Empathetic hands squeezed hers. Gladys Cook followed up her grasp of Khadi’s right hand with a gentle pat and a rub. Winnie Covington, however, just kept holding tightly to her left in an apparent attempt to draw out as much strength as she was trying to pour in.
Khadi leaned over and let her head rest on Winnie’s shoulder, awkwardly shifting the sunglasses that were partially hiding her healing face. She hadn’t seen Riley’s mother until earlier this morning, and it had been a bittersweet reunion. Few words were spoken; there would be plenty of time for conversation later.
A couple of days ago, when they had that first tearful conversation on the phone, they had decided that after the service they would take a week together slowly driving back to Wyoming, where friends and family would be gathering for a private memorial. As the two women in the world who had loved Riley most, they looked to each other to help begin their slow healing processes.
Sitting on the other side of Winnie were Riley’s grandfather, Skeeter, Scott, and Tara. Behind her were the guys from SOG Bravo minus Ted Hummel, who was still in the hospital recovering from bullet wounds to his forearm and thigh. The RoU analysts were back there, too, as was Keith Simmons.
The only other person Khadi had asked to join her up in the balcony was Alan Paine, who was now seated on the other side of Gladys. That reunion, held just about ten minutes ago, had brought back so many painful memories for Khadi that she had to quickly break off their tearful embrace and walk away.
The ceremony began with a prayer from the House chaplain. Then families of the slain were recognized, including Winnie Covington and, strangely, Khadi herself. From there, it was a long procession of obituaries, recognitions, stories—some funny and some tearful—and promises to end these kinds of attacks. Khadi listened whenever Riley was spoken of but mostly tuned out the rest. The speeches came from senators, congressmen, several cabinet members including Stanley Porter, and finally, President Donald Lloyd.
Lloyd ended up focusing on Riley more than anyone else, telling the story of their first meeting in the Oval Office. Riley was wearing a smelly, torn T-shirt, shorts, and rubber boots that were caked with mud, having just been snatched away from a clamming expedition in Alaska. Khadi remembered how mortified Riley had been. But he rose to the occasion—he always did.
He also told a story that Khadi hadn’t heard before—a story of receiving a desperate phone call last week. Riley was asking for a favor, but his reasoning had been so vague that Lloyd had suspected he wasn’t receiving the whole truth.
“But with Riley,” the president said, “I knew there had to be a good reason. So I politely informed one of our proud Marines that he would be guarding one of our secret military installations down in the Antarctic if he didn’t let Riley through his checkpoint.”
The crowd laughed.
“So I’d like to offer my heartfelt apologies to that Marine, and my even more heartfelt assurances to the attending press that no, we do not really have any secret military installations down in the Antarctic.”
More laughter.
But Khadi’s mind had already drifted away again. He wanted to get to me so badly that he pulled in a favor from the president? Winnie must have been thinking the same thing because she turned to Khadi and smiled. But Khadi didn’t return the smile; her mind was too troubled.
Why did you do it, Riley? I wasn’t worth your life. Really! I know myself; I know how messed up I am inside.
But you . . . you’ve touched so many people, done so much good. You should be sitting here listening to stories about me, not the other way around. You were worth any ten of me. It should have been me, not you! It should have been me!
Mercifully, the service ended. It took a while to clear everybody out, and Khadi made small talk with the RoU analysts while she waited.
Finally their turn to exit came, and they all filed out into the open air. Khadi gave hugs to all the ops men and the kids from the RoU. There were still a lot of unanswered questions surrounding the ties between Saifullah’s group and all the other attacks that had taken place a week ago, which meant that taking the time for this memorial service was a luxury they would have to pay for with many extra hours at their workstations.
Next she said good-bye to Alan Paine and Gladys Cook. Suddenly, the whirr of cameras sounded around her. The media, her constant companion since getting back to DC, absolutely ate up stories of her with Alan and Gladys. These pictures would probably soon be at supermarket checkout lines across America.
