by Jason Elam
“Nice place,” Khadi said, looking around. “Either Keith Simmons has some good taste or some good decorators.”
“You know about Keith, huh? I suppose Skeeter told you,” Riley said, surprised at his accusatory tone.
“Skeeter didn’t tell me anything,” Khadi replied defensively.
“Oh, he didn’t? Then how did you find us?”
“Come on, Riley, you guys did everything except lay out bread crumbs leading to this place. I just can’t believe the Cause hasn’t found you yet.”
Riley nodded. Of course Khadi didn’t need any help tracking you down. But still . . . “Then how did Skeeter know you were coming?”
“Well, if we’re going to play twenty questions, I called him and told him,” Khadi said. “I didn’t want you guys firing on me. Skeeter tried to talk me out of it, but I told him I was coming anyway. Then I made him promise not to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because of this right here! Because of the angry phone call I knew I’d get! Because I knew that if you told me you didn’t want me here, then there was no way I could bring myself to come!” Khadi paused and took a deep breath. “Because it’s easier to apologize than it is to ask permission, okay? So, I’m sorry, Riley. I just . . . I just had to be here.”
Looking at her with her head down, Riley wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and tell her that he was thrilled to have her near him, that everything was going to turn out all right. But everything’s not all right, and you can’t let yourself fall into that emotional trap again.
“I am glad you’re here, Khadi. We don’t know how many may be coming at us, and it’s always good to have an extra gun.”
Khadi looked up at him with a hurt expression that stabbed at his heart. “Another gun . . . right.”
“Listen, why don’t you stow your stuff in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Then you can come back down and I’ll run you through the defenses we’ve set up.”
“Sure, Riley,” Khadi said, snatching her bag off the floor. As Khadi ran up the stairs, Riley thought, This ain’t camp, and there’s no time here for summer crushes. I don’t know what she was expecting when she came up here, but if it was anything other than a military operation, she’s sorely mistaken.
WEDNESDAY, MAY 27, 11:00 A.M. MDT
FRONT RANGE RESPONSE TEAM HEADQUARTERS
DENVER, COLORADO
“Hee-yuk, hee-yuk, hee-yuk. Have a scrum-diddly-deeelicious birthday! Hee-yuk, hee-yuk, hee-yuk. Have a scrum-diddly-deeelicious birthday!”
Tara shook her head. She had only stepped out to the bathroom for three minutes. These guys must have been waiting for their opportunity all morning.
She knew just what they’d done, because they’d done the same thing last week. That time the loop had been Carly Simon singing the chorus of “You’re So Vain” over and over. Evie had explained to her later that the guys had pulled the voice module out of a talking Hallmark card, rigged it so that it played over and over, and then hidden it somewhere in Tara’s work area. Tara could picture the card this new one had come out of—Goofy sitting in the middle of a huge cake that he had somehow managed to fall into.
“Thank you, guys,” Tara called out to the team. “Now, for the love of all things holy, would someone please shut Goofy up?”
Evie stood up from her chair, did some quick work with a lighter, and then brought a chocolate cupcake over with one lit candle in the middle. The whole gang joined in to sing “Happy Birthday.” Tara blew out the candle, Evie peeled the clear tape away from under Tara’s keyboard and retrieved Goofy’s voice, and everyone went back to work.
As Tara got ready to eat her cupcake, she noticed a finger-width swipe taken out of the side of the frosting and knew without a doubt that if she did an analysis she’d find it thick with Gooey’s DNA. Unfortunately, the thought of Gooey’s DNA on her cupcake made her a little queasy, and she slid the paper plate to the corner of her desk.
This was the last place she wanted to be celebrating her thirtieth. For Tara, special days were all about family, and her mom had been planning on flying her home. Her brothers and sister were going to get together and have a regular Walsh family shindig. Obviously, that never happened.
Tara was touched that the team had remembered—or, probably more accurately, that Evie had remembered and that the guys had gone along with it. They had all been working extremely hard these last weeks—and nonstop ever since they’d gotten the call from Hicks last night.
