Terror Rising: Book 0 – The Insurgence (6 page)

She closed the door behind her and tried to
catch up with Martinez, who was already halfway down the hall. Most
of the cubicles they passed were empty, though a few offices were
occupied along the way.

“You need to quit leaving me behind,” she
said to Martinez as she caught up.

“Huh?” he said, walking fast with his eyes
forward.

“You left me on that hill earlier. By the
time I got out of the car, you were half way down.”

He swung his head to the side, glaring as
though he was about to rip into her, but instead, his face went
calm with an indication of remorse. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I just want to make
sure we’re looking out for each other.”

“We are. I’ve got your back, don’t
worry.”

From the hall, they entered a lobby with two
agents sitting at the desk, both rookies, pulling security. The
agents raised their heads in surprise.

“You have something you want to say?”
Martinez shot back, defensively.

“Not at all, sir. Have a good night,” the
younger of the two men said.

“You too,” Martinez said as they walked past
and pushed open the glass double doors.

The night air was dry but refreshing, much
cooler than before. Under the parking lot lights, Border Patrol
vehicles were neatly aligned in rows. A line of black SUVs took up
one lane across the way. All were backed in and ready to go.
Angela’s car, a gray four-door 2014 Toyota Camry, was parked in the
employee lot in the corner next to Martinez’s Jeep.

“Don’t worry about any of this,” he said as
their boots clicked along the pavement in the quiet night. “We’ll
get it all worked out tomorrow.”

She wanted to believe him but was worried
that their troubles were just beginning. She felt grief for
Dawson—shame even, that it wasn’t her. Of course, she had no
intention of revealing such thoughts to Martinez. Perhaps he felt
the same way.

She wished him a good night and pressed the
button on her keychain, unlocking the Camry. Martinez waved as he
got into his Jeep and cranked the engine. Once inside her car, she
sat for a moment with the engine running and waited for Martinez to
leave. His headlights flashed across her rearview mirror, and he
was off. With no one around, she leaned forward and rested her head
against the steering wheel, sobbing.

Angela arrived home later that evening,
pulling into the driveway of her brick three-bedroom sanctuary,
located in a quaint neighborhood near Buena Vista Middle School,
where her daughters, Chassity and Lisa, attended school.

Doug’s F150 was in the driveway, and she
could see a light on in the living room window. She looked at the
clock on her dashboard. It was 9:45. For the day she had, that
wasn’t too bad. Doug worked normal nine to five hours, which proved
to be an asset where their children were concerned.

She turned off the engine and opened the
door, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. She felt like a
nervous wreck. What was she going to tell Doug? Maybe it could wait
until morning.

The neighborhood was quiet with cars parked
in driveways under the glow of streetlights. She passed the front
of Doug’s truck and moved along the cement walkway leading to their
front door, past small lights planted in the ground.

Doug was on the couch watching television
when she walked in. His short brown hair was parted to the side,
and he was wearing a Duke University T-shirt and sweat pants, his
typical evening wear.

“Hi, honey,” he said to her.

“Hey,” Angela said, walking into the
foyer.

He muted the television set, took one look
at her, and rose from the couch, stunned. “What happened to you
today?”

Her cover was blown. She hadn’t had a chance
to clean up yet, which she immediately regretted. “Nothing. Just a
long day at the office, that’s all.”

He walked toward her, not buying it. “You’re
a mess.”

She set her purse on the nearest end table
and tried to make it to the kitchen but found herself blocked as he
stood in her way.

“Talk to me, Angela. Is everything okay?”
She could see the two days’ growth on his thin face, a light shade
of brown stubble. He was trying to grow a beard again. That, or
maybe he was overworked too.

“Everything’s fine. I just want to have a
quick snack and go to bed.”

She glanced at the television and saw live
coverage of the blast still playing out. Reporters had swarmed the
cordoned area, desperate for a story. An official statement from
Homeland Security claimed that the explosion was unrelated to
terror. However, a spokesman did say that all avenues were
currently being pursued. Angela understood not wanting to incite
panic, but to outright lie to the public?

