Ricardo (The Santiago Brothers Book Three) Read online

  “Where am I going?” Mel yelled from the front seat.

  “Head northwest!” Ric bounced and hitched in the carrier as he struggled to move to the front seat. He reached over and secured his forearms underneath Hakeem’s armpits. Hakeem groaned as he was repositioned to sit upright. He’s still alive! There was a chance. Hope faded as Ric’s hands came in contact with the front of Hakeem’s crimson-stained shirt. The blood was everywhere. Oh, God, no! Not Hakeem! Ric shook with anger at the sight of the bright red liquid on his hands, on Hakeem’s weapon, which he’d fallen on top of, and the front seat.

  “We need to get him to a hospital!”

  “There’s not time,” Ric whispered.

  “What?”

  He didn’t repeat the words. Instead, Ric struggled out of his jacket and his shirt. He tore his shirt into pieces and after squeezing them into tight balls, pressed the makeshift gauzes onto the two places he suspected were wounds. Hakeem’s flinching confirmed his guess. There was no telling how many gunshots Hakeem sustained, and Ric cursed only having two hands. Ric looked over his shoulder. Abdul’s group was still visible, but shrank into the sand as Mel put distance between them. They still weren’t at a safe distance to stop and assess Hakeem’s wounds. “Hang on, old friend,” Ric whispered into Hakeem’s ear. Hakeem’s dried lips twitched upward.

  “I don’t know where I’m going.” Mel tapped the compass mounted on the dash near the steering wheel. “This thing is working, right?”

  Ric angled his arm to look at his watch. The coordinates where rapidly moving in the right direction. “Yeah, just keep on this heading. We should reach a CIA outpost in about an hour.”

  “An hour?” Mel shot a look at Hakeem and grimaced. “I don’t think he’s got an hour. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “He’ll make it. Hakeem’s a fighter.”

  Her gaze on the sand dunes ahead of her, Mel set her jaw in a look of determination. Her foot ground the accelerator into the floor. In just under an hour, they pulled into a bunker on the outskirts of a small desert town connected to civilization via a lone highway. Ric touched the side of Hakeem’s sleeping face and quickly drew his hand back.

  “What is it?” Mel jumped down from the vehicle and jogged around to Hakeem’s side to assist moving him.

  Ric’s voice shook with emotion. “He’s cold.”

  Mel placed two fingers beneath Hakeem’s chin. “He’s still got a pulse. It’s weak, but he’s alive. Help me!”

  She grappled Hakeem’s legs while Ric secured his forearms underneath Hakeem’s arms. Ric used his foot to kick open the door of the safe house. They laid Hakeem’s body on a cot and Ric sprinted to a nearby bathroom. A few seconds later, he emerged with an emergency kit. Mel had already opened Hakeem’s shirt to reveal three separate entrance wounds: two in the chest and one in the lower abdomen. Ric’s heart sank to his feet, and he suppressed a groan while he blinked back hot, angry tears. Hakeem was more family to him than his own had been in the last few years. “We can’t let him die, Mel. We can’t.” His hands moved across the supplies in the kit, but his mind couldn’t concentrate on the labels.

  “Here, let me.” She took the kit from his lap. “Talk to him. He’s in and out of consciousness.” She found a bottle of antiseptic and poured some directly onto the wounds.

  Hakeem groaned.

  “You’re hurting him,” Ric accused.

  “He’s already in pain, Ric. I have to clean his wounds.” She quickly wiped away the dried blood from the area around his wounds. “You’re right, though; he’s a fighter. Help me turn him. Let’s see if he has three exit wounds.” Hakeem groaned as Ric and Mel turned him onto his right side. She touched the skin near his collarbone. “I see two.” Her eyes drifted to Hakeem’s lower back; it was still intact. “I don’t see the third.”

  “What do you mean?” Ric asked frantically.

  Her saddened tone was absent hope. “The bullet in his abdomen…it might still be there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Mel shook her head. “There’s no exit wound. It could be anywhere, Ric. His stomach, his chest—”

  “Stop!” Ric turned his head away. Tears rushed down his cheeks.

