Enemy In the Room (55 page)

Officer Perry turned from talking with two
others. “Captain, two are going down. USNet is still talking.”

He swore. “We can’t wait. We’ll have to hope
it’s a cell phone trigger, and it’s not USNet. Send in the TR2. If
he gets out, Sniper 1 on his head. Sniper 2 on his knee.”

From behind the barricade came a tactical
robot, about five feet tall, mounted on a four wheel drive
platform, with four arms protruding from a central core, at the top
of which was a swiveling video camera and antenna.

Yusef shot into the floorboard again,
sending the boy into even louder hysteria. Then he looked up and
saw the police robot coming across the lot. He cursed.

He grabbed the boy by the neck and pulled
him to him. “We’re getting out. Don’t run or scream any more, and
soon you’ll be free. Understand?’ The boy nodded.

Yusef opened the driver door and started to
back out, one hand holding the boy, the other his gun. When he was
standing on the ground, holding the boy around the waist with his
left hand, he briefly put the gun on the seat and slipped the open
cellphone into the boy’s back pocket. He held the boy around the
waist with his left arm, hugging him close, both facing in the same
direction. Then he picked up the gun again and held it to the boy’s
head. Protected by the boy’s body, he moved two feet farther from
the truck.

“Jimmy!” a woman screamed from the crowd by
the police command post. The boy squirmed, but Yusef held him
tightly. “Don’t move,” he said. “Or I’ll kill you like your friend
there.”

Lon Gibson’s call to Central Security went
to Akbar Kamali’s phone, but it had been incinerated in the missile
explosion. So the call automatically cycled to the next number on
its internal list.

David was giving Tanya the most important
details when his phone in the bag began to ring. He opened the bag
and realized that it was Mustafin’s phone. The readout was a number
in Los Angeles. Tanya nodded. He answered.

The caller said, “Hello. Is this Central
Security?”

David paused momentarily then said,
“Yes.”

“Oh, good. You don’t know me, but this is
Lon Gibson and I’m the Duty Officer at the Los Angeles Central
Terminal. I hate to bother you, but the Los Angeles Police have
ordered us to turn off all of our cell phone connections in the
city. And I didn’t want to do it without—“

“Do it. Now.”

Gibson paused. “Really? You mean it’s
OK?”

“NOW!”

The TR2 robot stopped twenty feet from
Yusef, who was holding the boy in front of him.

Captain Dean’s voice came through a speaker
on the robot. “Let the boy go.”

“No robot!” Yusef yelled angrily. “Come here
yourself. We must talk.”

“Not going to happen. Let the boy go.”

“You stupid people!” Yusef took the gun from
the boy’s head and shot at the robot.

Sniper 2, following his instructions, saw
the gun move away from the boy and instantly fired. Yusef ’s right
knee was blown away by the perfectly placed round.

Yusef dropped the gun as he fell back
against the van and reached in the boy’s pocket for his phone. He
let the boy go for balance, held the cell phone in the air,
screamed and pressed Send.

The TR2 moved forward and hit him with a
Taser blast as he slumped to the ground.

“Go!” yelled Captain Dean.

Five SWAT Team members and a Medic sprinted
forward.

One member grabbed the crying boy and ran
toward the perimeter. The rest surrounded Yusef on the ground and
used his scream to stuff a rag into his mouth, then turned him and
cuffed his hands. Within ten seconds the Medic had a tourniquet on
his leg. Then they picked him up and moved quickly away from the
van.

Captain Dean had followed right behind the
first six and picked up the cell phone on the asphalt. As he moved
away with his team, he noted in the display that the phone was on
the USNet system, but with no signal.

“Thank God,” he said.

When he caught up with the latest American
terrorist, who was being transferred to a stretcher, Captain Dean
looked around at the mayhem, swallowed hard, and said, “You have
the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. You
have the right…”

FRIDAY, JULY 8TH

It had been a long four days.

An hour after answering the USNet call and
giving a preliminary statement to the police, David was allowed to
leave with Tanya Prescott. Mustafin was under house arrest in the
nearby regional hospital.

David called Elizabeth, but he had been
cautioned by the police not to say much, so all he could tell her
was that he was fine and would be home soon.

“David, Callie just called. You wouldn’t
believe what she’s been through.”

“Actually, I might.”

They talked for thirty minutes while the SUV
drove back to the Kremlin. David learned for the first time that
Callie and Kristen had been on the plane that was targeted by the
terrorist, whose identity was still unknown.

“They’re saying that commercial air travel
may be out for weeks, even months. No one knows. Callie and Kristen
may have to drive, or take the train,”

“But she, Rob and Kristen are OK. That’s the
main thing.”

“Yes, thank God.”

“I’ll be home as fast as I can. But if
airlines are still flying over here, I have to make one stop on the
way.” David explained to Elizabeth where he was going, and she said
that she understood.

There followed an early meeting on Tuesday
morning with a very grateful President Harper, Tanya Prescott, and
several other advisors. David explained all that he knew, both
about the previous day’s events, and what he knew about RTI. After
answering all their questions and giving them Todd Phelps’s number,
he asked the President for help on one personal issue. She agreed
and instructed Tanya to take care of it.

An hour later they had a second meeting with
President Temirov, who expressed his country’s gratitude. That
afternoon NovySvet surrendered to the Russian police.

On Wednesday morning, when Tanya gave him
his travel documents in the hotel lobby, she told him that the FBI
had raided the RTI control center, as well as other locations
around the world, and they were just beginning to sift through all
that they found, with help from Todd.

He gave her a hug. “Let’s keep in touch, and
thank you for your help on the flights.”

She smiled. “I think we may see a bit of
each other. As you said, the investigation is just beginning.”

