Friday, September 16, 1:38 p.m. EDT

“From your time with them, did you get any impressions of their ultimate purpose? Are they really going to release the hostages at the end of Ramadan?”

Khadi shook her head and said bitterly, “No one’s getting out of there alive, unless we do something about it. I can guarantee you. They’ll string us along, then blow the place at the end. All I can say is this rescue better work.”

She stood wearily in the command truck. Skeeter had dropped her off here, given her arm a squeeze, then disappeared. She had been quickly whisked inside, where Stanley Porter had been waiting.

He wrapped her up in his arms—gently, but still hard enough to make her wince.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Tell me about Riley.”

“He’s in God’s hands now, Khadi. Scott’s getting his teams in place. We need to pray they get there in time.”

Khadi felt her knees buckle. Porter caught her before she could drop.

“Get her something to sit on,” he commanded.

Someone pulled out a stool and set it down.

“Move it to the back.”

Porter helped Khadi to the stool and eased her down. The trailer spun for a few moments before her equilibrium returned.

Suddenly she shook Porter’s hands off her arms.

“Why’d you let him do it?” Khadi demanded, her anger flaring.

“We didn’t have a choice, Khadi. He pulled a gun on us, got on the phone with Saifullah, and taunted him into accepting a trade—him for you.”

That news shook her. She had thought this had been a CTD plan.

“Why’d he do it, Stanley? It’s crazy! It’s a suicide mission!”

Porter squatted down and put his hand on her hand. “We both know why he did it. And that’s why we agreed. There’s no way we could have stopped him. If we had shut down this way in to you, he would have just found another.”

“But . . . but . . .” she sputtered, trying to find another argument. Trouble was, she knew he was right. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Stanley.”

Porter waved her apology off. “Listen, Khadi, I’ve got a couple people here who’re going to give you the postincident grilling—you know the drill. Obviously, it’s the absolute wrong time to do it, but I need everything you know. If there’s anything that can help us . . .”

“Of course. Just . . . keep me updated on Riley, okay?”

“You got it,” Porter said, giving her a fatherly stroke of her head.

The questioning came from two CTD agents she had seen before but whose names she couldn’t remember even after they reintroduced themselves. She tried to concentrate on giving thorough answers but had a hard time focusing. Every noise, every exclamation from the front of the trailer where the monitors sat drew her attention away.

“Why do you say they’re going to blow the cathedral up?” asked the younger of the two agents.

“That’s who they are. They’re not out for any cause. They’re just a bunch of murdering—”

“The Internet feed is up,” a voice called from the front of the truck.

Khadi leaped up from the stool and ran to the crowd that had quickly gathered.

“Move,” she said. And seeing who it was, the group parted.

As soon as she saw the monitor, she regretted it. The sight of Riley took her breath away. His face looked like a bad makeup job at a high school haunted house. It was so bloody and swollen that she had to strain to recognize any of his features. A random flash of hope told her that maybe it wasn’t him, but she knew the truth. She knew.

A couple of unidentified hands placed themselves on her bruised shoulders, but she barely noticed. She began to feel dizzy and realized she had forgotten to breathe. Slowly, she inhaled.

Oh, Riley, why did you do it? I’m not worth it—I’m not worth this! Why would you sacrifice yourself for me?

Then a phrase Riley used to say to her dredged up from the depths of her memory. “Greater love has no man than to lay down his life for a friend,” he’d say with a big smile—a smile she couldn’t imagine fitting into the jigsaw-puzzle face now before her eyes. Then often he’d follow up with “And then Jesus went out and proved His love by doing just that—dying for us.”

And now here you are . . . dying . . .

Saifullah was saying something, but Khadi wasn’t paying attention. Tears poured down her cheeks as the sorrow and guilt she felt for Riley blended with rage toward Saifullah and Alavi.

Please, Scott, get there in time. Please, Scott . . . Please, Scott . . . Please, God . . . Please, God . . . Please, God . . .