  “Let’s put him back down.” They eased Hakeem onto his back. Ric sniffed loudly. Mel raised sympathetic eyes to him. “Find some blankets. Let’s try to get him warm.”

  Ric vigorously nodded. Blankets. I can do that. The idea was ludicrous. Hakeem was cold not because of external forces, but because his heart could no longer pump warm blood throughout his body. But Ric was grateful for the task. He was rapidly losing his mind at the inescapable prospect of his friend’s death.

  Mel had dressed Hakeem’s chest wounds by the time Ric returned with a couple of blankets in hand. He spread one over Hakeem’s legs and draped another one around the man’s shoulders. “What are you doing?”

  Mel continued to feel around Hakeem’s abdomen. “I don’t know. I’m just doing what I’ve seen on TV. I’m looking for the bullet, or any sign of internal bleeding. It’s really hard here.” She pressed lightly on the left side of Hakeem’s abdomen. “If he’s made it this far, maybe we can get him to a doctor.”

  Ric sank to his knees beside the cot. He rested his hand on the brow of his friend, who had opened his eyes. “The nearest doctor is about twenty miles away.”

  Hakeem smiled weakly. “I don’t need a doctor, my friend. The time has come for me to go to my wife.”

  “No,” Ric protested softly.

  “No? But I want to see her. I miss her and our son.”

  Tears flowed heavily and blocked Ric’s vision. He blinked as fast as humanly possible to clear his eyes. Hakeem was more of a father to him than his own; a few short years together hadn’t been enough time. “I’m not ready.”

  Hakeem chuckled and then coughed violently. “I am not your only family, my son.”

  “You’re the only one who matters.”

  “No. Go home, my boy.” He reached for Mel with a trembling hand. She grasped it, and Hakeem brought it across his body. “And take her with you.”

  Ric gripped their hands. “We had some good times, my friend. Some of the best of my life.”

  Hakeem’s eyelids drifted closed. He smiled broadly. “And you gave me life, Ricardo. Our adventures made me alive again. Now, I must go…forever.”

  “Hakeem!”

  Hakeem released a ragged breath; his head tilted over to one side. His chest settled one last time and the grip of his cold hand loosened ever so slightly. Ric buried his face in the chest of his friend and sobbed.

  ****

  Mel didn’t know what to do. Ric’s body racked as he continued to grieve for his friend. She wrapped her free arm around him and placed her cheek to his. Her loose hair draped over him in a black covering of mourning and she remained fixed to him and Hakeem until Ric’s cries became heavy breathing. She sensed his need for air and space, so she released him. Ric raised his head. His eyes were nearly swollen shut, his face matted with drying tears and mucus. She fished out some cloth from the medical kit and handed it to him. He blew his nose and wiped the remaining tears from his cheeks. “Oh, Ric, I’m so sorry.”

  He didn’t answer. One hand still worked the cloth around his nose; the other reached for the edge of the blanket covering Hakeem and he pulled it over Hakeem’s head. “There’s still the mission. I’ve got to get to the embassy in Dubai.”

  The embassy! They were finally going to the one place — other than Ric’s presence — Mel considered safe. Her elation was tempered by her concern over Ric’s sudden suppression of grief. “Perhaps you should take another moment…”

  “We don’t have another moment.” He stood and made his way over to the edge of the floor mat and shoved it away to reveal a large, locked safe in the ground. He fingered the combination to release the lock. Mel angled her head to see what was in the safe. Guns, both semi-automatic and fully automatic of various brands, black grenades, maps, a satellite phone
, and a few gadgets Mel couldn’t name were brought from the safe and scattered on a nearby table. “We’ve got to get to the embassy before Abdul and his men arrive.”

  “They’ve still got my badge.”

  “And their female operative is most likely in place.”

  “A black, female operative?” Mel asked dubiously.

  Ric double-checked the magazines of the guns before loading them. “My source said a Somali operative was smuggled into the UAE. They may try to manipulate the picture on your credentials somehow.”

  “She’ll gain access to the embassy, but it’s not like she can walk in with a bomb. There should be metal detectors, bomb-sniffing dogs…equipment sophisticated enough to detect incendiary devices.”

