by Jason Elam
“What d-d-do you—?”
The barrel of the pistol pressed harder, pushing Mohsin’s head deeper into his down pillow. “I said don’t speak,” the voice growled.
Mohsin tried to nod his head, but the pressure of the gun didn’t allow him any movement. He began sucking deeply for air. He closed his eyes tight, trying to ride out the sensation.
Finally, the gun pulled back. Mohsin could feel his skin separate from the weapon. He reached up and rubbed his forehead, feeling for blood on the perfect O that had been embossed onto his flesh.
“Slowly get out of bed and walk to the den,” the intruder said.
Mohsin did as he was told. As he walked past the man, he could tell that the gunman was at least six inches taller than his own five-foot-eight-inch frame, and his tight black T-shirt took away any doubt that overpowering him was out of the question. This isn’t a time for brawn anyway; it’s a time for brains, and you’ve got plenty. Just use them!
The two men walked out the bedroom door, took a left through the kitchen, and came to the den.
“Sit there,” the man said, pointing to a leather club chair. “Slide the ottoman out of the way.”
Just take it easy and do what he says. The more time it takes, the better chance you have. “May I speak yet?”
The man didn’t answer. Instead he reached next to Mohsin and turned on a standing lamp. He then pulled a cord on a lamp across the small den from Mohsin and sat down in a couch next to it. Crossing his legs, he stretched his arm along the crushed velvet back and laid the gun in his lap.
“I’m not going to have any trouble with you, am I?” the man said calmly.
“No! Of course not. What am I going to do? Throw a lamp at you?” Mohsin chuckled nervously.
“No, I guess not. Let me introduce myself to you. My name is Abdullah Muhammad.”
“I’m Mohsin Ghani. I’m very pleased—”
“I know who you are, Mr. Ghani.”
“Of course you do. Sorry,” Mohsin said with a weak smile. “Please feel free to call me Mohsin.”
Abdullah’s look made it fairly clear that he would not take him up on the offer. “I’ve been sent here to find out what happened the other day.”
The coolness of the night was moving from the hardwood floors up through Mohsin’s body. He tried to control his shivers. He’s talking to you. This is good. Now make your story believable! Mohsin drew a deep breath. “I wanted to do it. I had it all planned out. I drove to South Bend. I was even at the chapel during the wedding, just like I was supposed to be.”
“South Bend? Were you at Notre Dame?”
“Of course. Isn’t that where you sent me?” Then a thought struck Mohsin. “You aren’t my contact, are you?”
“No. I’m a soldier like you are. But unlike you, I did my duty with honor.”
“You—you were one of the bombers? Where were you? Philadelphia?” “No.”
“California?”
“No.”
“But . . . oh no.” A sick feeling swept through Mohsin. He had watched the news with horror at the brutal homicide scene unfolding in Kansas. Then, earlier today, a second family had been found shot in cold blood in their home in Nebraska. “Which . . . ?”
“Both,” Abdullah said. He uncrossed his leg and leaned forward. “You can see, Mr. Ghani, I am not a man to be trifled with or tested. So, if you will please proceed with your answer to my question . . .” Abdullah leaned back and resumed his former position.
Mohsin desperately had to use the bathroom, but he knew that would be out of the question. However, that need, combined with the cold and his fear, now had him shaking all over. He tried to control his voice, but it still came out wavering.
“I was in the chapel. I had the backpack. I tried to do it, but I just couldn’t!”
“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?”
“Both! There was just no way! I’m not some cold-blooded mur—” Mohsin saw the corner of Abdullah’s mouth turn up ever so slightly. “No offense, but I just couldn’t do it.”
“No offense taken. Some of us are just weaker than others. Now, I have just one more question for you before I go.”
“Before you . . . yes, of course. Ask it. Please! Anything you want to know.” For the first time, Mohsin saw potential light at the end of the tunnel.
“What, Mr. Ghani, do you think should be the punishment for a soldier who doesn’t do his duty?”
Fear caused Mohsin’s bladder to let loose. “Oh! I’m so sorry about that!” He tried to stand up out of the wetness.
“Sit down!” Abdullah roared.
