Inside Threat (43 page)

Then, on the third morning, as she was on her way out to the beach, the owner of the B&B—an older woman who had pretty much left her alone until now—said in a low whisper, “I know who you are, Khadi.”

Khadi had just nodded, thinking that when she got back from her walk she'd find a new place to stay.

“You know they're all looking for you,” the proprietor had said.

“Who?”

“All of them—everybody.”

“I'm sure they are,” Khadi replied, turning the front doorknob.

“They all say you're a hero.”

This stopped Khadi. She turned. “I'm sorry, Mrs. . . .”

“Milholland. But my friends call me Juanita.”

“I'm sorry, Juanita, but I'm no hero.”

“That's not what everyone's saying.”

“‘Everyone' is wrong. ‘Everyone' wasn't there.” Khadi again turned to go.

“Well, some of them were. There's that old lady who was in the church. Then there was another man who was in the church too. Then there was that funny-looking policeman with the goatee—I don't think I care for him much.”

“Scott Ross?”

“Oh, honey, I don't know. I'm so bad with names. That's why I didn't recognize yours until this morning.”

Khadi stood there processing.
I certainly don't feel like a hero. But maybe—just maybe—Scott and everyone else don't blame me after all. Maybe . . . maybe they still . . .

“You look like you could use a cup of tea, dear. Why don't you go to the sitting room, and I'll bring you a cup of this new honey vanilla chamomile I found. It's simply scrumptious.”

Later that afternoon, Khadi drove back to DC. It took her another day before she summoned the courage to show up at 9:00 p.m., unannounced, at Scott and Tara's front door. But the exuberant reunion she experienced assured her that no matter her own doubts, she was home and she was with family.

Saturday, September 24, 1:05 p.m. EDT

Washington, DC

It's definitely a full house,
Khadi thought as she took in the packed House of Representatives chambers. From her place in one of the VIP sections of the gallery, she was able to see the entire House floor—every seat taken except for twelve that were conspicuously draped with American flags. To her left and right were other VIP areas blocked off for the families of the slain.

All told, seven senators and five congressmen had lost their lives, whether by direct assassination or during the rescue attempt. Also lost were two MPDC officers, one SEAL, three Homeland Security ops agents . . . and one superhero.
Riley, I still can't believe you're gone.

Khadi sighed deeply, picturing a shirtless Riley walking toward her with red dots dancing on his chest—the last time she had seen him. This vision seemed to be with her constantly now—
his eyes, so much love, so much sacrifice.
Khadi knew that with each mental viewing, Riley was becoming more and more perfect.
Soon he'll be floating towards me with wings on his back and a halo around his head . . . which is fine, as long as I can see his face, his eyes.

Empathetic hands squeezed hers. Gladys Cook followed up her grasp of Khadi's right hand with a gentle pat and a rub. Winnie Covington, however, just kept holding tightly to her left in an apparent attempt to draw out as much strength as she was trying to pour in.

Khadi leaned over and let her head rest on Winnie's shoulder, awkwardly shifting the sunglasses that were partially hiding her healing face. She hadn't seen Riley's mother until earlier this morning, and it had been a bittersweet reunion. Few words were spoken; there would be plenty of time for conversation later.

A couple of days ago, when they had that first tearful conversation on the phone, they had decided that after the service they would take a week together slowly driving back to Wyoming, where friends and family would be gathering for a private memorial. As the two women in the world who had loved Riley most, they looked to each other to help begin their slow healing processes.

Sitting on the other side of Winnie were Riley's grandfather, Skeeter, Scott, and Tara. Behind her were the guys from SOG Bravo minus Ted Hummel, who was still in the hospital recovering from bullet wounds to his forearm and thigh. The RoU analysts were back there, too, as was Keith Simmons.

The only other person Khadi had asked to join her up in the balcony was Alan Paine, who was now seated on the other side of Gladys. That reunion, held just about ten minutes ago, had brought back so many painful memories for Khadi that she had to quickly break off their tearful embrace and walk away.

The ceremony began with a prayer from the House chaplain. Then families of the slain were recognized, including Winnie Covington and, strangely, Khadi herself. From there, it was a long procession of obituaries, recognitions, stories—some funny and some tearful—and promises to end these kinds of attacks. Khadi listened whenever Riley was spoken of but mostly tuned out the rest. The speeches came from senators, congressmen, several cabinet members including Stanley Porter, and finally, President Donald Lloyd.

Lloyd ended up focusing on Riley more than anyone else, telling the story of their first meeting in the Oval Office. Riley was wearing a smelly, torn T-shirt, shorts, and rubber boots that were caked with mud, having just been snatched away from a clamming expedition in Alaska. Khadi remembered how mortified Riley had been.
But he rose to the occasion—he always did.

He also told a story that Khadi hadn't heard before—a story of receiving a desperate phone call last week. Riley was asking for a favor, but his reasoning had been so vague that Lloyd had suspected he wasn't receiving the whole truth.

“But with Riley,” the president said, “I knew there had to be a good reason. So I politely informed one of our proud Marines that he would be guarding one of our secret military installations down in the Antarctic if he didn't let Riley through his checkpoint.”

The crowd laughed.

“So I'd like to offer my heartfelt apologies to that Marine, and my even more heartfelt assurances to the attending press that no, we do not really have any secret military installations down in the Antarctic.”

More laughter.

But Khadi's mind had already drifted away again.
He wanted to get to me so badly that he pulled in a favor from the president?
Winnie must have been thinking the same thing because she turned to Khadi and smiled. But Khadi didn't return the smile; her mind was too troubled.

