Inside Threat

by Jason Elam; Steve Yohn

  “What’s going on?” he heard. “Ross, talk to me, or I’ll kill her right now!”

  “I’m serious; back off,” Riley said to Porter and the rest. They took a step back.

  “Is this the crazy old man from the video?” Riley asked.

  “Who is this? How dare you talk to me like . . .” But then Saifullah paused. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer and much more pleasant. “Would I have the pleasure to be speaking to Riley Covington?”

  “It may be a pleasure for you, but it’s certainly not for me,” Riley said, turning the gun on Skeeter, who was walking toward him.

  Skeeter reached out, took the gun from Riley’s hand, and said softly, “You’re safe. Finish your call.” He slipped the gun into his belt, then bent down to help Scott back up. One by one, all the other guns went back into their holsters.

  Riley turned toward the wall, secure in the knowledge that Skeeter had his back.

  “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, because it truly is a distinct pleasure for me. How often does one get to speak to Captain America himself? Military hero, football superstar—I had a feeling you might be dropping by. May I ask if you are going to end this call by dropping the phone into a bucket of Gatorade?”

  That was an unexpected shot, Riley thought, surprised at the feeling of embarrassment. Come on, focus. Your job is to knock him off his game, not the other way around.

  “Listen, old man, I didn’t just sucker punch my best friend so that I can stand here and banter with you.”

  “Then why did you come on the line, Riley?”

  “Because I wanted to let you know that I’m coming to kill you.”

  Saifullah grunted. “That doesn’t sound very Christian of you, Mr. Covington.”

  “Cutting someone’s head off on live TV isn’t very Muslim of you. Oh, wait; I forgot. You practice that special kind of Islam—the kind where you decide who lives and who dies all by yourself and twist the words of your holy book to suit your own pathetic purposes.”

  The hardness was back in the imam’s voice when he said, “You seem to forget that I am the one holding all the cards here. I could put a bullet in your dear little Khadi’s head right now.”

  “Yeah, you could. But then you’d miss the opportunity to do it to me instead.”

  There was a pause on Saifullah’s end of the line. Then he said, “I’m listening.”

  “Straight up swap—me for her.”

  Riley heard Scott yell, “No!” but he didn’t turn around.

  “That’s right, old man. You can be the one who finally puts Riley Covington—American hero, destroyer of the Cause, killer of countless Islamic terrorist whacked-out nut jobs like yourself—out of commission. She comes out; I come in—unarmed, hands over my head.”

  Saifullah seemed to be considering it. Then he laughed. “This has trap written all over it. I was not born yesterday.”

  “No trap. You have my word. We meet at the door. She comes out; I go in. Come on, she’s just another woman. Think of the statement my death will make. Can you imagine millions of Americans watching my head come off? How demoralizing would that be?”

  “But that’s exactly why it has to be a trap. Why else would you do it, knowing you’re a dead man?”

  “If you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand. Now, do we have a deal?”

  “How do you know I won’t just kill the both of you?”

  “Because I believe that, despite all you’ve done, you’re a man of your word.”

  Silence. “I will have no mercy on you.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any.”

  “When?”

  “Two hours.”

  “One.”

  “One and a half.”

  “One.”

  “Fine,” Riley said.

  “You come shirtless with your hands above your head. When I see you coming up the stairs, the woman will show at the door. When you walk in, she will walk out. That is my word.”

  “I’m still going to find a way to kill you,” Riley said.

  “I’ll see you at 1:30,” Saifullah said, then hung up.

  Riley turned around and was knocked backward by a fist to his jaw. Skeeter quickly jumped in, holding Scott back.

  “You idiot! You shortsighted imbecile! Do you ever think things through, Riley, or do you just act on the first, simple-minded, testosterone-laced impulse that pops into your mind?” Scott yelled. His face was beet red and his eyes were bulging. “Don’t you realize that that guy’s going to haul you from the door right into Wilson Bay, turn on his camera, and cut your brainless head off?”

