by Andrew Huff
“Mr. Anar willingly chose to betray his countrymen and reveal their plan to me, a fact I trust the Federal Bureau of Investigation will consider in their treatment of him.”
“Authorities needed my assistance during the engagement in order to positively identify the suspects.”
“Officers from multiple organizations worked together to ensure the safety of this country’s citizens.”
“We owe them a great debt.”
She left details out, as before, but this time she considered it her duty to protect the identities of Eric and Guin. Memories of her two new friends brought a smile to Christine’s face. Eric promised to be in touch, though she didn’t think she would ever see him or Guin again. John mentioned that he would recommend Guin for his old boss’s job.
A broader smile forced Christine to open her mouth, and a quick, happy breath escaped. She believed his heart ached as much as hers over the days they were apart. There was a connection, and it grew only stronger as time passed.
Separating wasn’t their first choice, but Christine knew her obligation to the network meant flying back to New York. And John had other business to take care of back in Mechanicsville.
She still couldn’t believe the church had welcomed him back. He’d spent most of his time since the incident meeting with congregants in their homes. And a business meeting was scheduled at the church Thursday or Friday night—she couldn’t remember.
Her source for all the details stood tapping a toe on the sidewalk in front of Rural Grove as Christine pulled the rental car to a stop in an open space. Her smile didn’t fade as Lori greeted her with as much of a hug as the cast on her arm would allow.
“Oh, Lori, you look wonderful!” Christine said as she pressed in. The faint sound of a choir singing alongside musical accompaniment drifted into the air from the crack between the double wooden doors leading into the church.
“I think they’d have to break all my limbs to get me to stay down for any length of time,” Lori said with a laugh. “And you’ve looked beautiful in every single interview.”
Christine wrinkled her nose. “You didn’t watch them all.”
“What’s a gimpy old lady to do all day but binge watch her favorite reporter tell the biggest news story in a decade?”
“Well, I’m glad you’re doing better.”
“And I’m glad you’re here.”
“You’re going to need to tell me what happened. I didn’t think anyone would ever forgive John for what happened.”
Lori snorted. “Dear, for the most part, people can be really terrible. But every once in a while, a group of folks will demonstrate what it really means to follow Jesus. And when that happens, it can be powerful enough to change the world. They didn’t have to forgive John, even when he came and talked to us all. But they did anyway.”
Christine’s eyes moistened, and she bit her tongue to keep from breaking into a cry. The demonstration of character on the part of the people of Rural Grove proved to be the final push her spirit needed toward the story Lori had shared in the hospital.
Lori leaned in to look deep into Christine’s eyes and beamed. “Are you ready for more?”
Christine nodded and took Lori by the hand. Together, the two women walked through the double doors and into the back of the sanctuary. They took an open spot in a pew near the middle of the room as the choir finished their anthem and exited the loft. Gary Osborne left the stage and hugged John on his way to the podium.
John placed his notebook and Bible on the pulpit and looked up into the crowd, making eye contact with Christine immediately. For a brief second, they both just stared, then he smiled and continued smiling as he gazed into the eyes of every other person awaiting his words.
“This morning I’d like to talk to you about forgiveness. But not any forgiveness. The ultimate forgiveness God offers us in his Son, Jesus Christ. Turn with me in your Bibles …”
As John continued with his sermon, Christine’s heart overflowed with joy. There was no other place she would rather be. And she knew exactly what she planned to do when he finished.
Fewer than a hundred people would witness the salvation of Christine Lewis, and not one of them was going to stop it.
CHAPTER ONE
A BRISK WIND prompted Christine Lewis to draw her coat tighter as she exited the headquarters of the National American Broadcasting Channel and joined the herd of New York City natives and tourists mingling in the open-air plaza out front. Pushing past a group of senior citizens organizing a photo op in front of the network gift shop, she picked up her pace and trotted through the 49th Street crosswalk just as time expired on the pedestrian signal.
The plaza access street between 49th and 48th offered a quaint block length of traffic-free asphalt perfect for a pleasant lunchtime stroll, but her meeting with her cameraman, Mike, had run over and she didn’t want to be late for her clandestine meeting. If she missed the next B Sixth Avenue Express car arriving in six minutes, she would be.
Even as she marched toward the intersection, she couldn’t help but imagine any number of scenarios of how her resignation would impact the network. Most of her coworkers wouldn’t care. Her boss, Steven Jacobs, would be furious, but when wasn’t he when things didn’t go his way?
Janeen and Mike would want to come with her, but Christine didn’t expect United News Network to accept terms that included full-time jobs for best friends and amazing cameramen. Still, maybe the door would open. Someday. A pit formed in her stomach as she listened to imaginary Janeen’s reaction to the news. Christine pushed the emotional farewell from her mind and searched for a happier face to picture.
John.
But he wasn’t alone. She couldn’t think about her budding romance with John without also thinking about Lori Johnson, her “second mother.” Lori hadn’t insisted Christine call her “Mom.” Yet. Christine laughed to herself as she imagined the impending demand.
The smile on her face faded as she recalled the last time she’d been able to travel to Virginia to see them. How long had it been? A week? No, longer.
Three.
Christine pulled her hand from her jacket pocket, the phone secure in her grip. As she rounded the corner onto 48th, she swiped the screen open and quickly found John’s contact in video chat. It didn’t take long for the call to be accepted, and after a quick pause to load, the handsome, gentle face of John Cross appeared.
“Hey,” he said with a smile.
“Hi.” She returned the smile and allowed herself to enjoy the richness of his hazel eyes and the symmetry of his features. “Your hair’s gotten a little longer than you usually have it.”
“Yeah, I haven’t been able to get to the barber.” He ran his fingers through the waves of hair falling behind his ear. “Are you headed there now?”