Why did you do it, Riley? I wasn't worth your life. Really! I know myself; I know how messed up I am inside.

But you . . . you've touched so many people, done so much good. You should be sitting here listening to stories about me, not the other way around. You were worth any ten of me. It should have been me, not you! It should have been me!

Mercifully, the service ended. It took a while to clear everybody out, and Khadi made small talk with the RoU analysts while she waited.

Finally their turn to exit came, and they all filed out into the open air. Khadi gave hugs to all the ops men and the kids from the RoU. There were still a lot of unanswered questions surrounding the ties between Saifullah's group and all the other attacks that had taken place a week ago, which meant that taking the time for this memorial service was a luxury they would have to pay for with many extra hours at their workstations.

Next she said good-bye to Alan Paine and Gladys Cook. Suddenly, the whirr of cameras sounded around her. The media, her constant companion since getting back to DC, absolutely ate up stories of her with Alan and Gladys. These pictures would probably soon be at supermarket checkout lines across America.

“Sorry about them,” Khadi said as she held Gladys.

“Oh, don't worry about that,” she replied. “At my age, it's about time I got my fifteen minutes of fame.”

Next Khadi turned to Alan. “Thank you. I couldn't have survived without you,”

“You've got it wrong. You were the inspiration to all of us,” Alan said.

Khadi stepped back, surprised.

“It's true, Khadi. Seeing your strength—well, we just held on to it. Honestly, what I kept telling the other guys was, ‘If that little girl can take what she's taken and keep the fire burning, what excuse do we have?' I wanted to tell you that before the service, but I didn't get the chance. So thank you . . . from all of us.” He kissed her cheek and turned away.

Tears formed in Khadi's eyes as she watched Gladys and Alan disappear into the crowds.

I gave
them
strength? Really? If that's true, then maybe . . . I don't know. Just thank you, Alan. I think maybe that's twice now you've given me my life back.

When she turned around, Scott, Tara, and Skeeter were looking at her. Grandpa and Winnie were in deep conversation with Keith Simmons about fifteen feet away.

“Walk with us,” Scott said as he put his arm around her shoulder and led her to the many steps leading down from the Capitol building.

“But what about . . . ?” Khadi said, looking toward Grandpa, Winnie, and Keith.

“They'll catch up.”

They walked the steps in silence, and when they reached the bottom, Scott led her around to a fountain that stood at the base of the Capitol grounds.

He sat her down on a low stone wall opposite the fountain and squatted in front of her. Tara sat next to her, while Skeeter glared the paparazzi back to a safe distance.

“So what's going on?” Khadi asked warily. “I kind of feel like I'm having an intervention.”

When Scott didn't smile at her little joke, it just raised Khadi's concern level that much more.

He reached into his jacket pocket but kept his hand there. “Before Riley went into the cathedral, he said there was one more thing he had to do. He took my iPhone, disappeared for a few minutes, and then came back saying that he had recorded something on it—for you. He said that if he survived, I was to delete it without watching it. But if he . . .” Scott's voice cracked, and he stopped. Then he pulled out his iPhone. “He wanted you to see this.”

Khadi took the phone in her hands. She didn't know how to feel—excited, afraid, nervous. “Did he record any others?”

“No,” Scott said, shaking his head. “Just to you.”

“Do you want us to leave you alone?” Tara asked.

“No . . . I—I think I'd rather you stayed.”

Tara put her arm around Khadi's shoulders; Scott placed his hand on her knee.

Riley's face was frozen as if he were in the middle of a word. His hair was sticking up a bit, like he either hadn't combed it or he had been sweating and running his fingers through it. He was wearing a hoodie jacket, and she could see an MPDC SWAT truck behind him. Her finger hovered over the phone. Taking a deep breath, she touched the screen, and his face suddenly animated.

“. . . hope that I'm working this thing right.”

The phone spun and Khadi saw all the police and military that were surrounding the cathedral. Then it spun back around. “Looks good, I think. Khadi . . . Khadi, what do I say? I had all this stuff in my head when I went to get Scott's phone. Now it just seems like so many words.”

The shot was shaky and his face wasn't always centered. But Khadi soon picked up the rhythm of the picture and was able just to focus on Riley's words.

“I guess . . . I guess if there were two things that I want you to know more than anything, the first would be that I love you—always have, always will. From the moment you told me that you Persians serve your coffee with toothpicks, I was hooked. I love everything about you—your huge heart, your amazing smile, your sense of humor, your inner strength, your . . . your . . . I don't know. There're a lot of other
your
s, but the situation here is kind of forcing a blank on my mind. I think we really could have had an amazing life together if it weren't for that whole Christian/Muslim thing.”

Riley's face took on a grave look, and Khadi could hear frustration in his voice.

“Ah, Khadi, that whole Christian/Muslim thing . . . I don't know why God gave me such an amazingly deep love for someone that I could never have. I've asked Him, yelled at Him, begged Him. But as much as I tried to argue with God, I never could seem to convince Him that my way was best. Maybe that's why He's God and I'm not.”

Riley looked offscreen, and the shot slipped down to his chest. After a moment he said, “Just two more minutes. Just two.”

Looking back at the camera, he said, “Sorry, I really don't want to rush this, but . . . Listen, I know you're probably struggling with the fact that you're alive and I'm . . . not. Please don't. Please, please, Khadi, you gotta know that I would do it again a thousand times over for you. I love you, Khadi, and it feels so good to finally say those words to you, and I'm so sorry that I've never said them before. I truly, truly love you.”