“Sorry about them,” Khadi said as she held Gladys.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she replied. “At my age, it’s about time I got my fifteen minutes of fame.”
Next Khadi turned to Alan. “Thank you. I couldn’t have survived without you,”
“You’ve got it wrong. You were the inspiration to all of us,” Alan said.
Khadi stepped back, surprised.
“It’s true, Khadi. Seeing your strength—well, we just held on to it. Honestly, what I kept telling the other guys was, ‘If that little girl can take what she’s taken and keep the fire burning, what excuse do we have?’ I wanted to tell you that before the service, but I didn’t get the chance. So thank you . . . from all of us.” He kissed her cheek and turned away.
Tears formed in Khadi’s eyes as she watched Gladys and Alan disappear into the crowds.
I gave them strength? Really? If that’s true, then maybe . . . I don’t know. Just thank you, Alan. I think maybe that’s twice now you’ve given me my life back.
When she turned around, Scott, Tara, and Skeeter were looking at her. Grandpa and Winnie were in deep conversation with Keith Simmons about fifteen feet away.
“Walk with us,” Scott said as he put his arm around her shoulder and led her to the many steps leading down from the Capitol building.
“But what about . . . ?” Khadi said, looking toward Grandpa, Winnie, and Keith.
“They’ll catch up.”
They walked the steps in silence, and when they reached the bottom, Scott led her around to a fountain that stood at the base of the Capitol grounds.
He sat her down on a low stone wall opposite the fountain and squatted in front of her. Tara sat next to her, while Skeeter glared the paparazzi back to a safe distance.
“So what’s going on?” Khadi asked warily. “I kind of feel like I’m having an intervention.”
When Scott didn’t smile at her little joke, it just raised Khadi’s concern level that much more.
He reached into his jacket pocket but kept his hand there. “Before Riley went into the cathedral, he said there was one more thing he had to do. He took my iPhone, disappeared for a few minutes, and then came back saying that he had recorded something on it—for you. He said that if he survived, I was to delete it without watching it. But if he . . .” Scott’s voice cracked, and he stopped. Then he pulled out his iPhone. “He wanted you to see this.”
Khadi took the phone in her hands. She didn’t know how to feel—excited, afraid, nervous. “Did he record any others?”
“No,” Scott said, shaking his head. “Just to you.”
“Do you want us to leave you alone?” Tara asked.
“No . . . I—I think I’d rather you stayed.”
Tara put her arm around Khadi’s shoulders; Scott placed his hand on her knee.
Riley’s face was frozen as if he were in the middle of a word. His hair was sticking up a bit, like he either hadn’t combed it or he had been sweating and running his fingers through it. He was wearing a hoodie jacket, and she could see an MPDC SWAT truck behind him. Her finger hovered over the phone. Taking a deep breath, she touched the screen, and his face suddenly animated.
“. . . hope that I’m working this thing right.”
The phone spun and Khadi saw all the police and military that were surrounding the cathedral. Then it spun back around. “Looks good, I think. Khadi . . . Khadi, what do I say? I had all this stuff in my head when I went to get Scott’s phone. Now
it just seems like so many words.”
The shot was shaky and his face wasn’t always centered. But Khadi soon picked up the rhythm of the picture and was able just to focus on Riley’s words.
“I guess . . . I guess if there were two things that I want you to know more than anything, the first would be that I love you—always have, always will. From the moment you told me that you Persians serve your coffee with toothpicks, I was hooked. I love everything about you—your huge heart, your amazing smile, your sense of humor, your inner strength, your . . . your . . . I don’t know. There’re a lot of other yours, but the situation here is kind of forcing a blank on my mind. I think we really could have had an amazing life together if it weren’t for that whole Christian/Muslim thing.”
Riley’s face took on a grave look, and Khadi could hear frustration in his voice.
“Ah, Khadi, that whole Christian/Muslim thing . . . I don’t know why God gave me such an amazingly deep love for someone that I could never have. I’ve asked Him, yelled at Him, begged Him. But as much as I tried to argue with God, I never could seem to convince Him that my way was best. Maybe that’s why He’s God and I’m not.”
