Inside Threat (23 page)

Thursday, September 15, 10:10 a.m. EDT

Leesburg, Virginia

Riley rounded the corner and continued down the sidewalk. His legs were starting to ache, but he wasn't sweating quite as much as usual. It was the time of year when the mornings were just starting to cool down, providing some welcome relief from the still-hot afternoons.

He admired the oaks lining the street and tried to picture what they would look like in another month or so when the colors were blazing.
I can't wait for fall,
he thought.
The sights, the smells—the only thing better than watching the leaves fall is the smell of the freshly raked piles in the crisp October air.

Besides, remember where you could be instead. I'm thinking Bernier and the rest of the boys over in Ashburn aren't enjoying their morning workout quite as much as I am.

Riley's world had changed quite a bit since his “woe is me” whine-fest last night. His sleep had been restless, and he had woken up tired. The last thing he wanted to do on a morning like this was to spend time in his daily devotional. He was still pretty ticked at God, not at all happy with His plan. But then something Riley's dad used to say squeezed its way through his unrighteous indignation:
“It's usually in those times when you don't want to hear from God that He's really got something important to say.”

Funny how even now after he's been gone two years, Dad's still giving me advice,
Riley mused as he opened his Bible that morning. For the last couple of weeks, he'd been reading Isaiah—an interesting book, but sometimes a little hard to fully understand. Today, however, that wasn't the case. He was in the forty-sixth chapter, and he read these words:

I am God, and there is no other;

I am God, and there is none like me.

I make known the end from the beginning,

from ancient times, what is still to come.

I say, ‘My purpose will stand,

and I will do all that I please.'

From the east I summon a bird of prey;

from a far-off land, a man to fulfill my purpose.

What I have said, that will I bring about;

what I have planned, that I will do.

Suddenly, all his bellyaching about his life seemed like just that—bellyaching. God had His big plan for the world, and He had His little plans for His people. Riley had two options: whine and complain and be useless, or get on board. His prayer this morning had been for God to renew his joy, to change his attitude, and to help him remember that his life was about others and not about himself. And in that moment, he felt a freedom that he hadn't felt in months, like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

It's amazing what a little perspective can do,
he thought as he jogged past the colonial houses with their manicured lawns and their towering trees. Looking ahead he saw a pretty, petite brunette walking a very large, very black, very well-controlled Newfie.
That thing's got to hate the summers.
He laughed.

He smiled and said hi to the young lady as he came alongside her. She initially gave him the “I'm-used-to-being-hit-on-by-every-doofus-who-jogs-past-me” nod, until she seemed to recognize who he was. But by the time she got her “Oh, hi” out, he was already past.
Too bad. She was a cutie. But it's probably for the best. She had that “love me, love my dog” air about her, and that's just a little too much dog to love.

Speaking of dogs, with Skeeter moving out soon, maybe it's time to revisit getting a slobbering beast of my own. That's a pretty big house for just one sentient being to exist in.
He rounded another corner and started up his cul-de-sac. He was at the end of his five-mile circuit but had no idea how long he'd been gone. Dumping his workout watch was one of his sacrifices to this newfound freedom.

What breed should I look at? Don't want one of those yappy puntable pets. But I also don't want one of those Wookie-size furballs that'll have me using a roller on my clothes every time I leave the house. How about a bulldog? If I could train it to not chew everything in—

Riley's train of thought was broken by a silver Mercedes coupe pulling down a driveway right smack in front of him. He tried to stop in time, but his momentum was too much. He thumped against the front fender and his knee caught the edge of the wheel well.

The door flew open. “Riley, I'm so sorry,” said his neighbor—
Roy? Rich? Rob?
—as he jumped out. “Are you hurt? Do you need me to call 911?”

Riley, who had bounced off the car but kept his feet and was now limping around trying to walk off the pain, said through gritted teeth, “No, I'm good. Give me just a second.”

“Seriously, Riley, I can't believe I did that! Are you sure you don't want me to call anyone?”

“No thanks. No worse than running headlong into an offensive lineman,” he said, trying to keep the tight smile on his face.
Walk it out. Come on, walk it out.

“Can I at least get you a cloth for your knee?” Roy/Rich/Rob asked.

Riley looked down and saw for the first time that he was bleeding. Not stitches bad, but bad enough to start a trail down his leg.

“No, seriously, I'm good.”

“I still can't believe it. I am so sorry. I'm just a little freaked out by all the stuff that's going on. I was turning the car radio to the news station and just plain didn't see you. Totally my fault. Again, I'm so unbelievably sorry.”

“Forgiven,” Riley said, the pain beginning to subside.
Come on, here's your chance to use your newly rediscovered joy.
“I just hope I didn't hurt your car.”

A light seemed to go off in Roy/Rich/Rob's head, and he quickly turned to his coupe. After examining it, he breathed a visible sigh of relief. “No, she's good.”

She? That's a man who loves his car. Bet he's even got a name for her.
“So, what's going on that's got you all freaked?”

The neighbor looked at Riley with big eyes. “You mean you don't know? I thought you of all people . . . There're terror attacks all over the place. I'm talking like everywhere.”

On hearing this, Riley started to back away toward his house. “Everywhere like everywhere? Or everywhere like here in the States?”

“Here in the States. Las Vegas; Fort Wayne, Indiana; Houston, Texas—all across the country. These Islamic terrorists are going into places and shooting them up.”

