There were other angels everywhere, and these were shining, blazing with holy fire, attracting all attention. These were the colleagues who were fighting the battles, their shouts and exertions and cheers ringing out as they clashed with their foe, drawing them off, fighting a real fight but leading them ever-so-subtly away from the target.
The great angel pierced the clamor quietly, unseen, shepherding the little car, turning left, turning right, now stopping, now starting. Every uncertainty cost precious moments and it was his task to smooth the way. To smooth the way, and to conceal.
“So are there any blind spots?” Agent Jackson conferred with two team leaders, balancing a hand-drawn diagram on a rock between them, shading his special light so it couldn’t be seen from five paces.
“No, sir.” One of the team leaders pushed his night-vision equipment atop his head and pointed at several spots on the diagram. “Perhaps here … or possibly here. But we scouted the entire house and saw wide-range motion-sensor lights covering pretty much every area.”
“Can we take them out without alerting the men inside?”
“No, sir. We’re just going to have to run for it across the no-man’s-land.”
“That will mean that the hostage takers will get to their captives before we get to the doors.”
The three men looked at each other. Finally one of the team leaders spoke up.
“I guess we’re just going to have to run really fast, sir.”
Agent Jackson stuffed the diagram into one of several cavernous pockets. He looked at his watch. “We have four minutes before the EAS broadcast. To your places. We’re a go on my mark.”
“Gulfstream 232, sorry for the delay.” The voice came crisp over the pilot’s headpiece. “You got three minutes to midnight, you sure you don’t want to wait on the New Year’s celebrations?”
“Negative, tower. On a schedule. What’s the holdup?”
“Unknown. We’ve got a temporary hold on air traffic out of Atlanta Hartsfield.”
“Just Hartsfield?” The pilot looked behind him and snapped his fingers to get the passengers’ attention. Jordan was at his side in an instant.
The pilot kept his voice even, speaking as much for Jordan’s benefit as the tower’s. “There’s just a hold on air traffic out of this airport?”
Jordan wheeled and hurried to a table in the main cabin where a laptop waited. He pecked furiously at the keys, transferring his attention between the laptop and the nearby television that was broadcasting “New Years’ Rockin’ Eve” to all the interested eyes on the plane.
The voice of the tower was still clear in the pilot’s ear. “Unknown, Gulf 232. Could be other area airports as well.”
“Waiting for permission to roll, tower.”
“Understood, Gulf 232. We’ll try to get you out of here quickly.”
The silence in the speeding van was broken only by the sound of Ronnie’s stifled tears.
Why she was crying and not Doug, she didn’t know. He sat directly behind her, his eyes red and weary. But the expression on his face was one she had never seen before. It was a look of complete surrender to the God that he clearly believed was worthy of such utter abandonment. It made no sense … and it broke her heart. She turned her head away, unable to stop her weeping.
Beside her, she felt Tiffany move closer and put an arm around her shoulders.
“It’ll be okay.” Her friend’s voice was soothing. “We’re not going to be blown to bits tonight. We’ll be okay.”
Ronnie kept her head turned away and whispered, “That’s not why I’m crying.”
“What is it, then?”
“It’s Doug’s family, Tiff! I just can’t bear—” She broke off, unable to continue.
Tiffany snuck a quick glance over her shoulder. “I don’t understand him. He looks so … detached about the whole thing.”
“How can you say that? Can’t you see what he’s going through?”
“Not really. He should’ve gone with those SWAT team guys right from the beginning. I don’t understand why he waited.”
“He said he felt like he had something he had to contribute, like he was supposed to stay.”
Tiffany removed her arm from Ronnie’s shoulders, her voice sad and quiet in the darkness. “I guess I just don’t buy it. I think he’s just deluded. And it may mean he never sees his family again.”
Up front, they heard the radio crackle. Agent McKendrick picked it up. “Yes!”
“We just got the signal. They’re in position.”
“Keep us informed.”
The radio clicked off. Ronnie turned and watched Doug continue to stare straight ahead, that look—that look on his face. Her lips started trembling and she bowed her head, fresh tears coming fast, trying to think how this should be done.
“God.” She whispered in her mind. “God, if You’re up there. Please—please do something. Help them save Doug’s wife … and kids … and the Woodwards. Please, God.” More tears. “Don’t let them die.”
Sherry watched the two men confer again, prepare to switch places again, watched Vance again test his bonds as soon as they were out of sight and quietly try to stand, lifting up the chair … again, with no success in getting free. His expression had grown intense, concentrated, almost fierce. She knew that he would not let them be shot without somehow trying to fight, even with a chair tied to his back.
Jo looked across and caught her eye, her face taut with strain, her lips moving in constant prayer.
Sherry’s eyes swiveled from her friends to the clock above the mantel-piece.
One minute.
Jordan stared at the laptop screen, his eyes taking on its eerie glow, swearing and muttering in an unearthly growl. He almost couldn’t breathe, couldn’t function, his being filled with a great and throbbing pain that would know only one release.
“It looks fine, but then why are they keeping us here? Why!”
