Inside Threat (30 page)

Thursday, September 15, 11:45 a.m. EDT

Washington, DC

Riley threw open his truck door even before he finished screeching to a stop. As he rounded the front of the vehicle, he noticed a sign that said Loading Zone.
Good; maybe they'll tow it while I'm getting Khadi. That way at least I'll know it's safe.

He took the steps up to the building three at a time, brimming with confidence. And why not? His plan was foolproof. He'd have the front security call Scott. Even though his friend might be reluctant to talk to him, he couldn't very well turn away his best buddy from the door. Once Scott agreed to let him come back to the Bravo office, Riley would simply refuse to leave. He would suit up with the rest of the ops, and Scott would have to either agree or have him arrested.

Sure, his friend would be pretty ticked at him for a while, but oh well. It wasn't like Scott hadn't forced Riley's hand a few times in the past. Scottini, the Great Puppetmaster, was the whole reason Riley was here in Washington in the first place, instead of back home playing for the Colorado Mustangs. This was only a small sampling of the payback his contriving little friend richly deserved.

Riley burst through the front doors and saw a long line at the metal detectors. It was worse than being at the airport. Each person was being thoroughly screened—IDs, belts, shoes, bags, everything.

I've got no time for this,
he thought as he cut to the front of the line. Protests sounded from behind him.

“Sir, you're going to have to wait your turn,” a very large, cammied Marine said, standing to meet Riley.

“I'm Riley Covington. I need—”

“I know who you are, sir. But Homeland Security has raised the threat level to high, so you're still going to have to wait your turn.” The Marine took a step closer and lowered his voice. “And I'll tell you right now, if that cannon is still in your shoulder holster when you get back up here, you and I are going to have a real problem.”

Normally, a man this size would have intimidated even the most confident of men, but Riley wasn't having any of it. Khadi's life was on the line. He had to get in to see Scott.

“We've already got a problem, Saur,” Riley said, getting the man's name from his uniform. “And if you interrupt me again, you're just going to dig your hole deeper.”

Apparently, this Marine wasn't used to receiving back talk, and a look of surprise showed in his eyes. But he quickly recovered. “Listen, if you want to make a scene, then make a scene. One football star getting carted off to prison isn't going to make much news on a day like this.”

“I don't want to make a scene. All I want is for you to call Scott Ross and tell him I'm here.”

Stepping back to try to defuse the situation, Saur said, “I'll be happy to call Mr. Ross for you . . . after you wait in the line.”

Riley sighed.
Why does everything have to be so difficult? There is no way I can afford to wait the twenty minutes it will take to make it through that line. Time to change tactics.

“Listen, Saur, I'm only asking because it's a matter of life and death. You see—”

“First of all, I never gave you permission to use my name. Second, if I polled everyone in this line, 75 percent of them would tell me they're here on a matter of life and death too. Now get . . . back . . . in line.” With that final word, Saur turned to the people passing through the metal detectors.

Augh! What is with this guy? I'm so close! How do I break through?

Then a thought struck him.
Dare I resort to the nuclear option? Honestly, I don't see any other choice.
He pulled out his cell phone, scrolled down to
P
on his contacts, selected a number, and hit Send.

After a few rings, a voice answered. “Riley—while normally this would be a pleasant surprise, I'm sorry to say this isn't a good time right now, as you can probably imagine.”

“I'm so sorry, Mr. President. I would never have called you if this were not a life-and-death emergency.”

Two years ago, after all the events in New York, President Donald Lloyd had given Riley the number to his personal direct line. His reason for giving out such a valuable piece of information was that he was courting Riley for a job. Any calls he made using this top-secret number should have been related specifically to that job offer. But Lloyd had also said in passing,
“. . . and if there's ever anything I can do for you, just let me know.”
This was the rationale Riley now used for pulling out this ultimate ace in the hole.

“An emergency? Are you sure this can't wait, Riley? Like I said, this is not a good time.”

“Again, I'm so sorry, sir. I have essential information regarding the National Cathedral attack that I have to get to Scott Ross—”
only a little lie
—“but my way is being barred by a well-meaning but very stubborn Marine. It will only take thirty seconds of your time to clear my way.”

“I'll do it in ten,” the president said.

I can't believe he's actually going to do it!
“Thank you, sir! I'll pass you over.”

Riley tapped Saur on the shoulder. The Marine spun around.

“Call for you,” Riley said. Saur glared at him, not taking the phone.

“Really, I think you're going to want to take this.”

Finally, curiosity got the best of Saur. He snatched the phone from Riley's hand and said, “Who is this?”

He listened for a second, then very colorfully expressed his disbelief.

He listened a moment more, then suddenly straightened up. “Yes, sir. . . . I'm sorry, sir. . . . I will, sir. . . . Thank you, sir.”

Saur hung up the phone, fixing Riley with an icy stare. “You can go through, but your gun stays here.”

“Sorry, Marine. I think both my gun and I will both go through . . . or do I have to make another call? I think I have the secretary of defense on here somewhere,” Riley said, beginning to scroll through his contacts.

“You sucked on Sunday,” Saur said as he stepped aside to let Riley pass through.

Another round of boos and complaints sounded from the line, but Riley ignored them. Instead, he began sprinting down the long corridors. He ran until he came to the door he was looking for and slid to a stop.

He pounded on it. No answer. He pounded again. Still no answer. He pounded a third time. An electric lock disengaged, and the door opened. Evie stood in the gap.