“Yeah, on 48th, about to the station.”
“I’m glad you called. I’ve been praying all morning.”
Christine smiled more broadly. She and John talked often, but never often enough in her opinion. They’d argued many times over whose fault it was. It was mostly hers, though she acknowledged the 24/7 nature of ministry that also pulled John’s attention away from their relationship.
“Where are you?” she asked. Hearing about his day always helped make the distance seem shorter.
“St. Francis Hospital. Nick called this morning. Bri’s in delivery right now.”
“Oh my goodness!” Christine held a hand to her mouth. “That’s early. I hope everything is okay.”
“So far it looks like the little guy is just eager to come. Nick’s with her, I’ve just been in the waiting room … with both sets of parents.”
“That sounds … fun?”
John lowered his voice and winked. “Let’s just say I’ll have some great stories for my sermons. How do you feel?”
“Good, I guess. I don’t know how I should feel about the most important interview of my life.”
“You’re going to do great. Why wouldn’t the
biggest name in cable news want Christine Lewis on their team? They should’ve offered you anchor eight months ago.”
Rounding up, that made the hundredth time for the same compliment. And she doubted him every time he said it. Just because he thought she deserved the opportunity didn’t mean anyone else did. They pursued her, sure, but in this business one wrong conversation could spell doom.
The piercing blare of a truck horn caught her attention and Christine looked up to see the driver expressing his disagreement with the poor decision-making of a small sedan. She also noticed a larger than usual mob of pedestrians heading down the steps to the express subway station at 6th Avenue and 48th.
“John, I’ve got to go. Looks like the platform’s going to be busy and I don’t want to miss my train.”
“Call me after, if you can. Love you.”
She hated the hesitation she felt before she replied, “Love you too.” The video call ended, and she buried her phone back in her jacket pocket as she stepped into the line of people taking the stairs down.
They’d both used the “l-word” too soon in her opinion, though it came easy in the early weeks of their dating relationship. After the novelty wore off, it was apparent they’d rushed into a handful of the trappings of dating they both normally eschewed. Life-threatening situations tend to do that.
She pushed her thoughts on the subject out of her mind and used one of John’s techniques to focus her senses on the chaotic scene in front of her. A date with an ex-CIA officer tended to be anything but boring and predictable. Instead of movies or shopping, they drank coffee in between self-defense and surveillance lessons.
During her morning commutes prior to dating John, Christine never paid attention to her surroundings. But now she saw a detailed map of the station in her mind. Down the stairs, veer left, straight to the turnstiles, a quick left, then right down another flight of stairs to the platform.
With the layout pictured in her brain, she used her eyes and ears to surveil the crowd for possible obstacles. She weaved through the masses with the grace of a ballet dancer, avoiding a large family digging through pockets for fare passes, a small gathering of pedestrians admiring a busker drumming on empty rain barrels, and a lady with blue hair balancing an assortment of handbags in one hand and a cat carrier in the other.
Exactly why she rarely carried a bag anymore. Too much to deal with when trying to move fast.
She made it to the platform just as the B train rolled to a stop. She moved in sync with the rest of the crowd as they boarded, choosing the car farthest from the front.
As she settled into a hard orange plastic seat near the car’s center, the train pulled away from the platform. Christine checked her watch.
Right on time.
For the train as well as the crushing anxiety. The past eight months might as well have been eight years in the ever-changing landscape of national news. The attempted detonation of a chemical bomb in Washington, DC, was old news the second a juicier political scandal was exposed. Which overhyped crisis of the moment was it? Christine couldn’t recall.
Probably an “imminent threat to our democracy.” She imagined esteemed NABC anchor Daniel Meyers saying those exact words to open his nightly news program, though in her opinion it was more tabloid than news. Funny how experiencing a real imminent threat makes political posturing feel partisan and petty.
And her boss and work at NABC only made things worse, which was why she was headed to a meeting with the United News Network producers.
Christine drew slow, deep breaths and focused her mind on the car’s passengers. If she didn’t occupy her ride with mental exercises, she’d only think of the many ways she was certain to bomb the interview. She scanned the crowded car to pick out interesting subjects.
Across from her sat a young adult female, Asian features, dressed in chic leggings and boots, her head buried in her phone.
An African American male, slightly younger, with long hair and baggy clothes, braced himself upright against a stanchion connecting the floor to the ceiling. Even though his eyes were closed, he grinned from ear to ear as he subtly air-drummed to whatever was piped into his bulky but fashionable headphones.
She scanned the remaining passengers, noting small details until her eyes settled on a young adult male at the front end of the car. A drop of sweat left a shiny trail of moisture down the side of his face. He licked his lips more than once and kept his eyes focused on the floor.
Christine sat straighter and studied him further. His complexion was dark, but more from a tan than ethnicity, his frayed hair retreated from his forehead, and he wore a large faded-blue jacket. His left knee trembled, and he kept trying to bury his hands farther than they could go into the jacket’s pockets.
The jacket. His thin neck looked silly protruding from it. He appeared to be more of a medium build in contrast to the likely extralarge size of the jacket. His abdomen, though, filled it out.
He fit a profile, she just didn’t remember which one. And yet it nagged at her. She knew she’d heard those characteristics in connection to something before. She focused on everything John taught her. Nothing. She dug further, before John, before the kidnapping. But not much before. During her time as a foreign correspondent. Time she spent with …
The explosive ordinance disposal unit stationed in Afghanistan.
Christine forced back an audible gasp. She took more deep breaths to ease the increased fluttering in her chest. Her planned route to the UNN building faded into the dark recesses of her mind as she considered her startling new reality.
A suicide bomber rode the 11:54 B Sixth Avenue Express heading deep into New York City.