He reached for his cell phone, hissing to himself, ignoring the strained looks between Tyson and the others. He clicked open his cell phone, then patted his pockets, looking for the number. It wasn’t worth waiting until later; he needed blood, something to lessen the weight of these interminable minutes. After they were done, he would watch the little signal load on the laptop, would watch the news unfold—the inevitable carnage—in all its shocking, gratifying detail.
The angel pulled up and hovered, shielding his charge from watchful eyes … including the mechanical eyes that surrounded the house.
He could not see his colleagues, but he knew they were there, surrounding the house, similarly shielded from the unearthly, hate-filled eyes inside. Off in the distance he could hear the sounds of the great battle being fought, but here—here it was dark, quiet, tense.
He watched as silent shapes began converging on the house from two sides, dark shadows flitting between trees and behind parked cars. Only moments … only moments …
And in an instant, he could feel the hand of the Master at work, moving all pieces smoothly into position. The angel felt a surge of holy power, of great trust, knowing that He had it all under His perfect control.
He shepherded his charge the last few feet, noting with satisfaction that the motion lights did not come on as she checked her little notepad one last time and lifted her hand to knock on the dark front door.
“Yes, sir.”
Sherry watched in horror as the man at the window received a phone call, listened briefly, and pulled a gun from his belt.
“Yes, sir.”
He walked away from the window and tapped his seated colleague on the shoulder, gesturing to the phone and then to the hostages. His voice was hard, unemotional.
“We’ll take care of it right now and meet the others back at the building.”
The seated henchman stood, stretching, lifting the heavy pistol from his lap.
“So it’s a go, then?”
“Yes.” The first man strode past the Woodwards and planted himself in the middle of
the room, raising the gun toward the sofa.
Sherry tried to shout, tried to stand, but suddenly the firmest pressure she had ever felt held her fast in place, frozen, without words.
The man pointed the gun straight at Genna.
Knock, knock!
For a fraction of a second, concentration was broken. The shot rang out, shattering a distant window. And suddenly Vance was there—shouting and charging, rearing up in his bonds and swinging his body and the chair like a battering ram at the man’s back.
The gun went flying, and the man turned to grapple with Vance, enraged and in pain, his henchman coming to his aid.
And suddenly the doors shattered. Bright lights—blinding lights—and men with guns came streaming through every door.
Sherry and the others screamed, cowering as the shots rang out, the two men falling, cursing, turning their guns on their attackers, Vance tangled in the middle of the melee, still tied in his chair.
And then, silence. A silence broken only by the terrified gasps of children and the sharp orders of hard-faced men in black, not yet ready to let down their guard.
“Search the house!”
“Any other gunmen here, ma’am?”
“Get a paramedic!”
Men surrounded them, cut their bonds, handed her terrified children into her arms. Jo cried out in relief as her husband was extricated from the pile, apparently unharmed, and rushed to embrace her and their son. There were two men on the floor: one broken and still; one being roughly hauled away.
And there was an unfamiliar woman cowering at the shattered front door, her hands slowly dropping from their protective position over her ears, a pocketbook askew on the doorstep. Her mouth opened and closed, unable to form any words.
Sherry stared at the source of the perfectly timed knock on the door. Holding her children close, she took a tremulous step forward, her voice disbelieving.
“Linda Hanover?”
Doug could hardly sit still as the van screeched to a halt amidst bright lights, throngs of spectators and emergency sirens piercing the night.
He had the door open before the van stopped moving, Agent McKendrick shouting after him to wait.
He didn’t wait. He ran up the busy lawn, pushing past the men in black, hearing McKendrick close behind shouting in a hoarse voice to let him through.
The door to his house was shattered, broken off its hinges, but he hardly noticed. The sound and chaos faded away, there were no more senses but sight, and all he could see was what was inside.
A young woman—a beautiful woman—was kneeling on the carpet, arms around two small children, stroking their hair, comforting them, turning their faces away from the chaos in the living room.
O God … He could hardly believe it, rushing forward. O God … thank You, thank You!
There were embraces then, embraces like he’d never known before and never wanted to end. Kisses and tears and small hands desperately clasping him, and the sweet beloved scent of his wife, pressed against him, his cheek resting on her hair. He knelt and held them all and breathed it in, unable to comprehend how he had been given back what he had so recently given up, wondering if he could ever love his heavenly Father more than he did at this moment.
Across the room, he dimly saw the Woodwards huddling, rocking and crying with each other, wiping their tears away. And to one side, a shaken woman, a stranger, her face anxious, watching the door. She caught his eye and smiled a little, but seemed to sense that he had no focus for anything but the world in his arms and turned back to the door.
Ronnie allowed a tall agent to lead her up the path toward the front door, her stomach twisting amid all the noise and confusion.
She hovered on the threshold, hardly able to believe the evidence. It was impossible … and yet, there it was. The shaking, weeping, joyful results of all of Doug’s prayers.
She put a shaking hand to her mouth, sudden tears blurring her vision.
It is real, isn’t it? You’re really there! It’s not just a story, not a fairy tale. Her mind grasped for the words her heart was crying out. O God … I want … I want …
“Ronnie?”
