by Jason Elam
The man laughed. “Ah, the noble warrior! They warned me about you. Now, Meg, where is Riley’s gun?”
“It’s behind his back,” Meg answered in a whisper.
“Good. Maybe your daughter will live through this after all,” Abdullah said. Then to Riley, he ordered, “Stand up!”
Riley stood.
“Meg, throw your gun toward the front door, then get his gun and throw his there too.”
Meg did as she was told. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to Riley when she reached behind him.
“Now, to the dining room.” Riley followed Meg, with Abdullah taking up the rear. “Take up the plastic cuffs and secure Riley to the chair. Make them tight—I’ll be checking.”
Riley sat in a heavy wooden dining chair while Meg kneeled behind him. “Alessandra’s locked in the basement. He’s the only one here,” she said quietly as she cinched Riley’s wrists tightly to the chair.
“Good job, Meg,” Abdullah said. “Now come back here.”
Meg went and stood next to Abdullah. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You really are a lovely woman. I think I’ll save you for later,” he said as he dropped the butt of his gun down on her head.
“Meg!” Riley cried out as he watched her crumple to the ground. Then Abdullah turned toward him.
“You may wonder why I didn’t just shoot you right off,” Abdullah said, pulling out his cell phone. “My superiors like videos of my work, and I’m always happy to oblige. Besides, you made me work so hard, I kind of feel like you owe me a little fun.” As he finished, he brought the gun hard across Riley’s face.
Blood instantly filled Riley’s mouth, and he felt the handgun’s rear site cut a gash across his cheek.
“You managed to hurt me up in the mountains. And my vengeance is tenfold!” Again the gun came down on Riley’s face.
Riley’s vision grayed for a moment. Alessandra! Hold it together for Alessandra! Blood and saliva hung in long streaks from Riley’s mouth. He spit out one of his lower molars. Taking as deep a breath as he could, he raised his eyes to meet Abdullah’s.
“Ever the mighty warrior! A man of honor! Where’s your God now, infidel?” Another blow rained backhanded across Riley’s other cheek. Pinpoint lights burst throughout Riley’s vision. Please, Lord, one last time. Like Samson, give me one last time.
“I asked you a question! Where is your God, and what is He in comparison to all-powerful Allah? Answer me, and I’ll just put a bullet in your head now. Stay silent, and I can go on all day!”
Again Riley slowly raised his head. Trying to control his damaged mouth, he mouthed the words, “My God is my strength.”
“Speak up, coward,” Abdullah said, connecting with Riley’s head farther back toward his ear. A ringing explosion burst in his head, and again Riley almost passed out.
Sucking in two gurgling breaths, Riley whispered the words, “My God is my strength.”
This time, as Abdullah leaned in to hear Riley’s words, Riley launched himself with power that only thousands of squats can give. His forehead connected with Abdullah’s chin, causing blood to gush from the man’s severed tongue.
As Abdullah stumbled backward, his foot caught the unconscious Meg’s leg and he fell onto his back.
Riley gripped both sides of the chair and carried it with him as he shuffled to where Abdullah was laid out. Just as Abdullah was about to roll up, Riley jumped back onto the chair, letting the left rear leg drop just above the man’s pant line. Abdullah screamed, pinned to the ground, the internal bleeding just beginning.
Riley felt the room spinning from his effort. A lightness in his head beckoned him toward the peace of unconsciousness. But as he felt himself slowly drifting away, his eye caught Abdullah lifting his gun toward Riley’s face.
Too late.
Riley lifted the chair one more time. Then, crying out, he let every one of his 230 pounds drive the leg of the chair into Abdullah’s chest, crushing the cavity’s protective ribs and puncturing his heart.
11:17 A.M. MDT
Normally the trip from Parker Adventist Hospital to the Ricci home took six minutes. Khadi made it in three and a half.
By the time she turned into Meg Ricci’s subdivision, she had two Parker police cars chasing her—lights flashing and sirens blaring.
Quickly she pressed speed dial 5 on her phone.
Tara Walsh answered.
“Tara, don’t ask questions. I’m in Canterberry Crossing in Parker with two cops after me. Call them off now, or I’m going to end up with a bullet in my back!”
