Beyond Limits (6 page)

Elizabeth held her breath as Gordon scanned the faces around the room.

“Our techs have been busy analyzing the laptop recovered by the SEALs, and they discovered a fingerprint we can’t identify. It doesn’t belong to Rasheed, and it also doesn’t match any of the kidnappers taken out during the raid.”

“What about Khalid?” Elizabeth asked.

He shook his head. “Not a match.”

“What about someone who could have handled the computer casually?” Torres asked. “Maybe when it was sitting around.”

“This isn’t just a casual fingerprint,” Gordon said. “This laptop was equipped with a biometric fingerprint pad. It was programmed to recognize two separate prints: Rasheed’s and this person we’re calling Tango Two.”

Tango
, as in military slang for
terrorist
. Elizabeth glanced around the room, wondering if everyone else caught the ominous implication.

“So I assume we ran this print through all our databases?” she asked.

Gordon nodded. “We ran it everywhere. No hits, which means we’re dealing with someone new. Which also means the odds of that person being in our faceprint database are much lower.”

“And the odds that he could slip into the U.S. undetected are much higher,” Elizabeth said.

“Exactly.”

“What about the computer’s previous owner?” Potter asked. “Didn’t your lab say this laptop was stolen?”

“Before turning up in Afghanistan, the laptop was in the possession of a tailor in Dubai. Which leads us to believe maybe Rasheed swiped it last time he was in his home country. Our techs recovered the erased files, and they all have to do with what appears to be a legitimate clothing business. Besides the deleted business records, we also found detailed plans for three Al Qaeda attacks: the UN convoy and two bombings in Kabul. But that’s it. All the information pertains to attacks that have already happened.”

Elizabeth made a few notes on her pad. “What about e-mails?”

“No e-mails on the system,” Gordon said. “Looks like it wasn’t used for outside communication.”

“Any prints on the thumb drive?” Torres asked.

“Only Rasheed’s. It contains the video clip showing Ana Hansson’s execution.”

A sour taste rose in Elizabeth’s throat. She’d seen the footage and hoped to God the girl’s family never got a look at it.

“Maybe the surviving hostages know something,” she suggested.

“The doctor doesn’t. Hailey Gardner had more interaction with the kidnappers but insists she only saw four different people—Khalid, Omar Rasheed, and two of the guards who were killed during the raid.”

Interaction.
What a way to put it.

“Someone should talk to her again,” Elizabeth said. “Wasn’t she drugged part of the time? Maybe she’s remembered more since her last interview.”

Gordon tapped his pencil against the table, watching her. “She’s in seclusion. She was being hounded by the press, so her parents sent her away somewhere and announced that all future interview requests must go through their family lawyer.”

“Even us?”

“Even us.”

That didn’t mean they didn’t know her whereabouts. Elizabeth had no doubt the Bureau knew precisely where she was. But it still might be tricky to talk to her.

“What about those names the SEALs had?” Torres asked.

“Dead ends,” Potter said. “Just as they suspected. Looks like Khalid made up info to get them off his back.”

“This whole trip has been a dead end.” Torres folded his arms over his chest. “Five agents all the way out here, and what do we have to show for it?” He shook his head. “The SEALs don’t know anything. The hostages aren’t talking. This has been a waste of time.”

Elizabeth looked at Gordon. As usual, his face gave nothing away. But he didn’t look like a man who thought he’d wasted two days of his valuable time. He had a good reason for bringing them out here. Elizabeth just hadn’t figured out what it was.

D
erek slid into the passenger seat and was greeted with a yelp.

“God, you scared me!”

“Look alive, LeBlanc. No sleeping on the job.”

Not that she looked like she’d been sleeping—on the job or anywhere else. She looked exhausted, from her wilted suit and tired eyes to the little tendrils of hair that had slipped from her ponytail and clung to her damp neck.

Actually, the tendrils looked good. Sexy, even. Although it would have been a lot sexier if her skin had been damp from burning up the sheets with him and not from sitting in a rental car in the Arizona heat.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, obviously rattled.

“Oh, you know. Passing through town.”

“How’d you get this address?”

“SEALs are a pretty smart bunch, Liz. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

She looked through the windshield at the lush green golf course where Hailey Gardner’s parents kept a condominium. “I thought you were going on leave this week.”

“I am. Headed back to Texas to visit the famdamnly.” He turned the key in the ignition and buzzed his window down. “As luck would have it, Scottsdale’s on the way.”

She shifted in her seat to face him, evidently coming around to the idea that he wasn’t going anywhere. “What is it you want with Hailey?”

“Same thing you want. I think she knows something.” He looked her over again, trying hard not to stare. She’d stashed her suit jacket in the backseat and undone the first few buttons of her shirt in a futile effort to cool off.

She looked amazingly tempting, like she’d stepped right out of one of the dreams he’d been having. During his last tour, he’d had some downtime and he’d spent a good bit of it fantasizing about getting Elizabeth LeBlanc out of those tailored suits.

“Have to say, I’m a little disappointed,” he said. “Thought you’d be happier to see me.”

She ignored that. “Hailey’s in seclusion. All interviews go through the lawyer, and he’s being an ass.”

“There’s a shocker.”

She sighed and looked out at the perfectly manicured golf course.

Derek hadn’t seen green like that in months, so bright it made his eyes hurt. He looked at Elizabeth instead. “If the lawyer’s being an ass, then why are you here?”

“Gordon thought she might open up with me.”

“Because you’re a woman.”

“I don’t know, maybe.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Probably.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“She left home a few hours ago. I’m hoping to catch her when she comes back.”

“Five minutes.”

“What?”

