Inside Threat (33 page)

Saifullah stood in front of the lens, and Alavi came and sat next to Khadi. After pulling a pair of wire cutters from his pocket, he reached behind her and snipped off her zip ties. He slipped the cutters back into his pocket and removed her .357 from his belt. Placing it against her side, he whispered, “Keep your mouth shut and watch.”

Tears streamed down Khadi's face. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. She was desperate to do something—anything—to stop this, not only because a person was about to be slaughtered but also because protecting this person was her job.

She had known who was under that hood from the moment she heard his voice. And her suspicion was confirmed when she saw the green, yellow, and black tie that Charlotte had given him for his last birthday.

But there was nothing to do but sob and watch. The cameraman pressed record, the hood came off, and Mr. Opportunity began his final photo op.

Thursday, September 15, 1:00 p.m. EDT

Riley stood in a corner of the truck impatiently watching the players battle it out. Best he could tell, the head of the Secret Service didn't want to make a rescue attempt but did want to initiate a phone call. The FBI director wanted to make a rescue attempt and couldn't understand why Scott couldn't come up with a plan where no one would get hurt. The DC police chief wanted to hold off on everything until they received the first call. Scott and Stanley Porter understood that absolutely nothing was going to happen until they got a phone call from the White House, so they were ignoring all of them and seemed to be busy looking at a schematic of the crypt level of the cathedral.

Scott had made it clear to Riley that his role was to be neither seen nor heard, which was fine with him. He was content to absorb it all. The more he understood the situation, the better chance he had at success when it came time for him to make his move.

Unfortunately, what that move would look like he still had no clue. Sneaking in to rescue Khadi was a pretty sure way to get himself, Khadi, or both of them killed. And even if he made it back out with her, the probable retaliation against the remaining hostages was a guilt that neither of them would be able to live with. Right now, it seemed as if his best option was to go in with the rescue assault if Scott would let him—as if Scott could stop him.

Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it quickly. Right after he had entered the truck, Scott had received word from Evie that Khadi had been singled out and beaten, and now they couldn't find her on any of the cameras. The thought of her identity possibly having been discovered made Riley sick to his stomach.
They will have no mercy on her. In their minds, she is a traitor to her faith. Oh, Lord, please protect her.

“Shhh, quiet,” one of the techs said. He was sitting before a video monitor. “The stream is going to go live in five, four, three, two, one.”

A picture appeared on the screen. On it stood the old man from the DVD. He was flanked by two terrorists dressed all in black with black knit masks covering their faces. Kneeling in front of the old man was a battered and bleeding Senator Clayson Andrews.

“RoU says it's being shot from Wilson Bay inside the cathedral,” Scott confirmed. Riley looked at Scott, who mouthed,
Still no Khadi.
Riley nodded grimly and turned to the screen.

The old man began. “May the name of Allah the all-powerful, the merciful, the beneficent, be praised. And may the words of the Prophet spread throughout the world. To the people of America, I bring you greetings. I also bring you a warning—turn yourselves to the Truth while you still may.

“I am Saifullah—the Sword of Allah. It is not my real name, but my real name is not important. My army does not have a name. We are too diverse to be contained by any one name. But while we come from all parts of this country and all walks of life, there is one thing we share—a marvelous submission to Allah and a readiness to die in his name.

“Today is the first day of Ramadan, the most holy month of the year. Among some, it is traditional to give a present to a stranger on this day. They do this to demonstrate in a practical way the generosity and mercy of our God. Today, on this first day of the most holy month, I give to you a gift.”

“The cathedral doors are opening,” one of the surveillance analysts said excitedly.

“It's the hostages,” Scott said, holding his hand to his earpiece. “It's the large group.”

Riley pointed toward the door, but Scott held out his hand.
I'll let you know,
he mouthed. Riley again nodded, but his foot was tapping the floor.
Please, Lord, let her come out! Have Scott give me that nod! Bring her out, Father!

On the smaller surveillance screen, Riley could see men, women, and children exiting the front doors of the cathedral. One by one they came out, tentatively at first. Then, as if energized by the sunlight, they ran—down the steps and into the arms of waiting members of law enforcement.

Outside the truck, what started as frantic shouts turned rapidly to cheers. People were clapping and whistling and hooting and hollering, all celebrating the safe release of so many innocent lives.

Riley glanced back at the larger screen. A look of smug satisfaction was on Saifullah's face.

Talk about manipulation. No doubt the imam can hear the cheers too. He's playing us like a fiddle.
Riley looked down at Senator Andrews, kneeling on what appeared to be a tarp.
And he's not done playing, either.

After almost five minutes, the last of the released hostages walked out of the church, and the doors closed. Scott shook his head again to Riley, who turned back to the screen.

The noise outside the truck was near deafening due to the sheer number of released hostages and law enforcement that had flooded the area. The tech cranked up the volume, and everyone strained to hear.

“I trust you are happy with your gift,” Saifullah said with a benevolent nod of his head. “I hope this will show you that we are not the animals your media will undoubtedly portray us to be. We are here for a purpose, and unnecessary bloodshed is not part of that purpose.”