“Done!”
Khadi watched her rearview mirror as she wound her way up a hill. The cops weren’t backing off. Go away! There’s not a chance these guys will let me make it to the door with a gun in my hand! What do I do? Then, in a flash, everything became perfectly clear for her. What else can I do? I just run into the line of fire for Riley like he did for Skeeter and me. She glanced back into her mirror. Hope you boys failed your marksmanship tests.
Spinning around a corner, Khadi saw Evie Cline’s yellow VW. She skidded to a stop right behind it. Here goes, she thought as she lifted her gun off the passenger seat and ran out the door. The police cars screeched in behind her, but they didn’t get out of their cars. Thank you, Tara, Khadi thought as she ran toward the door.
She jumped a low hedge and was at the front door when she heard Riley’s voice call out. Khadi burst through the door.
11:20 A.M. MDT
Riley had just tipped his chair over when he saw the front door open and Khadi’s face appear over the family room furniture. “Go to the basement,” he yelled. “Find Alessandra!”
Khadi continued to run toward him with her gun straight out in front of her. “Riley, sit rep!”
“One down and out! Clear up here! Now go find Alessandra! Stairs are out of the living room!”
Riley watched Khadi go and then closed his eyes. All that he could see from his position was an empty room and Abdullah’s lifeless eyes. He wanted to check on Meg but didn’t have the strength to pull himself over there.
Please, Lord, let Aly be okay! Please, Father, protect that little girl! A child’s cry cut through the silence of the house, and a smile spread across Riley’s face.
“Thank You,” he said as he finally gave himself permission to give in to the soft darkness.
EPILOGUE
TUESDAY, JUNE 30, 10:00 A.M. MDT
The long, brown mound hadn’t had time yet to start sprouting grass. Memories flooded Riley’s mind as he stared at it—some good, some not so good. He was a good man, and his life definitely left a mark. Kneeling, he picked up a small clump of dirt and bounced it up and down in his hand until it broke apart. He looked to his right, then reached out and put his arm around Scott, who was kneeling next to him.
“He never told me his middle name was Marion,” Scott laughed, but there were tears running down his cheeks. “James Marion Hicks—oh, I would have had fun with that!”
Riley chuckled softly while he read the name on the headstone. He patted Scott on the shoulder, then reached down for another clump of dirt.
He and Khadi had gone together to see the artisan about the memorial. Khadi had read off the name to the proprietor, then had given Riley a hard elbow shot to the ribs when a laugh accidentally spilled out of his mouth.
Scott read the epitaph out loud: “Hero and Beloved Friend. A Man Who Left His Mark. Thanks for having them put that on, Riley. That’s nice. That’s really nice.”
Scott had been tied up with the Turkish authorities for over three weeks, so he had missed the big battle with the people at Homeland Security. I can’t believe those weasels wanted to turn the funeral into a full-blown media circus, Riley thought, a military burial complete with dignitaries and multiple gun salutes. Yeah, that’s just what Jim would have wanted. Let’s hear it for Grandpa putting in a couple of calls to his star-shouldered friends to put the kibosh on the festivities.
Instead, the funera
l had been small, quiet, purposely out of the camera’s eye. Riley had gotten his pastor to perform the service, and the only ones attending had been Khadi, Riley, Skeeter, the RoU team, and Hicks’s thirty-nine-year-old daughter, Tyler, whom he had seen just once, and that from a distance. Riley had contacted Tyler’s mother, who had given him permission to call her daughter. What had started out as a very awkward phone conversation had quickly turned into Tyler insisting on coming to the memorial service of her heroic father.
Riley had flown her in the day before the funeral, and when Tyler went home the day after, she had left with a carefully folded flag and the knowledge that her father had truly loved her.
Both men continued to kneel by the grave, lost in their own thoughts. Riley couldn’t keep his mind from drifting back three weeks to when he had knelt in front of his father’s grave, his mother on one side of him and his grandfather on the other.
Grandpa had put his arm around Riley’s shoulders—as Riley had just done to Scott—and then Gramps had said softly, “Remember, son, we don’t have to grieve like those who have no hope.”
