The Protector Page 23

  Caine finally addressed her, forcing her to look up. “How are you feeling, Eryn?”

  His concern sounded so forced in the wake of his disgust that she heard herself retort, “Do you honestly care?”

  The agent wearing glasses sniggered, drawing Caine’s wrathful attention. He looked back at Eryn, his cheek muscle twitching. “Well, of course, I care. What kind of question is that?” He shifted his focus back on Jackson and lips thinned with resolve. “Hand over your phone, Rookie,” he demanded, thrusting out a hand.

  Jackson surrendered it impassively. Eryn watched the exchange with concern.

  “Take her down to the Sheriff’s Office,” Caine ordered, while accessing Jackson’s call history. “We’ll find Calhoun ourselves.”

  Concern weighted Eryn’s footsteps as Jackson pulled her toward a set of stairs. As they started down them, Eryn overheard Caine add, “Ringo, find out where this call was made and send the airborne HRT unit to that location.”

  She would have turned back and pleaded for Ike’s freedom, but Jackson hushed her, sending her a reassuring look.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “He’s long gone, Eryn. Trust me on this. They won’t get to him in time.”

  As they entered the musty-smelling basement, she mulled over Jackson’s assertion. If anyone could disappear into thin air, it was Ike. But to think of him as “long gone” did nothing to bolster her spirits. At least, he would get to keep his honor and his freedom, she cheered herself. Plus, he had taught her to be courageous, to face the future on her own.

  But who would teach him how to share his feelings and accept the love and admiration he obviously felt unworthy of?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Over the heads of the crowd in Elkton Town Hall’s parking lot, Farshad caught sight of his target’s burnished head. “Keep driving,” he said to Shahbaz as the youth drove slowly past the building. Farshad’s heart warmed with exaltation.

  Praise to Allah! Not only had the National Guard departed just as he and Shahbaz arrived, but Allah had led him straight to the Enemy’s treasure, sparing them the difficulty of locating her amidst this crush of people.

  Shahbaz pressed onward, threading the large car through a street jammed with vans and cars and hundreds of milling pedestrians. “Teacher!” he exclaimed suddenly, and Farshad saw what troubled him. A deputy was directing traffic up ahead.

  “Keep calm,” Farshad urged. “If he asks, we are car salesmen.”

  As the deputy waved them through, they held their breaths against his careful scrutiny. In spite of his suspicious gaze, he let them pass. Shahbaz wiped his brow with a stained sleeve.

  Farshad caught sight of a warehouse abutting the railroad tracks. “Park over there,” he instructed. The brick structure stood deserted on this Saturday afternoon, its cargo doors firmly shut. As they eased between the empty loading docks, he powered down his laptop and pulled out his copy of the Qu’ran tucked inside his briefcase.

  “What do we do now?” Shahbaz asked, turning off the engine.

  “We reflect and we pray,” said Farshad flipping through the worn pages to find the passage he had memorized. Having performed this brainwashing ritual numerous times with the newest generation of Taliban recruits, he did not necessarily need to read it.

  “Hear the words of Allah: Whosoever shall oppose Allah and His Prophet shall be severely punished. Therefore cut off their heads, and strike off all the ends of the fingers. This shall they suffer because they have opposed Allah and His Prophet.”

  “We shall punish them!” Shahbaz agreed, thumping the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

  Farshad reached inside his briefcase and retrieved the pistol he had stolen from Mustafa Masoud’s bedside. Through their email exchanges, he had learned that, in addition to violent video games, Shahbaz was a paintball aficionado. As such, he was capable of firing a weapon with moderate competence.

  Not too well, though. Farshad didn’t want him killing the target—though he would not tell Shahbaz that. He needed the boy to be his scapegoat. Once the FBI believed they had stopped the man hunting her, the security around Miss McClellan would ease, giving Farshad more of an opportunity to capture her.

  “For me?” The boy’s eyes widened.

  “The time has come to glorify Allah and to take back the Cradle of Islam,” Farshad intoned.

  Shahbaz turned the gun over in his grease-stained hands and said nothing.

  Farshad flipped the pages and read again, “Allah has purchased of the believers their persons and their goods; for theirs is the garden of Paradise: they fight in his cause, and slay and be slain. You must be willing to give your life, Shahbaz.”

  The youth’s expression darkened. He did not look up.

  “When you shoot the target, you will be killed instantly by those protecting her,” Farshad admitted. “You will not suffer,” he promised. “You will ensure your salvation as a martyr for Allah. Trust me, if you were taken alive, you would be tortured and questioned by the FBI. You would be forced to betray your brothers in faith.” Namely me, he added silently. “You would be cast into eternal damnation!”

  “But I would never betray them,” Shahbaz insisted.

  Farshad made no comment. “Do you believe in the holy scripture?” he inquired.

  “Yes, yes.”

  “You would not wish for Allah to punish you, would you, Shahbaz? You would not wish to die the way Itzak died.”

  The boy’s frown froze into a look of fear. “It was you who killed Itzak,” he realized, his eyes rising to regard Farshad in horror.

  “He deserved it,” Farshad answered simply.

