Wicked Intentions (Steele Secrurity Book 4) (22 page)

After several harrowing minutes inside, he was able to breathe again when the timer stopped and the wires were disconnected from the explosives. When he climbed out of the trailer, he alerted the National Guard commander, and the explosives technicians took charge of the disposal.

It was well after dark by the time he returned to the search and rescue site. Bull was taking a break and guzzling a bottle of cold water when Silas walked up.

“Nothing on Heather yet?”

“No, not yet. There’s just so much construction material to dig through. They have the dogs out there trying to lock on to a scent, but they haven’t hit one so far. They’re checking crevices with the heat-sensing equipment, but so far they can’t get deep enough to lock on to a heat signature. Rebel has talked to Kay a few times, keeping her in the loop since they won’t let anyone into the port area.

“The good news is the majority of the people who have been cleared to leave have opted to stay and help search the grounds. After you found that other truck with explosives, a growing concern there are more out there started moving through the workers. They’re checking their normal work areas. If they find anything in the least bit out of the ordinary, the ordnance disposal unit will go in and check it out.”

“They’re allowing civilians to get involved?”

Bull shrugged. “It’s a big port, and no one knows what’s supposed to be in their area like the people actually doing the work. It’s a matter of national security now, and every patriotic Texan wants to help. An armed National Guard member is stationed close to every major area in case anyone sees Rashad lurking in the shadows. We’d flush him out if we were out there, but Heather is our top priority, especially since
officially
we’re off the case.”

“She’d be our priority anyway.”

Rebel, Roman, Tim, and Robin were still hard at work trying to find Heather, working in the general area Roman last saw her before the stairwell collapsed, when Silas joined them. Noah and Shadow were on the outer edge, working inward toward Rebel, so he slid his hands into a pair of gloves, joined Bull on the opposite side, and started moving the chunks of debris out of the search area.

“Good job with locating that other truck, Silas,” Rebel interrupted the silence. “Listen, guys, I’ve been thinking a lot about the encrypted message I decoded, trying to keep my mind on something other than…just trying to stay focused while I keep digging through the rubble. The CIA analysts think ‘cripple the lanes’ means shutting down our interstates by cutting off our oil and gas supply. But I think their interpretation is completely wrong, and they’re looking in the wrong place.”

Silas glanced over at Rebel’s bare hands, bleeding and raw from working nonstop over the past several hours. “What do you think it means?”

“It’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it? They’re not just taking out our current
access
to oil and gas. They want to take out the actual
shipping
lanes—not the
driving
lanes. We’d have nothing at all coming in or out if they shut down the ports indefinitely because of a catastrophic attack. Noah and I talked about this bit earlier, before we got the call, but we didn’t get to finish. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced I’m right. Which means…”

“It means if there are more explosives, they’re on the cargo ships floating in the waterway right now,” Shadow replied, realization setting in. “They could have them set to explode at the same time, here and in New Orleans.”

“That’s why he’s here,” Silas muttered to himself.

“Why who’s here?” Rebel asked, cutting his deadly gaze up to Silas. “Rashad is still in the port?”

“He was as of a couple of hours ago. He was caught on camera walking toward the general direction of the waterway. I thought he’d try to escape on foot after the cover of darkness, but now I think you’re right.”

“He may get out of the port tonight, but he will never escape from me. That I can guarantee.”

B
ill paced back and forth
, growing angrier by the second. Rashad had always followed orders, had always performed the tasks expected of him. Until now. Until it mattered the most. Until their fucking necks were on the line and any failures would fall on Bill’s shoulders.

“That little prick is pulling this shit on purpose,” Bill spat out. “He’s double-crossing me. Just like I knew his stupid ass would do. I should’ve listened to my gut on this one.”

Bill shook his head and continued pacing, torn between calling Rashad again and just disappearing to let his partner take the fall alone. Everyone thought he was dead anyway. Only a couple of people knew he was still very much alive, that he wasn’t the one who walked into the house minutes before it exploded that day. He’d taken advantage of an eager new recruit who was anxious to prove his exceptional disguise skills. One of two people who knew about it was Rashad himself, but that didn’t bother Bill. No one would believe the word of a wanted terrorist who insisted a dead CIA agent was actually still alive—and dirty to boot.

As badly as he wanted to walk away, he also wanted what was promised to him. Rashad accepted this mission for honor, glory, and furthering their cause. The reason Bill joined them was much simpler—it had dollar signs tied to it. He was promised a life he’d like to become accustomed to rather than his life of barely scraping by. He wasn’t naïve enough to think they wouldn’t betray him if the opportunity presented itself.

He had the same plan himself.

But greed won over self-preservation, and he called Rashad again against his better judgment. “Status?”

“Something is wrong. The second location hasn’t detonated, and it is way past time. I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to get onboard and check it out for myself. Have you heard from our brothers in New Orleans yet?”

