of a pistol accompanied by a burst of light and plaster showering his head confirmed his bleak suspicions
.

“Traitor!” Ibrahim thundered in the astonished silence that followed.

Confused by their leader’s actions, the rest of the men started scrambling out of his path.
Traitor?
The blood-freezing accusation led
Jackson
to assume that Schlesser had gone public with his exposé. Maybe he’d warned
Lena
first, maybe he hadn’t. Either way, what could Ike or Toby do for him now?
Jackson
had placed duty over his obligations to his family, just like Colleen accused him of doing, and now he was going to pay the piper for it.

Short of the SWAT team breaching the building right now, there was no getting out of the situation he was in. He’d done it to himself, and his own personal nightmare was going to play out to the end. Unless he could arm himself and fight back, Ibrahim was going to shoot him and make an example out of him.

“What the hell?” he cried in the voice he used as Abdul. “Why you shootin’ me, Imam? I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

“Nothin’, he says.” Ibrahim’s voice took on the sing-song quality of a madman. “I just found out that Abdul is an undercover agent for the government that oppresses and imprisons us,” he announced. “He has betrayed you and me and every black man in
America
with his deceit.”

With every word, the imam came closer.
Jackson
darted out of his hiding place, heading for the next column over. When a bullet hit the wall to his left, he wheeled right toward the
minbar
, hoping to arm himself with one of the six pistols still in the strong box, if the damn thing was even open.

Only, he never even made it up the steps. Ibrahim’s pistol barked again, and a burning pain exploded in
Jackson
’s right hip, just like in his dream the other night, only a thousand times more agonizing.

Slipping and collapsing onto the runner, he fought to catch his breath while expecting another shot to peg him in the back and end his life at any moment.

A glance over his shoulder showed Ibrahim approaching, his robes made incandescent by the light reflecting off the clouds and shining through the windows overhead. Parolees gathered in a semicircle at the foot of the
minbar
, eyeing
Jackson
as if he’d grown horns
.
  

“This man,” Ibrahim declared, “is not one of us. It is due to him that you are stuck behind these walls like fugitives.”

Through a haze of agony,
Jackson
spotted Corey shaking his head at him. It didn’t take a psychic to read Corey’s thoughts.
You lied to me, Abdul?

“He betrayed our righteous struggle to the Devil who now persecutes us,” Ibrahim continued
.

With dread,
Jackson
surmised what was coming next: that he’d either be severely punished, possibly killed, as an example of what happened to those who resisted Ibrahim’s rule or used as a hostage to secure Ibrahim’s release. In spite of his agony, he pushed to his feet, clinging to the rails on either side of the steps. “I am not a traitor,” he insisted, as blood streamed warmly down his leg. “If I was, I would’ve left with Omar and Mansoor. Why would I still be here witchu if I was some kinda spy?”

“You told me you worked for Ibrahim,” Corey spoke up suddenly, his tone accusing. “That’s why you went out sometimes at night, to report to the imam.”

“I was with Maggie, okay? I’m in love with her.”
Jackson
’s confession, infused with the despair that he might never get to realize his dreams for him and
Lena
, was met with thoughtful silence on the part of the parolees, especially Corey, whose expression shifted to one of compassion.

“He lies,” Ibrahim insisted. “He’ll say anything to save himself. He certainly never worked for me. I tell you,
he
is the reason we are cornered like rats. Hasan and Shahid, seize him before he defiles our sanctuary with his tainted blood. Take him into the closet, there, where we keep the prayer rugs. You will find a roll of electrical tape and scissor on the shelf. Bind his hands and feet. Then beat him if you like, but do not kill him. We may need a hostage to barter for our release.”

Jackson
made a last valiant effort to dash up the
minbar
and arm himself. Hampered by the bullet in his hip, he had nearly made it to the top where he would have still have had to open the box and pull out a gun, when he was tackled from behind and dragged back down to floor level. There, all of the parolees seemed to jump him at once.

Jackson
put up a valiant resistance. Jamal sustained a black eye. Nadim was kicked in the stomach and never came back. If he could have gotten back up on his feet, he might have held off all of them. But fighting from a prone position eventually tired him out. And when Shahid clocked him in the side of the head with his foot, his vision blurred and he could no longer see well enough to deflect the blows
.

Four men dragged him into the walk-in closet, currently emptied of prayer rugs. Hasan pinned him to the hardwood floor on his stomach while Corey made light with his cell phone and two others bound his hands and feet with electrical tape. Spitting blood,
Jackson
kept quiet and hoped they wouldn’t stick tape over his mouth.

Once they had him tightly bound, they flipped him over. Then Shahid, Hasan, and Jamal egged each other on to kick and punch him while calling him every vile name under the sun.

As the blows came raining down, Jackson fell back on his military training and retreated into the citadel in his mind, where Naomi and Lena greeted him with loving embraces.

**

When the sound of gunfire penetrated the hull of the RV,
Lena
saw Toby cut a startled look at his boss, who tabbed the mike on his headset.
Oh, God, Jackson.

“Eagle One, status report.” Calhoun was still listening to the report when another shot rent the tense quiet.

Lena
gave a moan of terror and dropped her face into her hands. When a third shot rang out, tears of misery filled her eyes.
This can’t be happening
.

But the Taskforce lead confirmed her worst fear. “Our insider’s been shot. Sir, we need to breach the building, now.” 

“It’s not going to happen, soldier,” Wilkes retorted. “I am sorry about your man, but I’ve made my position clear.”

Ike touched a hand to his earpiece, listening. “He survived the shooting, but now they’re beating him,” he growled, staring hard at the AG, who looked away from his burning gaze. Bending over him, Calhoun forced the man to look up at him. His voice, as cold and quiet as death, made
Lena
shiver. “Let me make this perfectly clear to you, sir. When this place becomes a blood-bath, I will hold you personally accountable for
Jackson
’s welfare, plus every injury and loss of life that takes place here.”

The tense silence that followed his declaration was shattered by the crackling of his radio.

“Sir!” shouted a voice on the other end. “The National Guard reports that three semi trucks just busted through the roadblock at the intersection of Route 5 and the 301! At the rate of speed at which they’re traveling, we’ve got ten minutes, tops, before they get here. National Guard is in hot pursuit and requesting back up, over.”

Lena
’s heart began jumping in her chest. The cynical curl to Calhoun’s upper lip wasn’t reassuring.

“Copy,” he clipped. “Tell the Marines to launch air support, now. We’ll need at least two Cobras. Over.” He directed his gaze back at Wilkes. “Looks like the Fruit of Islam mobilized faster than either you or I imagined. Care to reconsider your decision, sir? Or would you rather brace yourself for a dog fight?”

Wilkes’s complexion paled and his grip tightened on the arms of his chair. “I stand by my decision,” he insisted but with less conviction than before
.

Calhoun shook his head. His jaw muscles flexed. He keyed his mike. “Eagle One and Two, this is Eagle Nest. Be advised, three semi-trucks just breached the roadblock ten miles out and are headed in our direction. Prepare to deflect a hostile assault of unknown strength.”

Lena
heard a tinny voice on the other end acknowledging the orders.