The Lights of Tenth Street

by Shaunti Feldhahn

  That and the surprising support of their home group. It had been so hard to confess—in general terms—what he and Sherry were going through. But after that astonishing church service when they felt moved to stand up and support their pastor, it somehow made it easier. They had little left to lose. And they had unexpectedly gained so much. Their home group had become a haven for them, a place of desperate honesty, a place where everyone knew all their stuff and loved and supported them anyway. Doug had never seen anything like it, and he was quite sure the church hadn’t either. Pastor Steven’s sermon that day had started an earthquake, and it seemed the rumblings were getting stronger with time.

  For the tenth time that day, he thanked God for surrounding him and his wife with such dedicated friends, and for helping him to stay pure. He’d had some mighty struggles, but the protections he and Sherry put in place had—to his surprise—really helped. With his Internet filtering software on all his computers—unbeknownst to his colleagues, he had even installed a copy at work—he could no longer access those awful sites. And since Sherry was now checking his credit card bill, he wouldn’t be able to pay for them even if he could. Amazing the pressure it took off, knowing former failing points were no longer an option!

  At times when he’d been tempted to get around the system—to sneak into a bookstore on his lunch hour to buy a dirty magazine, or to take a quick detour to a shop selling X-rated videos—he’d called Eric or Pastor Steven. Even though he had to force himself to make the calls, once made, they brought such freedom. Knowing that his brothers knew his weakness and loved and supported him anyway had empowered him to somehow resist the temptations even more.

  He snapped open the cell phone as he stepped into the deli, noisy and crowded even at this hour. The voice mail answered and he left a quick message.

  “Hi, sweetheart. Okay, I’m at the deli. It’s … 2:35, and I’ll probably be here for twenty minutes. Then I have to run back for a meeting at 3:00. You can call me back, or since Mary is at her desk you can check with her if you’d like. I love you.”

  He hung up and clipped the phone back in its holster, thinking how mortifying it had been at first; reporting his whereabouts to his wife any time he left the office, allowing her to call and check with Mary to corroborate his whereabouts. It had been even more mortifying to bring Mary into his confidence and explain in vague terms why he needed her patience with Sherry’s repeated calls. But now, weeks later, it was no longer humiliating; it was just the way it was, the way it needed to be to reassure his precious wife. God was dealing with his pride, too, he realized. And that couldn’t be a bad thing. Once he gave up his pride it had somehow allowed Sherry to trust him just a little more, allowed her to make the repeated check-ins almost a game between them, her way of helping him without fear. And anything lighthearted was a boon these days.

  Doug gave his order at the deli counter, then took his sandwich, chips, and soda to one of the small tables that lined the shop, said a quick prayer and thankfully dug in.

  He had to admit his constant check-ins provided him very little leeway, which had helped in several moments of weakness. He was sure that, if he had wanted to, he could have figured out a way around the system, could have still found a way to sneak around.

  But he didn’t want to. He was being healed, was feeling freedom for the first time in his adult life. The last thing he wanted was to provide the enemy a new foothold. He knew if he even cracked the door the tiniest bit, that could be enough.

  The phone at his belt vibrated—there was no way to hear a ring in here—and he opened it without looking at the readout.

  “Sherry?”

  There was a pause. “No, Doug. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Sorry, Jordan. I was expecting a call from my wife.”

  “Ah. Before the meeting at three, can you check your calendar and make sure you’re available for a get-together next Saturday with our new client?”

  “Saturday? I’m sorry, I need to keep that free—”

  “I guess I wasn’t clear, Doug. I need you to be there. I just needed to make sure you weren’t planning to be out of town.”

  “Maybe I should go out of town.” Doug sighed. “Saturday is family day, chief, you know that.”

  “Not this weekend. Just check and make sure you have it on your calendar. We’ll need to confirm with the new client at the three o’clock meeting.”

  Before Doug could respond, the line went dead. He polished off his sandwich with no further enjoyment and hurried back to the office. Mary caught him at the door.

  “Did Jordan find you?”

  Despite himself, Doug made a face and Mary suppressed a giggle.

  “Yes, he did. Something about a get-together next Saturday?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Do me a favor. I couldn’t get ahold of Sherry. Would you keep trying her while I’m in the meeting and explain the situation? We weren’t planning on being out of town, which seemed to be the only excuse Jordan would accept. I guess I’m hoping she has something scheduled that we just can’t get out of. Buzz my cell phone to let me know. Just leave a text message.”

  The new client wrapped up his introduction and looked around the small conference table with a self-satisfied air. He pointed at several graphics on the conference screen behind him.

  “So you see how the production triangle fits together—we provide the digitizing and production technology that allows a signal to be sent and received, our clients provide the content to be broadcast, and our partners provide the satellite space. Since you geniuses have the capability to link diverse systems, we need you to develop the protocols for linking the triangle—linking our hardware, their content, and the software necessary to actually complete a satellite broadcast.”

  Doug raised a finger. “So it sounds like your ultimate purpose is to be a one-stop shop for anyone looking to get content from point-to-point via satellite broadcast. Like what sort of content—television shows?”