“Yes, everyone is in place, and they’re waiting for the final word from us. But the whole place is crawling with agents. They’re methodically checking everything in the port. It’s only a matter of time before they start boarding ships and checking crates. So far, they haven’t interrupted our plans, but we’re dangerously close to pulling the plug and walking away.”

“No. We can’t walk away now. There is still work to be done. The only way you get paid is when the New Orleans port is inoperable and the oil tankers are on fire. Then you can take your money and move to another country with your new name.”

“You have twenty minutes to handle your part. If that means you have to sit in that tanker and blow yourself sky high, then so be it. If I don’t see evidence of it in nineteen minutes and thirty seconds, you’re on your own.”

Bill disconnected, decided he’d take matters into his own hands, and packed a backpack with the materials he’d need to pull off his improvised changes. The original plan had called for the two separate attacks to occur simultaneously. The division in resources would cause chaos in the law enforcement agencies and FEMA response times. Whatever hiccup had caused the delay in Houston didn’t mean they couldn’t proceed with their plans for the port in New Orleans, though.

He reasoned the alternating attacks could wreak just as much havoc as dual, synchronized ones would. They wouldn’t know where to expect the next hit. Every major government installation would be on high alert, and therefore, would hold on to their staff for defense rather than sending them to the Gulf for support. In his mind, doing something was infinitely better than doing nothing at all. And something needed to be done in order for him to be paid for his services.

Considerable extra security had been put in place at the Port of New Orleans. When Bill approached the entrance, he was stopped by soldiers in full combat gear. With a hand on his sidearm, one soldier approached the driver’s side window while another circled the car with a bomb-sniffing dog. A third soldier stood off to the side, maintaining his intense glare and diligent observation.

“What brings you to the port tonight, sir?”

Bill held up his fake orders from the CIA director for inspection. “Just doing my job.”

The soldier eyed his paperwork speculatively. “You’re getting in a little late, aren’t you?”

“Late by what standards? Do you think all of the investigation into the threats on the port is done inside here? Some of us have been out pounding the pavement to get tips and leads.” Bill’s displeased tone conveyed his annoyance with the soldier’s questioning.

Satisfied with his response and acknowledgment of a clean car, the soldiers allowed Bill to pass through the roadblock. The truth was, Bill had long been unhappy with keeping secrets, not having the finer things in life, and envying the jet-setter mentality of the lowlife thugs he’d met with over the years. When he was approached to be the informant rather than the officer, with considerable benefits as perks, he jumped at the chance for a brand-new life. That was the precise reason why he was in the one place he shouldn’t be—an area crawling with federal officers who were all bound and determined to foil a planned terrorist attack.

Once parked, he retrieved the items from his backpack and concealed his identity with the few essentials he had at his disposal. When he climbed out of his car, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up and demanded his attention. A chill ran down his spine, and his pulse kicked up a notch. The only time he’d had that reaction in the past was when he was being watched.

Walking around his car nonchalantly, he used the time to stealthily examine his surroundings. Nothing appeared out of place to his observant eyes. No moving shadows. No lurking figures. But he was certain someone, somewhere, was watching him nonetheless. He walked toward the water, stepping into the shadow of the surrounding buildings for cover, and looked over his shoulder repeatedly for anyone tailing him.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in the number for his local contact. After a couple of rings, the line connected, but he was met with silence. Bill understood the other man wasn’t in a position where he could respond, prompting Bill to quietly issue his directive.

“Initiate the plan for the primary target. I’m implementing the contingency plan.”

“Understood.”

Bill disconnected and continued on his way to the cruise ship docks. The secondary target would destroy the few cruise ships docked in port overnight. The hint at civilian targets, and the few inevitable civilian deaths, would only serve to heighten the threat risk in other ports. Another safeguard he’d decided to employ to help ensure no additional troops were sent to his location.

He accessed the first cruise ship from the dock-level employee entrance. With all the commotion in the port, his presence onboard was barely noticed. No doubt other federal agents and port officers had made their rounds, checking anywhere and everywhere a device would be hidden to cause the most damage. The crew members onboard were busy preparing for their next voyage and had no time or interest to question him about his intentions.

“Your sacrifices will not be in vain,” he mumbled to himself. “You’re helping me retire to a life of luxury.” He set the timer to give himself enough time to complete his tasks and get away from the last ship before the first one blew.

It was all coming together, one tactical piece at a time.

* * *

“
H
e’s on the move
. Stay on him,” Nick Tucker whispered into his comms.

“Got him,” Blake replied. “He’s not getting away.”

“He’s headed my way now,” Alex replied. “On him.”

“Picking up the trail now,” Joe whispered.

“I’m coming up on the opposite side,” Tucker replied and took off in a silent sprint.

