Deadly Promises (Tracers #2.5)(93)
“We’ve intercepted communications about a truck bomb being smuggled into the U.S. via Mexico,” Blake said. “We believe the intended target is the global economic summit being held in Houston this weekend.”
“It’s a straight shot to Houston on I-10,” Kelsey pointed out.
Blake didn’t acknowledge her. “At first, we had intel the bomb might be coming through a border crossing in Brownsville. Then we had reason to believe it was coming through Del Rio.”
“Maybe it’s not coming through. Maybe it’s coming under,” the SEAL said. “Whatever cartel controls the route could have granted access for a hefty fee.”
Blake gave a curt nod. “Show me this tunnel.”
KELSEY LOWERED HER binoculars and sighed. Two hours and still nothing. How long did it take to map a tunnel complex? With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she trekked to the bottom of the hill and over to the mobile crime lab near the recovery site.
Kelsey stepped inside the air-conditioned trailer, which put her dilapidated camper to shame. “Any word?”
Mia glanced up from her work. Kelsey had excavated the skull first, and Mia now stood at a slate-topped table, extracting tooth pulp for her DNA test.
“Nothing.” Mia glanced at the nearby sat phone. “That thing’s been quiet. Go back to work. It’ll get your mind off it.”
Kelsey bit her lip. Nothing would get her mind off it. “I can’t concentrate. I tried.”
The phone buzzed and she lunged to answer it.
“Kelsey, it’s Blake. Is Brewer with you?”
Her heart skipped. “I thought he was with you?”
“He peeled off to install a surveillance cam for us at some manhole he knows about on the U.S. side.”
“And where are you?”
“On the Mexico side, checking things out. I just watched a convoy go in—three white delivery trucks—and I think one of them is our bomb.”
“But why—”
“Call it a hunch. Our bomb squad should be there any minute, but this convoy could be gone by then.”
“Can’t your team just block them off at the exit?”
“Yeah, and if all they’re smuggling is dope or people, we spook our terrorists and miss the chance to intercept the explosive. Listen, Brewer’s not answering his radio, which means he’s probably underground, but I need him to set up a diversion somehow so we can get a tracking device on these trucks. If you hear from him, tell him to get in touch ASAP.”
“I’ll tell him,” Kelsey said, although she knew Gage wouldn’t call. But it didn’t matter, because she also knew exactly where to find him.
GAGE WATCHED FROM the shadows as the men positioned the magnetic sign on the side of the truck: U.S. MAIL, complete with the official-looking eagle logo. As far as maintaining a low profile on American highways and maybe even pulling up to a government building, it was damn good cover.
Gage made himself invisible as he eased along the wall and positioned himself near the back of those trucks. Two of the three were locked with a padlock. The middle one had had its cargo door open ever since the drivers had stopped to retrieve the signs and disguise the vehicles.
Gage crept around back and peered inside. It was too dark to see, but his nose was giving him plenty of other information. He took out his penlight and shined it in the cargo space.
Holy, holy shit. Whoever bankrolled this op wasn’t fooling around.
Adrenaline hummed through Gage’s veins as he made his way back to one of the manholes he’d discovered today. He climbed the ladder and the instant he was above ground he was on the radio with the leader of the FBI’s bomb squad. The guy was a former SEAL, which just proved Gage’s theory that every frogman was really just a highly trained kid who liked to blow shit up.
“I got a visual ID on the cargo in one of those trucks,” Gage told the man now. “Twelve metal drums. And based on the smell, I’m betting they’re loaded with enough ammonium nitrate to wipe out a football stadium, over.”
The team leader on the other end cursed.
“They’re being disguised as mail trucks,” Gage added. “We clear to proceed with the plan?”
“Affirmative. You got what you need?”
“Affirmative.”
“Be careful.”
Careful? This guy had been out of the teams too long.
Gage dropped back down the rabbit hole and crept deeper into the tunnel, moving purely by feel. The wall curved as he retraced the same route he and Kelsey had taken last night.
God, had it really been just a few hours since he’d flattened himself against her in a desperate attempt to hide her from that truck?
Gage shook off the memory. He couldn’t think about Kelsey now. He couldn’t think about her arms around him or her soft skin or the fact that he was leaving soon, and that he might never get another chance to touch her. None of that mattered right now. Because Gage wouldn’t even be able to look at her, much less touch her, if he allowed some f*cking al-Qaeda sleeper cell to slip through his grasp and kill a bunch of innocent people.
Gage reached the designated setup point, unloaded his supplies, and quickly got to work molding C-4 and attaching fuses, doing everything by touch alone because he couldn’t risk a light. But he’d practiced this a zillion times. And less than a mile away, near the entrance to the tunnel, another guy who’d once worn the SEAL pin was busy doing the exact same thing. When Gage was satisfied he had enough explosive in place to completely seal off this tunnel and trap the trucks inside, he prepared to extract.