  Thoughts flickered in Shahbaz’s eyes.

  “Think of what you have to gain,” Farshad continued. “You will be greeted in Paradise by seventy-two virgins. You will never have to suffer humiliation, pain or poverty again.”

  Memories flickered in the boy’s eyes: memories of a tortured life, of disillusionment and discrimination. At last, his eyelids fluttering, he met Farshad’s gaze. “Tell me what to do,” he said with youthful determination, “and I will do it.”

  **

  Caine’s cell phone rang, jolting Eryn’s heart. She held her breath as he answered, dreading the news that Ike had been apprehended by the HRT unit. But as his face fell with disappointment, her anxiety subsided. Ike had eluded the law, yet again.

  Knowing he was safe gave her the courage to speak up. “I want to make a statement to the press,” she said the minute Caine put his phone away.

  An awkward silence filled the narrow room. Between the high windows and the poor ventilation, she’d begun to feel like she was sitting in a prison cell, only she hadn’t been granted a phone call yet.

  “No.” It was Jackson who answered from his seat on the other side of the table. “Absolutely not.”

  “It’s not a good idea,” seconded Ringo.

  “Wait a minute.” Caine waved them into silence. A crafty look usurped his frown of disapproval. “Let’s hear what Miss McClellan wants to say to the press.”

  She sat up straighter, lifted her chin in the air. “I want to clear Ike’s name.” Her gritty eyes burned from lack of sleep. Her head throbbed, but she refused to accept their offer of a motel bed as long as the man she loved was being maligned.

  “Sir.” Jackson all but growled the word. “Can I have a word with you in the hall?”

  “I don’t need your input, Rookie,” Caine shot back.

  “What about my input?” said the second agent on a strained note. “Sir, this story’s been in the news all day. That’s plenty of time for the terrorists to have seen her on TV.”

  Caine sent Ringo a reprimanding look. “Now, don’t say that. You’ll scare her.” His gaze swung back toward Eryn. “At this given moment, we have over forty HRT soldiers patrolling the town. You’re completely safe, Miss McClellan.”

  Neither Jackson nor Ringo seemed to agree, but Eryn wasn’t as concerned about terrorists right now as she was about
Ike’s reputation. He was already burdened by guilt for what had happened in Afghanistan. He didn’t deserve to have the media calling him a kidnapper.

  “I just need to make a statement,” she insisted.

  “We can arrange that,” Caine said, sounding as if he relished the limelight. Turning to Ringo, he instructed him to advise the press of her decision. As the man took reluctant leave, Caine looked back across the table at Eryn. “So, where do you think Ike, as you call him, is at this moment?”

  “I have no idea,” she answered with a heavy heart. He’d been planning to hand her off, anyway. Maybe he hadn’t followed her as she’d first supposed. What made her think he’d want to stick around to watch events unfold, anyway?

  **

  The cellular tower on Highway 33 was by far the tallest structure within Elkton’s city limits. Buffeted by a breeze that blew an evening thunderstorm closer, Ike climbed the tower’s inner ladder to its pinnacle, two hundred feet off the ground. Throwing one leg over a rung, he grubbed in his pack for his field glasses.

  He’d avoided all roadways by four-wheeling through pastureland. Nor did he wish to test his luck by trying to sneak past a glut of reporters in broad daylight. With his face all over the news, he’d be recognized eventually. For now, this was the closest he dared to get.

  Peering through his field glasses, he quickly located the RV owned by the Feds, made glaringly apparent by its size and shiny appearance. Parked alongside it, in front of the Sheriff’s Office, was the green Taurus he’d followed earlier.

  The activity teeming around Town Hall made his gut coil. North Stuart Avenue was jammed with vehicles all parked fender to fender in a town that hadn’t seen this much activity since Stonewall Jackson headquartered here during the Civil War.

  Blue lights flashed at every street corner as police directed traffic. Spectators and media personnel thronged the nearby shops and restaurants, all awaiting a follow-up report on Eryn McClellan’s so-called abduction and recovery.

  The crowd infuriated Ike. Her story had been on the news all day. The odds were extremely high that, amidst all those reporters and thrill-seekers, there were gun-toting or bomb-carrying terrorists just waiting for Eryn to make an appearance.

  God damn it!

  The wind gusted suddenly, and he shot out a hand to keep his seat. This was exactly the kind of situation Stanley would have wanted to avoid.

  The buzz of an incoming helicopter had Ike peering through his field glasses over the treetops.

  The MH-6 Little Bird that had chased them earlier that day slowed over a field outside of town and nestled onto it. An armored vehicle drew up alongside it to collect the crew as they leapt off the exterior benches. Then the vehicle took off with the added personnel, lumbering down 340 toward Elkton, blaring its horn to clear traffic.

  At first Ike was relieved to note the heightened security. But then he considered that it was probably in response to a corresponding increase in threat-level. He counted a total of twenty four soldiers as they jumped out of the vehicle. Half went to work clearing a perimeter around Town Hall. The other half disappeared into nearby buildings, popping out on rooftops, where they positioned themselves over the crowd.

