Inside Threat (15 page)

Bryson sat on the corner of his desk, and he motioned for Khadi to sit in a red plush chair in front of him. Although she didn't like being this close to him, she obliged.

“How are you, Khadi? You look well,” he said with a smile on his face that made her skin crawl.

“I don't mean to be rude, Tyson, but J.D. and I are trying to get things ready for the National Cathedral presser.”

“Always business, aren't you? Well, okay then, let's get down to business.” Reaching behind, he lifted a 10x13 clasp envelope from his desk. “You know, Khadi, a big part of my job is to make sure that the senator is protected from those around him.”

“Funny, I thought that was my job,” Khadi said sarcastically.

“So it is. But who is there to protect him from his protectors?”

Khadi stared blankly at Bryson.
Where is he going with this?

“I've spent some time researching your background, Khadi.”

Khadi leaped out of her chair. “You what? What gives you the right to go digging into my life?”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Bryson said condescendingly. “Please sit back down. I think you're going to want to hear what I have to say.”

What does he have? It couldn't be anything! I've passed so many clearances—I'm clean as a whistle.
Curiosity, however, got the best of her, and she sat.

“There's a good girl,” he said, almost causing her to leap up again. “Now, your background is spotless, Khadi. I must commend you for that. Always doing the right thing. Always faithful to the cause. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for everyone in your family.”

Khadi's spine stiffened.
What does he have? Did one of my brothers do something stupid?
“I'm listening,” she said quietly.

“I'm glad, because what I have to say to you is very, very important. In this envelope, I have your parents' application for political asylum dated back thirty-some-odd years ago. Unfortunately, as I examined it I found—how should I put it?—some discrepancies.”

“Discrepancies?” Khadi asked, her blood growing cold. “What kind of discrepancies?”

“Oh, a little stretch here, a little fudge there. Each one maybe not enough to raise a red flag. But put together? They scream for action to be taken.”

“Action? What do you mean by
action
?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just prosecution. Quite possibly deportation.”

Khadi was again on her feet. Grabbing Bryson by his lapels, she said, “I swear, if you do anything to harm my parents, I will make your life a painful hell—then I'll kill you.”

But the normally easily cowed Bryson wasn't visibly fazed by Khadi's outburst—apart from a little moisture appearing on his upper lip.

“I suggest you sit down, Khadi,” he said calmly. “Right now, I'm the only person standing between your parents and a return trip to the Islamic Republic of Iran.”

Khadi's head was spinning.
Could he really have evidence that my parents lied on their application?
Releasing Bryson's suit jacket, she eased herself back down.

“Let me see the envelope,” she demanded, holding out her hand.

Dropping it back on his desk, Bryson said, “No, I don't think so.”

“Then how do I—”

“You know it's true, Khadi. Deep in your heart, you know I wouldn't make this kind of accusation if I couldn't back it up.”

Which is true,
Khadi thought.
Although Bryson is a man of many disgusting qualities, stupidity is not one of them.
“Why are you telling me this? What do you want?”

“Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter, don't we? How much is this information worth? What are you willing to give in order to keep your family safe and sound in their happy little life here in the Land of Opportunity? I already know you don't have much money to give—I've seen all your bank records.”

Again, Khadi stiffened. She felt violated by his deep searching into her life. Her stomach felt queasy, and the air in the room was beginning to taste stale.

“So I thought to myself, ‘Self, if not money, then what does the lovely Khadi Faroughi have to offer me?' It was then I realized that I had just answered my own question. A lovely young lady like you, a reasonably attractive young man like myself . . .”

The bile in Khadi's stomach rose into her mouth, and she swallowed it back down.
He's not really suggesting what I think he's suggesting, is he?
But the lecherous smile on Bryson's face answered her question for her.

“Not in a million years,” she said slowly, emphasizing each word.

“My, my, won't your parents be disappointed. But that's okay; maybe it won't be so bad. I hear the welcome-home committee for returning political refugees is very warm and hospitable,” he said with an evil smirk.

“You're a disgusting pig,” she spat out.

“Maybe so, but I'm the disgusting pig who's holding all the cards. I'll give you a week to think about it. You can go now.”

Gratefully, she hurried out of Bryson's office, went right into the bathroom, and threw up.

She still felt the same queasiness now as she listened to the senator.

“‘Senator Andrews, my friend, you make sure you do what it is that the good Lord called you here to do. But remember, Washington is a tough town. So while you're here doing what you were called to do, make sure you don't let this city change who you are.'”

Looking up toward heaven, a single tear rolling down his cheek, Andrews choked out, “I didn't let it change me, Chaplain Dan. Now, you can see clearly from your side of eternity that I'm still that same wide-eyed idealist. Thank you, Chap! Thank you!”

Andrews held a thumbs-up toward the sky long enough for the photographers to snap the shot before he turned back to the crowd. After dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief and taking a deep breath, he continued. “The reason I called this press conference in this particular location is that I have been given the somber honor by Elsa Musman and family to announce a memorial service for Chaplain Daniel Musman on Thursday, September 15, at 10 a.m. This service will be held in a venue befitting such a great man—” Andrews swept his arm back—“the majestic National Cathedral.”

As Khadi's eyes panned the crowd, her mind began racing.
Thursday? Why Thursday? Isn't that a little fast? Surely they can't expect to get everything together in just two days?

Khadi's real concern, however, had nothing to do with the practicality of the preparations in so short a window of time. What she saw was the door slamming closed on her long weekend off.

Tomorrow evening, Ramadan would begin. This holiest of months on the Muslim calendar was a time for followers around the world to fast and pray and dig deeper into their faith. It was a time of commitment and sacrifice. It was also a time for families and celebration.