“Your coming home late wouldn’t have
anything to do with this, would it?” Doug asked, pointing to the
TV.

Angela paused, wanting to tell him
everything, but she didn’t think she was ready for it.

“Angela, talk to me,” he said.

She couldn’t fight it any longer and rushed
to his arms, burying her face in his chest. “We lost an agent
today. A truck was rigged with explosives. We didn’t see it coming.
My God…”

Tears began to flow, as Doug’s comforting
arms closed around her, his hands rubbing the back of her dirty
uniform.

“It’s okay…” he said. “Everything’s going to
be okay.”

After a shower, she felt slightly better.
She lay in her bed in a T-shirt and underwear as Doug brought her a
glass of water and some Advil.

“
Here,” he said with concerned eyes.
“Drink up.”

She lifted her head, took the tablets, and
drank them down with the water. The mattress shifted down as Doug
sat next to her.

“
You just need to clear your head of
everything and get some rest,” he said, rubbing her leg.

“
I know,” she said. Her voice was
hoarse, and she was afraid she had awakened the girls earlier with
all the crying. Doug assured her that she hadn’t. “Dawson…” she
said. “He was just a kid. Younger than me.” She smiled a little
while thinking about him. “He had a bit of a crush on me, but
nothing serious of course.”

Doug looked at her with one brow raised.
“Really?”

She pushed his arm away, smiling more. “It
was nothing. He was a good person.”

Doug stared ahead sadly. “I’m sorry. I
really am.”

Angela rocked her head back and stared at
the ceiling as her blonde hair spread out over the pillow. “I don’t
know how I’m going to go back there tomorrow.”

“
Take the day off and recover,” Doug
said. “I’m sure they’d understand.”

She took his left hand and laced her fingers
around it. “I can’t. There’s an investigation. Martinez is sure
there’s something bigger going on.”

“
So it
was
terrorism?” Doug
asked.

Her eyes looked down. “That’s what it seems
like.”

Doug rose from the bed and leaned toward
her, kissing her forehead. “Just rest. Please. You’ll feel better
in the morning.”

He got up and went to the nightstand on his
side, switching off the lamp. Their spacious room went dark, and
Angela felt unnerved by the sudden silence. Doug lay in bed next to
her, and she wanted nothing more than to be cradled in his arms.
She turned on her side and lay against him as he rubbed her back
slowly, caressing her to sleep.

The phone call jolted Angela awake, sounding
like an angry alarm clock. Doug lay sleeping on his side next to
her. She reached for her cell phone on the nightstand, ready to
throw it across the room until she saw the number. It was
Martinez.

“
Hello?” she said in a tired voice
after swiping the screen.

“
Angela,
I’m sorry to wake you
.
”
He
sounded upset. He had rarely called her by her first
name.

“
What time is it?” she asked, rubbing
her head. The clock on her phone had been a sleepy-eyed
blur.

“
A little after two.
Again, I’m sorry, but I really need to talk to you.”

She held the phone for a moment, not sure
what to say, and she was still so tired, she wasn’t sure she was
fully awake. “So talk,” she said.

“
Not here. Not like this.
Can you meet me somewhere?”

She glanced at Doug, unsure how to respond.
Soundly sleeping, his chest rose and fell with the subtle sound of
his breathing.

“
What is this about, sir?” she
asked.

“
Please. You’re the only
one I can trust. There’s a little diner on Orange, Roxy’s. They’re
open twenty-four hours. Ten, twenty minutes. It’s all I
ask.”

Strange as his request was, she couldn’t say
no. Her interest had been piqued. Doug would be against it, but her
partner needed her. That was all there was to it.

“
Okay. I’ll be there.”

“
Great. I’m leaving now.
Meet you there.”

And then he hung up.

Secret Meeting

Angela nudged Doug and told him she had to
meet with Captain Martinez.

“Are you out of your mind?” he asked,
immediately angered.