“He's not here,” she said matter-of-factly, then added, “The guard called and told us you were coming to see Scott.”

“I need to talk to him,” he said, hearing the desperation in his own voice.

His tone softened her a little. “I'm sorry, Riley, but he's not here, and he's not going to take your call.”

“Please, Evie! How do you know he won't take my call? Did you ask him?”

Tears began forming in Evie's eyes. “Actually, I did—as soon as the guard called. He said to tell you to go home and that he'd call you first chance he could.”

“No,” Riley yelled, driving his fist into the door. Williamson, Hernandez, and Gooey all suddenly appeared behind Evie.

“Is there a problem?” Hernandez asked.

“No,” Riley and Evie said simultaneously.

“No,” Riley said again. Sorrow and embarrassment sucked the aggression from him, and he leaned against the doorjamb. “I'm sorry, Evie—guys. It's just I know Khadi's in the cathedral. I've got to find a way to get her out.”

“I'm sorry too, Riley,” Hernandez said, “but there's nothing we can do for you. Seriously. We love Khadi too, and you're just going to have to trust us to keep her safe.”

Riley didn't say anything. His eyes dropped to the ground. He felt defeated.

“It's probably best you leave now,” Hernandez continued, putting his hand on Evie's shoulder. “Riley, you know how we all feel about you. We're family. You have my word we'll let you know as soon as we hear anything about Khadi. Now, please let us get back to our work of saving her and all the others.”

“You're right. You're right. I'm sorry.”

Riley began to back away, and the door began to close.

Suddenly, it swung back open, and Evie wrapped him up in a huge hug. As she held him, she whispered, “Go there—to the cathedral. You can talk your way through the perimeter. Find Scott. He won't turn you away once you're there. I know he won't! But if he does, then call me and I'll call Kim. You know he could never say no to you. He'll get you in. Go there, Riley. Khadi needs you.”

She gave him a firm kiss on the cheek and turned back to the door, where Hernandez stood holding it open. “I'm so sorry,” she said one more time . . . and the door closed.

A minute later he was launching himself down the steps of the building. A member of DC parking enforcement was in the process of writing him a ticket, but he blew past her.

“Send it to me,” he called over his shoulder, hopping into the Durango. Moments later he was in the flow of traffic, headed for the National Cathedral and the woman he needed to save.

Thursday, September 15, 11:55 a.m. EDT

Even though they had been told to stare at the ground, Khadi still took every chance she could to steal glances at her captors. What surprised her was how young and nervous—even frightened—many of them were.

Sure, there were the tough ones—the General, Number Two (the guy who took the lead when the General left the room), the Attitude (the one that she and Gladys had had words with), Gropey (the scowling, dumb one who was a little too thorough with his frisking)—but they seemed to be in the minority. Most were in their early twenties and looked as if this was the first time they had held a weapon outside of some upstate Michigan jihadi militia day camp.

“Please don't do this! Please!” It was a woman's voice this time.

Khadi looked toward the Politicos, as she had styled the group of legislators. Speaker of the House Cristy Johnston was having a vest put on her. She was the sixth one. Khadi hurt for her. What terror she must be feeling.

How many more of those vests do they have? Just logistically, they couldn't have brought in one for each of the Politicos. That would have been too heavy. Besides, all their supplies—cameras, computers, food, explosive vests—had been brought in those sixteen duffel bags.

“Look down,” the Attitude commanded as he walked by.

Khadi dropped her head.

“Careful,” Gladys whispered.

Khadi knew she was about to be released—at least she was pretty sure. It was the only explanation for her group.
There are just too many of us. The food, the bathrooms—which, judging by the growing odor hovering above our group, is already becoming a problem—just the practical reality of having this many hostages is too much for this small a crew.

Part of her felt guilty over her potential release. Shouldn't she be the She-Ra warrior giving it all to save the day? But deep down, she knew there was only so much one girl could do in the face of such heavy odds.

So instead, she settled her conscience with the unspoken promise to all who were sitting in the other two groups that she would gather all the information she could while here, and then once she was released, she would be back. She wasn't abandoning them; she was just going to get reinforcements.

Four more vests went on. Senator Andrews was not one of the ones who received one.
I wonder if that's good news or bad news for him,
she thought. She spotted him in the Politicos group. His face seemed puffy, and he looked like he had aged ten years.

Somewhere a few rows back, Charlotte Andrews sat on one of these comfortable padded seats. Earlier, as they were being sorted into the three groups, the senator's wife had somehow found a way to get next to her.

“Do something,” she had demanded of Khadi.

“What exactly do you recommend?”

“I don't know! Something! You're the expert!”

Khadi knew this lady was scared, so she was trying to cut her some slack. But the arrogant blend of entitlement and condescension was really trying her patience.

“Okay, if I'm the expert, then this expert says that if I do anything, it will most likely get all of us killed.”

Not used to hearing no from anyone but her husband, Charlotte had countered, “That's not good enough! I think you're just saying that because you're scared!”

“You bet I'm scared,” Khadi agreed.

“You listen here! If either me or my husband gets killed here, I will promise you that you will never work in this town again!”

“First of all, I want you to think about the grammatical and logical inconsistencies in your statement. Second, the way this day has turned out, my future employment is way down my list of pressing concerns.”

Khadi had turned her back to Charlotte, and when she turned around again, the senator's wife was gone.
Please, God, let me never have to see her face again!