Riley looked offscreen, and the shot slipped down to his chest. After a moment he said, “Just two more minutes. Just two.”
Looking back at the camera, he said, “Sorry, I really don’t want to rush this, but . . . Listen, I know you’re probably struggling with the fact that you’re alive and I’m . . . not. Please don’t. Please, please, Khadi, you gotta know that I would do it again a thousand times over for you. I love you, Khadi, and it feels so good to finally say those words to you, and I’m so sorry that I’ve never said them before. I truly, truly love you.”
He stopped now and seemed to be thinking over his next words.
“But the second thing you need to know—and please hear me out on this—is that I’m not the only one who loves you. And I’m not the only who has died for you. Jesus loves you more than I ever could. He died for you, Khadi, and an eternity with Him is only a relationship away.
“Khadi, I left my Bible on the kitchen table this morning. I want you to have it. Truly, it’s the most precious thing I own. My whole life is written up in the pages of that book.
“But more than that, eternal life is written up in that book. Promise me you’ll read it. Start with the book of John. All you need to know about Jesus, his sacrifice, and his amazing gift of salvation is in that Gospel—John 1:12; John 3:16; 14:6; 15:13—ah, Khadi, it’s got everything! Please, Khadi. I promise you . . . I promise you that once you really look into the Bible—really read it and study it—everything I’ve been saying to you will make sense. And whatever doesn’t make sense, just ask Mom about. You know there’s nothing that would please her more than to be able to guide you along.
“I know I’m raving. It’s just . . . you know how you always talked about me not being afraid of dying and how I can always seem so peaceful in any situation? It’s because I know, I absolutely know, that when I close my eyes for the last time here in this life and open them for the first time beyond, I will see my Savior’s face. And if you’re watching this, that’s where I am right now, with my Savior experiencing some pretty freaking amazing things. You throw your lot in with Jesus, you’ll never, ever have to be afraid of death again!
“Khadi, I so desperately want to see you there too. Sure, partly for my sake, but mostly for yours. Eternity’s just a prayer away, my love. Jesus is holding out that free gift of grace, of mercy, of salvation. I’d give my life a hundred times over for you to take that gift.
“Ah, man, I’m babbling now. I . . . Please get my Bible. Promise me you’ll read it. That’s all I ask. I just really want to see you there.”
Again, Riley looked offscreen. “Okay, Skeet; thanks.”
“Listen, I’ve got to run. I truly hope you never have to watch this, but if you do, just know that everything’s okay for me. Jesus loves you so much, Khadi, and I . . . I love you more than I could ever say.” Riley stared at the camera like he had one more thing to say, but then his finger went to the screen and the picture froze.
Winnie, who had arrived while Khadi was watching the video, sat down, and Khadi buried herself in her arms and cried. She cried for their wasted past. She cried for their absent future. She cried because she missed Riley so unbelievably much. And she cried because for the first time since he had died she truly believed that one day she would see him again.
Jason Elam spent 17 years as a placekicker in the NFL before recently retiring. He was born in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, and grew up in Atlanta, Georgia. In 1988, Jason received a full football scholarship to the University of Hawaii, where he played for four years, earning academic All-America and Kodak All-America honors. He graduated in 1992 with a bachelor’s degree in communications and was drafted in the third round of the 1993 NFL draft by the Denver Broncos, where he played for 15 years.
In 1997 and 1998, Jason won back-to-back world championships with the Broncos and was selected to the Pro Bowl in 1995, 1998, and 2001. He is currently working on a master’s degree in global apologetics at Liberty Theological Seminary and has an abiding interest in Middle East affairs, the study of Scripture, and defending the Christian faith. Jason is also a licensed commercial airplane pilot. He and his wife, Tamy, have five children and live in Alaska.
Steve Yohn grew up as a pastor’s kid in Fresno, California, and both of those facts contributed significantly to his slightly warped perspective on life. Steve graduated from Multnomah Bible College with a bachelor’s degree in biblical studies and barely survived a stint as a youth pastor.