  “True.” He loaded a third handgun and secured it in the waist of the back of his pants. “But her role might not have anything to do with the bomb itself. She may be sent in to disable security somehow, or be a diversion to the main event.”

  “This is insane,” Mel whispered. She came to the table and reached for a handgun. Ric put out a hand to stop her. Mel speared him with her gaze. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You’re not trained for this.”

  “And you can’t handle this by yourself!”

  Ric activated the satellite phone. “Won’t need to. The embassy will be prepared.” He voiced some sort of identification number and rapidly explained the situation to the person at the other end of the line. Was he talking to an embassy official? He could give them word that I’m safe. My parents must be worried sick! She grabbed the gun anyway and stuffed it behind the waist seam of her loose pants at the small of her back, and then readjusted her black abaya. She dashed to Ric’s side. “Tell them I’m okay,” she whispered to him.

  If he heard her, he gave no indication as he continued to rattle off names and facts about what he believed to be an imminent attack. “No sir. The female target hasn’t been identified. I’m hoping the analysts have come up with something. I have a US Marshal with me who was kidnapped off the streets of Dubai. She has darker skin, look for someone of African descent or… That’s right. US Marshal Melody Lewis.” Their eyes locked. “She’s okay. No injuries to report.” He said Hakeem’s source number and confirmed his death. Ric’s eyes misted again and Mel laid a hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. He returned the gesture with a soft smile before he continued the conversation. “We’re on our way. Time of attack unknown but believed with high confidence that it’s imminent.” He replaced the receiver and moved to handle the weapons. “Load these in the vehicle.” He handed her the weapons before he grabbed a gasoline can. “I’ll fill the tank.”

  Mel obeyed, making just three trips to load all the gear. By the time she finished securing the weapons in the vehicle, Ric had shut the door to the safe house. He ushered her to move into the passenger seat. “What about Hakeem?”

  His face was like stone as the engine revved with life. “A team will come for him.”

  As they pulled away from the location, only Mel looked back.

  Chapter Ten

  In less than a few hours, Ric and Mel were on an agency aircraft flying into Dubai. Mel was allowed to wash and was given a fresh pair of khaki pants and a t-shirt. She emerged from the lavatory to find everyone gathered around a large table, poring over documents, and tossing around ideas about the attack.

  “The female could be a suicide bomber,” a man with thinning hair and a red mustache said.

  Ric shook his head. “Then why would Abdul need her credentials?”

  “Do you know for sure that her credentials are being used in the plot? He could have just taken her identification to get information on her.”

  “What we do know,” said a thin man with wiry glasses who looked no more than sixteen, “is that a known Al-Shabaab female operative received falsified travel documents and left Somalia five days ago. Reportedly, she passed through Yemen using the same travel route as a few other foreign fighters. She was last seen entering the UAE approximately twenty-four hours ago.”

  “There’s your proof,” Ric said firmly. “Ben, you got anything else on her? Training camps? Connections?”

  Ben verified her having been trained in a new camp in Somalia run by an al-Qaida in the Arabian Peninsula operative whose specialties were IED creation and instruction. “And don’t forget we have weapons and fighters who were tracked entering the country over a week ago.”

  “This is going to be a large-scale attack,” Ric said. “The embassy is located in the heart of downtown. The Saudi and Kuwaiti embassies are nearby. I think it’s safe to assume the US Embassy won’t be the only target.”

  “We do have unconfirmed intelligence reports of those embassies being targets for future attacks by AQAP,” Ben added.

  Throughout the exchange, one man with peppered hair and a thick black mustache he mechanically stroked remained silent. Mel recalled being briefly introduced to Ric’s supervising officer, Roland Daniels. He appeared to trust Ric’s judgment, but he’d have the final interpretation of the evidence and intelligence. “Ricardo, what’s your gut telling you?”

  Ric faced his boss. It was a full ten seconds before he responded. “My gut’s telling me Deputy Lewis’s creds will be used by the female officer to gain access to the embassy. From there on, it’s anyone’s guess, but I believe she’ll somehow disable security at a pre-determined point of entry. From there, the other operatives will have unfettered access to launch an attack. They’ll use small arms, the rockets that were recently shipped from Oman, and we can’t rule out IEDs.”

