by Jason Elam
Smiling, Naheed said, “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I forgot I had ordered it. I apologize.”
“Oh, no, madam. You sign please?”
“Of course.” Naheed signed the bill, leaving a large tip.
The woman nodded her gratitude and left the room.
Naheed carried the food from the tray and set it on a table next to the window. As she ate, she watched the airplanes take off and land and thought about the possibilities of escape. That was one of the best things about her handlers moving her to the Airport Marriott—she was that much closer to getting on a plane if she felt the need to run.
7:55 P.M. MDT
FRONT RANGE RESPONSE TEAM HEADQUARTERS
DENVER, COLORADO
The loft was empty. The team had watched as the operatives scoured the place. There was no doubt that Yamani had been there recently, but just how recently was hard to tell. Hicks instructed the agents to remain there in case the girl showed up, then shut off the feed.
“So, when do we release her picture?” asked Tara.
Hicks was silent for a moment, then said, “Let’s wait until morning. It’s too late for her to do any mischief tonight, and I don’t want her seeing herself on the evening news and bolting. Hopefully she’ll show up at her loft. If she doesn’t, then we’ll blitz the media with her picture.
“Tara, let WCRT know our plans. I want them coordinating the coverage of the airports in case we have to go the news release route. Also, let them know that Khadi, Scott, and I are on our way out there. I want to be on-site when they bring her in. If WCRT has problems with any of that, have them take it up with your old boss Stanley Porter. That should shut them up.”
“You got it, boss,” Tara said as she quickly jotted down notes.
Turning to the analyst team, Hicks said, “You guys all did great work tracking down this Yamani woman. But don’t let it go to your heads. We’ve still got another bomber out there to ID, and we still don’t know squat about who killed those two families. So pat yourselves on the back, then get over it and get back to work. Scott, Khadi, we leave in fifteen minutes.”
Scott smiled at his team as Hicks returned to his office. Once the door was closed, he said, “Wow! That, my dear friends, is a great motivator.” Then, giving his best Jim Hicks impersonation, he said, “You guys are almost, kind of good. But don’t be thinking that I really think that, because even though I do, I don’t. So don’t let that go to your heads because—”
Suddenly Hicks’s door swung back open. “Scott, are you impersonating me again?”
“No, sir,” Scott said innocently to the snickers of his team, “just doing damage control.”
“Well, knock it off, and let your merry little band get back to work!” Hicks slammed his door closed again.
Williamson raised his hand. “What if we really did have a merry little band? We could play weekend shows in LoDo and call ourselves something like Pickety Nosegeeks.”
“Or how about Ana and the Lysts?” suggested Evie.
“Roadkill Monkey,” offered Gooey.
“How about the Let’s Get Back to Work Players?” said Tara as she stood to go.
“No, that doesn’t quite have the edge of Roadkill Monkey,” replied Scott. “Oh, you mean how about we all just get back to work. I get it. Good one, Tara.” Then, looking back at his analyst team, he said, “And, you guys? Good work! Take a moment to celebrate. As opposed to Mr. Grumpy-pants, I don’t care how long you take patting yourselves on the back.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
FRIDAY, MAY 22, 7:30 A.M. MDT PARKER, COLORADO
Even though the drive up to Silverthorne would be less than ninety minutes, Riley wanted to get an early start. The more time he and Skeeter had to scout the cabin’s location and set up defenses, the better he would feel about his basic plan, which thus far consisted of:
Step One—Go up to Keith Simmons’s cabin.
Step Two—Shoot the bad guys before they shoot you.
Might be worth fleshing out step two a bit, he told himself. The rear of the Yukon looked like it belonged to an international gunrunner. All told, there were four assault rifles, two sniper rifles, six handguns, various and sundry small explosive devices, and as Scott Ross would say, ammunition out the yin-yang.
Which reminded Riley that he needed to give Scott a call. This conversation would not be a fun one, but it was only right to let FRRT know what he and Skeeter were up to.
