Inside Threat (39 page)

“Hey, Alavi,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “you still beat your wife?”

“Your time is soon.”

“Bring it on, little man—lapdog.”

Alavi turned to go but stopped short. “Actually,” he said with a smile, “I think your time has arrived.”

He stepped back, and Saifullah, the cameraman, and the two executioners walked into the bay. Hard as she tried, she couldn't take her eyes off the long blade that hung in the one man's belt.

“I hear you were calling for me,” Saifullah said.

“And you came—I'm touched,” Khadi replied in a voice that was half mumble, half groan.

“I came because it was time, not because you called.”

“Probably an important point for you, but for me—not so much,” Khadi said with all the false bravado she could muster. But inside, she was screaming.
I can't imagine that knife on my neck! Please, no! Someone—God, Scott, anyone—please keep me from that blade!

“Your eyes betray you, little girl,” Saifullah said with a smile. “Why do I feel your courage is all talk?”

“Take these cuffs off, and we'll see how much is all talk. Five men in this room, and you still have to keep the little girl tied up.”
Come on, rise to the challenge . . . take the bait!

Instead, Saifullah turned to the executioners. “I'm tired of hearing the ranting of this mongrel whore. Silence her.”

Khadi's eyes went wide.
Wait, this isn't the way it's supposed to be! What about the camera? What about Saifullah's speech? Aren't I supposed to have an opportunity to read a false confession? I'm not ready for this! God, help me! Please, God, help me!

Despite the duplicity of her eyes, Khadi kept a reasonably strong facade. Her face was tight and she pressed her lips closed, not trusting what might come out of them if they parted.

The man not holding the long blade moved quickly toward Khadi. With small wire cutters, he snipped the tie off her ankles. Immediately, blood began flowing back to her feet, causing her to bite back a scream. He grabbed her by her arms and flung her to the ground. She skidded to a landing up against Wilson's tomb.

The man with the blade lifted Khadi by the hair. The pain was excruciating, and she tried to take some of the pressure off by bringing her knees up under her. But she still didn't have any strength in them after being tied up for so long, and they flailed around beneath her.

Saifullah leaned down to Khadi's face. “Prepare to see hell,
gehbah
.”

Khadi closed her eyes and heard the long knife slide out from the executioner's belt. The cold, dull blade rested against her tight neck, then pulled across it. She cried out, the executioner released her hair, and she fell hard to the ground.

She lay there gasping and weeping—confused, relieved, angry, hurting.
What happened? What just happened? I'm not dead—I know that because I'm in too much pain.

A shoe wedged itself under her chest and rolled her over. Her eyes opened, and she saw all five men laughing cruelly at her.

“I think a quick death is a little too good for you,” Saifullah said. “I've got something else in mind that will burn like a coal in your heart for the rest of your miserable, traitorous life.”

The cuffs on her wrists were cut, and pain again shot through her body. A cold, wet towel was thrown on the floor in front of her.

“Clean yourself up,” said Alavi.

Khadi tried to grasp the towel but found she couldn't control her fingers. Instead she lifted it between her wrists and wiped her face across it. The pain was intense, but with every swipe came renewed hope.

The rest of my life, he said. I think that means I'm going to live! I don't know what just happened, but, God, if that was You—thank You! Thank You so much!

“That's enough; it's time,” Alavi said.

He snatched the towel from her hands and lifted her to her feet. She took one last look at Saifullah and was chilled to the bone at the pure evil that was in his smile. He nodded to her, then walked away.

Alavi tightly gripped her upper arm and pulled her forward. Stumbling, she followed him. The footsteps of the other three men echoed behind her. Turning to her right, she could see all the hostages watching her.
Where is he? Where is he? There!

In the midst of all the bewildered and anguished faces, Alan Paine gave her an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up. Then he pointed to the sky for a moment before reverting back to the thumb. Khadi wished she could say thank-you, wished she could tell him how he had saved her life last night—
I'll say it when I come back to get you,
she promised silently.

She was nearing the front door when one of the terrorists pulled it open.
It's really true. They're letting me go. Oh, thank You, God!

Alavi released her with a push, and she stumbled into the light of a September afternoon. Reaching out to steady herself, she caught hold of the handrail.
Free! I'm free! I can't believe—

At the bottom of the stairs was Riley, shirtless, walking her way.

Confused questions flew through her mind.
Did he do this? Was Riley the one who negotiated my release? Is he really my knight in shining armor? Why is he looking at me like that?
She wanted to run to him, but her legs were still shaky. She took a tentative step, both hands glued to the rail.

Slowly he approached—one step at a time. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him not take stairs two steps per stride.
Something's wrong! This doesn't feel right! Come on, Riley! Come and get me!

His hands slowly raised and locked behind his head. Two red dots danced on his chest.
Why are they laser-sighting him? He's unarmed—can't they see that?

Their eyes locked, and what she saw sent terror into her heart. Nowhere was the joy, the relief that should have been there. Instead, what she saw was trepidation, determination, fear, sorrow.

But then, like a ray of sun cutting through a sky full of clouds, his face slipped into a soft smile, and that smile said it all. It was full of peace and love. The peace she knew was because of his faith in his God; the love was all for her.

It dawned on her what was happening. Her knees buckled, and she steadied herself with the handrail.

“Riley, what are you doing?” She said with a hoarse croak. “No! You can't do this! I refuse! I won't let you do this, Riley.”