“This investigation could have serious
implications for my career. I have to go,” she said, already
getting dressed.

“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice rising.
“Whatever you need to talk about can wait until morning.”

“No, it can’t,” she responded, with a look
of conviction in her eyes.

Doug shook his head and lay back down. She
apologized and left the room as quickly as she could, promising him
that she’d be back in less than an hour.

Angela drove along the quiet, empty streets
of her neighborhood, feeling alert and refreshed, even with only a
few hours rest. The diner wasn’t far, and for that she was
grateful. Whatever the urgency, Angela had to admit that she was
intrigued despite the lack of details over the phone. What was
Martinez up to? That was the main question on her mind.

There were a few cars in the Roxy parking
lot, night owls and other dwellers of the evening. In her haste,
Angela had forgotten her gun. She panicked, feeling the emptiness
at her side but then figured that she probably didn’t need it.

Roxy’s Diner was located on a corner
intersection. Neon letters buzzed above the entrance, and through
the window she could see a few people sitting inside at booths.

She squinted to see any sign of Martinez.
She saw his Jeep, so he had to be somewhere. A bell jingled as she
opened the door and walked across the tile floor past the cashier.
She turned and saw her boss sitting at a booth in the far corner,
nursing a cup of coffee. The café smelled of eggs and sausage,
enough to make her stomach growl.

Martinez looked up as she approached, not
wearing her uniform but dressed in jeans, a jacket, and a T-shirt
underneath. Her hair was tied up and her face bare of makeup. What
else did he expect to see at two in the morning? His eyes darted
around nervously as he feigned a smile and thanked her for showing
up.

If Angela’s outfit was different from the
usual, so was his. He wore a hoodie and a ball cap on his head.
Angela smiled as she sat, amused by his covert appearance. She
glanced at a paper menu but didn’t plan on staying long enough to
eat.

A pretty young waitress, oddly perky at the
late hour, approached the table from out of nowhere. “Can I get you
something to drink, dear?”

Angela glanced at Martinez’s cup and just
asked for coffee. “Lots of sugar,” she said.

The waitress nodded and went to the kitchen
as Martinez leaned in closer, talking discreetly.

“Again. I can’t thank you enough. This is
very important.” He stopped and glanced out the window, surveying
the parking lot. Angela had been right about his behavior in the
chief’s office. He was growing increasingly paranoid.

“Why don’t you just tell me what this is all
about?” she asked. “What can I do to help?”

He took a sip from his coffee and set the
mug down. She could see that one of his hands was shaking. “I’ve
got a friend in the FBI, and she told me something about one of our
guys. The one who wasn’t vaporized in the explosion.”

“He’s a terrorist,” Angela said, taking a
wild guess.

“Not just any terrorist. He is the brother
of a man named Sayed Rahman. Does the name ring a bell?”

Angela thought to herself then looked at
Martinez. “No. Should it?”

“Just a few days ago, they caught Sayed in
Belgium. He was hiding there after that London train station
attack.”

The carnage came rushing back to Angela. She
remembered it from the news. Two months prior, terrorists had
detonated a series of dirty bombs at the Central London Metro
Station, killing more than forty people and injuring a hundred
more.

The attack had awakened the world to the
reality of terrorism as the new normal. It was even worse than the
attack in 2005. The Islamic State had taken credit for the tube’s
bombing. Three of the four men had blown themselves up, but the
fourth had gotten away—a man by the name of Sayed Rahman.

Angela looked at Martinez with fear in her
eyes, realizing what he was telling her. “You’re sure about this?
His brother? What was he doing here?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Angela.
ISIS is here. They’ve been here, and they’re growing.”

Angela laid her hands out on the table, not
fully understanding Martinez’s secrecy. “So why keep all this to
ourselves? Can’t we just bring this to the chief tomorrow?”

“We’re on our own,” Martinez said, cutting
her off. “The government isn’t interested in ISIS. I have some
dangerous information. Things I’ve learned about some of the
higher-ups, people supposedly on our side, and it ain’t
pretty.”