“Hey, Skeet, can you put that call in to Scott now?” Riley wanted to use Skeeter’s phone since it had encryption capabilities.
Skeeter put down the heavy tarp he was carrying to the truck and pulled out his phone. After a few moments of going through the encryption process, he handed it to Riley.
“Scott?”
“Hey, Riley. How’re you doing, man?” Scott’s voice sounded tired and a little hesitant.
“Hanging in. First off, my friend, I owe you an apology. You were just doing what you thought was best for me. I didn’t treat you right.” While he talked, Riley walked over to his leather chair in the great room and settled in.
Scott’s voice seemed to lighten just a touch. “Don’t sweat it. It’s forgotten. How’s your mom?”
“She’s okay. It’s killing me not to see her, but I know it’s best.”
Riley took a deep breath, preparing himself for the next part of the conversation. But before he could say anything, Scott jumped in. “So, what’s up, Riley? Calling to say you’re going rogue?”
Riley was momentarily speechless. Then he asked, “Did Skeet talk to you?”
Scott gave a soft laugh. “Impressive. You put the words Skeet and talk in the same sentence. Dude, remember, who am I?”
“You’re the evil genius,” Riley answered with a small smile.
“Exactly. I’ve been waiting for this call. I just didn’t expect it quite so soon.”
“So, what do you think?”
Scott didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his voice was as serious as Riley had ever heard it. “I think there’s a strong likelihood that you and Skeeter are going to get yourselves killed.” There was another long pause. “But I know that for you, there’s really no other option. You’ve always seemed to lack that basic self-preservation gene. That’s why we followed you in Special Forces in Afghanistan. That’s why at the beginning of this year we followed you in Italy and California. We knew that when it came down to it, you’d take the bullet for us. So we were always ready to take the bullet for you. And, Riley, that’s what makes this time so hard, because I can’t be there to take your bullet.”
“Thanks, Scott. I—”
“That’s not to say that I like what you’re doing, or that I think it’s the right thing. I’m just saying that I understand.”
Riley squeezed his eyes tight and rubbed the back of his head.
“Fair enough. This wasn’t really an ask permission kind of call anyway.”
“It never is with you, Pach. It never is. So, can you tell me where you’re going?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You know that if I had five minutes to think about it, I’d figure it out anyway.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“Listen, you need any questions answered, you just call me, okay?”
Surprised, Riley asked, “What if Jim finds out?”
“Jim? You leave him to me. What’s he going to do? Fire me?”
Riley smiled when he heard Hicks’s voice in the background yell, “Yes!”
“Listen, Scott, I told you this because I thought you all had a right to know, and because, in case anything happens, I didn’t want to leave our friendship on a bad note. You know you’re like a brother to me.”
“Thanks, Pach. I needed to hear that. Now, I’ve got things to do, so I’m going to go before I start getting all moist-like. Take care, buddy, and call if you need the cavalry.”
“You got it, Scott. Hey, and will you tell Khadi that . . . just tell her what’
s happening—tell her that I wanted her to know what’s happening?”
“Will do.”
“Thanks, Scott. Later.”
FRIDAY, MAY 22, 6:40 A.M. PDT
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
“Later,” said Scott as he hung up the phone.
Hicks was watching him from across the conference room in the West Coast Response Team headquarters. Khadi had her head down in her hands. Three minutes passed before anyone spoke.
Finally, Jim could stand it no longer. “Scott, I’ve trusted your judgment in the past, and it’s worked out. That is the only reason I’m not putting Riley under protective custody right now. ’Cause if the Lone Ranger and Tonto go off and get themselves killed, it’ll be both our jobs.”
Khadi raised her head and glared at Hicks with red eyes.
“Sorry, Khadi. You know how I feel about Riley and Skeeter. Ever since Costa Rica, I promised myself I’d never let things get out of my control like that again. And now, here I am stuck in California while people are gunning for those two back in Colorado. It’s just a lousy situation.”