But Riley just kept walking and held that same smile that said more than any volume of love poems ever could. He was just a few feet away now, and she reached out her hand to him. “No, Riley. Please, no!”

Her fingers landed on his stomach, and she dug her nails in, trying to stop him. But they just left red trails across his flesh until there was no more of him to hold on to. And all the while, his eyes never left hers until he was past.

She spun around in time to see him step into the cathedral.

The doors closed.

“No!” she cried out. “Riley, no!”

She tried to pull herself back up the stairs, back in the direction she had come, back to Riley so they could go to their deaths together like some twisted, modern Romeo and Juliet.

Suddenly, hands were on her, lifting her easily. In a brief moment, she was scooped up and held to her rescuer's chest.

It was then she recognized Skeeter and knew the battle was over. Once in his arms, she never considered fighting him—never tried to talk him out of his destination. When Skeeter Dawkins had a plan in mind, it would get done.

Instead she wrapped her arms around Skeeter's neck and began to cry.

Friday, September 16, 1:30 p.m. EDT

Gunmen grabbed Riley and roughly shoved him forward as soon as he walked in.

“I'm here, everyone,” he called out as he stumbled. “Captain America's come to save the day!”

Something hard hit him squarely between the shoulders, dropping him to his knees. Riley turned to see a man in black holding his assault weapon butt first.

Create as much havoc as possible,
he thought.
Anything you can do to get everyone's attention so that Scott and the guys can get into place.

“Why, Majid Alavi! As I live and breathe,” he said to the man who had hit him. Alavi pulled up short on his next blow. “Oh, don't look so surprised. I saw you on the surveillance cameras. I know all about you.”

He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “I hear your dad stunk rocks as a clothes salesman.”

Alavi launched at Riley, gun butt first. In a move he hadn't used since his Air Force Special Ops training, Riley grabbed hold of the gun and pulled hard, yanking Alavi off balance. At the same time, he rocketed himself to his feet, driving his shoulder into Alavi's chest. Just like he'd done against blocking sleds since he was twelve, he pushed the man backward until a pillar stopped their momentum. All of Alavi's air rushed from his lungs.

Riley swung the terrorist in front of him, pulled the pistol that was in the man's belt, and held it to his head.

“Stop where you are,” he yelled to the rapidly approaching gunmen. Alavi was gasping for breath, and the back of his head was bleeding. “Come any closer and stinker here gets popped.” Then to Alavi, he said, “And you really do stink. Do you guys ever bathe? You smell worse than a hockey goalie's equipment bag.”

“Drop the weapon now!” said one of the gunmen.

Recognizing him, too, Riley said, “Forget it, Saliba. By the way, did you tell all your friends here about that girl you knocked up a few years back?”

Saliba made a rush toward Riley and Alavi. Riley fired a shot into the floor. It ricocheted off the tile and embedded itself who knew where. Saliba pulled up, but Alavi took the opportunity to try to pull away.

Riley cinched his hold around Alavi's neck tighter and clocked him hard on the side of the head with the pistol.

“Wait a second, this is Khadi's gun,” Riley said, giving him two more hits. Alavi was bleeding from four places on his head now.

As Riley looked around, every eye was on him—hostages and gunmen. Not one terrorist that he could see was watching out the windows or looking at the stairs.
Freaking amateurs!

“Stop! No more,” said a new voice. Riley looked over and saw Saifullah walking toward him. He had an aura of smoldering rage about him, and Riley knew he was no one to underestimate. Walking just behind the imam was another gunman—
Bazzi, I think.
He was calmly leading Senator Lowell Martin, holding a pistol under the taller politician's chin.

“Drop the gun, Mr. Covington, or Mr. Bazzi will kill the senator.”

Riley laughed. “What, like that's a threat? Have you seen the crap that's been coming out of Washington lately?”

“The time for joking is over,” Saifullah said, and Bazzi cocked the gun.

“Okay, okay,” Riley said. “Don't get your ceremonial loincloth in a bunch.”

He shoved Alavi hard, and the terrorist sprawled out on the floor. “It's just, I've got this thing about being touched,” he said, as he slid his gun away, “so if you could please just tell your boy here . . .”

He stopped talking when Saliba pulled a new weapon as he strode toward him. Riley looked down at his bare chest and saw a red dot.

“Not good,” Riley said, just before two prongs released from a Taser gun and embedded in his chest. His whole body clenched, and he dropped to the ground. He had been tasered before as part of his Special Ops training, but that had lasted only five seconds. This just rolled on and on as the electricity pulsed through his body.

As soon as the current stopped, the pain stopped. But his muscles were exhausted from the strain. Opening his eyes, he saw Majid Alavi standing over him.

He was holding a long metal rod.

Riley lifted his hands to protect his head. But that left the rest of his body exposed. The first five blows landed across his back, sending shocks of pain from his spine and kidneys. He rolled and tucked himself into a fetal position.

Help me, God! Help me! “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. . . .”

The first rod was joined by a second and then a third. Blow after blow fell on him—bruising ribs until they cracked; crushing the knuckles on his fingers as they tried to protect his head; breaking joints as ankles, knees, elbows, and shoulders were targeted.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul. . . .”

Riley's battered fingers gave way, and the blows began landing on his unprotected skull. Each crack seemed to knock him momentarily outside himself, before the pain snapped him back into reality.

He walks . . . He walks me beside . . . the valley of shadows. . . . He guides me . . . in my enemies . . . I will not fear . . . I will not fear . . . I will not fear . . .