Authors: Irene Hannon
Tags: #Mystery, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thriller, #Contemporary
Against All Odds (33 page)
Especially when the stakes were this high.
One hundred and twenty-two minutes later, at 5:34 p.m., the warehouse doors swung open to admit two blacked-out Suburbans. Before the first vehicle came to a full stop, Les Coplin emerged. Cigar clamped between his teeth, he stepped back into his field commander role with reassuring ease.
Spotting Mark and Coop, he wove through the FBI personnel already at the warehouse, leaving the HRT operators to retrieve their gear. “Okay, give me an update.” He planted his knuckles on his hips and squinted at them.
“We think they have Monica in the last unit at the end.” Coop gestured toward a video monitor that had been set up in the command center. The camera was focused on the unit he’d referenced. “There are two people registered in the room. A field agent has taken over front-desk duty and is telling potential guests there’s no vacancy.”
“How many people are registered now?”
“Ten of the rooms are occupied. All toward the front of the motel,” Mark responded.
“We need to clear them out.”
“Agents disguised as housekeepers are doing that now. We’re transporting guests off-site but leaving their cars in place. We’ve had local law enforcement close off the road and secure the outer perimeter, and we have agents on covert surveillance. One of them set up the exterior video feed we’re watching.”
Les peered at the screen. “Is that their car?”
“That’s our assumption,” Coop said. “We tried to get a read on the license, but it’s caked with mud and illegible. However, the size of the car fits the profile of the tire tracks the ERT found.”
“Do you have a blueprint of the facility?”
“Yes.” Coop led the way to a table where the detailed drawing had been spread out, pointing to the schematic as he spoke. “There’s an air duct on one side of the last room. We plan to snake a fiber-optic camera through the ductwork to get a look at what’s happening in there.”
“How are you going to cover any noise?” Les chewed the cigar to the other side of his mouth.
“We’re placing two agents in the adjacent room, posing as a couple with a baby. We’ll send them in with some audio of a baby crying and they’ll turn up the volume on the TV. That should mask any noise from the duct while they get the camera in position. We’re setting up a feed over there.” He gestured to a second video monitor off to the side, where two technicians were focused on their task. “As soon as the agents are in the room, we’ll also have audio. They’re going in with a stethoscope mike.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ve already got one of our language specialists on standby. She can interpret if the conversation isn’t in English.” Les scanned the cavernous room, zeroing in on the special agent in charge of the Richmond office. “I need to talk with Dennis. Brief your team on the setup. We’ll regroup in a minute and get the snipers in position. Once the video feed comes in and we verify that Monica Callahan is in there, we’ll talk about an assault plan. What’s the timing on a data feed from the room?”
“The agents are on their way. We should have audio and video in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“Sounds like everything is covered. Get your guys up to speed.”
Les headed across the room, and Coop waved over the other five members of their assault team. No matter the amount of planning, in the end success or failure would come down to the actions these men took in the space of a few critical seconds. There was a razor-thin margin for error.
As the team assembled around him, Coop knew he was surrounded by the best in the business. They’d worked as a cohesive, well-oiled unit for years, amassing an impressive success rate with high-risk operations.
And he didn’t intend for this one to tarnish that record.
19
The muffled sound of a slamming car door echoed in the silent motel room with the same impact as a gunshot. Without moving from his computer, Nouri drew his pistol and glanced at Zahir, motioning toward the window as a second car door slammed.
Noiseless as a stalking panther, his partner rose and eased the drape open enough to see out without being seen. “It’s a couple. With a baby. They’re taking luggage out of the trunk.”
The door to the adjoining unit opened. The muted sound of voices came through the wall.
“He’s bringing in more luggage. And some sort of collapsible baby pen.”
The door shut again. Zahir let the drape fall into place and exchanged a look with Nouri. “I don’t like this. Why have they put someone in that unit now, after two days?”
The baby started to cry. Within seconds the muffled sobs swelled to a piercing wail.
“Perhaps that’s the reason.” Nouri reholstered his gun. “The desk clerk may not have wanted the baby to disturb the other guests.”
“And perhaps it is not as innocent as it seems.”
Suspicion was a good thing, and Nouri respected it. Better to be cautious than careless. Taken to extremes, however, it could lead to overreaction and unwarranted risk-taking. In general, Zahir was levelheaded. But Nouri had worked with him often enough to learn the man didn’t like to be idle. Give him a surveillance job, and he could sit for hours immobile in a tree. Confine him to a motel room with nothing to do, and he grew increasingly restless—and paranoid. A dangerous combination.
