Blown Coverage (33 page)
Authors: Jason Elam
FRIDAY, MAY 29, 10:58 A.M. MDT
PARKER, COLORADO
Oh, Lord, not little Aly!
Riley caught a glimpse of his pale face in the rearview mirror.
Cars are not designed to move this
slowly,
he thought as he struggled to keep the VW Beetle at twenty-five through the small downtown district of Parker.
But the last thing I need right now
is to have to explain to a cop where
I’m
going and why
I’m
driving this thing.
Fighting a steadily losing battle with panic, Riley had eventually gotten the facts from Meg.
“Three men,” she had told him. “They were dressed in black.”
“Slow down, Meg,” he’d said. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“I had just changed Aly in the living room, and I was throwing out her diaper. When I came back in, there they were. I don’t
know how they got in—I always keep the alarm on just like you told me. One of them was holding Aly, and she was reaching out
for me.”
“Did they say anything to you?”
“One of them came up to me and said, ‘You tell Riley Covington to come over alone and unarmed. When he does, we’ll trade you
your little girl for him. We’ll call you in an hour.’ Then he pushed me, and I fell over the back of the couch. When I got
up, they were walking out the door. Aly was screaming for me, Riley; she was screaming!”
“What time was that, Meg?”
“They just left! You have to help me, Riley! I don’t know what to do!”
After checking the time on his watch, Riley had said, “You don’t do anything except wait for me! I’m on my way over!”
He’d fired off a quick text message to Khadi’s phone, then turned his own phone off and rocketed in the direction of the Ricci
residence.
A mother pushing a running stroller suddenly appeared in front of him. Riley slammed on the brakes, skidding right up to a
crosswalk. Angrily, the woman pointed to the flashing yellow lights indicating that someone was crossing. Riley waved his
hand apologetically.
You
bonehead! Get it together. If you
can’t
even see the big flashing lights, how
can you possibly expect to think clearly enough to get Alessandra back
safely?
He accelerated and slowly made his way east.
Riley was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. Even the adrenaline pumping through his veins was not enough to fully
sharpen him up. He knew he was playing tired—and playing tired is a good way to get your head handed to you on a plate. The
whole trip from downtown Denver had been one muddled thought after another. And now that he was three minutes from Meg Ricci’s
house, he still didn’t have even a semblance of a plan.
Lord, this is going to have to be all You. I
don’t
have this in me, but
You promise us in the Bible that when we are weak, You are strong. So,
give me Your strength. You also promise that if we lack wisdom, all we
have to do is ask. So,
I’m
asking—
give me Your wisdom, because right
now
I’m
utterly clueless.
You know my heart, Father. I
don’t
care what happens to me.
“
For to
me, to live is Christ and to die is
gain,”
right? I truly believe that. Just help
me save Aly. Please, Lord, protect that precious little girl.
A chorus that he had sung in church about falling down and laying crowns popped into his mind, but he couldn’t remember the
words. So, he hummed a couple of lines, then faded into silence.
Just before Riley turned onto Meg’s street, he pulled to the side, reached around to the small of his back, and pulled out
a Ruger LCP .380. Giving it a quick once-over, he confirmed that he had a full six in the clip and one in the chamber.
Don’t
know how long
I’ll
be able
to keep this thing, but
there’s
absolutely no way
I’m
going into that house
unarmed,
he thought as he slid the pistol back into place. Slipping the car in gear, he made his turn and pulled up to his destination.
Before getting out, he scanned the neighborhood.
This whole
thing could be a setup so that they can pop me on my way into the house.
I
don’t
see anyone . . . which means absolutely nothing.
Saying one more quick prayer, he got out of the car and hurried to the front door. Meg was waiting for him.
“Oh, Riley, you came,” she cried out as she embraced him and sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Of course I came. What else could I do?” Riley replied, holding her tightly. After a moment, he gently pushed her back so
he could look her in the eyes. “We’re going to get Aly back, Meg. Do you understand me? We will get her back!”
Meg tried to stifle her sobs. “Okay, Riley, I believe you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Riley twisted his wrist to see the time. “Now, we’ve still got a half hour before they call. I want you to tell me again everything
that happened when the men were here.”