By now Riley had turned toward his house and was awkwardly limp-sprinting across the two lawns that would lead him to his garage.

“Sorry again, Riley,” the neighbor called.

Riley gave a wave in return. He quickly punched in the code that raised the door, then ran through the garage into the house. Stopping in the kitchen, he dumped a couple handfuls of ice into a dishtowel and carried it into the family room. Skeeter was already there with the television on. He was sitting on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees.

“It's bad,” Skeeter said as soon as Riley sat down. “So far, ten incidents in ten different cities. At least thirty dead—perps all dead or in custody.”

Riley placed the towel on his knee and winced. “All
hajji
?”

“American
hajji
.”

“Really? All of them?”

“Best they can tell so far.” Skeeter seemed to notice Riley's knee for the first time. “What happened to you?”

“Hit by a car. No major.”

Seemingly satisfied by the answer, Skeeter turned back to the TV. The picture was divided into quarters, with aftermath scenes from Las Vegas, Houston, Pittsburgh, and Muncie, Indiana, filling the screen.

“Should you get down to CTD?” Riley asked.

“Tried calling Scott, but he was too busy to talk. Did talk to Gilly, and he told me to hold off. It's still in the analysts' hands. He'll let me know if it looks like ops is going to come into play.”

The two of them watched the reports for a while, then Skeeter stepped away. When he returned, he was carrying a large gauze bandage and some Neosporin.

Riley took them. “Thanks.” He lifted the bloody towel from his knee and looked at the damage. There was a ragged gash, but it didn't look too deep. He squeezed some ointment onto it, rubbed it around a bit, then covered it with the bandage.

“So, are you thinking what I'm thinking?” he asked Skeeter.

“What's next?”

“Exactly. I'm sure that's the question that's got Scott and the gang going crazy.”

Riley leaned back on the couch and mentally tuned out the commentary on the television, instead focusing on the pictures.
Lord, You showed me this morning that You are the One who's in control and that You've got a plan. But I gotta admit, it's a little hard to see it right now.

Let these people feel Your arms of love. It's won't be easy for them—trust me, I know. Just let them see You.

After a few more minutes, Riley got up and headed to the shower. As he leaned his hands against the tile wall and let the hot water rain down his neck and back, he prayed,
And, Lord, use me to help. If You've got a place for me in the midst of all this, just show me. I'll go where You want me to go, and I'll do what You want me to do. I'm a tool in Your hands—use me.

Thursday, September 15, 10:15 a.m. EDT

Washington, DC

Khadi held the hymnbook and sang:

“A mighty Fortress is our God

A bulwark never failing.”

As a member of a minority religion in a Christian culture, she was used to these types of situations. Growing up, the families of some of her Muslim friends would get upset at their children being exposed to Christmas in school or hearing stories of the Easter bunny from friends. She, however, never really minded. Easter meant candy, and Christmas meant days off from class. On top of that, her parents often felt bad that all her Christian friends were getting presents, so she'd end up scoring a few guilt gifts.

Now everything was changing. These days, you couldn't even say, “Merry Christmas” in a store—in a “Christian” nation. She remembered her dad telling her when she was eight, “Nobody has a right not to be offended. Just remember who you are, and let others have their fun.”

And I replied, “And if I make their fun my fun, then we all have more fun together!” Dad laughed his deep laugh and gave me a hug. How I love that man!

“Lord Sabaoth His name

From age to age the same . . .”

What is a
Sabaoth
? Sounds like Sabbath—the Jewish day off. Got to be tied to that somehow.
Khadi looked around at the people in her row and across the aisle.
I'm guessing none of them have a clue what it means either, but still they keep on singing. And why not? It is a pretty song.

Senator Andrews caught her looking around and glared at her. In response, he received one of the first genuine smiles she had ever bestowed upon him.
In your face,
she tried to say with her grin.

This morning before the funeral, she had told him of her decision to leave his employ and return to CTD. He had pitched an absolute fit, accusing her of everything from disloyalty and cowardice to being a closeted lesbian.

Then the threats had begun—“You'll never work in this town again!” and “I could put you in jail for how you've threatened me!” A reminder that she already had another job and that there were very good reasons for her threats, ones that his wife would probably be interested to hear, quickly shut down that line of attack.

Finally came the promises—promises of more money, more flexibility in her schedule, and more time off. He swore that he would never make another pass at her and would cut out completely the crude comments.

It was about that time that the creepiness of having a sex-addicted senator begging her to stay with him started jittering her insides. She left the room and didn't see him again until they were preparing to leave. Thankfully, Charlotte Andrews, the senator's wife, was with him, buffering his usual piggish behavior.

“My husband tells me that you are leaving us,” Charlotte had said formally after giving Khadi's black dress a condescending once-over. Even though she tried to fight it, Khadi immediately became self-conscious of how she looked in what was the nicest outfit from her closet. “I wish you luck on your next adventure. We will miss you.”

Khadi knew that neither of those last two statements were true. She had always felt that Charlotte saw her as some sort of rival for her husband's affections. As a result, her demeanor toward Khadi had always been one of intentionally cold indifference.

She's another person I won't miss. But the one I definitely
will
miss is J.D.

J.D. Little was disappointed to hear her news but not surprised. Gracious as always, he had wished her luck and promised to do everything he could to deflect the wrath that was certain to come from the senator.