buses angled into the roundabout of the hotel behind the blinking lights and sirens of the California Highway Patrol escort. Two hundred or so fans were already yelling and jockeying for position behind the roped-off barricade near the doors.
As the players bounded down the bus stairs one by one, the fans screamed even louder. The PR department surrounded Riley and Coach Burton and shielded them through the doors of the hotel. As they entered, Riley spotted a guy saying, “Oh, come on, Covington. I came all the way from El Paso. Will you . . . ?”
Riley thought, Nice try, bud, but I can spot a seller from a mile away. At first, Riley had found it tough to tell the true fans from the memorabilia peddlers. After a while they become easier to spot with their five footballs to sign or their stack of glossies and ready black Sharpie.
As Riley cruised through the lobby, Taylor caught up with him to let him know PFL Network and NBC wanted interviews. “Robert, give me some time. I want to go see what happened in Minneapolis and then relax for a while. Come get me at six.”
Riley turned, grabbed an envelope, and looked inside for his key. The fans’ well-wishing screams turned to creative curses as he rounded the corner and quickly headed for the elevator. Riley knew that many in the disgruntled crowd would stay several more hours before they dispersed, hoping they might still get a glimpse of one of their favorite players.
The players relaxed in their rooms until about 6:00, when they made their way down to the ballroom level and jumped into a private buffet line.
The talk in line and at the tables was split between the attack on the Mall of America and the day’s college football scores. Rather than showing news updates from Minnesota, the large TV in the room was tuned to ESPN, which was airing the end of the University of Hawaii’s surprise upset over Notre Dame.
While Riley ate, he fielded questions from Garrett Widnall and Travis Marshall, who both wanted a military perspective on what had happened at the mall and what America’s response should be.
After an excellent meal of filet mignon, fried chicken, various pastas, and a massive salad bar, the players began filtering out to their position meetings. The coaching staff used these smaller group times to make sure every man knew his assignment.
A special teams meeting followed. Special teams was the black sheep of the team. It was an unspoken but well-known fact that the special teams players’ primary responsibility was simply to not mess anything up.
Immediately after the special teams meeting, the offense and defense gathered separately to finalize the game plan. Finally, the entire team met for Coach Burton’s pep talk. Then it was off to their respective rooms—no shared rooms for the Colorado Mustangs—until pregame curfew at 11:15 p.m. There wasn’t a lot of fooling around or banter by this time. The pressure had already begun to mount in anticipation of a very important game against a bitter division rival.
Chapter 8
Saturday, December 20
CTD North Central Division Headquarters
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Jim Hicks entered Interrogation Room 3 and saw Abdel al-Hasani sitting at a stainless steel table on a stainless steel chair. The man was shirtless, his left side heavily bandaged. His left hand was covered in surgical tape. A handcuff just above the bandages was connected to a medium-gauge chain that slipped down through a hole drilled into the surface of the table and came back up through an identical hole eighteen inches to the right of the first, connecting to a cuff on his right wrist. The only piece of furniture that was not bolted to the floor was a second chair, which Hicks now sat in.
Hicks placed his knife on the table just out of Abdel’s reach and said, “Your brother was a foolish man.”
Abdel’s eyes slowly lifted to Hicks’s, then slipped back down.
The look was not what Hicks had expected. He prided himself on being able
As the players bounded down the bus stairs one by one, the fans screamed even louder. The PR department surrounded Riley and Coach Burton and shielded them through the doors of the hotel. As they entered, Riley spotted a guy saying, “Oh, come on, Covington. I came all the way from El Paso. Will you . . . ?”
Riley thought, Nice try, bud, but I can spot a seller from a mile away. At first, Riley had found it tough to tell the true fans from the memorabilia peddlers. After a while they become easier to spot with their five footballs to sign or their stack of glossies and ready black Sharpie.
As Riley cruised through the lobby, Taylor caught up with him to let him know PFL Network and NBC wanted interviews. “Robert, give me some time. I want to go see what happened in Minneapolis and then relax for a while. Come get me at six.”
Riley turned, grabbed an envelope, and looked inside for his key. The fans’ well-wishing screams turned to creative curses as he rounded the corner and quickly headed for the elevator. Riley knew that many in the disgruntled crowd would stay several more hours before they dispersed, hoping they might still get a glimpse of one of their favorite players.
The players relaxed in their rooms until about 6:00, when they made their way down to the ballroom level and jumped into a private buffet line.
The talk in line and at the tables was split between the attack on the Mall of America and the day’s college football scores. Rather than showing news updates from Minnesota, the large TV in the room was tuned to ESPN, which was airing the end of the University of Hawaii’s surprise upset over Notre Dame.
While Riley ate, he fielded questions from Garrett Widnall and Travis Marshall, who both wanted a military perspective on what had happened at the mall and what America’s response should be.
After an excellent meal of filet mignon, fried chicken, various pastas, and a massive salad bar, the players began filtering out to their position meetings. The coaching staff used these smaller group times to make sure every man knew his assignment.
A special teams meeting followed. Special teams was the black sheep of the team. It was an unspoken but well-known fact that the special teams players’ primary responsibility was simply to not mess anything up.
Immediately after the special teams meeting, the offense and defense gathered separately to finalize the game plan. Finally, the entire team met for Coach Burton’s pep talk. Then it was off to their respective rooms—no shared rooms for the Colorado Mustangs—until pregame curfew at 11:15 p.m. There wasn’t a lot of fooling around or banter by this time. The pressure had already begun to mount in anticipation of a very important game against a bitter division rival.
Chapter 8
Saturday, December 20
CTD North Central Division Headquarters
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Jim Hicks entered Interrogation Room 3 and saw Abdel al-Hasani sitting at a stainless steel table on a stainless steel chair. The man was shirtless, his left side heavily bandaged. His left hand was covered in surgical tape. A handcuff just above the bandages was connected to a medium-gauge chain that slipped down through a hole drilled into the surface of the table and came back up through an identical hole eighteen inches to the right of the first, connecting to a cuff on his right wrist. The only piece of furniture that was not bolted to the floor was a second chair, which Hicks now sat in.
Hicks placed his knife on the table just out of Abdel’s reach and said, “Your brother was a foolish man.”
Abdel’s eyes slowly lifted to Hicks’s, then slipped back down.
The look was not what Hicks had expected. He prided himself on being able
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