The Protector Page 24

  He couldn’t let that motor coach out of his sight.

  Looping his rifle strap over his shoulder, Ike let go and slid on his belly toward the gutter, where he caught himself on the sturdy lattice work below it. Rain soaked through his clothing as he swung down onto a second story balcony. The occupants of the home all appeared to be out. Braving the long leap onto the wet grass, he rolled to break his fall and came up running.

  Chris’s Jeep was parked a hundred yards away, hidden out of sight in a deep ditch. Sprinting through the downpour, Ike set his mind on finding and following the RV before it disappeared on him.

  **

  “You weak-minded fool.”

  The Teacher’s lecture made Shahbaz burn with resentment as he drove them out of town. The windshield wipers slapped a frenzied tempo, doing little to clear the blurred view of dozens of taillights up ahead, including those of the FBI’s motor coach, which they were following. “Why didn’t you take the shot?” the man raged.

  Shahbaz gripped the steering wheel. He could not explain his hesitation. He’d always believed that martyrdom was glorious. But it required more courage than he’d realized. He wanted nothing to do with it now. He was too weak. Until tonight, his target had been a faceless entity, a worthless woman. It had never occurred to him she would be so...pretty.

  “Don’t forget what happened to Itzak,” the Teacher threatened him again.

  A droplet of rainwater slid inside of Shahbaz’s collar and down his neck. He darted his companion a look, wondering what would happen if he pulled out the pistol now, aimed it at the man’s head, and blew his brains out. This martyring business would be over then, wouldn’t it?

  The sound of a switchblade ringing free brought his fantasy up short. The tip of it gouged the soft flesh beneath his jaw. In the next instant, the Teacher was reaching across him, taking the gun from the pocket of his sweat suit. Shahbaz’s bravado went with it.

  “I understand your cowardice, son,” hissed the older man, even as he sliced through the first layer of skin. The steering wheel wobbled in Shahbaz’s grip. “You have lived for years among the infidels. You’ve been tainted by their corruption. But for your mortal soul’s sake you must be obedient to Allah, or you will face his chastisement, just as it is written.”

  Shahbaz concentrated on not crashing. Sweat bathed his pores.

  At last, the blade was withdrawn. He heaved a sigh of relief, watching wistfully as the gun went back into the Teacher’s briefcase.

  “Do not let the motor coach out of your sight,” the man cautioned, his voice gentle once more. “We will watch and wait. When the opportunity to kill her arises, you will then ensure your salvation.”

  **

  The last thing Ike expected was for the FBI’s RV to turn into the Elkton Motel. As it eased off Highway 33, he barreled past it, rainwater spraying off the Jeep’s wide tires. He drove half a mile farther before executing a quick U-turn. But he didn’t go back to the motel. Instead, he turned up the driveway of an adjacent property and extinguished his lights.

  The house at the end of the driveway appeared abandoned. He veered off the pavement onto the unkempt lawn, rounded the unattached garage, and bumped his way across a wet field.

  Back-dropped by trees that kept him camouflaged, he could see the rear of the motel clearly. Between the separated units, he spotted the FBI’s RV, already parked. He stopped where he had the clearest view of it, killed the engine, and lowered his window.

  Just then, Eryn dashed from the RV into a motel room, her purse over her head. The sight of her filled him with yearning, relief, and a steely determination. The door closed, putting her in the company of two agents, he guessed, as the third one, Jackson, took Winston for a walk in the rain.

  Jealousy gnawed at Ike. Winston was his dog; he’d spent hours training him.

  Once they’d paced the perimeter of the motel, the agent put Winston back into the RV. He then knocked on the motel room door. Two agents came out carrying duffel bags and went into the room next door, leaving Eryn alone with Jackson.

  Ike scowled. Whose idea was this? Why hadn’t they just continued on to Washington, instead of staying one more night in a town that had been put on the map today by the media?

  Raindrops spattered the Jeep’s canvas roof as he assessed Eryn’s safety. The helicopter had departed a while ago. The armored truck was probably halfway back to Quantico by now. All she had were three armed agents to protect her. At least the rooms had no windows in the rear, and local law enforcement could be summoned in a heartbeat.

  But Ike didn’t like it. Staying in Elkton wasn’t smart. Stanley wouldn’t like it either. He considered calling the Commander to reassure him. He had to be frantic by now, having seen his daughter on the news, back in FBI custoody. But the NSA would be monitoring Ike’s registered cell phone at the FBI’s behest. They would pinpoint his location at once if he used it. Too bad he’d thrown away that prepaid phone in a fit of frustration. Could’ve used it now.

  The motel’s neon sign blinked on suddenly, finding colorful reflection in the RV’s steel hull. Picturing Eryn alone with the agent whose business card she kept in her purse, Ike wrestled with envy.

  He missed her. Her scent still clung to him from their lovemaking. Memories spooled in his mind, feeding the hunger to keep her. He’d known it would be this way.

  Isolation crept over him. He couldn’t believe he used to enjoy his solitude. Now he just felt cheated.

