Search me Lord and see if there be any crooked way in me. He thought of Sly and Harvey, and he held no unforgiveness. He even tried to make things right with both of them, and was comforted by Psalm 31:14–15:
But as for me, I trust in Thee, O Lord, I say, ‘Thou art my God.’ My times are in Thy hand…
Zeke smelled the wonderful coffee percolating. He poured a cup in his favorite mug and called Abby.
“Good morning,” said Zeke.
“Good morning,” said Abby.
“I’m going to head over to Langley in about an hour,” said Zeke. “Do you want me to pick you up?”
“No, I’m at work,” said Abby. “I’ll meet you there.”
Zeke attended to his personal hygiene, got dressed, and then drove to Langley. Rush hour was over, so the drive was not bad. He and Abby met in the parking lot and walked in together. They went through security. Agent Johnson was waiting for them in the lobby. The three of them went directly upstairs to a SCIF.
“What have you guys got for me?” asked Agent Johnson.
“Abdul Muti Poya is basically a protest leader, a rally organizer with anti-establishment sympathizers,” said Abby. “He leads a group called the Four Point Front. He is an Afghani with relatives in Afghanistan and ties to the Taliban. He recently made a trip back to Afghanistan.”
“What Abby says is true,” said Zeke. “But he went to Afghanistan to get untraceable cash for weapons, not just to see relatives. He purchases weapons from Ronald Burch. Oh, another thing. Abdul’s cousin, Ahmad Khan Afghan, is in town visiting him. I tried to interview him, but I could not break through.”
“What do you mean, you couldn’t break through?” asked Agent Johnson.
“He had a demon, a very powerful demon guarding him. He wouldn’t let me ask Ahmad any questions. By the way, I still don’t have access to the TIDE and N-Dex databases,” said Zeke.
“Those databases are overrated. Don’t get me wrong. Your analysis from those databases has been excellent, Abby,” said Agent Johnson.
“I’d like to see some of that analysis,” said Zeke.
“Don’t worry about it, Zeke,” said Agent Johnson. “Let Abby and I take care of that. The databases depend on what other people put into them. You can only correlate information that they contain. Zeke, your gift gives us on-the-ground, real-time information. Abby, enter this new info from Zeke in the N-Dex database. You two are a great team.”
“Well, the great team is taking the day off and going to Williamsburg tomorrow,” said Zeke.
“You two enjoy yourselves and stay out of trouble. I’ll see you next week.”
Zeke got a good night’s sleep and arrived at Abby’s doorstep at 8:00 am sharp, but not before picking up some coffee and donuts for the long ride.
“I think we’ll take I-95 South,” said Zeke, as they began their drive from Silver Spring where Abby also lived. As Zeke grasped the steering wheel, Abby slid close to him and stroked his large muscular hands. Zeke smiled at her.
“Those are from my father and baling hay in the summer,” he said.
By the time they got to I-95 South, it was already starting to back up.
“Eight thirty am on a Saturday?” said Zeke. “Don’t these people ever sleep in?”
“It’s life in the DMV,” said Abby. “I had to contend with this when I trained at Quantico. It’s coming up in about twenty miles.”
Zeke turned on the radio and tuned to WJOP. He didn’t recognize the newscaster. They aired the second-string newscasters on the weekend. Weekly morning and evening drive times were coveted, and very competitive in the radio business, especially in the DMV.
Abby looked across I-95 at the northbound traffic. “No slugs today,” she said.
“What’s a slug?” asked Zeke.
“A slug is a carpooler. It’s a Washington, DC thang. Slugs, as they are called, are wannabe carpoolers looking for a ride to predefined agency stops in DC, lining up at designated slug stops off I-95.”
Temperatures and an overcast sky confirmed a weather report of snow. White salt streaks ran across the highway, a sure sign that the state and federal roads officials were preparing for snow.
“So, Zeke, how tall are you?”
“You don’t remember that from my SF-86?” quipped Zeke.
“I don’t make it a point to remember my applicants’ statistics,” replied Abby.