Now it was late on Friday afternoon, and the
small Air Force corporate-size jet that Tanya had commandeered for
David was making a very fast, low level approach into a U.S. Air
Force Base.

Thirty minutes later he walked out of the
arrival hall with Goli clutched tightly under his left arm. There
to greet them were Elizabeth, Callie, and, in a wheelchair, Rob.
Kristen was there, too, along with Paul Burke and Todd Phelps. And
the press, because much of the story had leaked out, including
David’s role in stopping a terrorist attack on President
Harper.

There were hugs, tears and smiles all
around. Rob had been telling his friends what he knew about his
father’s exploits. Callie and Kristen had found two seats on one of
the several passenger trains quickly pressed into service across
the country. Since returning home, Callie and her mother had spent
hours talking and crying, sometimes with Kristen.

Goli, exhausted, hugged each of them in
turn, and nodded sadly at the mention of Omid’s name.

David gave Callie a long embrace. “I’m so
glad you’re home,” he whispered in her ear as he held her
tightly.

“Me, too, Daddy. And I’m not the same. God
has really changed me. Ask Kristen.”

David loosened his grip and looked into her
eyes. “Maybe me, too. I think so, but I’m not sure. I need to hear
more. I know that I never understood forgiveness until this
week—when you called me. But someone has certainly been watching
over both of us.”

“And over Rob,” Callie added.

“Yes, yes.” He smiled, looking at his son
talking with Goli. “And over Rob.”

Twenty minutes later the family loaded into
a special van. They talked non-stop, their joy tempered by the loss
of Omid. Kristen rode with them. Everyone wanted to hear David’s
story, which he promised to tell them as soon as they got home.

Callie, sitting next to him, asked, “Can
Kristen join us?”

Turning to face all of them and nodding to
Kristen, David said. “Absolutely. In fact, before I tell my story,
Kristen and Callie have someone even more important to talk about,
and I want all of us to listen carefully.”

Callie smiled and nodded, and David hugged
her.

At Trevor Knox’s mountain retreat his
personal computer, failing to receive Knox’s special daily code for
five straight days, automatically began transmitting all of the RTI
encrypted files of information, contacts, and strategies to Saeed
Zeini in Saudi Arabia. Even with the fastest possible transfer
speeds, the download took three hours.

“Serious Christians in Germany were at war
with something that was unrepentantly evil, that would not listen
to reason and would not compromise.”

Bonhoeffer

By Eric Metaxas

Page 289

Reprinted by permission.
Bonhoeffer:
Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy
by Eric Metaxas, Copyright 2010,
Thomas Nelson Inc. Nashville, Tennessee. All rights reserved.

The earliest strands of this novel were
already woven two years before September 11, 2001. Over the ensuing
years I wrote, re-wrote, put the manuscript down, wrote
Ten Lies
and Ten Truths
, prayed, sought advice, changed details, and
then wrote again.

During that period there occurred the Iraq
and Afghan Wars, the Iranian Green Revolution, the rise of the
internet as social connector, the Arab Spring and ongoing tumult
across every part of the Middle East, worrying about leadership in
Russia, longing for leadership in America, the Fort Hood shootings,
the Boston Marathon bombing, NSA eavesdropping, the surge of
secularism and statism in our post-Christian world, and the general
triumph of technology in daily life, for good and for ill.

Through all that I wrote and re-wrote. But,
I kept asking myself, with all of this going on, what will the
world be like for our children and grandchildren?

On the one hand, I am not encouraged. Our
culture is a moral and spiritual vacuum, created by a constant
media/ government drumbeat against faith in general, and against
Christianity in particular, the faith which was foundational to
America. It will be much easier for Islam to triumph in Europe and
America if there is no strong faith pushing back.

On the other hand, I know that God is in
charge, and whatever is coming is His will. My personal decision is
to write and to speak, not trying to create a theocracy, but rather
to re-weave Christian wisdom back into the basic fabric of our
thoughts and ideas. With God’s help, and courage on our part, that
re-woven fabric will include our families, schools and
universities. It will also empower a new group of national leaders
with the humility and grace to find ideas and solutions that bind
us together. And that fabric will be strong enough to provide the
understanding and courage to stand up to those who genuinely want
to destroy the very idea of a free America.

Many people participated in helping to write
this book, and it is impossible to thank all of them by name. But
some made specific contributions at crucial points.

My Iranian-American friend, Iraj Ghanouni of
the Christian Center for Islam Awareness, helped with innumerable
details, from locations to Islamic doctrines and rituals. Thank
you.

Bryant Wright, senior pastor at Johnson
Ferry Baptist Church, has been a long-time supporter of my writing
and commented on an early version of the manuscript.

The same thanks goes to Pastor Roy Smith and
his wife, Carla, at True Lite Christian Fellowship in Midland,
Texas. They have a powerful ministry and a church filled with
readers.

John Yates, minister and teacher, and his
wife, Susan, speaker and teacher, have both authored several books,
and their enthusiasm for the story sustained me as I wrote.

Caroline and John Dean gave a great boost at
just the right time.

MaryAnne Sirotko-Turner knew where to shop,
and Lee Ward is a reader focused on details.

My brother Jim provided important technical
advice.

Jessica Lalley was the final sprint
Encourager-in-Chief.

It was a joy working again with our son,
Marshall, who focused his many talents on the cover design and
graphics details.

Thank you, Danelle McCafferty, for helping
me focus and prune wisely; you are an amazingly gifted editor and
communicator. Of course, any mistakes or oversights are my
responsibility alone.

None of these books would have been possible
without the love, encouragement and constructive criticism of my
wife and best friend, Alida. She is the one who taught me about
relationships.

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