  “What about the other embassies nearby?” the redhead asked.

  Ric shook his head. “I don’t think they’ll be targets. My suspicion is that Abdul will focus his first attack on the US embassy. If it’s a success, then he’ll probably branch out.”

  “But for what purpose?” the redhead asked. “What exactly is his end game?”

  “What other end game do terrorists have?” Ric shot back. “To bring down the West through a series of attacks aimed at maximizing loss of human life while increasingly terrorizing the remaining victims. He’s got connections to foreign fighters, right?” Ric looked at Ben for confirmation, which the young man offered with a nod. “Perhaps he’s an undocumented operative for al-Qaida or some other faction.”

  “His connection to Hassan… Any indication this operation is being bankrolled by the sheik?” Roland asked.

  Ric ran a hand down the side of his face. Mel, too, tensed at the question. Ric had confided in her about the potential link between Hassan and terrorism, although she wasn’t sure if Ric confirmed Hassan as a willing participant. Would he voice his suspicions now? She looked at Ric, whose eyes found hers at that same moment. It was so easy now to read his eyes, and she understood what he was silently communicating to her. She sucked her lips in to wet them, but remained mute.

  “I have Hassan’s admission,” Ric answered. “However, just before Deputy Lewis and I left the camp, Hassan assured me of his unwitting involvement in financing terrorist operations. Abdul was effectively in control.”

  Mel suppressed a gasp. Disappointment and pain were in Ric’s voice and something else akin to…embarrassment? The sheik had been his source for years and all this time he was likely bankrolling terrorism underneath Ric’s nose.

  “He’s your source,” the red-haired man said. “Your need to protect him has obviously clouded your judgment. How many operations were financed by the sheik, unknown to you?”

  Ric’s eyes turned to coal as he eyed his colleague. Hands fisted at his sides, he looked as if he were internally debating whether or not to punch him. Mel gripped the armrests of her seat.

  “Settle down, you two,” Daniels ordered. “We don’t need to go to blows over this. Save your strength for the embassy, ’cause if Ric’s right, we’re not going to sleep for the next seventy-two hours. Ben, put the embassy’s contingency plans on the main screen.” Ric’s murderous look subsided as he refocused
his attention on the television screen behind his boss’s head.

  Several entry points were highlighted in the building’s floor plans and writing too small for Mel to read from her distance was in bubble comments linked to those highlights. Other areas were noted with various colors and wording. Mel hesitantly walked toward the group, curious about the contingency plans. Ric angled his head for her to stand next to him. She did, just as turbulence rocked the plane. Mel instinctively gripped Ric and his arm wrapped around her to steady her against him. She mouthed a “thank-you.” His lips produced a ghost of a smile. His gaze shifted to look over her shoulder. She rotated her head to see the redhead. He eyed them with suspicion. At the same time, Ric released her and Mel moved away to an appropriate distance. She ignored both her burning cheeks and the man’s eyes she felt were still on her.

  “How soon can the military be there if alerted now?” Mel heard Daniels ask.

  A naval officer present at the meeting answered, but Mel didn’t hear a word the man said. Her attention was riveted on one of the side screens where pictures of known operatives flashed. She recognized a few of the faces as the men who had shot at Hakeem earlier in the desert. Her eyes watered at the thought of Hakeem. Was he still lying there in the safe house, alone, on that cot? Had the team Ric mentioned found him? What if someone discovered him? Poor Hakeem! She looked at Ric, wondering whether he too had noticed the faces of Hakeem’s killers. If the photographs had any effect on Ric, he hid it well. He divided his attention effortlessly between the various screens, the papers he now held in his hands, and his boss, who relentlessly questioned him.

  “Lieutenant, get on the phone with your commanding officer and alert him to a possible attack,” Daniels ordered. “We’ll need the military on standby. Ross,” he turned to the red-haired man, “get me the Secretary of State. And I need a line to the White House.”