Blown Coverage (28 page)

Bakhmadov winced as Hicks laid the edge of the blade against his right cheek. “Please, sir, the only thing I heard Commander
Abdalayev talk about in regards to the Cause was Beslan!”

The word
Beslan
echoed through the room. Immediately, the tip of Hicks’s knife was at the mercenary’s throat. “What about Beslan? You better
tell me everything you know, or I swear I’ll slice you apart piece by piece!”

Bakhmadov cried out in fear and pain. “Please! Please! I’ll tell you what I know! It isn’t going to be like Beslan with the
torture of the children. The Cause doesn’t have that type of army in your country. Instead, it will be martyrs going into
grammar schools and killing as many children as they can!”

“When?” Hicks screamed out. “When?”

“I don’t know! I swear to you I don’t know!” Bakhmadov’s blood was beginning to stream down Hicks’s knife.

Hicks spun around and walked to the door. He stood facing it, then suddenly cried out and plunged his knife deep into the
wood. For two minutes, Scott stood and watched his friend staring at the door. Finally, Hicks worked his knife out, then walked
back to Bakhmadov. There was terror in the other man’s eyes.

When Hicks spoke, his voice was again calm. “Now here’s the most important question, and I want you to think very, very hard.
Do you have any idea where in Istanbul al-’Aqran might be staying?”

“I do not know. I swear to you, sir! I would tell you if I knew! Commander Abdalayev met Hamad Asaf outside the city and made
the transfer there! I promise you, it is the truth!”

Hicks slowly brought the knife up to Bakhmadov’s face, then tapped his nose twice with the flat of the blade. “You know what,
Doku? I believe you. My friend here is going to ask you some more questions. I want you to be as cooperative with him as you
were with me, okay?”

Bakhmadov nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Hicks leaned in close, and Scott could smell the faint odor of alcohol seeping out of his sweaty pores. He whispered, “Get
what you can from him, then call in the CIA and turn this piece of trash over to them.”

“Yes, sir,” Scott said as Hicks left the room. There was little doubt in Scott’s mind that he was making a beeline to the
bottle of Jack Daniel’s he had stashed away with his gear. Hicks was a troubled soul, and Scott knew that times like this
were the reason why.

Unfortunately,
there’s
nothing I can do to help him with his demons
right now,
Scott thought as he turned back to Bakhmadov. “Now, where were we?”

CHAPTER
THIRTY
-
NINE

WEDNESDAY, MAY 27, 10:15 A.M. MDT SILVERTHORNE, COLORADO

The Micro Tavor assault rifle lay in pieces in front of him, and Riley attacked each element in turn with oil and a brush.
Skeeter had been outside for the last half hour examining their defenses. With him were the only two weapons that were not
next to Riley waiting to be cleaned.

Right now
they’re
in the
linebackers’
meeting,
Riley thought, visualizing the white room with its narrow tables and big black faux leather chairs.
Simm is probably mouthing off to some rookie about
a missed coverage during drills. And Coach Texeira
is standing up front helplessly trying to get a word in
edgewise.

Riley laughed quietly at the thought, but just as quickly, the smile left him.
I should be there. Simm is
great, but the leadership of the linebacker corps belongs
to me.
That’s
another thing
they’ve
stolen.

One of the negatives of spending so much time waiting was all the thinking. And all that thinking was beginning to turn Riley
bitter—bitter at the Cause for putting him in this situation, for taking his dad from him, and for keeping him from his mom.
But he was also bitter at Scott for actually being able to go out and hunt the bad guys, bitter at Meg for constantly bugging
him and reading more into their relationship than was really there, bitter at Keith Simmons for taking his leadership role
on the Mustangs, bitter at the Mustangs for giving him a fake injury and sending him packing, bitter at Khadi for . . . well,
for whatever it was that Khadi had done wrong.

Riley put down the barrel of the weapon, picked up the MEPRO 21 red dot sight, and began the polishing process.
I wonder how
Afshin is doing. I hope he and Simm are doing some sort of Bible study
together.
A twinge of jealousy gripped Riley’s insides, and he couldn’t help thinking,
Although I should rightfully be the one teaching Simm
about his new faith.
But he knew that was whacked-out thinking, and he quickly left changing that attitude on God’s lap.

A sound caught Riley’s ear—a vehicle was coming! Riley rapidly reassembled the rifle as he had practiced so many times before
and ran to the front window. He saw Skeeter running toward the door. Riley reached over and opened it for him.