“I’m six feet tall, one hundred and ninety pounds.”
“You forgot to mention broad shoulders and intriguing dark blue eyes,” complimented Abby.
“Now I know that’s not on the SF-86,” said Zeke.
Abby snuggled up to Zeke and ran her index finger down his nose.
“You’ll do quite nicely.” Abby chuckled as she gave him a peck on the cheek.
“So, what’s this Christian thing all about?” asked Abby.
“Well, I was raised in the church,” said Zeke, “the Pentecostal church.”
“Is that the name of the church?” asked Abby.
“No, that refers to the type of church.”
“Oh, you mean denomination.”
“No, it’s not really a denomination. There are like two hundred Pentecostal denominations.”
“What do they believe?”
“They believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and in the Trinity and in the Bible. They are very evangelical. The big thing about the Pentecostal religion is that they are really big on promoting the gifts of the Holy Spirit, especially speaking in tongues and performing miracles and healing the sick. But that’s the church I grew up in. I’m not so convinced of all that now. I mean that I’m not convinced of the tongues and miracles and healings. I think those were gifts given to the apostles for the time of the early church as a sign that Christ had risen from the dead and His church was real. I believe in all the rest of it, though. But religion is not the important thing. Religion cannot save you. Neither can tongues or healing the sick or miracles. What’s important is that you repent and believe in Christ who is the Son of God.”
“But why do we need to repent?” asked Abby.
“Without repentance, we are at odds with God. We have all sinned. Christ is the only sinless one. When we repent and believe, Christ becomes the propitiation for our sin. We are forgiven and reconciled to God. That is what I believe and that is what I’ve done.”
“Wow,” said Abby. “I just went to church and tried to be a good person. I didn’t know I had to do all that.”
The drive down I-95 toward Richmond would lull a driver to sleep if not punctuated by feelings of terror as they go from eighty miles per hour to five miles per hour.
“Hey, we’re passing Quantico,” said Abby. “I learned to drive there during my Basic Field Training Course.”
“Well, I learned to drive in drivers ed after school,” replied Zeke.
“That’s not driving,” said Abby. “That’s just high schoolers getting their license. I completed the TEVOC course at Quantico.”
“What’s that?” asked Zeke.
“That’s a course in how to safely catch criminals and terrorists in high speed chases.”
Zeke knew Abby was an FBI Agent, but he thought she had just been a nosy office clerk who made her way into clearance investigations. He never thought of her as a real agent.
Suddenly, they heard screeching tires, a loud bam, the sound of crashing metal, and felt a heavy jolt as they were pushed forward. Zeke had left enough of a cushion between him and the next car so that he avoided plowing into it. The air bags had not deployed.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied. Neither of them had been injured. Zeke began to get out of the car when Abby reached over to pull him back in.
“No, Zeke,” she shouted. “I don’t think that was an accident.”
A man got out of the car and started walking toward the driver side of Zeke’s truck. He was tall and Middle Eastern.
“He’s got a gun,” shouted Abby. “Let
me drive.”
Zeke unbuckled his seatbelt and maneuvered into the back seat. Abby slid over into the driver’s seat. She rotated the steering wheel to the left and punched the accelerator pulling the truck from the left lane onto the left shoulder barely missing the driver approaching on foot. Fortunately, the other driver’s car was too damaged for him to pursue them. She sped down the shoulder for three or four miles until she approached a Virginia State Trooper along the side of the road. She waited for the officer to approach the car.
“What do you think you’re doing?” asked Officer Jenkins. “Driver’s license and registration, please.”
Abby gave him her license and then reached into the glove compartment for the registration. After she gave him the registration, she pulled out her badge and showed it to him.
“FBI,” said the officer.
Abby proceeded to explain to the officer that someone had been following them and then purposely rear-ended them. Then, the driver approached their truck with an unconcealed gun.
“Virginia is an open-carry state,” said the officer.
“Yes, I know,” said Abby.
“Where did it happen?” asked Officer Jenkins.
“About four miles back,” replied Abby.
“Are you guys OK?”