Mohsin dropped back down to the already cooling puddle.
A mocking smile appeared on Abdullah’s face, increasing Mohsin’s shame. “It’s okay, Mr. Ghani. There’s no need to be sorry. It’s your furniture. Now, my question, please.”
“Give me another chance! Please! I have connections. Lawyers, politicians, bankers. I can get you into places that you’ve only dreamed of gaining access to.”
“We don’t need your access, Mr. Ghani,” Abdullah said calmly.
“How about money? I know it costs a lot to fight a righteous war like this. I have over $300,000 in the bank, and with my salary I can give at least $200,000 more every year. Or . . . or maybe you and I can even arrange a deal?”
A dark look filled Abdullah’s eyes. “We don’t need your money, Mr. Ghani. And if you try to bribe me again, I’ll shoot you where you sit.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Maybe you could give me one more chance. I’ll do it this time. I swear I will—on my parent’s graves, on their honor! I still even have the backpacks in my bedroom closet. I hate these American pigs and all they stand for. Give me one more chance to deal them a mortal blow. In the name of Allah, I will fight!” Mohsin emphasized his final words by pounding his hands on the arms of the chair.
Abdullah began slowly nodding his head. “A very interesting offer. Now, as for me, I believe once a coward, always a coward. But luckily for you, I am not the one who makes these decisions.”
Hope began to fill Mohsin’s chest. I just need to make it through tonight. If I can simply buy some time, then I can disappear. “Who does make the decisions? Is there a way I can talk to him?”
“As a matter of fact, there is.” Mohsin watched as Abdullah pulled a cell phone out of his pants pocket. “My phone can take thirty seconds of video. That’s how long you have to plead your case. Then I will send the video to the decision-maker, and we will see what he says. Is that fair?”
“Yes, sir! That’s more than fair!” Mohsin knew he had a reputation as a fast-talker. There was no better deal that he could have been given than to plead his case.
“Then I’ll tell you what, Mr. Ghani. I want you to put your head back, close your eyes, and think about what you are going to say. I’m sure you’re aware that those thirty seconds are pretty important to you. You’re going to want to make good use of them.”
“Yes. Thank you!” Things just kept looking better and better. Now Mohsin had time to put together the best plea possible.
Mohsin leaned his head back and felt the cold leather against his sweaty head. The stink of urine filled his nostrils, but he tried to drive it from his mind. Come on, think! Say something about how much you hate America. Do a mea culpa about the last time.
A faint metal-on-metal sound caught Mohsin’s ear. He started to bring his head back up but stopped himself short. What’s the matter with you? Do not look! He told you to keep your eyes closed, and that’s what you’re going to do. So, say you’re sorry, then say how much you hate America, invoke the name of Allah—maybe mention Allah’s mercy and beneficence. Then finish off with—
“Time’s up, Mr. Ghani.”
As soon as Mohsin brought his head up, he saw what had made the metallic sound. Abdullah had screwed a silencer to the end of his pistol. Mohsin began shaking again.
“Don’t worry. It’s just a little precaution,” Abdullah said with a smi
le. “Just in case things don’t go your way.”
“S-s-sure. Makes sense.” Everything Mohsin had prepared in his quiet interlude had now fled his mind. In its place was only pure fear.
“Now, I’m going to press this button. When I do, I want you to say your name, wait two seconds, then proceed with your statement. Do you understand?”
“I understand. Say my name, wait two seconds, then make my statement.”
“Exactly. And don’t mess it up, Mr. Ghani. I’m only giving you one try at this. Are you ready?”
Mohsin nodded.
“Ready, and go.”
Mohsin saw Abdullah start the recording.
“My name is Mohsin Ghani,” he said, and then paused. After counting one in his head, his eyes widened as he saw Abdullah pick the gun up off his lap. Everything seemed to suddenly slip into slow motion as he watched the silencer level at his face. With perfect clarity, he saw Abdullah’s finger pull back on the trigger, saw movement in the gun’s bore, and then Mohsin Ghani saw no more.
