As the minutes ticked past, Jessie stood tensely next to Bran, who held his Glock in a two-handed grip.
Peering through the crack in the bedroom door, Jessie could feel the perspiration gathering between her breasts. Eight fifteen and still no sign of Ahmed.
“Maybe he isn’t going to show,” she said.
“Or maybe he’s checking things out, making sure it’s safe.” They had closed the bedroom curtains, and only a lamp burned in the living room.
Nerves dried the inside of her mouth while Bran looked totally relaxed. This wasn’t new to him. She wondered how many times he had faced a deadly opponent.
At exactly eight thirty, a solid knock rattled the front door. Jessie could hear Mara’s footsteps padding across the carpet. The locks turned and the door opened.
“Hello, Ahmed,” she said, greeting him in English. “Please come in.”
“I think it is better that you come with me.”
Bran softly cursed. He was out of the bedroom and down the hall in an instant, his Glock leveled at Ahmed. “Raise your hands and keep them in the air! Do it now!”
Jessie watched from the hall, her heart beating wildly as Bran crossed the living room, his Glock pointed at Ahmed’s chest. Hunt came in though the sliding glass door, his pistol also aimed at Ahmed.
Bran’s eyes were a hard ice-blue as he dragged the man inside and hurriedly searched him for weapons. “I think right here is better,” Bran said, closing the door. “That way we can all get to know each other.”
Ahmed cast a disdainful glance at Mara, who stood pale and shaken a few feet away. “From the start, they said you were not to be trusted. I told them they were wrong. I was a fool.” He was tall and thin with a neatly trimmed heavy black beard. Dressed in black slacks and a white shirt, he was the cliché of a terrorist hiding in plain sight.
In seconds Ahmed’s hands were zip-tied behind his back and Bran had dragged him into the kitchen and into a chair at the table. Hunt kept his weapon pointed at Ahmed’s chest.
“I’m sorry,” Mara said to the man. “What you did was wrong. I couldn’t let you hurt anyone else.”
Bran moved into his space. “We need to know what happened to the weapons you stole and you’re going to tell us—one way or another. You can make it easy on yourself or hard.”
Ahmed’s mouth lifted into a smirk. “Do you really believe I will tell you anything? You Americans make me sick. What will you do—waterboard me?”
The look on Bran’s face sent a shiver down Jessie’s spine. Cold, determined, utterly ruthless. It was unlike anything she had seen before, and it made her doubt everything she thought she knew about Brandon Garrett.
“You sure this is the way you want it?” Bran asked softly, almost politely. It was more terrifying than his anger.
Ahmed blinked, no longer so certain. “I will tell you this. The weapons are no longer in your country. They are gone, and there is nothing you can do to stop what is going to happen.”
“Where are they?”
Ahmed closed his eyes and started praying. Bran let him finish. Then he grabbed the roll of duct tape out of the bag on the table, tore off a strip, and slapped it over Ahmed’s mouth. The man’s dark eyes widened as Bran jerked him out of the chair and hauled him through the door leading out to the garage.
“I borrowed your jumper cables, Mara,” Bran said on his way out. “I’ll put them back where they belong when we’re done.” He slammed the garage door shut, the sound vibrating across the kitchen.
Jessie’s breathing heightened. Mara’s eyes looked wide and fearful. Hunt said nothing, just settled himself in one of the kitchen chairs. There were only three. One was out in the garage where Bran had taken it earlier. She had thought it was odd at the time.
“What...what is he going to do?” Mara asked.
Jessie glanced at Hunt.
“Don’t look at me,” Hunt said, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t have the vaguest idea and I don’t want to know.”
The kitchen fell silent. On the other side of the door, Jessie could hear grunts and the sounds of a brief struggle. In the kitchen, no one uttered a word.
Bran said something. Ahmed gave a muffled reply. There was a sharp snapping sound, then a buzzing noise, then silence.
“What is happening?” Mara asked, a faint Middle Eastern accent now discernible.