“Have the team stop all their Washington, D.C., subway stuff,” Hicks had said. “I want everyone to focus on all known members and associates of the Cause, starting from the top down. We need a huge break if we’re going to find them in Istanbul.
“Also, I want you to reconstruct a trip Hamad Asaf took to Beirut sometime in February or March, along with any ties he might have to Hezbollah. Finally, I want you to look for a chink in the Cause’s armor—a nasty habit someone in leadership might have, a disgruntled ex-member, anything you can find that could give us an edge.”
The Room of Understanding had been a flurry of activity since then. Tara knew the ops team was on its way to Istanbul. She hoped she had something to give them when they got there.
“Tara, Tara, Tara!” called out Joey Williamson. “I’ve got a definite maybe here!”
Tara rushed to Williamson’s workstation, the other analysts following. On his screen was a Web news page with the masthead of Al-Ahram Weekly Online. “Okay, I’m working on Kamal Hejazi—the Egyptian dude. Can’t find anything new on him. So I start looking for stuff on his family, and I come up with this.” He pointed to a short headline that said, “Medical Student Disappears.”
Williamson continued, “Seems this kid is studying to be a doctor at October 6 University—”
“That’s the name of the place? What’s that all about?” asked Virgil Hernandez.
“Apparently, they named it that since it’s located in 6th of October City.”
“Gee, that clears it up.”
“You’re welcome. So this kid is there doing his student thing, then a couple of weeks ago he just disappears. The kicker is, look at the kid’s name—Atef Hejazi.”
“And . . . ,” said Evie.
“And when you look at his private transcript from the university, it shows that his parents are Kamal and . . . and whoever. They don’t really care too much about the mother’s name.”
“Hejazi’s a fairly common name,” said Tara. “It’s not like Smith or Jones, but there are a lot of Hejazis around.”
Williamson gave her a “duh” look. “That’s why I’m calling it a definite maybe. Besides, I’m not done. Look here: it says that the mother flew back into the country to follow the investigation. What two questions does that bring up?”
Hernandez answered, “What country did she fly in from, and where’s Dad?”
“Bingo!”
Tara felt a flush of excitement. She was semi-sold. “Good work, Joey. Let me contact our assets in Cairo and have them find out if this is really the right woman. If so, you just may have found their weak link.” As Tara rushed back to her desk she couldn’t help thinking that this might turn into a good birthday after all.
CHAPTER FORTY
THURSDAY, MAY 28, 6:45 P.M. MDT SILVERTHORNE, COLORADO
Riley leaned over Khadi’s shoulder. It was all he could do to put the scent of her hair—a fragrance reminiscent of sipping piña coladas on a Hawaiian beach—out of his mind and focus on the monitor.
Khadi was saying, “You can see here our four quadrants—two at the rear of the cabin and one on each side. Right now it’s just set up for standard view, but if you flick this switch here, the cameras switch to night vision.”
The blind spots behind and on either side of the cabin had been the biggest concerns for Riley and Skeeter. They had the trip flares set up, as well as motion detectors. But without a visual, they were still flying blind. Skeeter had had the good sense to mention that concer
n to Khadi before she came up. And Khadi had had the good sense to bring up a duffel bag with a monitor, four cameras, and a lot of cable.
It had taken since yesterday afternoon to finally work all the bugs out of the system, but now the team was able to see all around the cabin. “Excellent, Khadi. Thanks.”
Khadi turned to Riley. The proximity of their faces made it hard for him to hear her words. “So, does that mean you’re glad I came?”
There was an earnestness in her eyes that made Riley settle himself back into his chair. He and Khadi had been avoiding any real conversation since she had gotten here. The full impact of missing his dad’s funeral on Tuesday had really hit him hard yesterday. That, combined with the ambiguous nature of their relationship, had left both Riley and Khadi walking on eggshells. Looks like one of those shells is about to crack. “You know I was glad to see you.”
Khadi’s humorless chuckle made it clear that she knew no such thing. “You picked a heck of a way to show it.”