  “Like anything you would want or need to be broadcast by satellite, which these days is almost anything. It doesn’t have to just be television signals. It can be anything from a television commercial to a sophisticated code that will remotely operate robotic hardware. It really doesn’t matter what sort of signal it is.”

  Doug’s phone vibrated at his waist, and as another person in the meeting asked a question, he took a surreptitious glance at the readout.

  Wife says, “If you have to, you have to. I’ll take the kids to White Water that day.”

  Doug sighed, though he could hardly blame Sherry for going ahead and scheduling the outing without him, given how unpredictable his work schedule was at times.

  Twenty minutes later, Jordan and his new client stood and shook hands like the old friends they apparently were.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time for the opportunity to do a deal with you all,” Jordan said, “and this looks like a good fit. We’ll send you a package in the next few days. In the meantime, we’re all on for the yacht party Saturday, if you and your partners are still able to join us.”

  The client’s face lit up. “Ah, Saturday. I’ve been looking forward to it. You took one of my partners to a party like this before, not long ago, and Wade hasn’t stopped talking about it yet. Wade said—”

  “Everyone got it on your calendars?” the COO asked, looking around the room.

  Doug was watching the exuberance on the face of their new client. The man looked like a child who’d just been handed a bag of Halloween candy and couldn’t wait to dive in.

  Very odd, Doug thought. It was just a boat party. Probably a long, hot day of sitting on the deck of a cramped cruiser and pretending to enjoy the shallow company and conversation. He couldn’t wait until it was over.

  Tyson’s e-mail chimed. Another note from Proxy.

  He has agreed to come on the yacht. They must have plenty of cameras so nothing is missed Have Marco pick the right girl. Even if target is uncooperative, the pict
ures will be enough.

  We would like to keep this target operational, if at all possible. Your investigator indicated that he and wife are in marriage counseling. His secretary is also worried about him. Possibility exists that he told wife about his weakness. Therefore, Marco must deliver good additional leverage, soon.

  This would be so easy. Their investigator had uncovered further evidence that this target was desperately concerned about losing his wife and would do anything to keep her. Even if Marco’s girl failed, they would have plenty of pictures of the target lounging on the deck of a ship, surrounded by lovely young things wearing nothing much at all.

  FORTY-ONE

  Saturday dawned clear with a hint of rising warmth in the air. Ronnie Hanover checked an on-line weather site and learned it should get into the seventies. Yippee. At least her skin wouldn’t turn blue.

  Ronnie showered and shoved a bikini and a change of clothes into her carry bag. She stared at the stack of untouched textbooks on her floor. “Why did I agree to this? What was I thinking?”

  There was a quick knock on the door, and Tiffany poked her head into the room. “Ready to go?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Oh, stop grousing, girl! You sound like my mother. This’ll be fun!” Tiffany bounced into the room and picked up Ronnie’s carryall. “Good food, good drinks … and lots of cash for a short day’s work.”

  “I still don’t know why I agreed to it.”

  Ronnie allowed herself to be propelled out of the apartment and into Tiffany’s yellow convertible. She tried to relax as they sped toward their destination—a large, private lake an hour from Atlanta. Tiffany bubbled on about the men that would be there, who they were, what they did—how much money they had.

  Ronnie listened with half an ear. Maybe if she got sloshed it would be okay. And maybe she wouldn’t mind a sugar daddy, like Tiffany’s friend Wade. It would be better, in some ways, than the stage work—just one guy, rather than many. And she sure wouldn’t mind the perks Tiffany enjoyed: all the new clothes she could want, some great jewelry, and enough cash that she was thinking of buying a house. A nice house.

  Ronnie watched the trees speed by. But would it be worth it? What would she be giving up? She looked sideways at her friend. Had Tiffany given up anything by acceding to such a calculating relationship with Wade? Not really—she got what she wanted out of it, just like he did.

  For just a moment, she let her mind replay the rush of power she felt on stage. She wouldn’t mind having that in a relationship—having some guy wrapped around her little finger. It would be nice to be in control, to be the one in the driver’s seat for a change. Already, that was one thing she’d gained from her time on stage: confidence. She was in control of her own destiny. She’d never be a victim again.

  “You’d better hurry or you’ll be late.”

  Sherry Turner tried to shoo Doug out the door, but he pulled a jar out of the fridge and calmly began smearing grape jelly on top of the peanut butter on three slices of bread.

  “Not until I finish helping you get ready for White Water. The cooler’s almost packed, so you should be able to avoid the highway robbery of the snack bars at the park.”

  He heard a squeal and glanced over his shoulder to where their two little banshees were chasing each other around the kitchen table, hardly able to endure the wait.

  “But you’ll miss your boat,” Sherry said. “They’ll set off without you.”

  “I guess I’m hoping that might happen and I can still go to the park with you guys.”

  Sherry snorted. “More likely, they’ll wait for you, and Jordan will make your life miserable for holding everyone else up.”

