by Nancy Mehl
“Sounds good.”
A waitress came up and took Ben’s drink order. Needing something to help calm him down, he ordered a whiskey sour. He knew his father’s aversion to alcohol, but Ben really needed a drink.
“So you have had a busy time lately, my son,” Ali said with a smile.
Ben nervously cleared his throat. “Things started out fine, and then they just went . . . wrong. I tried to fix it, but I made a lot of stupid mistakes. I’m so sorry, Father. I let you down.”
Ali waved his hand at him. “I am not upset with you. You got inside the U.S. Marshals Office, set the bomb. It wasn’t your fault Richard Batterson saw your face. You did your best to take care of that. It was the right thing to do. Of course, that did not go well either, did it?”
Ben leaned in so he could speak softly. “I injected him with enough epinephrine to kill an elephant. I can’t believe he lived through it. Really, Father, I did everything I thought you would want me to do. I tried to protect you.” He sighed again. “Batterson just wouldn’t die.”
“And when you found that Batterson had not called the FBI, you decided to fix this too?”
Ben swallowed hard. He realized now that he’d made a huge mistake, although at the time he couldn’t figure out any other way to handle things. He blamed it on the drugs. Under normal circumstances, he would have worked diligently to come up with another option. “Yes, I . . . I was afraid that if the reporter spent too much time with the Marshals, she would spill the beans. I was just trying to get her on the road. On her way to Washington. I realize now that I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Al-Saud picked up his iced tea and swirled it around in the glass. He took a slow sip while Ben drew a deep breath. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Al-Saud wanted him dead. He was actually thankful for the Marshals—for their offer of a new life. He still wasn’t sure why his father had agreed to this meeting. Ben had prayed to Allah for another chance, and soon afterward Ali called him. After he got his father to say the things the Marshals wanted to hear, he would walk out of the restaurant, free from Ali forever.
“But the men you hired to pick up the reporter let her and the deputies get away, did they not?”
“Yes,” Ben acknowledged. “But I called one of my operatives, and he picked them up and took them to the warehouse. Everything would have been okay if they hadn’t found us.” He reached for his whiskey sour. His nerves were on edge. He just wanted this meeting to be over.
“You were discovered because Martin Avery wasn’t dead after all.”
Al-Saud said this as a statement, not as a question. Ben began to get irritated. Why was his father rehashing all his mistakes? Ben needed Ali to admit to his part in what happened, to say something the FBI could use to lock Ali Al-Saud away forever. The truth was, Ben didn’t need to put up with Ali’s garbage anymore. That knowledge made him momentarily braver. “I’m sorry I told you he was dead. I didn’t expect to hear from him ever again.”
Clearing his throat, he pressed on. “Look, Father, I’m truly sorry for my mistakes, but I did the best I could. If you wanted it done better, maybe you should have done it yourself.” As soon as the words escaped his lips, he was sorry. Even if Al-Saud was going down, Ben still had respect for the man. After all, he was his father. “I only wanted to serve you well. It seems I’ve failed you more than once.”
Ali acted as if he hadn’t heard him. “I am surprised you got away from the FBI. How did you escape?”
Ben frowned at him. “I’ve already explained that while they were busy with the reporter in front of the FBI building, I managed to run away. They have no idea where I am.” He stopped talking when the waitress came by.
“Are you two gentlemen ready to order?” she asked.
“Give us a few more minutes, dear,” Ali said, his smile disarming. The waitress blushed and walked away.
Ben picked up his drink and took a couple of gulps. The warm rush of alcohol gave him courage. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “I did everything I could to follow your instructions,” he repeated quietly. “I’ve always tried to serve you with my best efforts. This time . . . well, I guess I didn’t count on how tough those Marshals would be.”
“You almost sound as if you admire them.”
“You know what?” Ben shrugged. “I think I do. They were determined to get the reporter to safety. No matter what. Even the threat of death didn’t discourage them.”
“And that is what I wanted from you,” Ali said. “But I do not think you gave me that kind of commitment, did you?”
Ben felt the tension from earlier return with a vengeance. He grabbed his glass and emptied it, then held up an index finger to get the waitress’s attention. When she looked his way, he lifted his empty glass.
She nodded and spoke to the bartender.
“You seem very thirsty today,” Ali said.
“This whole thing was . . . exhausting and discouraging. At least we got what we needed from Senator Warren.” Ben reached inside his jacket and pulled out the letter he’d picked up from the senator. “He left this for the FBI. It details everything, Father. How we kidnapped Martin Avery and the reporter’s sister. And how we threatened to kill Warren’s wife if he didn’t go along with your plans.”
“Actually, my son, I didn’t do any of that,” Ali said. “You did.”
“But everything I did was according to your instructions.”
“That may be true, but no one will ever know it.”
“I’ll never talk, and with our operatives dead, there’s no way to link you to anything. You’re perfectly safe, Father.”
The waitress approached their booth with Ben’s drink. She scooped up the other glass. “Are you ready to order now?”
Ali nodded. “Rib eye. Add a baked potato. Sour cream and butter.”
“Same for me,” Ben said. “Thank you.”
She left to put in their order. She was almost to the kitchen when Ali shook his head and swore under his breath.
“My son,” he said, “would you go and tell the waitress I also want an order of their grilled mushrooms?” He smiled. “It is the best way to eat steak. And please, if you would like them too, ask for two orders.”
