Inside Threat (38 page)

“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.

Friday, September 16, 1:20 p.m. EDT

Khadi lay shivering on the cold stone bench in Wilson Bay. Her head rested on the corner of a long red bench cushion. After the second beating, which had come immediately following Bill Evert's murder and her video appearance—
live and in person
—Alavi apparently had found the last fading spark of compassion left in his cold, dark heart. Although he wouldn't allow her battered body the comfort of actually lying on the cushion, he did provide her with just enough padding to rest her swollen head.

But you will not break me! I don't care what you do to me; I will go out of this life with my head high. And if I find a way to take one of you with me, then you better say your prayers.

Letting her watch the execution of Bill Evert had been the exact wrong thing for Saifullah to do. Watching his strength in the midst of an unspeakable death relit a fire in her soul that had been in danger of going out last night. From the moment the tarp was rolled up, her mind had begun singing “God Bless America,” “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and strangely enough for her, that hymn from the funeral—“A Mighty Fortress”—and it hadn't stopped.

So despite the fact that her body was rebelling against her and she had lost all feeling in her extremities due to the zip ties, her mind was sharp, and her will was strong. She had no idea when they were going to come for her—when her neck would be offered up to the knife—but she didn't care anymore. Her peace had been made with God, even though she still wasn't sure which God. She had prayed that the one true God would hear her prayers and show her mercy.
There's not really anything else I can do, is there?

“Come on, old man, what are you waiting for?” she called out. She was ready to die now, but she wasn't convinced that she'd still have this strong of a resolve a few hours from now.
If I'm going to go, I'm going to go in my time and with my head held high! And maybe with one parting shot at whoever gets closest to me.

“What's wrong, you raggedy-bearded psychopath? You afraid I might bite? Oh, Saifullah . . . come out, come out wherever you are! Here, boy! Come on, boy!”

Majid Alavi came striding in, his face red with anger.

“Oh, the big dog's sent his little lap—”

Her final word was cut off as Alavi pulled the cushion from under her head, letting her skull hit the stone with a
thunk
. Khadi's brain was just beginning to process through the pain when she felt the cushion pressed down tightly on her face. Her zip-tied body flopped like a fish out of water as she tried to find a way to get some air. Finally, when she was just starting to gray out, he lifted the cushion.

Khadi sucked air deep into her lungs. Pain, fear, adrenaline, and relief all rushed through her body, making the world around her spin.

Alavi leaned in close. “Shut . . . your . . . mouth,” he hissed.

Khadi spit in his face, and the cushion went back on. This time she knew she was a dead woman and was just making peace with the fact when the darkness finally lifted and the sweet air poured into her starving lungs.

“Have you had enough?” Alavi asked. But this time he stood a little farther back, and the projectile from Khadi's mouth fell short of its mark. Alavi's hand hit the side of Khadi's face once, twice, three times, sandwiching her head against the stone bench. Khadi's world spun again.