  “No, he won’t,” Riley said, rubbing his jaw. “He’s going to knock me around a bit first. He’s going to savor the kill. He won’t kill me right away.”

  “So what? Whether it’s right away or whether he waits an hour, he’s still going to kill you!”

  “Not if you kill him first,” Riley said staring hard at his friend. “My arrival there will be enough of a distraction—and believe me, I’ll be causing a scene—for you to get the ops teams into place. The president gave the go-ahead for the operation. This truck is setting the time. So move it up. As soon as the HERF arrives, you launch.”

  “And what if it’s not in time, Riley? What if the thing arrives ten minutes too late? Or what if we can’t pull off the positioning?”

  Riley held Scott’s gaze. “First of all, Scott, I want you to remember that if something goes wrong, I made this choice. I know that the odds are low, and I accept it. If I die, it’s because of something I did, not because of something you didn’t do. Understand?”

  Scott didn’t answer.

  “But second, man—and I want you to think about this—what else could I do? I love that woman. I love her like I love no one else in this world. Think about it; if that was Tara in there, what would you be doing?”

  When Scott still remained silent, Riley said, “Exactly! And there’s no better way for me to love Khadi than for her to come walking out while I go walking in.”

  “This is your call, Scott,” Porter said from the table. “Riley’s not the one running the show here, so don’t let him make the decision. If you say go, he’ll go. But if you say no, he won’t leave this truck.”

  Scott looked to the ground. Riley could see him wrestling.

  “Come on, Scott. Please. I have to do this.”

  Without looking up, Scott said simply, “Okay.” Then he turned and walked out of the truck.

  Riley dropped down to a squat. Thank You, Lord, for having him say yes. Thank You.

  But in that moment the reality of what he’d just signed on for hit him full force. He dropped his head into his hands. Please, God, save me. Get that HERF here in time. Give Scott and the ops protection and success. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go through what I saw on that video screen. Oh, God, it terrifies me! I can’t . . . I can’t imagine . . .

  Skeeter’s hand rested on his shoulder. Riley opened his eyes and saw the big man squatting next to him. Everyone else was watching him too.

  Riley said, “Skeet, I’m okay. I just need . . . just a little time to process.”

  Skeeter nodded and stood up. All the others turned back to the table to focus on the upcoming assault.

  You know my heart, Lord. I’m willing to do whatever You want me to do. I really don’t want to go through this, but . . . but it doesn’t really matter what I want, does it? I want Your will to be done—not my will, but Yours. So do it, Lord; do Your will. And no matter what happens to me . . . well, all I ask is that You give me the strength to make You proud all the way to the end, whatever that end may turn out to be.

  Friday, September 16, 12:30 p.m. EDT

  “Hey, Riley,” one of the line cops said as Riley passed him.

  “How’s it going?” Riley stopped briefly to shake the man’s hand.

  “Riley, what’s up?” Riley fist-bumped another cop a few more yards down the security line.

  “Riley, way to stick it to
Bellefeuille,” called out a longhaired law enforcement agent who had US Marshal written all over him.

  “Thanks, buddy,” Riley said.

  All the greetings and encouragement from the cops was nice. I guess once you’re behind the lines, they just assume you’re supposed to be here. And having Skeeter at my shoulder definitely helps cut down on the challenges.

  But as nice as this is, this isn’t what I need. I need some quiet, some solitude, so I can process things through. An idea struck him.

  He turned back to the US Marshal. “Hey, Deputy . . .”

  “Kimmin. Pat Kimmin.”

  “Deputy Kimmin. How’s it going, man? Hey, I’ve got a huge favor to ask you. Just between you, me, and the wall, I’m about to get pulled into this thing in a pretty major way. I’m looking for a little me-time to try to get my head around this.”

  Kimmin nodded. “Gotcha. You’re looking for a vehicle to crash out in for a time.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’ve come to the right place, my man. Follow me.”

  Riley and Skeeter followed Kimmin to an area just inside the cordoned-off zone that had seven or eight cars all parked together. Most looked like your typical government-issue sedans. But there were a few that stood out—a bright-yellow Hummer, a dark-blue early seventies Chevy Nova SS, and a black, late-model Ford Mustang.

