Linc softly cursed.
“That food processing plant is directly in the flight path of the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport,” Quinn said. “A single, shoulder-fired missile could have brought down a jumbo jet.”
Carly’s stomach rolled.
“Now that they control some of the richest oilfields in the Middle East,” Taggart continued, “these terrorist groups have amazing amounts of money. Enough to outfit an army with top-of-the-line equipment.”
“And buy anything from missiles to nukes,” Linc added, “if they can get their hands on them.”
“Exactly.”
“How was the attack supposed to happen?” Carly asked.
“A lot of the workers in that food processing plant are Muslim, partof the resettlement program. Al-Razi figured a few radicals thrown into the mix would go unnoticed. And they wouldn’t have to be there long. From what we gleaned from one of the men we captured, their attack was planned to occur by the end of the week.”
Linc blew out a slow breath. “Al-Razi’s no longer a threat, but unfortunately, Zapata is still on the loose.”
“We’re after him, believe me,” Taggart said. “Within hours of the raid in Irving, we hit his compound. The place was deserted. It had been gutted and burned out to destroy any possible evidence. We’re hoping he’s still in Texas, but there’s no way to be sure.”
They talked a little longer, tossed out some ideas, all of them hoping new information would turn up soon.
Discouraged by the grim prospects, Carly was grateful when Linc suggested they break and invited Taggart to stay for lunch.
Mrs. Delinski served chicken salad sandwiches on flaky croissants, with potato chips, fresh fruit, and ice tea. Carly had no idea how the lady managed all that on such short notice but the food was delicious.
They ate out on the terrace overlooking the blue waters of the huge, kidney-shaped swimming pool.
Enjoying the mild early October weather, they were almost finished eating when the attack began.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“That sounds like a chopper,” Quinn said. “You expecting a ride into Dallas?”
“Not today.” Linc spotted the helicopter in the distance, flying over the ranch from the south, heading in their direction.
He looked back at the house to see Deke Logan bursting through the French doors, striding toward him.
“We’re under attack,” Deke said. “We don’t know who, could be as many as thirty armed men.”
“Zapata,” Linc said, without the slightest doubt.
“I’ll call for backup.” Quinn pulled out his phone to make the call, but the feds were a long ways away. The fight could be over by the time they got there.
“They came in the back way,” Deke said. “Wounded a couple of men who were patrolling the road. These guys are driving military Humvees. One’s mounted with an M-2 heavy machine gun. Hell, one’s carrying an M-30 mortar! I’m pulling my men back, Linc. We’ve got to set up a line of defense.”
“Where are Zapata’s men now?”
“They’re forming up, getting ready to make a full-out assault. Fuck, who the hell are these guys?”
“ISIS, maybe. Could be Al-Quaeda or some other group. Turns out Raul Zapata has terrorist connections.”
“Fuck,” Deke repeated.
“The house is solid stone. Why don’t you set up your defensive position here?”
Deke glanced around at the opulent stone mansion. “You sure?”
“Damn sure. Get your injured men inside and take them down to the basement. Mrs. Delinski’s a retired nurse.”