The TV was turned on in the adjoining room, the volume raised to compete with the howls of the baby. When Zahir began to pace, Nouri decided a distraction was in order. “Why don’t you do a weapons check?”
In silence, Zahir strode across the room, opened the closet, removed two large cases. He set one on the floor beside the bed near the door, the other on top. Flipping the locks, he yanked up the lid. “I am tired of hiding in this hole.”
“In eight hours this hole will be history. Let us not jeopardize our great success with impatience. You have done well, Zahir. Tariq will be proud.”
The compliment seemed to mollify his partner. For the moment, anyway.
Focusing once more on his computer screen, Nouri maintained a calm demeanor. But he, too, was concerned about their neighbors. The arrival of the couple could be meaningless, as he’d suggested to Zahir. Or it could be significant. There was no way to know.
With singular focus, he reviewed the abduction step-by-step, dissecting each component of the plan, analyzing the execution, until he was satisfied there had been no errors in strategy or implementation. It had been a precise, flawless operation. No one could know where they were.
Now, just one task remained.
He cast a dispassionate glance at the diplomat’s daughter. She lay unmoving, curled on one side under the bedspread, her face bruised and swollen, her features etched with pain.
At least she didn’t have much longer to suffer.
Because in eight hours, no matter what David Callahan decided, she would die.
New fear coursing through her, Monica risked a peek at the arsenal being laid out on the adjacent bed. Though she hadn’t understood the exchange between her captors, she sensed the guests in the adjoining room had raised a red flag. While the leader’s demeanor was calm, his posture was alert and watchful. The other man radiated tension, slapping the weapons on the bed with leashed aggression.
She gave her watch a discreet check. Almost six o’clock. Night had fallen again. Hours had passed since the phone call with her father. She’d done her best to pass on information to the FBI. But she must have failed. If they’d understood her clues, surely she would have been rescued by now.
Could she use the presence of guests in the next room to her benefit? If she screamed, they might alert the motel management. But it would also put them—and their baby—at risk. She’d seen the blood-stained knife on the leader’s belt and didn’t doubt he’d use it again on anyone who got in his way, as he had at least once already. And she didn’t want to be responsible for any more loss of life—even if it came at the cost of her own.
Monica wanted to believe there was still a chance for everything to end well. Prayed there was. But her hope was ebbing, along with her residual strength.
And as each minute ticked by, she fought a growing fear that unless the HRT rescued her soon, she wouldn’t live to see another morning.
“There she is! Hold for a minute!” As Coop barked the order into the mike at his wrist, the breath he’d been holding hissed through his teeth. The last few seconds, since the picture from the fiber-optic camera had flashed on the screen in the tactical operations center, had been the longest of his life. The HRT team clustered closer to the monitor as he issued another command. “Zoom in.”
The agent in the motel room adjacent to the abductors complied.
As the image of Monica lying on the bed grew larger, Coop’s stomach clenched. She was huddled on her side, her body hidden under the bedspread, but he had a clear view of her bloody, bruised features. He watched as she attempted to turn on her back, as her face contorted with pain, as she gave up the effort.
She was in worse shape than he’d thought.
But she was alive.
And he intended to keep her that way.
“We need to see the rest of the room.” Les chewed the end of his cigar. “Pan the whole area.”
The camera roamed over the room, halting at Les’s instruction on the bed with the weapons. A man in dark attire stood with his back to the camera.
“Assault rifle, submachine gun, handguns . . . it looks like they’re preparing for a siege.” Mark inspected the cache, arms folded across his chest.
“Let’s find the other guy. Keep panning,” Les said. The camera moved on. “Hold it. Aim down as much as you can. I think there’s someone seated against the wall between the rooms.”
The camera shifted. “That’s the best I can do,” the agent said.
“Good enough. I see a leg and an arm . . . wait, he’s getting up.”
The operators watched in silence as the second man rose, stretched, walked over to inspect the weapons.
“They’re both wearing pistols, but they’re not wired.” Coop scrutinized the image. “These guys don’t plan to blow themselves up if we get too close.”
“A definite plus,” Mark remarked.
“Is anyone seeing explosives of any kind?” Les’s question to the team drew a negative response. “Me, neither. Another plus. But we already know these guys have no qualms about killing. Pulling this thing off without casualties on our side will be tricky. Surprise will be our best tactical advantage.”
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