CHAPTER TWENTY
TUESDAY, MAY 19, 3:30 P.M. MDT PARKER, COLORADO
The afternoon thunderstorm arrived just minutes before Riley pulled into the Caribou Coffee parking lot. It looked like a typical Denver summer storm—mostly bark with very little bite, lasting just long enough to back up street drains and ruin the shine on freshly washed cars.
Riley looked to his right. “A downpour like this could last five minutes or fifteen. You want to go for it?”
“I’m game,” Afshin Ziafat said with a smile.
“How about you, Skeeter?” Riley asked, turning to the backseat.
“I’ve been wet before,” Skeeter replied.
Riley threw open his door and ran across the water cascading over the asphalt. The fifteen yards from their parking place to the front door was enough to soak all three men and to fill Riley’s left Merrell from a misjudged gutter puddle. Riley and Ziafat were laughing as they walked into the coffeehouse.
The interior was designed to have a Colorado cabin feel. Large logs crossed the ceiling, and the store centered itself on a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. Rustic wooden tables and chairs were mixed with smaller intimate seating areas with deep, comfortable chairs and small, bear-shaped ottomans. The cozy, woodsy ambience made Starbucks seem antiseptic by comparison.
Instantly Riley spotted Khadi lounging in a sitting area where two overstuffed chairs flanked either side of a small coffee table, and he wondered again if this was such a good idea. After Ziafat’s attempts to reach out to him, Riley had felt some serious conviction about his attitude toward the rookie. He knew that Ziafat had nothing to do with what had happened at the end of last season. Riley was blowing him off purely because of his name and his faith—an attitude that stood little chance of passing the WWJD test.
So, when practice ended yesterday, Riley held Ziafat back on the field. Ziafat, evidently still a little tentative after his recent taping incident, kept looking around.
“Don’t worry, you’re clear,” Riley had said. “Hey, I was wondering, would you join me for coffee tomorrow? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Ziafat had jumped at the chance, and that invitation had led to this meeting. Riley saw Khadi smile when she spotted him. But the smile faltered just a bit when she saw that he was not alone. A sinking feeling crept into Riley’s gut. You forgot to tell her that Afshin was coming, didn’t you, you idiot? The three men reached Khadi just as she rose from one of the chairs.
“Hey, Khadi,” Riley greeted her, giving her a quick hug.
“Hi, Riley,” Khadi replied, then reached toward Skeeter and wrapped her arms around the big man. When she pulled back, she said, “You’re soaked. Haven’t you ever heard of an umbrella, you big oaf?”
“Saw one in a catalog once,” Skeeter replied. “Didn’t think much of it.” He left her laughing and went to sit at a table facing the front door.
Riley put his hand on Khadi’s back and said, “Khadi Faroughi, this is Afshin Ziafat. Afshin, Khadi.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Khadi.”
“It’s a pleasure meeting you, too. And a little bit of a surprise,”
Khadi said, turning her gaze to Riley.
“Okay, I’m a bonehead. I forgot to call. Sorry,” Riley said, realizing that he’d been doing a lot of apologizing lately.
“If it’s a problem, I can go,” Ziafat offered, leaning toward the door.
“No, please. I’m sorry. I’ve been a little stressed lately. I’m not reacting well to change,” Khadi said with a little laugh. “Please, sit down.”
Both Riley and Ziafat pulled wooden chairs from nearby tables.
“One of you better sit in the soft chair, or I’m going to feel like a queen holding court,” Khadi said.
After thirty seconds of a “No, you,” “No, you” routine, Riley finally convinced Ziafat to sit across from Khadi.
“Thanks,” Ziafat said, dropping his large frame into the low chair.
“So, how’ve Riley and the team been treating you?” Khadi asked.
“Oh, I think they’re coming around,” Ziafat answered with a raised eyebrow toward Riley.
“Being a rookie is never fun,” Riley said, noisily scooting his chair a little closer. “Afshin’s been handling it better than most.”
“I’m trying. Khadi, can I ask you a question?” He suddenly seemed to get a little tongue-tied trying to formulate his question. “Are you the one that I read about who was in the middle of all the stuff with Riley?”
For a moment Khadi hesitated; then she answered with a slight nod.