Late tomorrow night after her shift ended, she was planning to drive to her parents' spacious home in Arlington, Virginia. Her brothers and their families would already be there, most likely bedded down for the night. The next morning before dawn, they would get up, have a light breakfast, and go outside to watch the sun rise, bringing with it the beginning of Ramadan.

The day would be spent fasting from food and drink. It was natural for everyone to get a little bit crabby while the body adjusted to the deprivation, and that's why it was so helpful to have family around. The men would spend the time talking, praying, and going to the mosque. The women would fill their day with taking care of the kids and preparing for the evening's feast.

Finally, the family would all gather outside to watch the sun drop down below the horizon. When the last of the rays disappeared, they would let out a cheer, because now it was time for the
iftar
to begin.

Iftar
was the celebration of breaking the day's fast. Typically throughout the month, it was done with just a normal meal. However, this first day was special. From everyone together eating their ceremonial first fig to when they all leaned back in their chairs full to bursting with their mother's amazing cooking, it was a night of joy and laughter and love.

It had been years since Khadi had been able to join her family for this tradition. She was so excited to see her parents. And the incredible women her brothers married were more like true sisters to her than in-laws.

Family,
Khadi thought as she watched a man reach into his camera bag.
That's what I need right now.
When she saw that what he pulled out of his camera bag was in fact a camera, she let her gaze move on.
I need to be around people who love me with no questions asked, with no expectations. I need to be touched, hugged. I need to hear someone tell me how special I am. And now more than ever, I need to see my parents. I need to ask them about their application for asylum. I need to hear from their lips what the truth is. I absolutely have to see them!

But she knew that the possibility of this actually happening had just decreased dramatically. Anytime the senator went to a public event, it was all hands on deck. It didn't matter if you were scheduled for a kidney transplant; you'd just have to say, “Sorry, Doc” and wait until the next organ came up for grabs.

Andrews was wrapping up, so Khadi casually moved closer to him. J.D. Little did the same to flank his other side. Glancing over their exit route, Khadi saw Tyson Bryson watching her with a smug smirk on his face.
He knows exactly what this is going to cost me, and he's getting a kick out of it.

The senator gave a final thanks to the assembled masses, then pointed one last time to the skies while a beatific smile spread across his upturned face. After the clacking of the camera shutters died down, he turned and moved toward the street where his car awaited him.

Bryson met them halfway down. “That was beautiful, Clayson. Heartfelt. I could really sense your love for that wonderful man.”

Andrews snorted. “The old windbag gave the longest prayers of anyone I've ever heard. I swear, if I stepped out of the chamber at his ‘Dear Lord,' I could be back up from the commissary carrying a toasted bagel with cream cheese and a coffee long before he hit ‘amen.' Maybe now they can get someone in there who knows the meaning of the words
brief introductory prayer
.”

“You're right, you're right,” Bryson agreed as he slid into the back of the limo behind Clayson. “What a gasbag!”

Khadi stepped in next, followed by Little.

The car pulled out, and she turned her attention toward the side windows. Bryson began going over the senator's schedule with him, but Andrews wasn't looking at his chief of staff. His eyes were locked on her.

Khadi tried to ignore his gaze, but she kept finding herself looking at him out of the corner of her eyes, trusting her dark sunglasses to hide the fact that he was getting under her skin.

When she could take it no longer, she slowly turned her head and said, “May I help you, Senator?”

“I was just wondering what you thought about the memorial being scheduled on Thursday?” he said with a Cheshire smile.

“What I think is that you and your cronies are rushing the celebration of a good man who gave more than twenty years of service to this country so that you all can still get an early Friday start to your weekend getaways.”

“Oooooh, such ugly cynicism from such a beautiful face,” Andrews said, his smile widening even more. “Is that really what's got you troubled, Khadi?”

Don't spar with him,
her common sense screamed out to her.
This has nowhere to go but downhill!
But still she found herself saying, “Isn't that enough? ‘Let's get him in the ground as soon as possible, so that I don't miss my Friday a.m. tee time'?”

“Ouch!” Andrews said, clutching his heart. Next to him, Bryson giggled. “No, Khadi, I have a feeling that the lack of a fitting tribute for our dear departed Christian chaplain is not what's really bothering you. I think that just maybe you are being disingenuous with me. Are you, Khadi? Are you being disingenuous?”

“I'm not having this conversation with you here,” Khadi said angrily. “And especially not with him here.” She indicated Bryson with her head, then turned back to the window.

But Andrews wasn't through with her. “This doesn't have anything to do with your little vacation, does it?
Tsk, tsk, tsk
. Alas, things happen. When you think about it, it was kind of insensitive for the old blowhard to die when he did.” Bryson cackled with laughter.

Khadi just kept looking out the window. She was angry with herself for the tears that were filling her eyes and thankful once again for the glasses that hid them.

“I know you're disappointed. But don't worry; there will be other times. Your little Muslim holiday comes around once a year, doesn't it?”

But that's not the point,
Khadi thought, her face tightening. Her hatred for this man grew with every word he said.
This is family tradition! Besides, I need this! I need it now—this year! I have to see my family!

“Besides, it's not all bad.” Andrews leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “If you happened to sneak something off the after-service buffet, I promise not to say anything.”

It wasn't his words that set her off; it was the accompanying wink. Before she knew it, she was lunging across the limo for the senator. In the span of a second, her hands reached out for his designer suit, a satisfying look of terror appeared on Andrews's face, and nearby Bryson lifted his embossed leather portfolio to protect his face.

But then it all went wrong. Her forehead hit something hard, and her momentum was stopped flat. She pulled back and saw that the hard thing she hit was Little's mouth, which was just starting to bleed from the upper lip.