by Tanya Stowe
Every moment and every step, God had been leading him to the life He meant him to have...just like his grandfather told him. The scripture was true.
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you...thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.
An expected end. This was his expected place. The one God had been leading him to, the life Jared had yearned for in his deepest soul...even when he hadn’t realized what that life was. But it was slipping through his fingers again.
Where do I go now, Lord? What do I do?
Jared waited in prayerful silence for his answers.
Slowly, he became conscious of sirens close by. So close and loud, Keri stirred.
Were the sirens in answer to his prayers?
Relief swept over Jared...a relief so strong it brought tears to his eyes. More of his granddad’s words echoed in his mind.
Sometimes God shows Himself in ways we don’t expect.
Jared could add to that now. And sometimes He shows Himself in the ways He’s needed. Thank You, Lord. Thank You.
Lights flashed through cracks in the boards. Gathering his strength, Jared pushed himself up to his elbow. He couldn’t move the boards with any force and hang on to Keri at the same time. He lay her carrier on the wooden step beside him. She stirred again, sensing she was no longer in someone’s arms. For the first time that night, her eyes opened. She blinked and puckered.
Jared shoved on the boards but they bounced back into place with a loud crack. Startled, Keri began to cry.
Jared’s first impulse was to shush her. Instead, he shoved on the boards again.
“Go ahead, baby. Cry! Cry loud. Let them know we’re here.”
With strength he didn’t have moments ago, he flung the boards back. They flew up and over. Jared sat up. Flashlights bounced over him, blinding him. He raised an arm to shield his face.
“There he is!”
Kopack’s voice. Jared sagged with relief then pulled a crying Keri out of the carrier and into his arms.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go get Mommy.”
* * *
Sassa and Chekhov traveled for a long while in silence, putting more miles between the truck and her loved ones. The farther they drove, the better Sassa felt. Still...her mind churned over one thought. When they were safely away, what would she do? She stopped at a main street.
“Turn right,” Chekhov commanded. He was going to take her far away, someplace where Jared could not find her.
Should she tell him she had an idea where Sam’s formula might be hidden? Would searching for the formula stall him long enough for Kopack and his agents to find Jared and Keri? Then Jared could point them toward the cemetery.
She had no way of knowing how far behind they were. The truck driver’s nod assured her he’d understood her whispered directions about Jared’s location. Kopack would find him. But would he be conscious and able to tell them where she was headed?
She couldn’t put off her decision for much longer.
Besides, a small part of her wanted to know if they had guessed right. Had Sam hidden the formula in Christopher’s headstone?
If the formula was there and she handed it over to Chekhov, he’d have no further use for her. Just like Sam and June, he’d end her life instantly.
Surely, Kopack and the police were not far behind. She’d heard the sirens and seen the lights. Maybe they would come in time.
Or not. Should she risk it?
Her thoughts washed back and forth.
Lord, what do I do?
The freeway on-ramp loomed in front of her. Chekhov ordered her onto it. The headlights of oncoming cars flashed by her with blinding numbness. She waited for the answers to her prayer. But nothing came. No new ideas. No comforting peace.
Miles passed. No new answer would come because she already knew the truth. Had known it from the minute she’d walked away from Jared and Keri at the old farmhouse.
She’d spent her life believing she depended on her loving friends and family to drag her out of her troubles. Then Jared came along and she’d relied on him. That’s what she believed, but reality hit her with the force of a slap.
All her loved ones had ever done for her was follow the Golden Rule. “Treat others as you’d like to be treated.” They never kept a scorecard of what she owed or asked to be paid back. They never chastised her for depending on them. Those were her words, her thoughts, not theirs.
All they had ever done was love her. But when someone loved her, she began to feel like she “owed” them something. Why?
Because after Erik she didn’t trust her judgment with people? Because she didn’t want to be hurt again? Or was it because she didn’t feel worthy of all the love showered on her?
The truth hit her in a wave. All of her adult life, she’d longed for independence, to stand on her own two feet, but she’d been independent all along. She was strong. She never waited. She made things happen. She confronted.
Jared tried to point that out to her but she’d danced away from the truth. Now, in what might be the last minutes of her life, she had to face it. She’d spent the last few weeks telling Jared how God loved him and yet, all these years, she’d forbidden herself to accept His loving forgiveness.
She had God’s forgiveness, she knew that. But she couldn’t forgive herself. So she’d hidden her sense of guilt behind a quest for independence.
The truth was, no matter how hard she tried, she’d never achieve that sense of independence because, deep in her heart, she didn’t feel she deserved it. If she went on like this, she’d spend her life in an endless quest for something she’d never reach.
She was trapped in her past just as much as Jared.
She should have let go of the guilt, taken a chance on life, accepted the gifts the Lord had given her...forgiveness, a wonderful family and a new love.
But now it was too late.
The numbness cleared. She saw the lights of the city and the signs over the freeway. Clarity came to her and a new resolve filled her. She couldn’t give up. She had to get back to Jared and Keri.
Please, Lord, let me live long enough to show him how much I love him...and how much You love me...love both of us.
Chekhov’s hand holding the gun had sagged almost to the seat beside her. His head had also drooped. His wound was taking its toll and he was growing weaker.
Slowly, barely moving, she slid her hand along the seat.