  “Yeah.” Doug finished wrapping the last sandwich. “Well, I guess I’m done anyway. I’ll have my cell phone if you need me.”

  “Okay.” Sherry hesitated, then gave Doug a hug, the second one that morning. “Have fun.”

  “I’ll try. But I’d have a lot more fun being with you.”

  Doug gave her and the kids a quick kiss and left the house before Sherry could see the redness in his eyes. Those hugs this morning had been like water to his desperate thirst.

  He drove away thanking God and praying for his family, for himself, for the Lord’s continued protection and grace. He kept the car radio off The only sound was the humming of the engine and his quiet prayers. It was an hour drive to the lake, and he knew that this morning—like so many others recently—he could fill it entirely with fellowship with his Lord.

  A few minutes later, the minivan backed out of the driveway and headed toward the highway.

  The giant figure following close behind could see the van practically rocking with the exuberant excitement of the two children. When the family reached their destination, Caliel watched as the kids went running through the payment booths and into the delights of the day. Sherry kept trying to keep Genna by the hand, but she was skipping and bouncing, and Sherry finally let her run ahead with Brandon. Caliel kept an eye on them—and on the watchful dark forces that loitered here and there—as he called his team together and conferred about their mandate.

  Every face was grave. This would be a painful assignment, but the order had come from the Lord of Hosts. Caliel watched Genna run back to her mother, and tug on her hand, pulling her along, saying something about a new ride, a new feature of the water park. The timing was coming soon, too soon.

  They would carry out their orders without question, trusting in the ultimate plan and purpose of the Almighty. The Heavenly Father loved this little family so much. Despite what this day might look like to them, His heart for them was always and only good. Caliel prayed that the family would not stumble because of it, and that they would at some point be allowed to understand the reason for this day.

  Caliel and his team sent forth a simple prayer for guidance, and for the good purposes of the Father to prevail, and then broke ranks, heading to their assigned tasks. One angel hastened away to rendezvous with others of their unit. The timing had to be perfect.

  Tiffany parked in the marinas lot and nodded at the men standing on the quay, talking.

  “There you go, Ronnie! One of those has your name on it.”

  Ronnie peered through the windshield. “Oh, goodie.”

  Tiffany pushed her Gucci sunglasses up on her nose and grinned at her friend as they walked toward the group.

  “Ready?”

  The men caught sight of them and one of them stepped forward. Tiffany squealed and ran forward. She kissed him long and hard, and the man fairly smirked with pride when he looked up, keeping Tiffany close by his side.

  “Wade, you remember Macy, don’t you?” Tiffany said.

  “Of course.” He extended a hand, which Ronnie shook.

  As some of the other dancers arrived, Wade made the introductions around to the other men.

  How bizarre, Ronnie thought, to be politely shaking hands with someone you’re going to undress in front of in a few minutes. She shook herself and put on a polite smile. “So, Wade, are these men your colleagues?”

  “Partners. Not necessarily colleagues, but partners. Some work with me, but most belong to companies that work with us to produce our broadcast marketing materials—commercials, corporate films, that sort of thing. Several of these guys are key players in producing our next Super Bowl commercial.”

  “Ah.”

  Ronnie started to say something about the advertising contract Tiffany had cajoled him into, but caught her roommates dagger glance and thought better of it.

  A sports car pulled up, sending gravel flying, and Marco stepped out. He strode up and said hello, then gestured for everyone to get onboard.

  “Is everyone here?”

  One of the men said they were still waiting for a colleague. No one seemed to mind the delay. Ronnie watched as Marco huddled with the man who had spoken, curious that they seemed to know each other well. She’d never seen him in the club, that she could recall. Marco beckoned them ont
o the boat, and they disappeared down an interior passageway.

  A well-dressed young man wearing tailored khakis and an expensive shirt appeared at Ronnie’s elbow, and she allowed him to help her onto the boat. He looked ready to talk, but she gave him a sweet smile and asked if he knew where the restrooms were located. He pointed around a few corners.

  She found the restroom—the “head,” the man had called it—with little trouble. She was touching up her makeup and preparing to go join the party when she heard voices approaching down the little corridor outside. They stopped for a moment well shy of the door, but Ronnie could hear them as if they were standing in the same room.

  “Well, he promised he’d be here, and he’s not the type to break his word.”

  The second voice was Marco’s. “I hope so. We have the perfect girl with us today. He’s married and she’s not the type to be a marriage breaker, so he’ll probably have his guard down around her more than any of the other girls. That will be the easiest means. She’s still new and untested—she’s never done a party like this before—but we can’t wait any longer. We’ll see how she does.”

  What on earth were they talking about?

  Ronnie thought about barging out into the hallway and asking, but thought better of it.

  The men moved on down the hall. Ronnie waited a few minutes, then slipped out of the bathroom and found her way back to the party by another route.

  Five minutes later, Marco found her. He took her arm, and for just a flash Ronnie felt a strange terror overtake her, a certainty that he knew she’d overheard him and that he would kill her as a result.