That was a tough moment, Riley thought, remembering how all the emotions over his father’s death that he had been storing inside had finally burst out at that precious place. But at least it brought some closure, right? Isn’t that what they always say? It’s time to move on? Yeah, right, who are you kidding about closure?
It’s gonna be a long time before that chapter of my life closes, he thought bitterly. But Gramps was right about one thing—at least I’m going to see Dad again. That’s where my hope comes from.
The next week had been spent with Mom, making sure she was settled in her temporary home until the goat dairy she insisted on continuing could be rebuilt. The days working together to sort out Dad’s estate had been good; the nights talking with her had been better. He’d even taken a liking to a smoky chipotle pepper chèvre recipe that she had been trying out. Go figure, he thought, remembering the subtle burn on the back of his throat.
Scott slowly stood up, leaning heavily on an old walking stick he had brought back with him from Istanbul. “I think I’m ready.”
“You sure?” Riley asked, quickly rising and helping him the rest of the way. “We got nothing but time.”
“Yeah, I’m done. Besides,” Scott said, loosening his tie, “this suit’s a rental. I gotta have it back this afternoon.”
Riley smiled. “I was going to ask you about that.”
The two men walked leisurely back to the SUV, where Skeeter waited propped against the driver’s side door. Khadi sat inside behind the wheel.
What else waited for Riley, he didn’t know. The Mustangs had been leaving him messages again reminding him he had never been officially put on injured reserve, and that he was their franchise player.
We’ll have to see. I’m not too sure if this Achilles injury has completely healed yet, he thought as he jumped up into the passenger side of the Suburban.
“Get moving, you idiot,” Scott called from the backseat.
“What?” Riley and Khadi said in unison, turning around in time to see Skeeter give Scott a hard punch.
“Ow, Skeet,” Scott said, rubbing his arm. “Don’t worry, Khadi, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just some loving words from an old friend.”
“Give him another one, Skeet, just on principle,” Riley said as he turned back around smiling.
As flesh connected with fabric in the backseat and Scott’s yelp echoed through the vehicle, Riley caught Khadi’s rich mocha eyes glinting at him. Oh, Lord, have You ever created a more beautiful creature? She is everything I’ve ever wanted—everything I’ve been waiting for. If only she would see Your truth . . .
His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Khadi grinned and said, “Why, Mr. Covington, I do believe you’re staring.”
Quickly recomposing himself, Riley turned to the front and said, “Drive the car, my dear Miss Faroughi. Just drive the car.”
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
JASON ELAM is a sixteen-year NFL veteran placekicker for the Atlanta Falcons.
He was born in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, and grew up in Atlanta, Georgia. In 1988, Jason received a full football scholarship to the University of Hawaii, where he played for four years, earning academic All-America and Kodak All-America honors. He graduated in 1992 with a bachelor’s degree in communications and was drafted in the third round of the 1993 NFL draft by the Denver Broncos, where he played for 15 years.
In 1997 and 1998, Jason won back-to-back world championships with the Broncos and was selected to the Pro Bowl in 1995, 1998, and 2001. He is currently working on a master’s degree in global apologetics at Liberty Theological Seminary and has an abiding interest in Middle East affairs, the study of Scripture, and defending the Christian faith. Jason is a licensed commercial airplane pilot, and he and his wife, Tamy, have four children.
STEVE YOHN grew up as a pastor’s kid in Fresno, California, and both of those facts contributed significantly to his slightly warped perspective on life. Steve graduated from Multnomah Bible College with a bachelor’s degree in biblical studies and barely survived a stint as a youth pastor.
While studying at Denver Seminary, Steve worked as a videographer for Youth for Christ International, traveling throughout the world to capture the ministry’s global impact. With more than two decades of ministry experience, both inside and outside the church, Steve has discovered his greatest satisfactions lie in writing, speaking, and one-on-one mentoring.
Surprisingly, although his hobbies are reading classic literature, translating the New Testament from the Greek, and maintaining a list of political leaders of every country of the world over the last twenty-five years, he still occasionally gets invited to parties and has a few friends. His wife, Nancy, and their daughter are the joys of his life.
