Scott looked toward the two-way glass, his face a mixture of anger and disgust. “Two minutes! That’s the amount of time you have to get a doctor in here. You understand?” Turning back to Todd, he said, “I’m so sorry, buddy. We’ll get someone in here right away. I gotta go, but I’ll be back to check on you when I can. You all right here?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Scott.”
Scott burst out the door and headed down the hallway toward the other interrogation room. Suddenly, Hicks bolted out of the other door. They met halfway between the two rooms, and both said in unison, “It’s the Cause!”
Riley ran upstairs and hurriedly turned the locks on the front door. “Grandpa, I am so sorry. I fell asleep in the basement and didn’t hear a thing.”
His grandpa didn’t answer at first. Then with a wry look he nodded toward Riley’s left side. “You being a little overcautious there, son?”
Riley looked down and gave an embarrassed grin. Without thinking about it, he had slung the M4 over his shoulder before running to open the door. “You know those media types. Gotta find ways to discourage them.” He slid the rifle off and set it by the doorway, then gave his grandpa a huge hug. He ushered him into the great room, which was now well heated from the fire that Riley had left on all night, and settled him into his recliner. “Coffee?”
“You gotta ask an air force man if he wants coffee?”
Riley laughed as he went into the kitchen to put on a pot of Costa Rican Tarrazu. “So, what are you doing here, Gramps?”
“Well, your dad and I talked, and we figured that after what happened, you’d have revenge on your mind. We thought it best that one of us come out to talk with you. I drew the assignment-him being a navy guy and all.”
Riley stood in the kitchen and leaned on the cold granite of his center island. “You looking to talk… or to talk me out of it?”
“Just talk, son; just talk. I learned long ago that I couldn’t talk you or your dad out of anything. So, your wandering around strapped with an M4 makes me think that we weren’t too far off in our assessment.”
“Grandpa, I’ve never seen anything like it-not in Afghanistan, not anywhere. I had my hands inside a guy’s body trying to stop the bleeding as he died. And the worst part? I know somewhere people are dancing and celebrating what happened last night. What would you do? I mean, if you still had a chance to make these murderers pay, could you stay home?”
Grandpa took a few moments to sort through what he was going to say. Finally he looked Riley in the eye. “Can’t say as I could, Riley. I’ve told you before that I’m much less concerned about what you do than I am with what’s in your heart. If you go after these guys out of hatred or revenge, it’ll eventually tear you up inside.”
Riley walked over with two cups of thick, black coffee-no time to dainty up your joe in the field.
“Mmmm, strong stuff,” Grandpa said appreciatively.
“I remember what you always said: ‘It’s not coffee unless you can stand a spoon in it.’” Together they chuckled softly. “Listen, I know that what’s in my heart is not good right now. But if hate is what it takes to get me motivated to get back in the game, then so be it.”
They both sat silently, looking at the floor and sipping their coffee.
Finally, Riley broke the silence. “I know, I know. That’s messed-up thinking. It’s just… where was God last night? Where was He when people were getting blown to pieces and getting trampled? Where was He when I sent Sal away to his death? Why didn’t He stop me from killing my best friend? I mean, what kind of God is that? Where’s His love? Where’s His compassion? Where’s His power?”
Grandpa took a minute before answering, then said, “Riley, I learned long ago that there’re two kinds of people in this world. One kind looks at the circumstances and lets them define God. The other kind looks at God and lets Him define the circumstances. What do you know to be true about God?”
“I hear you. God and I had this conversation about seven hours ago.”
Again silence.
“What do you think I should do, Grandpa?”
“What do you think you should do?”
Riley heaved a big sigh. “I think I need to get my heart right. Then I think I need to find out what I can do to help bring these murderers down.”
“Spoken like a true Covington, son.”
Chapter 19
Tuesday, December 30
Federal Bureau of Investigation, Denver Field Office
Denver, Colorado
“Does Porter know about this?” Scott Ross asked Jim Hicks. The simultaneous discovery of the Cause being at the root of the attacks had both men excited and anxious to tell somebody.
“No. Seems he left the viewing room about ten minutes ago when Secretary Moss arrived.”
“The Secretary of Homeland Security is here? Yeah, I guess this would be big enough to get the weasel out of his cushy office.” Scott grabbed a passing agent. “Any idea where the SHS and the DC are holed up?”
“Main conference room.” Scott’s expectant stare prompted the man to continue. “Okay, you know the main war room you passed as you came to the interrogation area? It’s right in the middle of that.”
“Gotcha. Thanks.” Turning to Hicks, Scott said, “Well, shall we?”
Hicks gave his affirmation with his feet.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Scott muttered, hurrying after him.
They entered the war room and found the conference room just where the agent had said. It was a large boxlike structure in the center of a busy, open space filled with ringing telephones and low-walled cubicles. There was only one door into the conference room, and two dark-suited Secret Service agents were positioned in front of it.
Hicks approached the door with Scott in tow. “Jim Hicks, CTD,” he said, showing his badge. “This is Scott Ross, also with CTD. We need to see Secretary Moss.”
“One moment, please,” said the agent on the left, who then proceeded to whisper something into his wrist comm.
Ten seconds later, the door buzzed open and a very impatient Hicks entered with Scott close behind.
The light in the room was slightly dimmed, and a large flat-screen television was visible-turned on but blank at the moment-in an open cabinet to their left. Standing perpendicular before them was a long conference table surrounded by large, soft swivel chairs. Eight of the chairs were filled. Scott recognized a few of their occupants from Internet pictures, including Secretary of Homeland Security Dwayne Moss, who sat at the head of the table, and Undersecretary Gregory Blackmon to his right. Stanley Porter was seated to Moss’s left. Also present were FBI Director Edward Castillo, Western District CTD Chief Patty Wallace, and three other people whom Scott didn’t know.
Without waiting to be introduced, Scott blurted out, “Mr. Secretary, we’ve figured out the organization behind this attack! It’s a terrorist group called the Cause!”
“They already know,” said Hicks, who had been staring at the blank television since they walked in.
Scott felt the heat of embarrassment flush through his body.
Hicks continued, “You guys got a tape, didn’t you?”
“Actually, it’s a mini-DVD,” Undersecretary Blackmon said. “It was sent to Jeff Eitzen at the local CBS affiliate.”
“Oh, great. Have they aired it yet, Mr. Secretary?” Hicks asked.
Secretary Moss paused for a moment as if taken aback at being addressed directly by an agent. Finally he replied, “No, not yet, Agent Hicks-or is it Ross?”
“Hicks,” the senior agent answered.
Scott already despised the man for his condescending manner.
“Hicks it is. I have managed to secure for us, Agent Hicks, a twelve-hour buffer by promising that this local anchor will get first shot at breaking the story,” the secretary said in a tone that made it seem like his accomplishment was approaching the magnitude of the Treaty of Versailles.