“Yes,” said Zeke.
“I’m writing a report,” said Jenkins. “After you leave me your cell numbers and home addresses on that, you can go. If you want any additional information on the case, just call the number on the report.”
“Thanks,” said Zeke.
Zeke got out of the truck and checked it for damage. There was only a little bit on the bumper. It sounded a lot worse. He got back in the truck on the passenger side. After Officer Jenkins handed Abby his report, they pulled ahead and merged into the line of traffic heading to Richmond.
As Zeke and Abby continued down the road, Zeke blurted out, “And I thought you were just a clerk.”
“So, only men can be real FBI agents?” asked Abby.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” said Zeke.
“Why, Joseph Black, I didn’t take you for a male chauvinist.”
Zeke shook his head and squeezed his eyes. Only his parents, relatives and friends back home called him that.
They finally hit the I-95/I-295 split. They took I-295 South around Richmond. It had started to snow lightly.
“Careful, Abby. This truck doesn’t handle all that well in snow.”
“That’s Agent Sorensen to you,” she said playfully.
“And you can call me Joseph. I like it when you call me Joseph.”
“Really?” she said. “I thought it would remind you of a part of your past that you would rather forget.”
“The high school bomb scare was a single incident. I’m not proud of it, but my childhood was so much more than that. I like where I came from. I like who I’ve become. I like who I am,” said Zeke.
Abby took her eyes off the road for a moment, blew Zeke a kiss, and then smiled.
They took I-295 South towards Rocky Mount, North Carolina which completed the eighty-five-mile trip to Richmond. They exited I-295 South onto I-64 East, a fifteen-mile stretch of road not nearly as crowded as I-95 South. Except for the occasional trooper, they could cruise along at a comfortable seventy mph even in a light snow. A temperate wind carried the snow to the pines lining both sides of the highway. Some of it made it to the road.
The fifteen mile stretch on I-64 East soon gave way to the last leg of the trip of thirty-eight miles on US-60.
After Abby and Zeke arrived at the Colonial Williamsburg Visitor Center, they parked and went in. Abby visited the gift shop while Zeke stopped at the Information Desk where he mapped out their plan for the rest of the day. Then, he went over to the ticket window where he noticed an evening Christmas tour at Busch Gardens. The Visitor Center ran specials for tourists to Busch Gardens. This time of year, Busch Gardens had a Christmas show that started before Thanksgiving and ran most of December. Zeke thought he would be remiss if he didn’t get tickets to this, and he thought Abby would like it. Afterward, he met Abby in the gift shop.
“We better get going,” said Zeke. It was twelve noon, and Zeke had a full day planned. “We’re going to walk over to Colonial Park. It’s about half a mile.”
“Can we get something to eat?” asked Abby.
“Certainly,” said Zeke. “There’s a couple of colonial-era restaurants in Colonial Park that I think you’ll find enchanting. Can you wait?”
“Sure,” said Abby. “Lead the way.”
They both had dressed in light coats, jeans, and sneakers which would be quite suitable for a day of walking. But they hadn’t figured on the snow which was lightly falling from the overcast sky.
They started over the bridge that led to the park along the partially paved trail. There were a few colonial placards that they stopped to read. It was colder than Zeke had anticipated, and he noticed that Abby was shivering. He offered to warm her up. She agreed. He took his light jacket and wrapped it around her. Then, he began rubbing her arms vigorously and finally pulled her close to him and held her until she stopped shivering.
“Feel better?” Zeke inquired.
“Yes, I do,” replied Abby. “Thank you.”
They decided to continue the journey with a slow jog to stay warm. They came off the trail and made a left onto North England Street. They continued to jog to Nicholson Street past the Market Square. When they arrived at the courthouse, Zeke asked a one of the villagers dressed in colonial garb how to get to Duke of Gloucester Street.
“You’re on it,” she said in plain English. He had expected some sort of Old English, thee’s and thou’s.
“Where is the King’s Arms Tavern?” inquired Zeke.
“At the end of Gloucester on the right,” said the maid. “But it’s closed today. The Shields Tavern is open and is next to it.” Still, no accent.
