Inside Threat (44 page)

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-ops 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.

Riley's insides tensed as he came to the end of his count.
Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six . . . thirty-seven . . . thirty-eight! Something is definitely happening here,
he thought.

WHOOMPF!
The unmistakable sound of a mortar tube echoed through the valley below.

“Incoming!” Riley yelled as he opened fire with his M4 carbine at “boulders” thirty-seven and thirty-eight, causing one to stumble back down the hill and the other to remain permanently where it was.