Meg nodded as she moved into the family room. She sat down in her late husband’s leather chair; Riley sat on the edge of the
couch across from her. The look on her face sent an uncomfortable feeling through his body.
Come on, let it go. You
don’t
have time to be paranoid.
“Okay, Meg, start from the beginning. You were in . . . where? . . . Was it the kitchen throwing out her diaper?”
Suddenly, Meg’s whole demeanor changed. She heaved a deep sigh, and the muscles on her face relaxed. Tears streamed from the
corners of her eyes. Reaching down into the crevice next to her chair’s large bottom cushion, she pulled out a handgun and
pointed it at Riley.
“Riley,” she said so quietly that he could barely hear her, “I’m so sorry. You have to put your hands up. Please, for Aly’s
sake, put your hands up.”
At first, in his exhausted state of mind, Riley thought it was a joke. But just as quickly, the reality of the situation hit
him. He dropped back into the couch. Lifting his arms, he held them up for a moment, then let them fall down to his side.
All the fight had left him. Quietly, he said, “Meg. What are you doing, Meg?”
A voice broke in from the direction of the kitchen. “She’s only doing what I’ve asked her to do. It’s time I introduce myself
to you, Mr. Covington. My name is Abdullah Muhammad, and I must tell you, you certainly are a hard man to kill.”
FRIDAY, MAY 29, 8:05 P.M. EEST
ISTANBUL, TURKEY
“He’s not looking good,” Kim Li reported to Scott. “He’s lost a ton of blood.”
Scott looked down at Jim Hicks. He wanted to stop and do something—to let Hicks know that he was there with him. But his friend’s
words kept ringing in his ears.
Get moving, you idiot!
“I want you to get him help as soon as the Turkish cavalry arrives! And you don’t leave his side, not ever. You got it?”
As if on cue, the distinctive wail of the Turkish police cars sounded from outside.
“You got it, Scott.”
Scott moved forward as quickly as he could, which wasn’t saying much. The walking stick seemed to be doing the lion’s share
of the work. With every tap . . . shuffle, shuffle, he continued a trail of blood on the tile hallway. As he moved forward,
his eyes remained fixed on the man by the stairs. For the first time in many years, Scott felt blind hatred.
The man must have seen it in Scott’s eyes, because he clasped his hands together in front of himself and began whimpering
while Scott was still fifteen feet away.
Go ahead and cry. You think
that’s
going to get you mercy?
You’ve
already killed Johnson and Kruse and
Guitiérrez
and two good CIA men.
My boss and mentor is bleeding to death, and my best friend is about to get
killed by another of your people.
“Do you really think you’re going to get mercy?” Scott yelled out in broken Arabic. “Do you?”
Fat chance!
What in the world are you thinking, you murdering piece of trash?
Scott stood in front of the man and used the barrel of his rifle to swat the man’s hands away from his face. “Look at me!
You think those soft hands will stop my bullets? Look at me!”
The man slowly dropped his arms to his side.
In his earpiece, Scott heard Ted Hummel say, “Scott, the police are here, and they’re wanting up bad.”
Scott took his mic and pressed it back against his cheek, where it hung loosely. “Give me three minutes,” he growled. He could
hear the sounds of very unhappy voices in his earpiece and down through the stairway.
“How? They really want up!”
“I don’t care how! You’re a professional; figure it out!”
“Yes, sir!”
“What’s your name?” Scott demanded, turning his attention back to the wounded man who was sitting propped against the wall.
“Talib. Tahir Talib,” the man replied in a shaking voice.
“Tell me about the school attacks! Where? When?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not the answer I want to hear,” Scott yelled, kicking the bullet wound in the man’s thigh.
Talib cried out, “I swear I don’t know. That other man who was shot up here with me—he was to begin waking the sleepers tomorrow!”
“So you’re telling me that the attacks are not scheduled to begin yet?” Relief flooded through Scott’s body.
“Yes,
sayyid
. The process has not yet begun.”
“You better be telling me the truth! Otherwise, I will find you in whatever pit of a prison cell they throw you into, and
I’ll dismantle you piece by piece. Now, tell me about Riley Covington! What are your friends preparing for him?”