  In an attempt to lighten his spirits, he turned on the radio. The tail end of a news summary had him turning up the volume.

  In a brief statement to the press, Miss McClellan confirmed what locals have insisted all along: that the former Navy SEAL wanted for questioning by the FBI had been protecting her. Here is what Miss McClellan had to say about him:

  Eryn’s voice, coming out of the radio, made Ike hold his breath. “He is a hero, a friend, and his privacy should be respected.” The words quenched him like a warm summer shower.

  With the search called off, things are returning to normal here in the Shenandoah Valley. Up next, Mozart’s Piano Concerto, Number 24 in C minor.

  As mournful notes filled the Jeep’s interior, Ike shut the radio off, stunned.

  He’s a hero, a friend. He held the words like a treasure, saving them for later comfort, along with her earlier confession. I love you, Ike.

  In less than a week, Eryn had turned his world inside out. Before he’d met her, he could hardly face himself in the mirror; dreaded the endless, sleepless nights in which his dead teammates demanded to know why he had quit the fight and made their sacrifice meaningless. The weight of his guilt had kept him paralyzed, unable to move forward.

  But now he was ready to walk that road to redemption. Eryn’s essence would light the way.

  Moisture stung Ike’s eyes as he peered through the curtain of rain at the motel door, envisioning her inside. Maybe, if he survived the treacherous months to come, he would one day answer her words with a confession of his own.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brad Caine sat by the motel window, his bleary gaze fixed on the rain-drenched parking lot. Since it was easier to stay awake than to rouse from a deep sleep, he’d assigned himself first watch. The day’s events coming on the heels of last night’s failed rescue made his eyelids heavy. It didn’t help any that the neon sign outside infused the billions of raindrops with hypnotizing color.

  He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. The report that Shahbaz Wahidi had eluded the agents trailing him meant a terrorist was on the loose, free to target the Commander’s daughter. Brad had thought for certain he would strike during her media address, but the tight security must have deterred him—hence Brad’s decision to release HRT to return to Quantico. He couldn’t make this any easier for the fucker.

  So far, however, there was no suspicious activity around the motel. Ringo had run all the tags in the parking lot, and they’d all come up clean. The hotel guests appeared to be in their rooms, lights
out, sleeping.

  Brad ordered himself to stay alert. Something had to happen. He would never get promoted if he didn’t make an arrest soon.

  **

  Cruising past the motel every thirty minutes, Shahbaz waited, just as the Teacher had instructed, for all the lights in the rooms to go out.

  The Teacher had been able to rent a room without arousing suspicion. But Shahbaz, who drove the stolen Pontiac, had been instructed to circle the area until the early hours of dawn. Hungry and cold, he drove aimlessly along dark, adjacent roadways. But he did not abandon the Teacher as he had considered doing earlier, for he rather liked the Teacher’s new plan which eliminated the need to martyr himself.

  When all was still and dark, Shahbaz would park the Pontiac near the motel, take the tools and the length of copper wire they had purchased at a hardware store, and crawl under the FBI’s RV. Once there, he would run the wire from the ignition to the fuel tank, which he would puncture, inserting the wire inside it. When an agent turned over the engine in the morning, the RV would blow sky high. With any luck, their victim would be inside it.

  Shahbaz let loose a punchy giggle. The prospect of blowing up the RV kept his weariness at bay. Any hour now he would avenge America for her false promise of the American Dream. And the best part was he didn’t have to die to publicize his disillusionment.

  **

  The bark of a dog, familiar in pitch and quality, roused Ike from a light slumber as he allowed himself to rest while still remaining vigilant. Winston?

  The Jeep’s fogged windows obscured a light drizzle. He glanced at his watch. It was just after four in the morning, and the clouds would keep things dark for another hour.

  Lowering the driver’s side window, he breathed in the cold, wet air to sharpen his dulled senses. As he peered across the sweet-smelling field toward the motel, he wondered if he’d imagined Winston’s bark. The scene looked much as it had in the hours preceding midnight, when he’d allowed himself to cat nap. But then the dog barked again.

  Lifting the rifle propped beside him, Ike poked it out the window and peered through his scope. His blood froze at the sight of a man lying on the pavement, under the RV.

  Who the hell?

  Ike held him in his crosshairs. Was it one of the agents checking out a problem? Or could it be a terrorist, up to no good? There was only one way to find out. And the fastest way to do it was to drive across the field, counting on the rain to muffle the approach of his engine.

  Easing away from the tree line, Ike kept the lights off as he forged across of field of what looked like seedling watermelons. He kept his gaze fixed on the shadow under the RV, hoping to identify him. To his disappointment, the man saw him coming, stilled, then abruptly squirmed out the far side of the RV.

  Not a special agent, obviously, Ike deduced, gunning the engine.

  With his lights off, he didn’t see the low cement barrier edging the parking lot. The Jeep hurtled over it, bouncing him in his seat. When he landed on the other side, he caught sight of the suspect jumping into a car at the edge of the motel.