The four-man covert team consistently rotated positions, keeping tabs on Bill’s exact location as he stole through the night. With the four men watching from their hidden points when Bill entered the cruise ship, Tucker and Blake elected to take point while Joe and Alex stayed outside to cover the exits.

The organized chaos onboard the ship while the crew prepared for their next sailing was nearly as busy as the troops and agents scouring the port for weapons of destruction. The hustle and bustle helped Tucker and Blake to blend in and gave them large pallets of inventory for the perfect cover. With each bomb Bill set, Tucker and Blake immediately moved in behind him to disarm it.

“That’s the last one on this ship,” Tucker advised. “He’s headed back out.”

A couple of minutes later, Bill walked across the ramp, no longer even bothering to try to be invisible. “He’s going into the next ship down,” Joe alerted. “Alex and I will take this one.”

“Roger that. We’ll be waiting for him outside,” Blake replied.

When he emerged from the second ship, Bill tossed his backpack into the water and picked up his pace in the direction of his car. Tucker chuckled lightly into his comm, making the others laugh along with him.

“Good luck with your car, buddy.” Joe’s tone dripped with contempt for his former partner. “See how you like being set up.”

“He’ll get his, Brown.” Tucker’s confidence was reassuring. He wasn’t a man who was easily rattled—or lightly fucked with. “Soon.”

In much the same manner they tailed him to the cruise docks, they coordinated tracking him to his next location. When he rounded the last building corner before returning to where his car should have been, all four men waited with smiles plastered on their faces. His cartoonish skid to a halt when he realized his car was gone elicited hushed laughs and insulting epithets from the group.

“Someone moved his cheese and left a rat trap instead. That’s just rude,” Alex quipped.

“Taking bets on what he does next. I say it’s the typical head in the hands move,” Blake hedged.

Bill ran his fingers through his hair, angrily grabbing handfuls before shaking his fists in the air. “Oh! Good call, man. He’s dying to shout at the top of his lungs right now,” Joe chuckled.

“He’ll have that feeling again soon, but for completely different reasons.” The malice in Tucker’s voice was palpable.

“What are you going to do with him?” Blake asked.

Tucker glanced down at his watch. “Reaper’s team is currently being advised they are back on the case, but their orders to locate and apprehend the suspects have changed.”

“Changed to what?” Blake asked for clarification.

“Apprehend is no longer in their orders. It’s now locate and eradicate. I think Rebel would appreciate eradicating this traitor himself, right after I help the team locate him,” Tucker explained.

“Why did their orders change all of a sudden? What happened?”

“One of the tankers in Houston just blew a couple of minutes ago. They’re already scrambling agents to the site. Reaper warned them this would happen, and now they’re concerned it’ll only get worse. My boss just now alerted me about the call to eradicate.”

“He was my partner. He framed me. Maybe I should go ahead and take him out,” Joe replied.

“I get that, Brown. But he helped bury Rebel’s wife in Houston. That gives him first dibs in my book.”

“On the move again,” Blake interrupted. “Toward the oil tankers.”

“He’ll be looking for his new partners. We should let him help us find the rest of them.”

“Good thinking, Alex. Everyone, move out. Don’t lose him, no matter what.” Tucker emphasized each of his last three words.

Moving effortlessly through the night, the four men followed Bill with precision and ease.

Tucker patched into the FBI command center. ““He’s on the phone. Trace that call. Who’s he talking to?”

“Got it. It’s one of them.” The FBI analyst located the exact coordinates in the port where the cell phone was located and relayed the information to the team. “Bring them in.”

“Copy that,” Tucker replied. “Blake, Alex—apprehend that cowardly terrorist. Joe, you’re with me on Bill. Move out.”

They split up, each team clear on the intentions of their mission. Bill took the long way around the port, doubling back and skirting around buildings in his attempts to lose a tail and avoid detection, adding too many precious minutes to his journey. When he finally reached his destination, a rendezvous point with the comrade he’d recently spoken to in the hull of an oil tanker, he once again found he’d reached his destination too late.

His partner in crime was gone, as were the crucial items he needed to carry out his part of the plan. Joe knew the very second the dread overcame him as understanding dawned.

“Your gut told you, didn’t it? That old feeling of knowing when you’re being watched. Being followed. You felt it and ignored it, thought you could get away before it was too late.” Joe spoke calmly as he approached Bill from behind. Bill stood motionless, with the exception of dropping his chin to his chest. “But there’s no escaping now, Bill. It would be foolish even to try. But if that’s what you’re thinking, go ahead and try. I won’t hesitate to shoot you in the head.”

“Is that any way to treat your partner?” Bill replied.

“No, it’s not,” Joe conceded. “But that is how traitors are treated. You betrayed me, framed me for your treachery, and left me to take the fall in your place. For that alone, you deserve to be shot.”