“Come on, Khadi, you know it’s . . . complicated. Any minute now we could be attacked by people wanting to kill me.” Glancing at her shoulder, where he knew below the thin, black, cotton T-shirt was an ugly scar less than six months old, he said, “I’ve already seen you become collateral damage once for helping me out. I’d never forgive myself if that happened again. And then there’s that other stuff. . . .” Riley could tell by the way she looked to the floor that she knew exactly what he meant.
“Right, the ‘other stuff,’” she said quietly. “You know, if there was one thing I wish I could take back, it would be that ‘other stuff.’”
“Yeah, but it’s not that easy. Besides, it’s more than just what happened at the coffeehouse. It’s the whole situation. You deserve more than to spend your life holding on to a relationship that we both know can never be. You know that I am so convinced of my Christianity that I will never change. And you . . .”
Now Khadi looked up and said with simulated bravado, “And I . . . I am a Muslim. It is what I was born; it is what I live; it is what I will die.” Khadi shook her head and softened her voice. “I know all that, Riley.” Reaching over to take Riley’s hand in hers, she continued, “I also know that since I’ve met you, my life has changed. I’m different—better. I’ve never met another man like you, a man for whom I’d willingly lay down my life. I guess what I’m saying is that I can’t imagine going through life without you being part of it. And . . . I just need to know if you feel the same way.”
Riley’s heart started racing, and a light sweat broke out on his forehead. He had never had a woman talk to him like this before. What do I say to her? She is the perfect woman, except . . .
Is that ‘except’ really enough to keep us apart? Can I really go on denying my feelings for her? Lord, do You really want us apart? I mean, it’s possible that I could be reading Your Word completely wrong, isn’t it? Or am I now just trying to find a way to justify what my heart’s telling me to do? I just have a hard time believing that You would have brought this incredible woman into my life, only to force me to keep her at arm’s length.
Look at her, Riley. This strong woman is placing her life in your hands. What are you going to say to her? Whatever it is, you better make it good, because whatever you decide will probably determine your relationship from here on out.
Riley reached out and lifted Khadi’s face. Her damp brown eyes were filled with hope and fear. At that moment, Riley couldn’t imagine not staring into those eyes for the rest of his life. He placed his hand on her cheek and said, “Khadi, you know I’m not good at expressing my feelings.” He let out a long sigh. “But if anything happens to me up here, you need to know that I . . . I . . . I don’t hear the dog.”
“What?” Khadi looked totally confused as Riley quickly stood up.
“I don’t hear the dog! Come on,” he yelled as he grabbed his Tavor and ran toward the front door and Skeeter. “Skeet, what’s up with the dog?”
“The thing stopped barking about a minute ago—real abrupt-like.”
“The dog is a little under a quarter mile straight out the door, so that puts at least part of the assault team to our front,” Khadi said, finally catching up.
As if to confirm Khadi’s point, one, two, three trip flares suddenly launched fifty yards from the front of the cabin and shot into the sky.
“Skeeter, go back and make sure the rear of the cabin is locked up. Khadi, see if you can pick up anything on the monitors. Go!”
While Skeeter and Khadi ran off, Riley threw the chair away from the front window, squatted down, and tried to pick up any movement outside.
6:58 P.M. MDT
Abdullah Muhammad almost lost his step when the ground abruptly slanted. However, he had been over the path he was running so many times now that he was able to catch himself and continue forward.
The last thing he had needed was that dog breaking free and getting mixed up in everything. Putting a silenced round from his sniper rifle into the Rottweiler—that obnoxious creature that had been the bane of his existence for the last four days—had been one of the most satisfying moments since this whole crazy second life had begun. However, he fully expected that satisfaction to be eclipsed in the next ten minutes when he saw Riley Covington stretched out on the ground.
Coming upon a tree to which he had tied a red ribbon, Abdullah cut left. He kept running. Everything was about timing now.
The Cause had been able to give him all the money and weapons he needed. What they couldn’t supply him with were more people. “You have shown yourself to be a creative and resourceful warrior. You can figure out how to kidnap one man,” they had told him. Stupid fools! What I needed was cannon fodder to draw fire while I snatched up the football hero.
