74
MONUMENT, COLORADO
Marjorie Ryker was pulling into her driveway when her cell phone buzzed.
Assuming it was one of her daughters, each of whom checked in on her once a day, she put the car in park and fumbled through her purse for the phone. “Can I call you back, honey?” she said. “I just need to get these groceries inside.”
“Marj, it’s me.”
Marjorie recognized the lovely Southern drawl instantly. She’d known Maya and Carter Emerson ever since Marcus and Elena had moved to Washington and begun attending Lincoln Park Baptist Church, where Carter had been senior pastor. They’d been through dark times together. The Emersons had taken Marcus and Elena through more than a year of counseling when their marriage was on the rocks. Carter had preached the eulogy at the memorial service for Elena and Lars. Marjorie had attended the service for Carter after his murder by Kairos terrorists. Over the years, Marjorie and Maya had grown close. They called each other often to swap stories, share Scriptures, and pray together. Over the last several weeks when Marcus had been taken hostage in Lebanon, they’d called several times a day. Still, Marjorie was surprised to hear from her old friend so soon after they’d been together at the White House.
“Maya, what a pleasant surprise. I thought you were Marta or Nicole.”
“Have you talked to Marcus?” Maya said with no pleasantries.
“Not today. Why?”
“You haven’t seen the news?”
“No, I’ve been doing errands this afternoon.”
“But you’re home now?”
“Yes, I just pulled in. What is it, Maya? What’s wrong?”
“Go inside, turn on the TV, and then call Marcus and—”
Suddenly they were disconnected, but Marjorie didn’t take the time to call Maya back. Nor did she grab her groceries. Instead, she raced into the house and flipped on the TV. Sickened by the ghastly video, she turned off the TV just as quickly and called Marcus’s mobile number. As usual, she got voice mail. She left him a message, then got down on her knees and began to pray for him, for the families of those women, and for the country.
Her phone rang again. Opening her eyes, she noticed her caller ID said, “UNKNOWN NUMBER.” Her first instinct was to let it go to voice mail, but something prompted her to take the call.
“Mom, it’s me.”
“Marcus? I just tried to call you.”
“Sorry, my cell phone doesn’t work here at Langley.”
“Langley? I thought you were fired.”
“I was, but I’ve been exonerated and reinstated,” Marcus replied. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. Are you okay? Are you safe?”
“Yes, yes, I just walked in the door. Maya called and told me to turn on the TV.”
“So you’ve seen what’s happening?”
“It’s so horrible, Marcus. I’m physically ill.”
“So am I, Mom. That’s why I need you to listen.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“I need you to get in your car and leave immediately.”
“Why? Where?”
“Head directly to the airport, but to the private aviation terminal.”
“What’s going on, Marcus?”
“A credible threat has been made to my life,” he told her. “I can’t tell you the details now. But given what’s happened to those three women, I’m worried the people who are after me could come for you, too. I’m going to call Marta and Nicole as well. You all need to come right away.”
He explained that FBI agents would escort them to D.C., that housing was being arranged for them in secure facilities, and that technically he would be staying there too, as would Annie, though they were likely to be at Langley most nights.
“It’s really that serious?”
“It is, Mom—now head to the airport. Don’t pack. Don’t bring anything. Get on the plane and I’ll see you soon.”