“We know what you’re saying, Jim,” Scott assured him.
“And if he calls for help?” Khadi asked.
Hicks stared at them for a moment. “Give him what he needs. Just don’t tell me about it.”
By a visible force of will, Khadi kept the tears from escaping. “Thanks, Jim, but—”
Suddenly, the door burst open and Niko Garisyan blew into the room. Garisyan was the head of the West Coast Response Team and had a reputation for having a personality similar to Jim Hicks in a really bad mood.
“So, we’ve got nothing on that Yamani woman. You going to finally release the picture? Because, I swear, if she hits us again while we’re sitting on her photo, I will personally make sure you stand trial. You understand?”
“My, aren’t we all full of vim and vigor this morning?” Hicks said with a smile on his face. Scott couldn’t help but smile too. He knew that Hicks cut the man a little slack, because even though Garisyan was a pain in the backside, he was very good at what he did. Hicks had also told him that the WCRT director was none too happy to have someone else come into his office and take charge. Scott couldn’t imagine if the roles were reversed. Hicks would be a terror to be around. But that’s just how things were, and Garisyan would have to deal with it.
“So, there wasn’t any street activity? No visits or phone calls made?” Hicks asked.
Garisyan rolled his eyes. “What? You think I’m new at this? If there was any activity, I would have told you about it. So, do we release the photo?”
Hicks looked briefly at Scott and Khadi. “You got all the airports covered in case she makes a break for it?”
Garisyan gave a sigh like he was disgusted at even being asked such a question.
“Okay then, Niko. I grant you permission to release the photo.”
Without saying anything, Garisyan turned toward the door. Before he made it out, Hicks said, “Hey, Niko, we’re getting a little hungry. Any chance of you fetching us a few Danishes while you’re out?”
The slamming door drowned out Garisyan’s two-word response.
FRIDAY, MAY 22, 8:15 A.M. MDT
PARKER, COLORADO
It felt good to be on the road. The parting with Grandpa had been rough, but both men had successfully kept it together. A few hugs and a double slap on the hood of the Yukon as Riley pulled out, and they were gone. Lord, if I live to be that old, let me be just like that man, Riley had prayed.
After turning onto the freeway, Riley turned to Skeeter. “You ready for this?”
“I was born ready,” the big man replied with a grin.
“Nah, you were born ugly, and you’ve just never outgrown it.” They both let out a little nervous laughter.
The plan was to head downtown, do a little “wrong way on a one way street” action to make sure they weren’t being followed, then head up to Simmons’s cabin. But on the way, Riley had a call to make.
“Hello?” said Whitney Walker, in an I’m-a-very-busy-person-don’t- waste-my-time-you-better-make-this-interruption-worthwhile tone of voice.
“Whitney, this is Riley Covington.”
Instantly, Whitney’s voice changed completely. “Riley! I’m so sorry about your father. How’s your mother?”
“Thanks. Mom’s doing all right.”
“And how are you doing? Do you want to meet and talk?” Then it seemed like she realized how she sounded. “I mean, off the record, of course.”
Riley shook his head. Once a reporter, always a reporter. “Actually, I’ve got something for you on the record. You just can’t name me as the source.”
“Okay, I’m listening.” There was a little hesitancy in her voice.
She’s in a quasi-reporter mode, Riley thought. Respond to her that way. Here goes. “I want you to report that an anonymous source told you that Riley Covington has left Parker to go into hiding. After the death of his father, he was too afraid to stay in his house, so he has left the city for the mountains.”
“Why does this sound like a planted story?”
Riley could hear resistance. He knew Whitney was too sharp for him to try to finesse things, so he opted for the truth. “Because it is. Listen, Whitney, I can’t tell you much.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Skeeter give him a look of warning. Riley nodded at him. “All I can tell you is that my dad is dead, and that more people will die if I don’t do something. So I’m doing something, and I need your help for it to work.”