“Stand down! It’s okay,” Skeeter said, his hand pushing Riley’s barrel toward the floor.

This put Riley more off guard than hearing the vehicle’s approach. “What do you mean it’s okay? Who is it? Why didn’t I know
about it?” Then a thought struck Riley. “No, Skeeter, don’t tell me . . .”

But when the dark blue Suburban turned into the steep driveway, Riley could see the driver plain as day. Angry now, he wheeled
on Skeeter. “Man, this is so messed up! What do you think you’re doing? Or is that the problem? You finally decided to try
thinking and this is what happened?”

Skeeter looked at Riley with anger in his eyes. “Pach, disagree, man, but don’t disrespect.”

That let some of the air out of Riley’s emotions. “Yeah, okay, you’re right; that was wrong for me to say. But still, this
is just so messed up!”

So many thoughts and feelings were racing through Riley as he watched the SUV stop and Khadi slide down off the front seat.
She walked around to the back and lifted the rear gate.

“Well, if you ain’t gonna help the lady . . . ,” Skeeter said and walked out the door.

Skeeter gave Khadi a hug, but while she was in his big embrace, Riley saw her shoot a quick glance toward the door. Anger,
excitement, hurt, and hope all swirled through his brain.
Why
didn’t
they
tell me?
That’s
the most aggravating part! I feel like they just ran a double
reverse on me, and
I’m
left standing here looking like a fool! Besides,
what’s
she doing here?
She’s
liable to get herself killed.
Then another thought struck him.
Right, and she knows that, and still she came . . . for you,
buddy. You know it was for you.

Riley stood in the doorway watching until the vehicle was unloaded. Khadi came toward the door with an overnight bag over
her shoulder. Skeeter was behind her, carrying two assault weapons and a large green duffel bag. As Khadi stopped at the front
step and looked up at Riley, an awkward silence ensued with both Riley and Khadi caught up in their own thoughts.

Finally, Riley said, “Oh, hey, let me get your bag for you.” He leaned down and slid the bag off Khadi’s shoulder. She willingly
let him take it. “Come on in,” he said as he walked back inside. Khadi and Skeeter followed.

“Nice place,” Khadi said, looking around. “Either Keith Simmons has some good taste or some good decorators.”

“You know about Keith, huh? I suppose Skeeter told you,” Riley said, surprised at his accusatory tone.

“Skeeter didn’t tell me anything,” Khadi replied defensively.

“Oh, he didn’t? Then how did you find us?”

“Come on, Riley, you guys did everything except lay out bread crumbs leading to this place. I just can’t believe the Cause
hasn’t found you yet.”

Riley nodded.
Of course Khadi
didn’t
need any help tracking you
down. But still . . .
“Then how did Skeeter know you were coming?”

“Well, if we’re going to play twenty questions, I called him and told him,” Khadi said. “I didn’t want you guys firing on
me. Skeeter tried to talk me out of it, but I told him I was coming anyway. Then I made him promise not to tell you.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because of this right here! Because of the angry phone call I knew I’d get! Because I knew that if you told me you didn’t
want me here, then there was no way I could bring myself to come!” Khadi paused and took a deep breath. “Because it’s easier
to apologize than it is to ask permission, okay? So, I’m sorry, Riley. I just . . . I just had to be here.”

Looking at her with her head down, Riley wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and tell her that he was thrilled
to have her near him, that everything was going to turn out all right.
But
everything’s
not all right, and you
can’t
let yourself fall into that
emotional trap again.

“I
am
glad you’re here, Khadi. We don’t know how many may be coming at us, and it’s always good to have an extra gun.”

Khadi looked up at him with a hurt expression that stabbed at his heart. “Another gun . . . right.”

“Listen, why don’t you stow your stuff in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Then you can come back down and I’ll run you through
the defenses we’ve set up.”

“Sure, Riley,” Khadi said, snatching her bag off the floor. As Khadi ran up the stairs, Riley thought,
This
ain’t
camp, and
there’s
no
time here for summer crushes. I
don’t
know what she was expecting when
she came up here, but if it was anything other than a military operation,
she’s
sorely mistaken.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 27, 11:00 A.M. MDT
FRONT RANGE RESPONSE TEAM HEADQUARTERS
DENVER, COLORADO

“Hee-yuk, hee-yuk, hee-yuk. Have a scrum-diddly-deeelicious birthday! Hee-yuk, hee-yuk, hee-yuk. Have a scrum-diddly-deeelicious
birthday!”