  Such precautions could only mean one thing: Eryn was due to make an appearance, possibly even speak to the press. Christ, could he trust any of those soldiers to pick out a terrorist in a crowd? He needed to get the hell over there before the worst possible scenario took place.

  **

  Shahbaz tugged down the brim of his baseball cap, concealing his dark eyes. The Teacher had sent him into a drugstore with a wad of cash to transform his appearance. He had bought a baseball cap, a T-shirt, shorts, and a sweat shirt with a large pocket in front, in which he stowed the gun. Figuring he looked like any other American youth, he had returned to the car, only to be banished to the drugstore once again for shaving cream and a razor. In the employee restroom, he had shaved the five o’clock shadow that darkened his already swarthy complexion. The Teacher had taken one more look at him and nodded his approval.

  Now, blending seamlessly into the crowd, Shahbaz eyed the ominous clouds that billowed closer, turning the sky a charcoal gray. The rumor that Miss McClellan intended to make a statement rippled from the front of the crowd to the back. The impending storm reflected Shahbaz’s agitation. All his life he had idolized martyrs for their courage and sacrifice. He had imagined what it must be like to go out in a blaze of glory while making such a clear statement of protest.

  Death wasn’t such a terrible thing, provided it came swiftly. It was life that was hard, a grueling struggle for income, a hopeless battle against prejudice. Death had to be easier, especially if the scriptures could be believed, and all those virgins would be there, fulfilling his every desire.

  The crowd pushed closer to the building, shrinking the clearing that the soldiers fought to maintain. Shahbaz joined them, jostling for a better view.

  His gaze flicked to the soldiers positioned on the rooftops. When he took his shot, the crowd would scatter, and bullets from those snipers would end his life, whether he managed to kill the girl or not. Hitting a target with a paintball wasn’t the same as hitting one with a bullet. His hands had never trembled playing paintball.

  Abruptly, the door on which every eye was fixed flew open. Thunder rumbled in the distance. With an electrical current dancing in the air, the Commander’s daughter stepped out, escorted by men in dark suits. Shahbaz vied for a view of her. He was surprised to discover that, even with her tawny hair in disarray, wearing nothing but a white T-shirt and jeans, she appealed to him.

  “Miss McClellan would like to make a public announcement,” shouted an agent.

  Microphones extended on poles swung into the clearing. An expectant hush fell over the crowd as the woman’s face appeared between her body guards shoulders. They remained in front of her, like human shields, so that only her head was exposed.

  Shahbaz slipped a moist hand inside his pocket. As his fingers curled around the cool pistol, his attention was drawn to the LCD panel on the camera in front of him, and he stared in wonder. Why, the target’s eyes were the color of pottery glazed in Karachi, a lovely purple-blue!

  When she opened her mouth to speak, he found himself straining to hear her words.

  “Thank you all for your concern, but I was never in any kind of danger. I want to make it clear that the FBI’s hunt for Isaac Calhoun was misguided. He was chosen by my father to protect me. He is a hero, a friend, and his privacy should be respected. Thank you.”

  Shouted questions followed immediately on the heels of her statement.

  “No questions.” The dark-skinned agent threw an arm around her, drawing her away from the crowd. Moving as a unit, the agents hustled her toward the immense silver motor coach parked strategically nearby.

  Adrenaline fueled Shahbaz’s heart to a gallop. The chance to kill the Commander’s daughter was evaporating like the streams in the Rigistan Desert.

  Now, Shahbaz, now! He willed himself to draw his pistol, to aim at the part of her that he could still see and squeeze the trigger. Only, the memory of her eyes kept him spellbound.

  And then it was too late. She had disappeared into the motor coach, and the crowd was beginning to disperse.

  Distress grappled with relief as Shahbaz stood in one place, jostled by the parting crowd.

  The Teacher’s furious face leapt before him. He grabbed Shahbaz’s arm and tugged him in the direction of their car. “Hurry! We can’t let them get away.”

  Dreading the Teacher’s wrath, but giddy to be still alive, Shahbaz hastened after him.

  **

  Ike lowered his rifle just as raindrops started pelting the tiles of the rooftop on which he lay. Arriving at the edge of town, he’d climbed to the height of a towering Victorian. Just as he’d hoped, he was able to scrutinize the crowd at Town Hall through his scope while hiding from the soldiers patrolling the nearby rooftops.

  Within minutes of crawling
to the height of the steep roof, he’d seen Eryn exit the building. All he could make out was the top of her head. The crowd around her grew hushed, as if listening, but if she spoke at all, the sound of her voice was carried off by the breeze.

  With his finger crooked over the trigger, Ike had scanned the crowd incessantly, ready to drop anyone who showed the least hint of aggression.

  To his dizzying relief, no one had.

  In the next instant, Eryn was being escorted toward the FBI’s RV. Jackson stuffed her into the motor coach so quickly that Ike never caught a glimpse of her face. Jealousy vied with gratitude as he acknowledged Jackson’s vigilance. At least someone in the FBI was doing his damn job. But as long as they considered her bait for terrorists, her future remained uncertain.