Saifullah's face hardened and his voice transitioned to a much darker tone. “That being said, there is blood that must needs be shed—necessary blood, guilty blood. The wars your government has waged in Iraq and Afghanistan have taken the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocents. Washington's unwavering support of the Zionist occupiers of Palestine has allowed a regime of hatred, violence, and death to masquerade as a legitimate government, while the true owners of the land wallow in hunger and squalor. And the treatment of political prisoners in Guantanamo Bay and other hidden sites around the world can be labeled as notoriously criminal at best.”

Saifullah paused, letting the tension build. “We are prepared to forgive the ignorance of the American people. We will extend to you the benefit of the doubt that you neither knew nor understood the extent of your government's crimes. Turn to Allah for forgiveness and truth. Repent of your blindness. Accept the true peace that comes from leadership based on Koranic principles. If you do so, we will rejoice with you and welcome you into the brotherhood with singing and dancing.

“However, that mercy only extends to those whose sin is that of omission. There are still those who stand guilty of sins of commission, and those sins must be accounted for. Today, we have released the ignorant and retained the guilty.”

A chill went up Riley's spine. He glanced around the room and saw everyone standing perfectly still—everyone except Craig LeBlanc, who was speaking softly into a cell phone. Turning back to the screen, he prayed that he was not about to see what he and everyone else in that truck felt sure they were about to see.

“We are still holding ninety-one . . .” Saifullah's gaze momentarily went beyond the lens of the camera. “Ninety-two hostages,” he corrected himself.

Riley's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't explain why, but in that moment he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Khadi was alive and in that room.
Protect her, Lord. Shield her from the enemy.

“Today, and for the remaining twenty-nine days of Ramadan, one guilty member of your government will pay the price for his or her sins and for the sins of your government. It will be a just punishment, and I trust that this trial by fire will help release your nation's leadership from Satan's grasp.

“Hear me well: if any attempt is made to stop this just retribution, all will die—every last one. If, however, you allow Allah's sentence to be carried out, then at the end of the thirty days, all the remaining hostages will be released unharmed. I trust we have an understanding.

“Now let it begin.”

Saifullah walked off camera.

The masked man to Senator Andrews's right grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up. The second man held a piece of paper in front of his face.

“Please, I don't want to die,” Andrews pleaded. “I have a family! Please!”

“Read it,” the second man said, pointing to the piece of paper.

Through sobs, Andrews read, “I, United States Senator Clayson Andrews, am guilty of crimes against God and man. I have been a willing participant in the beating, rape, and murder of women and children throughout the Muslim world. I hereby repent of my sins and repudiate the heinous actions of the American government. What I receive now . . . Please . . . please don't . . .”

The second man hit Andrews in the back of the head and said, “Finish reading the paper!” Riley thought he heard a little Minnesota or at least Midwest in the man's voice.

Andrews could barely sputter the words out. “What I receive now is the just punishment for my sins. May Allah have mercy on my soul.”

The second man pulled the paper away and stood straight up. “There is no God but Allah, and Muhammad is his prophet.”

The first man joined him, chanting,
“Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar!”

The first man pulled the knife from his belt, pulled Andrews's head back to stretch his neck, and began sawing. At first there wasn't much blood as the dull knife began to break the skin, but then the blade cut across major veins and the arterial flow shot out across the room.

Riley tried to turn away, but he couldn't. It was so horrific, so beyond the pale.

A sigh puffed as the windpipe was opened—then the screen went black.

“What? What happened?” Porter called out.

“Someone shut down the signal,” Scott said, hand to his ear. “It's out at the RoU, too.”

Everyone who had the authority to shut down an Internet stream that quickly and that abruptly was standing in the truck, and they all looked accusingly at each other.

Finally, Craig LeBlanc said, “Listen, there's no way I'm going to let some crazy American raghead cut the head off of one of our senators live and in color for everyone on this godforsaken planet to witness!”

“Do you realize what you just did?” Scott yelled back at him.

“Yeah, I saved a great American's dignity!”

“No, you killed people, you fool! You might as well have just pulled the trigger yourself because sure as I'm standing here, you just killed people!”

LeBlanc lunged for Scott. “Listen here, you hippie punk!” His sheer momentum threw Scott back into a bay of DVD recorders. He pulled back to hit Scott, but Porter grabbed his wrist. Twisting it around, he forced LeBlanc down to one knee.

“You were wrong to have done that, Craig,” Porter said with one hand on Scott's chest and one holding LeBlanc's wrist. “Scott's right. There will be a penalty for what you did. Now walk out and cool off. We'll talk about this later.”

Gradually, Porter let up on LeBlanc's wrist until the Secret Service head could stand. Then he let go, and LeBlanc walked out.

Turning to Scott, Porter said, “There are two ways to be right—the right way and the wrong way. Don't choose the wrong way again. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Scott said.

Porter stepped away, and Riley stepped up.

“You okay, man?” he asked his friend, who turned around and began sliding DVD trays back closed again.

“You know she's sitting right there, don't you?” Scott said. His voice was pained, and he wouldn't look at Riley. “You saw his eyes—I know you did. Khadi was right there in that room.”

Riley just nodded.

Scott was still breathing hard. “All I was thinking when that signal went down was that when this crazy fool hears what's happened, he's going to lash out at the first person he sees. Pray with everything you've got that either he or she is out of the room by then. Otherwise . . . otherwise, I don't know. Just pray, Riley. Please, man, just keep praying.”