“She went to a yoga class that ended at seven. She should be back in five.” He grabbed the water bottle from the console and twisted the top off. Elizabeth stared at him. “I did some recon earlier,” he said.

“Derek, this is an official interview. I cannot allow you in there with me.”

Cannot
allow
. He smiled and reached over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “I ever tell you I love it when you get bossy?”

“You’re not part of this case.”

He chugged some water and glanced at the side mirror as a white Prius zipped past them. It swung into the driveway, and Hailey Gardner got out. She wore stretchy black pants and a matching top and had her hair pulled up in a ponytail. Dark sunglasses covered her face, probably in case some enterprising reporter managed to find out that her family had a second home in Scottsdale. Derek eyed the cast on her wrist and wondered how she managed the yoga with it. She dug some keys from her purse and disappeared inside the condo.

Derek shoved open the door and turned to Elizabeth. “You coming?”

“You’re not going in there.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Derek, please listen to me. This woman has been through a lot. She’s traumatized, and you’re . . . you. How do you know your presence won’t intimidate her?”

He shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”

She stared at him, and he tried to read her eyes. Ticked off, yes. Worried, yes. She thought his involvement in the raid was going to trigger a negative reaction, but Derek was betting on the opposite.

Elizabeth glanced at the condo, where her best shot at getting a new lead resided.

“You and I both know you’re not leaving here without this interview,” he said. “What would your boss think?”

“It’s not about my boss. This is a high-priority investigation that’s vital to national security. I want to contribute.”

“I know. I also know you’re competitive as hell, and you’ll use every resource at your disposal, including me. So let’s get this done.”

He got out. She sat there stewing for another moment, and then she got out, too, grabbing her jacket from the backseat. He watched her slip into it and put on her agent face.

The evening air was oven-hot, like Afghanistan in July, only instead of smelling like rotting garbage, it smelled like fresh-cut Bermuda grass. The condo was sand-colored adobe with a tile roof and a two-story entranceway.

“I’ll do the talking,” Elizabeth whispered beside him.

Derek rapped on the carved wooden door. They waited a few beats. The door swung back, and Hailey looked up at him.

“Evening, ma’am. I’m Lieutenant—”

“I know who you are.” She stepped out and threw her arms around his neck. She squeezed him tightly and held on so long he started to get embarrassed. Finally, she pulled back.

He cleared his throat. “Ma’am, this is Special Agent Elizabeth LeBlanc, with the FBI.”

She eyed Elizabeth warily. “Any interview requests are supposed to go through my attorney.”

“We’ll keep this brief. We don’t want to bother you.”

She glanced at Derek, then back at Elizabeth.

“We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,” Elizabeth added.

Hailey stepped back to let them in. The house was a good thirty degrees cooler than outside, and Derek glanced around as she led them into a living room. A blanket was balled up at the end of the sofa. On the other end was a pillow with a flowered pillowcase that probably matched a bedspread somewhere upstairs. Mugs littered the coffee table, and a TV remote sat beside a pile of newspapers.

“You want anything to drink?” She looked at Derek, then Elizabeth. “I’ve got water, Gatorade . . .” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Chamomile tea.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Elizabeth smiled. “We won’t stay long.”

“Okay, then . . . have a seat, I guess.” She lowered herself onto the sofa. Elizabeth picked a leather ottoman, and Derek sat down in a striped armchair. Hailey was staring at him. He’d worn a T-shirt, jeans, and boots, thinking civilian clothes would make her more comfortable. But she seemed the opposite of comfortable as she pulled a pillow into her lap.

“How’s the wrist?” He nodded at her cast.

“All right.” She looked at Elizabeth. “What questions did you have? I’m not sure what I can tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Hailey, the SEALs who came to get you discovered some important information in the house where Dr. Lindh was being held.”

She didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“That information’s been analyzed,” Elizabeth continued, “and it leads us to believe this group may be planning an attack. Something stateside.”

Hailey flinched. “You mean here?”

“Somewhere in America, yes. We’re not sure where, exactly. That’s something we need to find out.” Elizabeth paused. “Can you recall hearing anything during your captivity?”

She glanced at Derek and shook her head.

“Maybe a place name?” Elizabeth asked.

Hailey cleared her throat. “My Pashto’s pretty minimal. I mean, it sucks, if you want to know the truth.” She looked at Derek. “I really only know a few greetings and some medical terms.”

“Mine’s bad, too.” Derek leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “But you know, a lot of the place names—American place names—aren’t all that different. Can you think of any words that sounded like something familiar? Maybe similar to English?”

She shook her head.

“Hailey, besides Khalid Rana,” Elizabeth said, “you identified another one of your captors, Omar Rasheed.”

Her shoulders tensed.

“You also recognized photos of two of the guards killed by the SEALs. Can you think of anyone else who might have been there? Besides those we’ve identified?”

“Why?”

“We have fingerprint evidence that someone else may have been staying there in the house, too,” Elizabeth said. “We’re trying to figure out who.”

Hailey shook her head. “Those are the ones I remember.”

“There wasn’t anyone else? Maybe you didn’t see a face, but you heard a voice? Or heard another name being used?”

Another head shake.

Derek watched her, trying to read her body language. “Maybe Khalid mentioned someone?” he asked.

“He didn’t.” She was adamant. “None of them said much of anything to me. And what they did say—it’s all such a blur.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“Take your time,” Elizabeth said.

She set the pillow aside and stood up, folding her arms tightly against her. He thought she was going to ask them to leave. Instead, she laughed.

“You know, I used to have a good memory. That’s the ironic thing. Now there’re these . . . chunks missing.”