She turned, unable to see from the tears. But that voice—
“Ronnie!”
She felt the arms go around her and gasped, suddenly clasping, grasping, sobbing in her mother’s arms.
She was beyond asking how on earth her mother was here, beyond wondering at the tender change in this woman. She let her mother hold her like she’d always longed to be held as a little girl, allowed herself to weep unashamedly from love, from grief, from the unexplainable feeling that overwhelmed her.
The darkness receded, the dark corners of her soul clearing and lightening with the knowledge of what had to happen soon … very soon …
Caliel shot into the sky, his face alight! He blazed into the heavens, surrounded by rank upon rank of the heavenly host, their voices raised in such praise and thanks-giving that it seemed the very ends of the earth would echo.
And why not? The Ancient of Days had held out His scepter and death had been averted! In love and mercy and desperate care He had again—again!—moved heaven and earth to see His people set free, to save His little ones from the wiles of the enemy and the consequences of willful sin.
Caliel looked southward, watching with satisfaction as an airport scene unfolded almost as an afterthought. He watched as a raging beast was taken into custody, his lustful force unspent, unsatisfied, reduced to insignificance—at least for now—by the blazing holiness of the One who had orchestrated every step.
There had been not one lost! Not a one! Would the Lord’s fickle children grasp what had been done for them this night? Would the talk shows proclaim the miracle … or the great detective work? Would they listen to Doug’s stories or would his earnest calls toward Jesus fall on deaf ears? Would the news clips with their twenty-second sound bites broadcast his faith?
Every fiber of Caliel’s being rejoiced with honor and love and adoration, joining the heavenly chorus that ascended to the Throne. He stood side by side with Loriel, his comrades, feeling—with intense thrill—the Almighty’s pleasure in the work that they, too, had done.
He sensed the Father’s tender gaze as He looked upon a beloved child. A little lamb taking shaky newborn steps, tottering, running into the fold. A beloved little lamb who was no longer … no longer lost.
SIXTY-FOUR
Ronnie held her breath and felt the water close over her head, felt her body immersed in it, felt the weightlessness, the peace, the silence.
And then she was up, the cheering and clapping ringing in her ears, the water of new life streaming from her hair, her face … coming up clean.
The lights of the church shone through her water-dropped eyes like stars, their halos sparkling with myriad colors. But no—those were people. People she knew, standing, cheering up at her, clapping, their figures blurry with the water and her tears. Her mom … Doug and Sherry … Jo and Vance … shining like stars. Tiffany, smiling politely, clapped beside them, not understanding—not yet—the piercing love of the Savior.
She looked to the heavens and felt those loving arms again wrapped around her, those arms that would never abandon nor forsake her. She looked to the heavens, to her Abba Father, a smile in her eyes and one word filling her mind. Filling her, for the first time, with great joy.
“Daddy.”
DISCUSSION GUIDE
What did you think of Ronnie? How did you view her at the beginning, middle, and end of the story? If you had met Ronnie halfway through the story, when she was already an exotic dancer, would you have viewed her differently?
How should Christians interact with someone living a sinful, even depraved, lifestyle? If that person is willfully sinning, does it matter how they got there? Does it make a difference whether the person in question is a believer or a nonbeliever?
What did you think of Doug? Did you view him differently once you saw that he was ashamed of his sin and f
elt unable to stop? Do you believe that people can be addicted to sex, the same way that people can be addicted to alcohol, drugs, or gambling, or is it just willful sin?
What did you think of Sherry? How did you view the way she interacted with Doug before she knew of his problem? Although a person bears the responsibility for his or her own behavior, are there things the person’s spouse can do to either exacerbate or improve that behavior?
Consider the spiritual element of the story. Do you believe that there is a spiritual reality beyond what we can see, with angels and demons interacting behind the scenes?
Is there a spiritual analogy to the terrorists’ use of Ronnie and Doug as pawns in their dark plot? What spiritual parallels do you see in how the enemy of our souls might operate, and how we might react?
How might you adopt the message of unconditional, nonjudgmental love to how you live your own life, and how you and your church interact with those outside the church?
For married readers: how might the marriage-related messages of the story help you in your own marriage?
THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY
Because of the importance and sensitivity of the issues raised in this book, I believe it is important to explain the story behind the story, to provide encouragement and resources for those who want to do further investigation.
Before I began this book, I had never given much thought to the sex industry, believing—as many of us do—that it was not touching me or my community personally. It just didn’t seem to intersect my suburban, comfortable life in any way. What I didn’t realize was that this industry impacts all of us in both subtle and pervasive ways, whether we are aware of it or not.
Further, although I knew that Jesus befriended prostitutes and others ostracized by society, I could never (to my shame) imagine myself doing the same. Now, after a year of research and writing, I count a number of former strippers as dear friends. And I realize that even in the depths of their entrapment in that life, they were normal people caught in an abnormal situation. That is not to excuse sin, but when we recognize that everyone has a story, it is much easier to look on them and love them as a person, rather than focusing solely on their behavior.
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