From the bloom of blood Dan glimpsed on the lower half of the guy’s khaki-colored trousers, he’d missed Rajen’s knee by two or three inches, nicking the side of his calf. But it was enough. The dude wasn’t going anywhere.
Five more thundering steps brought him to the man’s side. Rajen was now sitting in the middle of the street, grabbing his injured leg and wailing. Like, seriously, wailing. He could give Irdina some stiff competition in terms of tear production and loud, hiccupping cries. “Rajen Musa,” he said, his chest rising and falling with the effort to suck in the dense, wet air. The smoky smell of spent gunpowder filled his nose and mouth, its taste tart on his tongue. Pointing the Ruger at the security director’s head, he continued, “You shoulda left the country when you had the chance.”
“No!” Rajen cried, rocking slightly. Deep crimson blood coated his hands as he squeezed his leg. “No! I know nothing! I am innocent!”
“Innocent men don’t…” Penni—who’d just caught up to them—bent at the waist, blowing hard. “Run,” she finished.
“No, no, no.” Rajen shook his head, his face shiny with tears. “Whatever they did, I had no part. I-I just gave them room numbers th-they ask for and…and access key to s-s-stairwell. Nothing more. Nothing more!” he wailed, his accent so thick it was difficult to make out his words. “I swear.”
Dan glanced at Penni as she straightened, still trying to catch her breath. “You believe him?” he asked.
He could tell by her expression that she wasn’t sure, but she was a bright bulb. And she’d read his intention correctly. “Not for an instant.” She shook her head vehemently.
“I swear,” Rajen insisted again, grabbing the leg of Dan’s jeans with a bloody hand. “They found me and—”
“Who found you?” he demanded, not allowing the barrel of his weapon to waiver from its position an inch from the man’s temple.
“I do not know name,” Rajen insisted, and Dan tilted his head, making sure his expression hardened further. Rajen’s voice fell to a terrified, pain-filled whimper. “I promise I do not know. I only know he Jemaah Islamiyah. He offer me much money to give him room numbers of Americans coming to…uh…uh”—Dan watched the man’s desperate expression edge toward panic as he searched for the correct word—“flower assembly.” Flower assembly? Oh, horticultural convention. Yeah, close enough. “He no tell me his plans. Just tell me find room numbers and give access key.” He shook Dan’s pant leg as a small puddle of blood formed on the ground beneath his injured calf. “Please, I speak truth.”
“How did this man, this Jemaah Islamiyah militant,” he snarled the words, “know where to find the agents on duty? The one on the balcony and the one across the street on the roof of the shopping mall? That had nothing to do with room numbers or—”
“I know not what you say!” Rajen screamed, more tears welling in his eyes, and was that? Yeah, the dude had a serious amount of snot running over his lips. Dan’s own lips curled. “I know nothing of—”
“How did they know about the transmitters in Abby’s clothes!” he bellowed, pressing the barrel of his weapon tight against Rajen’s head.
“I know not!” the security director’s voice screeched loud and high enough to send a flock of pigeons that had alighted on one of the gazillion overhead wires strung across the city, into noisy flight.
“Then why did you—”
But that’s all he managed because Penni interrupted him by yelling, “Go back inside your homes!” He found her gripping her service weapon with both hands and turning in a slow circle, keeping her eyes trained on the people who had begun slipping from their houses to investigate the commotion. “We are American authorities!” She shifted her Glock to one hand so she could reach for her Secret Service badge with the other, flashing her credentials to the growing crowd. “This man is a terrorist!”
“No! No terrorist!” Rajen cried, hiccupping and releasing Dan to once again place both hands around his injured leg.
A few murmurs rippled through those gathered even as more people slowly emerged from homes, backyards, and the narrow alleys running between the houses.
“I don’t think they understand you,” Dan whispered. “And even if they do, I don’t think that badge of yours holds much water with ’em.” The twanging hairs on the back of his neck told him they might be about to find themselves in a world of trouble. The kind that happened when a crowd turned into a mob. Tension vibrated through the air, and he was reminded of the time he accidently stumbled into a notoriously gang-violent neighborhood back in good ol’ Detroit Rock City. Just like back then, he thought, This could get real bad, real quick. “Penni, get the car.”