While studying at Denver Seminary, Steve worked as a videographer for Youth for Christ International, traveling throughout the world to capture the ministry’s global impact. Most recently, he has stepped into the position of senior pastor of Strasburg Community Church in Strasburg, Colorado. With more than two decades of ministry experience, both inside and outside the church, Steve has discovered his greatest satisfactions lie in writing, speaking, and one-on-one mentoring.
Surprisingly, although his hobbies are reading classic literature, translating the New Testament from the Greek, and maintaining a list of political leaders of every country of the world over the last 25 years, he still occasionally gets invited to parties and has a few friends. His wife, Nancy, and their daughter are the joys of his life.
2003
Operation Enduring Freedom
Bagram Valley
Helmand Province, Afghanistan
His count was off. Second Lieutenant Riley Covington of the United States Air Force Special Operations Command was on watch at a perimeter security post. He had been lying at the top of a low rise, watching his sector, for four hours, and each time he had counted the boulders on the hill across the small valley, he had come up with thirty-six. This time, however, the count reached thirty-seven. Keep it together, buddy, Riley thought as he rubbed his eyes. He shifted slightly to try to allow the point of a rock that had been boring into his left leg to begin a new hole. I have no doubt these guys scattered these rocks out here ’cause they knew we were coming.
“You seeing anything, Taps?” Riley whispered into his comm. At the other security post, located on the opposite side of the harbor site, Airman First Class Armando Tapia was stretched out behind a small, hastily constructed rock wall.
“Everything’s good to go,” came the reply.
On this sixth night of their mission, Riley had chosen a less-than-ideal position to set up their camp. He didn’t feel too bad, however; there were probably fewer than a half dozen ideal sites in this whole desolate valley. He was positioned on a low hill to the east of his Operational Detachment Alpha, and Tapia was planted to the north of the team. Rising on the south and west of the ODA camp were steep cliffs. If anyone wanted to approach their bivouac, they would have to come through one of the two security posts.
Typically, AFSOC missions were carried out singly or in pairs. The special-op
s personnel were dropped in from high altitude to take meteorologic and geographic measurements, then silently evacuated. Very clean, very quiet. But Riley’s team had lost three members in this area during the last two weeks. So it was on to plan B—take in a group and protect everyone’s backside.
The moon exposed the barren landscape, eliminating the need for vision enhancement. Riley shifted again and flexed his fingers to keep the cool night air from cramping them. A scorpion skittered up to check out the rustle. Riley’s number-two man, Staff Sergeant Scott Ross, said these creatures were called orthochirus afghanus Kovarik; Riley preferred to call them the “nasty little black ones.” A well-placed flick sent the arachnid careering down the front side of the hill. Time to start counting boulders again.
Riley Covington knew that if he could survive this tour in Afghanistan, chances were good that by this time next year, the scenery around him would look a whole lot better. He was two years out of the Air Force Academy, where he had been a three-time WAC/MWC Defensive Player of the Year and, as a senior, had won the Butkus Award as the nation’s top linebacker. He was six-two, rock hard, and lightning fast. His nickname at the Academy had been Apache—later shortened to “Pach”—after the AH-64 attack helicopter. Hit ’em low, hit ’em hard, hit ’em fast! Riley had sent more opposing players staggering to the sidelines than he could count. Once, a writer for the Rocky Mountain News had compared his hitting ability to Mike Singletary’s, the infamous linebacker who had broken sixteen helmets during his college days at Baylor. He still felt proud when he thought about that comparison.
Two years earlier, Riley had been selected by the Colorado Mustangs in the third round of the Pro Football League draft, and commentators believed Riley had the possibility of a promising PFL career ahead of him. However, his post-Academy commitment meant putting that opportunity off for a couple of years. In the meantime, he had spent his last two thirty-day leaves in Mustangs training camps before rushing back out to wherever AFSOC wanted him next.
Inside Threat Page 30