“I . . . I don’t—”
Scott raised his rifle and placed the end of the barrel on the bridge of the man’s nose. Talib cried out, “Hakeem Qasim’s
widow! Her daughter is being used to draw Covington in!”
Scott was suddenly confused. The loss of blood was starting to make his head swim. He stepped back, catching his balance with
the walking stick. “Is this the truth? Is it true?”
Talib’s hands were back in front of his face. “It is, it is. I swear it!”
Again the rage took over.
These people will do anything and use
anyone. Do any of them have the right to live? Does this piece of garbage
really deserve to leave this building alive? Answer: 100 percent, unequivocally
NO!
Scott tucked his rifle under his chin and pointed it back at Talib’s head. “Look at me! LOOK AT ME!”
Finally, Talib lowered his hands, resigned to his fate. Scott’s finger gripped the trigger. Sweat was pouring down his face,
and his whole body was shaking. “AAAH!” he screamed, and then turned and limped away leaving the man crying on the floor.
“Scott, you all right?” came Kim Li’s voice from down the hall.
“Yeah,” was all Scott said as he pulled a satellite phone out of a deep pocket in his cargo pants. “Hummel, I need two more
minutes.”
“I’m doing my best, boss.”
Scott quickly dialed a number.
Come on, answer, answer!
Riley’s voice sounded before the first ring. “This is 303-8 . . .”
Of course
he’s
got his phone off,
Scott thought as he dialed another number.
This time Khadi answered. “This is Faroughi.”
“Khadi! I don’t have time to talk! Is Riley with you?”
“No, he sent me a text saying he was going to Meg’s house. Since then his phone has been off.”
“No, no, NO, NO! Listen to me, Khadi! They’ve set a trap for him. They’re holding Alessandra hostage to force Riley to come
to them. You’ve got to get over there now—I mean, right this moment!”
Voices filled the stairway next to Scott, drowning out Khadi’s reply. Turkish police began pouring onto the third level. Officers
were yelling at him, guns were pointed. Scott dropped his weapon and raised his hands, and as he did, the room spun and he
dropped.
FRIDAY, MAY 29, 11:10 A.M. MDT
PARKER, COLORADO
“You’re the guy from the mountains,” Riley said as he watched the man limp into the room carrying a .40 caliber Smith & Wesson.
“Oh, you’re bright . . . for a football player,” Abdullah said sarcastically. “Although not so bright that you don’t run out
of a house directly into the line of fire. How did you know there weren’t other guns out there waiting to take you down?”
“I didn’t. I only knew it was me or my friends.”
The man laughed. “Ah, the noble warrior! They warned me about you. Now, Meg, where is Riley’s gun?”
“It’s behind his back,” Meg answered in a whisper.
“Good. Maybe your daughter will live through this after all,” Abdullah said. Then to Riley, he ordered, “Stand up!”
Riley stood.
“Meg, throw your gun toward the front door, then get his gun and throw his there too.”
Meg did as she was told. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to Riley when she reached behind him.
“Now, to the dining room.” Riley followed Meg, with Abdullah taking up the rear. “Take up the plastic cuffs and secure Riley
to the chair. Make them tight—I’ll be checking.”
Riley sat in a heavy wooden dining chair while Meg kneeled behind him. “Alessandra’s locked in the basement. He’s the only
one here,” she said quietly as she cinched Riley’s wrists tightly to the chair.
“Good job, Meg,” Abdullah said. “Now come back here.”
Meg went and stood next to Abdullah. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You really are a lovely woman. I think
I’ll save you for later,” he said as he dropped the butt of his gun down on her head.
“Meg!” Riley cried out as he watched her crumple to the ground. Then Abdullah turned toward him.
“You may wonder why I didn’t just shoot you right off,” Abdullah said, pulling out his cell phone. “My superiors like videos
of my work, and I’m always happy to oblige. Besides, you made me work so hard, I kind of feel like you owe me a little fun.”
As he finished, he brought the gun hard across Riley’s face.
Blood instantly filled Riley’s mouth, and he felt the handgun’s rear site cut a gash across his cheek.
“You managed to hurt me up in the mountains. And my vengeance is tenfold!” Again the gun came down on Riley’s face.