Zeke and Abby walked down the right side of Duke of Gloucester Street until they arrived at the Shield’s Tavern. The maître d’ dressed in colonial garb and standing on the front steps inquired whether they would be dining for lunch. Finally, a little colonial lingo.
“Yes,” said Zeke.
The maître d’ ushered them into the restaurant and seated them. The menu was not that impressive, but at least they could say they ate lunch in Old Colonial Williamsburg. Zeke ordered the pulled pork sandwich with the greasy fries and Diet Coke.
“Not much selection,” said Zeke.
Abby, showing a higher level of discipline, ordered the tomato basil soup and water. “You know, Zeke, there is no rule which says you have to order an entrée.”
“I know,” said Zeke, “but I always feel like I owe them and myself a meal.”
Zeke noticed the two black waiters, one male one female, dressed in colonial garb and serving the room of white customers. Maybe it was the unsophisticated Nebraska Cornhusker in him, but he could not help but wonder if they resented the stereotypical situation in which they found themselves. A generous tip would expunge any residual white guilt, despite the sub-par cuisine.
When they finished eating, they walked back up Duke of Gloucester Street. Hearing a clop-clop-clop, they turned to see two horses pulling an old enclosed coach manned by a properly dressed driver. The snow lightly falling, the chilly air, the fresh smell of pine joined with the colonial shops to hold a close-out sale on fall.
“Let’s go. We need to hurry,” said Zeke.
“Why?” asked Abby.
“You’ll see.”
The two went into their slow jog back to the visitor center. Zeke noticed a few more horse-drawn buggies. In the distance, Zeke observed a single horse pulling a buggy.
“Look over there. That horse is trotting.”
“It looks very elegant,” replied Abby.
“Trotting is the most natural gait for a standard-bred horse,” said Zeke. “You can always tell a trotter. It’s not just the elegant look. If you watch their legs,
you’ll see the front and back diagonal legs moving in the same direction at the same time. The diagonal legs are in sync with each other. That’s called trotting. It’s called a four-beat gait, as opposed to a two-beat gait which is a pacer. Some standard-bred horses are pacers. The legs on the same side move in the same direction at the same time. This produces a side to side motion which good sulky drivers take advantage of in a race by rocking the sulky cart side to side.”
“How do you know so much about this?” asked Abby.
“My grandad was a blacksmith who shoed horses. He used to take me to the races to watch the standard-bred trotters and pacers. He would hang out at the track. If a horse threw a shoe, Grandad was there to replace it.”
Zeke and Abby got back to the visitor’s center by about 4:30 in the afternoon. Zeke had planned to take Abby to the Christmas show at Busch Gardens a few miles up the road. By the time they got to Busch Gardens, it was about 5:00 pm and already getting dark. The darkness boded well for the Christmas lights which were out in full color.
“I love the evergreens with the white lights,” commented Abby.
“I like the blue lights,” said Zeke.
After they got into the park, they decided to take the gondola around the park. They waited in line until they were able to board. The gondola dropped them off in the park’s Germany exhibition. They strolled around the park for about thirty minutes hoping to see some authentic Christmas shops or unique Christmas shows. Zeke noticed the disappointment in Abby’s demeanor.
“You don’t like it?” asked Zeke.
“I’ve been here in the summer,” said Abby. “It seems like they just put a Christmas façade over the park and called it Christmas Town. At first, the different colored Christmas lights make it seem exciting, but after a while they grow empty and meaningless. They’re just colored lights.
Finally, Zeke spotted the show, Gloria, and they got in line. They went to the 6:00 pm performance. The show had an orchestra pit with an entire Christmas orchestra: an organ, violins, French horns, percussion, and woodwinds. The show created a worshipful, Christmas spirit in the hearts of the audience. When they came out of the show, they talked as they made the long walk toward the entrance of the park. sZeke knew that Abby was not enamored with the park, but he thought she enjoyed the Gloria show.
Soul Reader Series: Book1: Touch Enabled Page 16