  Kimmin pulled a key fob out of his pocket and pressed twice. The lights on the Mustang flashed.

  “You Marshals get all the cool rides,” Riley said.

  Kimmin smiled. “Nothing like a good drug seizure to keep you driving in style.” He handed the keys to Riley. “Take as much time as you need, and feel free to idle it so you can run the AC—give the press toads behind you a little black lung.” Turning to Skeeter, he said, “You, my friend, are going to have to slide that seat way back.”

  “Don’t sweat me, man. I’m good,” Skeeter said, putting out his fist.

  Kimmin bumped fists with Skeeter, then gave Riley a slap on the back. “As much time as you need,” he reminded them as he turned to go.

  “Sure you don’t want to come in?” Riley asked Skeet.

  “Nah, you need the space. I could use the fresh air after that truck.”

  Riley opened the door of the Mustang and thought, This car is beautiful! If I’m going to spend the last hour of my life anywhere, it might as well be in here. Then he caught himself. Quit thinking that way. Scott’s got a plan, and God’s got you in his sights.

  Riley eased himself onto the black-and-white rally-striped leather bucket seat and leaned his head back against the embossed Shelby cobra. His hand rested easily on the white ball of the shifter. Oh, I am so getting one of these.

  He started the engine and listened to the throaty rumble. Suddenly, he had the urge to put the car in gear and tear out of there. He could drive through the afternoon and be three states away by the time it got dark. If anyone caught up with him, he could just claim PTSD, get a little counseling, and all would be well.

  Khadi . . . how’d you get yourself caught up in this? This shouldn’t be our battle! Why’d you leave CTD to begin with? You could be saving people rather than having to be saved yourself! The whole situation just sucks so bad! I didn’t ask for any of this! I was done!

  Why me, God? Why do I have to be the one to go in there? Do You know what they’re going to do to me? They’re going to beat the living crap out of me! Then, unless Scott can pull another miraculous rescue out of his hat, they’re going to take a dull knife and cut my head off!

  Oh, God, I so don’t want to do this! Please, if there is any other way, show me now! The car had cooled down quickly, and Riley turned the air-conditioning to low. Taking his cell phone out of his pocket, he dialed a number.

  “Where are you, son?” Grandpa answered on the second ring. “Are you at the cathedral?”

  “Yeah, Gramps, I am.”

  “What’s going on? I can hear it in your voice that there’s something happening. Is Khadi okay?”

  Riley pressed in the clutch and began cycling the Mustang through its six gears. “So far. They’re going to kill her, Grandpa.”

  “I know. I saw the video. Have you and Scott and the rest of the folks there come up with a way to get her out?”

  “Well, yeah . . . yeah we have.” He dropped the car back into neutral and let out the clutch.

  “What is it, son?” Riley could hear the anxiety building in Grandpa’s voice. “Talk to me, boy.”

  “Are you with Mom?”

  “Not yet. I’m in the car heading over there now.”

  Tracing the silver mustang on the middle of the steering wheel, Riley said, “We’re doing a swap, Grandpa. Straight up—me for her.”

  Grandpa said nothing.

  “It was the only way I could think of. Any rescue assault couldn’t be carried out until at least two. That’s an hour too late. So I offered myself—and the whack job jumped at the chance to do a number on Captain America. It buys Scott a little more time, and it buys Khadi’s life.”

  “Does it buy Scott enough time?”

  “I don’t know, Grandpa.” Riley leaned his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know.”

  Both men were silent awhile. Finally, Grandpa said, “I won’t tell your mother. She’s frantic enough about Khadi. And with Jerry’s passing, if she knew there was a possibility that you might . . .”

  “Actually, Grandpa, she knows. Well, not all the details, but she knows I’m here. Believe it or not, she’s the one that told me to come save Khadi.”

  Grandpa gave a mirthless chuckle. “Oh, I believe it, all right. That sounds very much like your mom. Still, I don’t think she planned on you going in there to take Khadi’s place.”