“Is what you’re saying in the story true?”
“Mostly. Well, the first half at least.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“I really need for you to get this out, starting with the Web this afternoon, then the newscast tonight. If you do this, I promise you I’ll give you an exclusive interview when this is all done.”
Whitney’s voice took a hard edge. “Don’t insult me, Riley. If I’m doing this, it’s for you, not for a story. Believe it or not, sometimes reporters do stuff just because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Fair enough. I’m sorry. So, will you do it?”
“I’ll do it. The Web this afternoon and the newscast tonight.”
Riley breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Whitney. You don’t know how important this is.”
“You just take care of yourself.”
“You got it.”
Riley ended the call. Between Keith and Afshin getting the word around camp and Whitney getting the word out directly in the media, I can’t imagine the hajjis won’t see it, he thought. Then, with Keith dropping off the key, hopefully they’ll be smart enough to put two and two together to track us down. Now all Skeeter and I have to do is to figure out what in the world we’re going to do once they find us.
FRIDAY, MAY 22, 8:30 A.M. MDT
INVERNESS TRAINING CENTER
ENGLEWOOD, COLORADO
Keith Simmons watched the perspiration form on the forehead of Clayton Cox. It’s good he’s sweating, he thought. Dude deserves to sweat! Simmons’s face was only inches from the other man, and although Cox’s stale coffee breath made him want to gag, he refused to back away. Maybe a little intimidation is what it takes to remind this idiot that he’s working for me!
Finally, Simmons pulled back a bit. However, he still remained on the edge of his chair in the Colorado Mustangs cafeteria. “You’re a lucky man, Clayton. If this were last year, my reaction would have been quite a bit different. But I’m a new man now,” Simmons stated proudly.
Relief seemed to spread across Cox’s face. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Congratulations on your new—”
Simmons’s hand came down hard on the table. “But that don’t mean I’m a pushover. You’re my agent! You’re supposed to be working hard for me! The front office has been promising a new contract for over twelve months now. I see guys getting re-signed all over the place, and what are you doing? You’re playing around in Cancun.”
�
�Now, wait just a minute, Keith,” an offended Cox answered.
“No, you wait just a minute! When is the last time you talked to them?” Simmons knew he was working himself back up into a frenzy, but he couldn’t help himself. “Answer me that, Clayton! When was the last time you talked to the Mustangs about me?”
“Keith, you have to look at it from their perspective as well,” Cox answered, skillfully dodging the question. “What incentive do they have to give you an extension and be on the hook for a more than $10 million signing bonus? If I were them, I’d do the same thing. I’d watch you closely all the way through the minicamps, the organized team activities, and the off-season workouts. I’d watch your physical strength and your mental and emotional commitment to the team. If you still looked like the Keith Simmons of old, then I’d start the negotiating.”
Simmons dropped back into his chair. This was not what he wanted to hear. The sooner he could get a contract, the sooner his future could be stabilized, and the sooner he’d get that huge up-front check—really, the only guaranteed money he’d have. Without that signing bonus, who knew what could happen between now and then—a workout injury, a car accident, even tripping and falling at home could keep him from getting his contract. Sometimes you feel like rolling yourself up in Bubble Wrap just to keep from getting injured. Shouldn’t Cox know how tough this waiting is?
“Why do I feel like I’m negotiating with them on one side and now with you on the other? Is that what I’m doing? Aren’t you supposed to be on my side? Or have you forgotten that 400k of my $10 million signing bonus goes into your bank account? I know you’ve got like thirty other players you’re looking out for, but are any of them going to bring you that kind of green?”
Cox looked hurt, but Simmons knew that his agent was just trying to formulate another line for him. Next will come the flattery, then the promises.
Sure enough, Cox said, “Listen, Keith, you know the money isn’t as important to me as making sure you and your family are financially set for life.”