Tara shook her head. She had only stepped out to the bathroom for three minutes. These guys must have been waiting for their
opportunity all morning.

She knew just what they’d done, because they’d done the same thing last week. That time the loop had been Carly Simon singing
the chorus of “You’re So Vain” over and over. Evie had explained to her later that the guys had pulled the voice module out
of a talking Hallmark card, rigged it so that it played over and over, and then hidden it somewhere in Tara’s work area. Tara
could picture the card this new one had come out of—Goofy sitting in the middle of a huge cake that he had somehow managed
to fall into.

“Thank you, guys,” Tara called out to the team. “Now, for the love of all things holy, would someone please shut Goofy up?”

Evie stood up from her chair, did some quick work with a lighter, and then brought a chocolate cupcake over with one lit candle
in the middle. The whole gang joined in to sing “Happy Birthday.” Tara blew out the candle, Evie peeled the clear tape away
from under Tara’s keyboard and retrieved Goofy’s voice, and everyone went back to work.

As Tara got ready to eat her cupcake, she noticed a finger-width swipe taken out of the side of the frosting and knew without
a doubt that if she did an analysis she’d find it thick with Gooey’s DNA. Unfortunately, the thought of Gooey’s DNA on her
cupcake made her a little queasy, and she slid the paper plate to the corner of her desk.

This was the last place she wanted to be celebrating her thirtieth. For Tara, special days were all about family, and her
mom had been planning on flying her home. Her brothers and sister were going to get together and have a regular Walsh family
shindig. Obviously, that never happened.

Tara was touched that the team had remembered—or, probably more accurately, that Evie had remembered and that the guys had
gone along with it. They had all been working extremely hard these last weeks—and nonstop ever since they’d gotten the call
from Hicks last night.

“Have the team stop all their Washington, D.C., subway stuff,” Hicks had said. “I want everyone to focus on all known members
and associates of the Cause, starting from the top down. We need a huge break if we’re going to find them in Istanbul.

“Also, I want you to reconstruct a trip Hamad Asaf took to Beirut sometime in February or March, along with any ties he might
have to Hezbollah. Finally, I want you to look for a chink in the Cause’s armor—a nasty habit someone in leadership might
have, a disgruntled ex-member, anything you can find that could give us an edge.”

The Room of Understanding had been a flurry of activity since then. Tara knew the ops team was on its way to Istanbul. She
hoped she had something to give them when they got there.

“Tara, Tara, Tara!” called out Joey Williamson. “I’ve got a definite maybe here!”

Tara rushed to Williamson’s workstation, the other analysts following. On his screen was a Web news page with the masthead
of
Al-Ahram Weekly Online
. “Okay, I’m working on Kamal Hejazi—the Egyptian dude. Can’t find anything new on him. So I start looking for stuff on his
family, and I come up with this.” He pointed to a short headline that said, “Medical Student Disappears.”

Williamson continued, “Seems this kid is studying to be a doctor at October 6 University—”

“That’s the name of the place? What’s that all about?” asked Virgil Hernandez.

“Apparently, they named it that since it’s located in 6th of October City.”

“Gee, that clears it up.”

“You’re welcome. So this kid is there doing his student thing, then a couple of weeks ago he just disappears. The kicker is,
look at the kid’s name—Atef Hejazi.”

“And . . . ,” said Evie.

“And when you look at his private transcript from the university, it shows that his parents are Kamal and . . . and whoever.
They don’t really care too much about the mother’s name.”

“Hejazi’s a fairly common name,” said Tara. “It’s not like Smith or Jones, but there are a lot of Hejazis around.”

Williamson gave her a “duh” look. “That’s why I’m calling it a definite maybe. Besides, I’m not done. Look here: it says that
the mother flew back into the country to follow the investigation. What two questions does that bring up?”

Hernandez answered, “What country did she fly in from, and where’s Dad?”

“Bingo!”

Tara felt a flush of excitement. She was semi-sold. “Good work, Joey. Let me contact our assets in Cairo and have them find
out if this is really the right woman. If so, you just may have found their weak link.” As Tara rushed back to her desk she
couldn’t help thinking that this might turn into a good birthday after all.