“Stay right where you are. Let me go check on her. You keep dialing those numbers.”
“Thanks, Jill.” As her friend went to the stairs, Meg hit speed dial 1.
After four rings, Sal’s voice came on. “Hey, it’s me. Leave a message.”
Meg hung up and hit speed dial 5, praying that maybe Riley would pick up.
After two rings, Riley answered. “Hey, Meg.”
“Riley, thank heaven you’re all right! I’ve been trying you and Sal all night! Is Sal with you? Can you put him on the phone?”
Riley started to speak, then stopped. Finally he said, “Meg, I… well… Meg, Sal’s gone.”
“He’s already on his way home? Why wouldn’t he have called me back? That’s so-”
“Meg, that’s not what I-”
“-typical of-”
“Meg, stop!”
The silence on Meg’s end of the phone was broken only by a barely audible “Oh no.”
Please don’t say it, Riley, Meg silently pleaded. Please don’t say it!
“Meg… Sal’s dead. I… he… It was the last of the bombs. He didn’t even feel it coming. Oh, Meg, I’m so sorry.”
Meg dropped to her knees. The phone fell on the floor, knocking the batteries out of the back. Her sobs started long and soft and gradually increased in speed and intensity.
Jill, who was carrying Alessandra down the stairs, saw Meg, saw the phone, and ran to her friend. She put the baby on the floor nearby and enveloped Meg in her arms.
Alessandra crawled to the disabled phone and picked up one of the batteries. She examined it, then noticed her mama and Jill crying. She watched them for a few moments, and then she began to cry too.
Riley tried calling Meg back, but she didn’t answer. He left a message saying that he would call again in a few hours and would like to stop by.
As he stood leaning on the taping bench, the darkness that he had been descending into got deeper. And as that darkness led him further and further down, he willingly followed.
Chapter 17
Tuesday, December 30
Federal Bureau of Investigation, Denver Field Office
Denver, Colorado
The failed bomber sat in the chair and stared at his reflection with his one eye that was not quite swollen shut.
The entire left side of the man’s face was disfigured by multiple fractures from when the off-duty Denver policeman had slammed his face into the metal railing. The cotton wadding in his nose forced him to breathe through his mouth, which he noisily did. His hands and feet were firmly cuffed to the chair on which he sat.
On the other side of the two-way mirror stood Jim Hicks, Scott Ross, and Division Chief Stanley Porter. The DC was in his usual foul mood and had already chewed Scott out for wearing Birkenstock sandals on the job-especially in the middle of winter. They were waiting for the arrival of the interpreter, and with each minute that passed, Porter’s mood grew visibly darker.
Finally the door swung open and a woman walked in.
Scott waited for Porter to launch into her, but Hicks beat him to the punch.
“Khadi! How you doing? I haven’t seen you since… when?”
“Two years ago in Nicosia. You were going in, and I was coming out.”
“You’re exactly right! Good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too,” Khadi replied, turning her attention to the other men.
Hicks made the introductions. “Khadijah Faroughi, this is Midwest Division Chief Stanley Porter.”
“We’ve met,” Porter said, ignoring Khadi’s outstretched hand.
“Charmed,” Khadi said, pulling her hand back and turning toward Scott.
“And this is Scott Ross,” Hicks continued, “best analyst I’ve ever come across and not too bad on the ops side either.”
Scott couldn’t immediately place the woman’s name, but he was sure he’d heard it before. In any case, he had not been able to take his eyes off Khadi from the moment she’d walked through the door. A classic Persian beauty, her brown eyes and jet-black hair richly offset her light olive skin.
Scott quickly determined that this was a woman he wanted to get to know better. “Faroughi. That’s Iranian, isn’t it?” Scott held out his hand and gave her his biggest smile.
Khadi apparently was used to getting this reaction from guys. She gave Scott’s hand a quick, formal shake, then looked at Hicks. “Wow, Jim, you said this one was quick,” she said sarcastically. Then, looking at Scott’s feet, she said, “Cute sandals. The wool socks are a particularly nice touch.”
Scott felt his face redden, and for one of the first times in his life he had nothing to say.
Suddenly Khadi’s name clicked into place in Scott’s mind, and a mischevious grin spread across his face. “Wait a second… Khadi… You’re ‘Khadi with a D’! I’ve heard about you. Don’t worry; I’ll be super-extra sure not to call you Katie-like, with a t. Rumor is a guy once lost a limb making that mistake!”
This time it was Khadi’s turn to redden. She started to say something, then turned instead to Hicks.
“Well,” Hicks said, “since we’re all through spreading the love, let me get you caught up on the situation. We’ve got exactly one suspect. He was taken down by a kid with a tray of hot chocolate just before he could detonate his bomb. We’ve got the kid in another room.”
“Must have been a pretty full tray by the looks of him,” Khadi said.
“Most of what you see there was done by an enthusiastic off-duty member of the DPD. Our meds stitched up his head and lip, but I don’t think they were overly concerned about future scarring.”
“Has he talked yet?”
“No, we’ll be the first professionals to speak to him.”
“Well, let’s do it,” Khadi said, moving toward the door.
“Hold it!” Porter’s voice came booming across the room. “We’re going to set some ground rules before you take a step in there.”
“Ground rules?” Hicks shot back. “You are going to give me ground rules? Tell you what-I’ve got some ground rules for you. How about you keep your little rules to yourself and let me do my job?”
“Listen, bruiser, I saw how you ‘did your job’ with Kurshumi. Thanks to you, we’re going to have to bury him so deep inside of Gitmo that he’ll only see the light of day every other Ramadan!”
“So he got a little cut. It’ll make it easier for him to sip his cider through a straw. We got the information, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, we sure did. But this ain’t ’Nam, and this boy ain’t Charlie. The rules are different now, and I’m the one who’s making them. And my rule number one is this: you are not going into that room with that knife strapped to your leg.”
Hicks advanced on Porter until they were nose-to-nose. “Are you going to take it from me?”
“Back off, Hicks, or I’ll bust you down so far you’ll be shining Ross’s shoes-if he’d ever wear them.”
Hicks held Porter’s eyes long enough to make his point; then he took a step back.
Porter held out his hand. “No knifey, no talkey.”
Hicks slowly bent over and pulled the MKIII from its sheath. As he straightened up, he locked eyes with Porter again. Then, in a swift movement, he brought the blade rushing down toward Porter’s hand. At the last second, he rotated the knife and slammed the grip into the waiting flesh.
Porter never even flinched.
Hicks moved toward the door. “Let’s go, Khadi.”
“One more thing,” Porter called out.
Hicks wheeled around. “What now? You want my belt? my keys?”
“No, I want you to take Ross in with you. Consider him my little monitor. Ross, if anything gets out of hand, I’m holding you personally responsible.”