Ziafat’s face lit up. “Wow, what an honor to meet you! I have got so much respect for you! All my family loves you, and my youngest sister wants to go into the FBI because of you. In the Persian community, it’s not often we have someone we can cheer for in the war against terrorism.”
Although Khadi had received honors from many women’s, Persian, and intelligence organizations, it was still obvious that she wasn’t used to the recognition. She tried to control a quick blush. “Thanks, Afshin. That really means a lot. That crazy man back in Iran does so much to destroy people’s images of us. It was nice to shove one back in the terrorists’ faces. May I ask you a question now? Kojha bozorg shodee?”
Ziafat’s face brightened, and he laughed. “Kheilee jaha boodeem, valee beeshtaresh dar Houston boodeem. Shoma chee?”
“Arlington, Virginia. Pedaram doctor bood oonja.” Suddenly Khadi looked at Riley. “I’m sorry, we’re being rude. I just so rarely get to speak Farsi to anyone face-to-face.”
“Don’t be silly,” Riley said with a wave of his hand. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to introduce you to each other. I had heard Afshin speaking Farsi on his cell phone, and I knew you missed the language. Please, go ahead. I’ll get our drinks.”
“No, Riley, let me get them,” Ziafat said, getting up.
“Sit down, rookie, and tell me what you want,” Riley said, already up and taking his first steps away.
“Okay, okay, thanks. Mind if I have a spiced chai?”
“You got it. And I don’t need to ask what you want,” Riley said to Khadi. “Coffee, black. The thicker the better.”
Khadi responded with a smile and a wink. “Avaleen nasleh Irani-Amricayee hastee?” she asked Ziafat.
Riley felt pretty good about himself as he made his way to the counter. He ordered the drinks, then watched Khadi and Ziafat while he waited. They definitely seemed to be hitting it off. It’s good to hear Khadi laugh again. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her really happy.
Khadi caught Riley’s eyes fixated on them. Embarrassed, he quickly turned and started fiddling with some little tins of mints. He then began examining a fancy espresso machine but had a hard time concentrating through Khadi’s laughter.
Forcing himself to block out their conversation, Riley found his thoughts drifting to his time here with Whitney Walker. Now there was a laugh—her whole face lit up
, and her eyes seemed to glow a beautiful green.
What am I doing? Daydreaming about another girl while Khadi’s twenty feet away? Again, a feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that he should tell Khadi about his meeting. Yeah, but is it really worth the headache? Besides, I haven’t spoken to Whitney since that day. If there was anything there, it’s dead now.
The drinks were called. Riley put them in order, then slid two fingers through the four mug handles. He stopped first at Skeeter and placed a decaf in front of him.
“Hmm,” grunted Skeeter in appreciation.
As he approached the others, the conversation abruptly stopped but they both kept smirks on their faces.
Riley pretended not to notice as he passed out the cups. “A black coffee and a spiced chai.” He sat down and said, “Please, keep going. I’m fine.”
“Thanks, Riley.” Khadi reached across to touch Ziafat’s forearm while she continued her story.
A strange sensation swept through Riley at their physical contact—one he didn’t remember feeling since high school when he caught his prom date dancing with the quarterback. Quit being an idiot, Riley scolded himself. They’ve just met. Besides, you have no claim on her.
But as much as he told himself that, the more they talked and laughed, the more of an outsider Riley felt. Eventually he sat back in his seat and brooded, declining the offers they gave to include him in the conversation.
After a few minutes, Riley noticed that the conversation between Ziafat and Khadi had started to take on a bit of a heated tone. It was almost as if Khadi were on the attack, with Ziafat trying to back off from something he had said.
Finally, Khadi stood up and angrily turned to Riley. “It was a nice attempt, Riley. Probably right out of the Christian evangelism handbook. Bring a great-looking young man who speaks the girl’s language. He’ll tell her some stories, then talk about all that Jesus has done for him. She’s bound to fall all over herself renouncing her former Muslim ways!”
Riley was still trying to catch up in the conversation from when she had called Ziafat great-looking. “What are you—?”
“Tell you what. You boys stay here and have your little tent revival. I’ve got to get back to work. It was a pleasure meeting you, Afshin. I’m glad Jesus has done so much to change your life.”