  “No, you’re right.”

  “I have to tell you, Riley—straight up and honest—I don’t have a good feeling about this. I really don’t.”

  That wasn’t what Riley wanted to hear. But he also didn’t want Grandpa to sugarcoat things. “I don’t have a good feeling about this either, Grandpa. But what else am I going to do? It’s my life for Khadi’s life. I have no option.”

  Riley opened up a storage compartment on the center console. Inside were a .38 special, a pack of Camels, and some Trident. Either he just got this car, or he’s very careful not to smoke in here, because it still smells new. He stole a piece of the gum and popped it in his mouth.

  “Are you sure? There’s no other way to buy time? Nothing Scott can do with ops to neutralize the situation? No way to negotiate her release?”

  “There’s nothing, Grandpa. This guy’s sociopathic—absolutely no mercy. Believe me, if there were another way . . .”

  “I know, I know. I just had to ask,” Grandpa said, the pain in his voice tightening his words. “Oh, Riley . . . Riley, my dear boy . . .”

  “Is there any way you could pray for me, Grandpa?” Riley asked, closing the center console and leaning his head forward on the cool leather of the steering wheel.

  After a time, Grandpa spoke, his voice low and strong. “Our Father, almighty creator of the universe, everlasting Lord, Holy One of Israel, I . . . I don’t even know how to pray to You right now. Protect my grandson. He’s all his mom and I have left in this world. You know his heart. You know the kind of man he is. And as much as his mom and I love him, I know that You love him far more.

  “You said, ‘Greater love has no man than to lay down his life for a friend.’ Riley is taking that to heart, Lord. He is living it out. And in the same way we can be saved for eternity through Your perfect sacrifice, we pray that Khadi will take this opportunity to find her salvation in You because of Riley’s actions. Riley’s eternity is secure; he’s at peace with You. Please let Khadi find that same security and peace. If she does, then we can both say that whatever happens to this boy of mine would truly have been worth the price.

  “Now, Lord, strengthen this man. Give him the integrity to show Your love to his enemies. Help him to forgive those who desire to
cause his death. Let him be a perfect example of who You are—a light in the darkness that’s overtaken that cathedral. And, Lord, as we prayed for Khadi, we pray for these men. Let them find You. They are no different than we once were, sinners in need of a Savior. They have been deceived into following a lie—a lie that’s about to take them to their deaths. Have mercy on them, O God.

  “Precious Savior, I plead with You to please bring this boy back to his mother and me. But if You don’t . . . if You don’t, then help us to keep trusting You. Your will be done, Lord. Your will be done. . . . Amen.”

  “Amen,” Riley agreed. “Thanks.”

  “I’m just pulling up in front of your mom’s house. Do you want to say anything to her?”

  Riley considered a moment. “No, I . . . I think we said it all already. Just tell her how much I love her.”

  “You got it. I love you, boy.”

  “I love you, too, Grandpa.”

  Riley pressed End and stared at the dash controls glowing a faint blue. He looked to the lower left of the console and found a little wheel. He spun it upward, and the blue light got brighter. That’s better, he thought.

  Thanks, God, for Grandpa.

  As he prepared to slip his phone into his pocket, he had another thought. Bringing up Keith Simmons’s number, he typed, At cathedral. Don’t call, just PRAY! If something happens to me, Parker house goes to your NYC ministry. Love you, bro!

  A few minutes later, his phone chirped. He read, Put u on chain—EVERYONES PRAYING! Gods got his eyes on u. U already owe me house after burning down my cabin! Love u, bro!

  Riley chuckled and slid the phone into his jacket pocket. He tried to think of anyone else that he needed to connect with but couldn’t come up with any names. He checked his watch and saw that time was getting short.

  Then, suddenly, a name did pop into his mind. Duh! How could I possibly have missed that? He pulled the keys from the ignition, pushed open the door, and spotted Skeeter leaning against the Hummer.

  “Come on, buddy,” he called out. “I’ve got one more thing I need to do.” And he took off running, with Skeeter close behind.