Instead, Abdullah had spent three days plotting and planning—trying to find just the right moment to kill the big bodyguard and capture Riley. Unfortunately, the right opportunity had never come, and now the woman was with them. Well, if capturing Riley for your little propaganda videos was Plan A, unfortunately for you, I have moved on to Plan B—kill them all!
There was a Plan C, but Abdullah hoped he didn’t need to go there. Too much risk and not enough control made that a less desirable option in his mind. So make this happen! You’ve been watching; you know their defenses! There may be three of them, but you’ve got the upper hand! The timing is perfect—twilight, when the shadows are long, making your camouflage most effective and their night vision useless. And the plan is perfect—pick them off one by one. This is your day; take it! Another red ribbon told Abdullah he was fifty yards from the back of the house. He carefully stepped over the wire for the trip flare and crouched down. Slowly, he made his approach.
As he neared the tree line, he looked at his watch. 3-2-1-NOW! On the opposite side of the property from where he waited, an alarm clock told a small motor to begin whirring. The motor was nailed to a tree and had a narrow metal rod sticking out from it. The rod began to spin, taking up the slack on three thin wires. As the wires grew taut, they pulled the trip lines that they had been attached to, sending three flares up into the evening sky.
As soon as they launched, Abdullah ran forward toward the back of the cabin. He had one chance to get this right. As he reached the rear deck, he pulled the pin on an incendiary grenade and threw it through the kitchen window. He bolted back to the tree line, then made his way around to the front—to the perfect hiding place from which he could drop the inhabitants of the house one at a time as they escaped the soon-to-be-burning cabin.
7:03 P.M. MDT
Riley heard breaking glass from the rear of the cabin. Skeeter yelled, “Willy Pete!” Then he cried out in pain. Instantly, Riley was up and running toward the kitchen.
“Khadi, cover the front!”
“Willy Pete? Who’s Willy Pete?” Khadi asked as the two passed.
Riley kept moving but called out, “It’s a white phosphorus grenade! It means that this cabin is going to be in flames in about ten mi
nutes at the most!” Riley was all too familiar with white phosphorus, an agent useful because of its incredible ability to burn, from his time in the military. He knew the moment the WP contacted air, the chemicals would burn at 5000 degrees Fahrenheit, igniting and melting through anything it came into contact with.
Riley was almost at the kitchen when Skeeter came running out. He was holding his smoking left arm out in front of him. “Pach!” he called.
Instinctively, Riley pulled his long knife out of its belt sheath. He grabbed Skeeter’s arm and slammed it down on the dining table. In the middle of the man’s dark forearm Riley spotted what he was afraid he’d find—a glowing dime-sized hole with smoke spiraling out of it. “Hold on,” he said to Skeeter as he took his knife and sliced a three-inch chunk of flesh out of his friend’s arm.
“Argh!” Skeeter swung with his other hand, shattering the back of a dining chair.
Riley closely examined where he had pulled the deep plug out of Skeeter’s skin, looking for smoke. He knew that if any of the WP was still in there, it would continue burning all the way through the bone.
Satisfied, he said, “Sorry, bro,” as he snatched a cream-colored fabric placemat off the table and tied it around Skeeter’s arm. The blood immediately soaked through.
Riley could smell the hot, dense smoke of the WP that was starting to fill the cabin, but the cloud was beginning to take on a new odor—burning wood. He didn’t dare go look at what was happening in the kitchen—one look at the bright glare of the shell could permanently damage his retinas. The only escape was out the front of the cabin. He took hold of his friend’s sweating face and said, “Focus, man! You in the game?”
Skeeter’s eyes suddenly narrowed, and Riley could see the anger in them.
Riley gave him a slap on the cheek and said, “Let’s do this!” The two men ran together to the front of the house.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
THURSDAY, MAY 28, 7:07 P.M. MDT SILVERTHORNE, COLORADO
Abdullah used a rope to pull himself into the tree. Once up, he settled into a crook between two large branches. His sniper rifle was strapped to his back. He pulled it off and pressed his eye to the scope.