  Ike swerved toward him. He could hear Winston barking. The doors to the FBI’s units sprang open. Lights flared, casting a burgundy Pontiac into relief as it squealed out of sight. Ike pursued it. A glance in his rearview mirror showed two FBI agents racing for their Taurus.

  And the chase is on, Ike thought, focusing on the car flying down the rain-slick highway ahead of him. The driver had turned east, where the road curved upward into the Shenandoah National Forest. Switching on his headlights, Ike snapped on his seatbelt in preparation for the steep, twisting inclines up ahead.

  There appeared to be just one man in the getaway vehicle, a circumstance that disturbed him. There could be more back at the motel. With two agents in hot pursuit, that left just one man guarding Eryn.

  Not good enough.

  Groping in his pack, Ike located his trusty satellite phone, thumbed it open, and dialed 9-1-1, relaying a message to Sheriff Olsen through the operator that he was needed at Elkton Motel. So what if NSA picked up his phone call on their satellite. The FBI was right behind him anyway.

  Tossing his phone back into his pack, he depressed the accelerator to the floor in an effort to overtake the car ahead of him. Only the old Jeep’s four-cylinder engine lacked power to accelerate on such a steep incline. The Taurus behind him battled a similar problem. The six-cylinder Pontiac was outstripping them both.

  God damn it, Ike thought, uncomfortable with the fact that he was moving farther and farther away from Eryn. He’d never wished so badly that he could be in two places at once.

  **

  Caught in a state halfway between sleeping and waking, Eryn was disturbed by her dog’s disruptive barking. “Quiet, Winston,” she mumbled, burying her head beneath the pillow.

  Her subconscious tried to rouse her, but exhaustion kept her in a stupor. She heard the door open, felt a breath of cool air on the tops of her shoulders. Engines revved and roared. Tires squealed. A male voice barking out orders made her drag the pillow off her head. What the heck was going on? She cracked an eye to find a light on and Jackson’s bed empty. Special Agent Caine stood by the window putting on a bullet-proof vest.

  “Make sure you catch Calhoun this time,” he snarled into his cell phone. “Better put him in handcuffs.”

  Eryn came wider awake at the mention of Ike’s name. “What’s happening?” she demanded. “Where’s Jackson?”

  Caine cranked his head around. “Arresting your boyfriend,” he said with a nasty smile and putting his phone away. “Time to get up,” he added. “We’re moving to the RV.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “There’s been an incident,” he announced, his eyes bright with excitement.

  The word incident pulled more of the wool from Eryn’s mind. “What kind of incident?” she asked, snatching up the jeans folded on the foot of her bed and slipping them on beneath the covers.

  “It’s too soon to tell, but we’re moving to the RV.” Caine peeked under the curtains, looking out the window. “Hurry up,” he said, sounding nervous.

  “Can I use the rest room first?”

  “There’s no time for that. Use the one in the RV.”

  “Why are we moving to the RV?”

  “Because it’s armored,” he retorted, making her think of bombs and bullets, causing her heart to palpitate. He wheeled from the window as she jammed on her shoes.

  “I want to know what’s going on,” she insisted as he seized her arm in a bruising grip and hauled her toward the door.

  “Not now. I’ll explain later.”

  As he cracked the door open, peering outside with a wary eye, Eryn was surprised to see a pink sunrise burnishing the tin roofs of the other motel units. It felt like she had just fallen asleep. With his gun drawn, Caine drew her out after him.

  Crisp, clean air brought her fully awake as he hustled her toward the RV. Inside, she could hear Winston issuing evenly spaced barks, like a car alarm.

  As the agent turned a key and scanned his thumbprint on the biometric padlock, Eryn searched the quiet parking lot. The owners of the half-dozen cars appeared to be sleeping through the excitement.

  “Go on in.” He swung the door open. “I have to take a quick look around.”

  Climbing into the RV’s dark interior, she ran into Winston, who greeted her enthusiastically. The door closed behind her and locked shut. Calming her excited dog, Eryn felt her way into the galley, which housed a kitchen on one side, a seating area on the other. Unable to find a light switch, she raised one of the blinds, admitting soft pink sunlight and catching sight of Caine, who was bending over, inspecting the underside of the RV.

  Something must have caught his eye, for in the next instant, he was down on his hands and knees, crawling under the chassis. At the same time, a slender figure detached itself from the shadows between two units and approached him. As she watched him, sunlight glinted on a pair of spectacles. She determined it mus
t be Ringo.

  A clanking sound had her looking down at her feet. What was Caine up to, down there? With a puzzled shrug, she turned toward the tiny restroom beyond the galley to empty her bladder.

  She was just pulling up her jeans when a scream unlike anything she’d heard curdled her blood. Caine!

  An ominous growl rumbled in Winston’s throat as the scream curtailed abruptly. Eryn rocketed out of the restroom only to pull up short, uncertain what to do. She strained to hear over her thudding heart.