Riley’s vision grayed for a moment.
Alessandra! Hold it together
for Alessandra!
Blood and saliva hung in long streaks from Riley’s mouth. He spit out one of his lower molars. Taking as deep a breath as
he could, he raised his eyes to meet Abdullah’s.
“Ever the mighty warrior! A man of honor! Where’s your God now, infidel?” Another blow rained backhanded across Riley’s other
cheek. Pinpoint lights burst throughout Riley’s vision.
Please, Lord,
one last time. Like Samson, give me one last time.
“I asked you a question! Where is your God, and what is He in comparison to all-powerful Allah? Answer me, and I’ll just put
a bullet in your head now. Stay silent, and I can go on all day!”
Again Riley slowly raised his head. Trying to control his damaged mouth, he mouthed the words, “My God is my strength.”
“Speak up, coward,” Abdullah said, connecting with Riley’s head farther back toward his ear. A ringing explosion burst in
his head, and again Riley almost passed out.
Sucking in two gurgling breaths, Riley whispered the words, “My God is my strength.”
This time, as Abdullah leaned in to hear Riley’s words, Riley launched himself with power that only thousands of squats can
give. His forehead connected with Abdullah’s chin, causing blood to gush from the man’s severed tongue.
As Abdullah stumbled backward, his foot caught the unconscious Meg’s leg and he fell onto his back.
Riley gripped both sides of the chair and carried it with him as he shuffled to where Abdullah was laid out. Just as Abdullah
was about to roll up, Riley jumped back onto the chair, letting the left rear leg drop just above the man’s pant line. Abdullah
screamed, pinned to the ground, the internal bleeding just beginning.
Riley felt the room spinning from his effort. A lightness in his head beckoned him toward the peace of unconsciousness. But
as he felt himself slowly drifting away, his eye caught Abdullah lifting his gun toward Riley’s face.
Too late.
Riley lifted the chair one more time. Then, crying out, he let every one of his 230 pounds drive the leg of the chair into
Abdullah’s chest, crushing the cavity’s protective ribs and puncturing his heart.
Normally the trip from Parker Adventist Hospital to the Ricci home took six minutes. Khadi made it in three and a half.
By the time she turned into Meg Ricci’s subdivision, she had two Parker police cars chasing her—lights flashing and sirens
blaring.
Quickly she pressed speed dial 5 on her phone.
Tara Walsh answered.
“Tara, don’t ask questions. I’m in Canterberry Crossing in Parker with two cops after me. Call them off now, or I’m going
to end up with a bullet in my back!”
“Done!”
Khadi watched her rearview mirror as she wound her way up a hill. The cops weren’t backing off.
Go away!
There’s
not a chance these
guys will let me make it to the door with a gun in my hand! What do I
do?
Then, in a flash, everything became perfectly clear for her.
What
else can I do? I just run into the line of fire for Riley like he did for Skeeter
and me.
She glanced back into her mirror.
Hope you boys failed your
marksmanship tests.
Spinning around a corner, Khadi saw Evie Cline’s yellow VW. She skidded to a stop right behind it.
Here goes,
she thought as she lifted her gun off the passenger seat and ran out the door. The police cars screeched in behind her, but
they didn’t get out of their cars.
Thank
you, Tara,
Khadi thought as she ran toward the door.
She jumped a low hedge and was at the front door when she heard Riley’s voice call out. Khadi burst through the door.
Riley had just tipped his chair over when he saw the front door open and Khadi’s face appear over the family room furniture.
“Go to the basement,” he yelled. “Find Alessandra!”
Khadi continued to run toward him with her gun straight out in front of her. “Riley, sit rep!”
“One down and out! Clear up here! Now go find Alessandra! Stairs are out of the living room!”
Riley watched Khadi go and then closed his eyes. All that he could see from his position was an empty room and Abdullah’s
lifeless eyes. He wanted to check on Meg but didn’t have the strength to pull himself over there.
Please, Lord, let Aly be okay! Please, Father, protect that little girl!
A child’s cry cut through the silence of the house, and a smile spread across Riley’s face.
“Thank You,” he said as he finally gave himself permission to give in to the soft darkness.