“I’d be happy to.” Ben got up and went over to where the waitress had stopped to check on another table of customers. He told her they would like to add two orders of grilled mushrooms with their steaks.
“Sure,” she replied. “Not a problem.”
Ben thanked her and went back to the table.
“Thank you,” Ali said. “So you are certain no one suspects me of being involved in this kidnapping?”
“No. No one.” Ben picked up his fresh drink and almost downed it. “I would never allow you to be dragged into something like that.”
“Thank you, son,” Ali said.
Ben relaxed a bit more. It seemed everything was going to work out just fine. Now he had only to make it through dinner. After that . . .
“Ali Al-Saud, you’re under arrest. Put your hands where we can see them.”
Ben jumped at the sound of a voice behind him. He twisted in his seat to see two agents standing there, their guns drawn and pointed at his father.
“What . . . what are you doing?” Ben choked out. “You were supposed to wait until I left. Now he’ll know I talked to you.”
One of the agents, a man Ben knew as Agent Curtis, circled behind Ali, who held his hands up in surrender. “Stand up,” he ordered.
Ali, staring at Ben with a half smile, stood to his feet. Agent Curtis slapped handcuffs on him and nodded to three other agents, who rose from a table in the corner of the restaurant. Dressed in street clothes, they blended in with the other customers. Curtis handed Ali over to them.
Ali’s gaze never left Ben’s. “Perhaps you noticed that I do not look well,” he said. “I’ve found out too late that handling certain chemicals can be quite dangerous.” He laughed. “Who would believe that a weapon we intended to use against the devils in
this country would end my life instead? I suppose the Americans would call it karma.”
“I . . . I don’t understand,” Ben said.
“I am dying, my son. I am content to see my life end in prison. You see, I felt it was worth it to see justice done. And today I have accomplished that.”
“That’s enough, Al-Saud. Time to go,” one of the agents said.
As they led Al-Saud from the restaurant, Ben turned to Agent Curtis. “Now he knows I betrayed him. You promised you’d wait until I left before arresting him. I don’t care how sick he is—Ali Al-Saud can get to anyone he wants to. Anytime. Even in Witness Protection, I’m not safe.”
Ben wanted nothing more than to get out of the restaurant and go someplace where he could relax and forget about his father. He put a hand to his forehead and realized it was damp. He was sweating. Nerves.
The second agent, Doris Alvarez, sat down next to Ben. “Ben, Al-Saud put something in your drink while you were talking to the waitress. We tried to move in, but you drank it down before we could stop you.”
Ben’s breath caught in his throat. “You need to get me to the hospital.”
“Do you know what he might’ve used?” Doris asked.
“I . . . I’m not sure. It might be Polonium-210. He . . . he’s used it before.”
He saw Agent Alvarez look at her partner. “Come with us. We’ll get you to the hospital right away.”
Suddenly the deal he’d made with the FBI didn’t seem important anymore. Betray Al-Saud. Testify and go into Witness Protection. . . .
As Ben walked out of the restaurant with the agents, he was pretty sure he’d never make it to court. Although he wouldn’t feel the symptoms right away, when they came, they would be terrible. And he would die. The words of the Marshal from St. Louis whispered in his mind. “Somehow, someday, you’ll pay for what you’ve done.”
As Benyamin Mattan was rushed to the hospital, he cursed the Marshal and the god who had turned his back on him.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my Best Friend for the gift of writing. You’ve gotten me through every challenge, even when I couldn’t see a way. You’ve listened to me complain, all the time knowing You already had the answer. As you lead me through this journey, I pray I will always magnify You with every word I write. Thank you, Father, for loving me and never giving up on a child who lets you down almost every day. I love You more than any words I could ever write would express.
My thanks to retired U.S. Deputy Marshal Paul Anderson. I couldn’t have written these books without you. I’m so thankful to God for bringing you into my life. I hope we are friends forever.
To Officer Darin Hickey with the Training and Community Affairs Division in Cape Girardeau, Missouri: Thank you for always being happy to answer my questions. I appreciate you so much and am so thankful for your service to the people of Missouri.
The medical information in this book came from Dr. Leah Silver in Festus, Missouri. Finding a great doctor after moving from Wichita is such a blessing, and I am so thankful for you. Sharing a love of reading only makes it better! Thanks for becoming a “character” in Blind Betrayal. I hope I represented you well. God bless you.
My thanks to Elisabeth Baker, who actually suggested the title of this book. Great job, Elisabeth!
Thanks so much to my Inner Circle: Zac, Mary, Cheryl, Liz, JoJo, Shirley, Tammy, Bonnie, Lynne, Deanna, Breeze, Mary, Karla, Michelle, and Rhonda for your support.
As always, thank you to Raela Schoenherr for her excellent advice and support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nancy Mehl is the author of more than twenty-five books, including the ROAD TO KINGDOM and FINDING SANCTUARY series. She received the ACFW Mystery Book of the Year Award in 2009. She has a background in social work and is a member of ACFW. Nancy writes from her home in Missouri, where she lives with her husband, Norman, and their puggle, Watson. To learn more, visit NancyMehl.com.
Books by Nancy Mehl
FINDING SANCTUARY
Gathering Shadows
Deadly Echoes
Rising Darkness
ROAD TO KINGDOM
Inescapable
Unbreakable
Unforeseeable
DEFENDERS OF JUSTICE
Fatal Frost
Dark Deception
Blind Betrayal
Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook
Website: www.bethanyhouse.com
Facebook: Bethany House
Twitter: @Bethany House