“Don’t bother. You’ll have a bullet in you long before you reach the gun and we would go careening off the freeway. Unless that’s your goal—for both of us to end our lives here. I assure you, my followers would carry on my work.”
Sassa gripped the wheel with grim reality. More than likely, he’d survive the crash and she wouldn’t. Chekhov seemed unstoppable. Bleeding, near death’s door, he still managed to intimidate.
A steel core of determination filled her and some of her sass returned. She punched the button to lower the window. “I’m merely trying to breathe. The stench in here is overwhelming.”
A wry smile slipped over his lips. “I wear the stench of man’s progress, Sassa.”
Hearing her name slip off his lips with the sibilance of a snake made her skin crawl.
She straightened in her seat. No way would she allow him to see her fear. He seemed to feed on it. Still...she couldn’t find a snappy comeback, but now was not the time for snappy comebacks. Now was the time to act.
She swallowed. “I might have an idea where Sam hid the formula.”
“You might have an idea?” He studied her from across the seat before shaking his head. “Your idea is just a stall tactic.”
The sign ahead of her pointed the way to the turnoff to the cemetery. She’d almost missed it. Even though Chekhov hadn’t yet given her permission, she jerked the steering wheel to the r
ight. The truck screeched across lanes of the freeway. Chekhov hit the door and bounced back...toward her, so close, it startled her. She was late hitting the brakes as they careened down the off-ramp.
Once he righted himself, he raised the gun higher. “You really do intend to die with me, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer. He was baiting her, trying to get a reaction through intimidation again. She wouldn’t allow it to happen. Steel-like resolve filled her. Sam once told her she had laserlike concentration and a will of iron. She needed them both now.
Gripping the wheel, she slammed the brakes hard. With one hand injured and the other holding the gun, Chekhov couldn’t break his fall. He slammed against the shoulder belt with a small grunt.
So...he did feel pain. Good to know.
“I’m warning you...”
Sassa ignored him. The light turned green. Two could play at the intimidation game. She jerked the steering wheel sharply and accelerated into the turn, sending him leaning her way again.
When Chekhov righted himself, he placed the gun against her temple.
“One more crazy move like that and my finger might accidentally pull the trigger.”
Sassa’s jaw tightened. He meant what he said. He was prepared to die, right here, right now.
But the weapon wavered. Even with the muzzle pressed against her temple, his hand trembled. He was growing weaker by the minute. If she could only...
The cemetery loomed ahead. “We’re here.”
Chekhov made a small sound. “We’ve searched this place several times and found nothing. You’re leading me on a useless chase.”
He pressed the gun harder against her temple. The light turned green but she didn’t move...dared not move with the gun against her temple and his trembling hand.
She swallowed hard. “This is where I think it might be. If it’s here, you’ll have no more use for me. If it’s not, then I’ll drive wherever you want me to go.”
For a long while, Chekhov didn’t respond. Sassa didn’t dare move even with her neck cricked awkwardly to the side. At last the gun drooped...not because Chekhov intended it to move but because his arm sagged. He couldn’t keep it stretched out any longer. Sassa closed her eyes and shifted her neck from side to side.
She was right. He was losing blood and growing weaker by the minute. He might not feel much pain but his body was shutting down. If only she could hold out...
“Take me there. If you’re lying...” Even his voice was weak.
But she knew what he meant to say. If she was wrong and the formula wasn’t in the headstone, it would be the last moment of her life.
Steel will or not, she began to tremble. The light changed to red, giving Sassa a momentary reprieve.
Chekhov raised the weapon one more time. “Are you stalling again?”
She swallowed. “I don’t think you want me to attract the attention of the police by running a red light.”
Her statement amused him and he chuckled. “I’ve beat the border patrol and the FBI. The police in this backwater town do not frighten me.”
The police in this backwater town are right behind you. I saw the lights of their vehicles.
Finally, a snappy comeback came to her but she dare not speak it out loud. Chekhov was far too unpredictable.
The light changed. She turned right and caught the next green light. All too soon, she was pulling into the drive of the cemetery.
A small, empty gatehouse sat just inside the entrance. She drove past it and the truck parked bedside it. The word Security written in black letters stood out on the white door of the vehicle. Their headlights flashed over the small truck but no one was inside.
Was the driver walking the grounds or asleep on the seat? Had the cemetery canceled the security service? Were the cameras even taping? Did Chekhov know about the cameras?
He had to know about the security. He said his people had searched the cemetery several times. Either Chekhov wasn’t worried about the guard or he didn’t care about being filmed because he didn’t take any preventative measures. Both options meant bad things for Sassa. Still, her gaze shot around the darkened area.
“Don’t waste your time looking. The security guards were scheduled to leave the cemetery the day after Sam’s funeral.”
Sassa’s hopes sagged. Did Chekhov and his people know everything? They had been ten steps ahead of them throughout this entire ordeal. How did she hope to gain some kind of advantage now?
She pulled the truck to a stop on the road in front of the Krugers’ gravesite.
Away from the streetlights, the fog was thicker. It moved in front of the headlights in wispy waves. Sassa shut down the engine and watched as the lights faded. Moonlight took over and sent a silver glow across the gray marble headstones. Nearby marble statues wavered in the fog and seemed to move.
Sassa shivered. Were these her last moments of life? Here in a cemetery surrounded by shadows and symbols of eternal death?
Images of Jared and Keri crammed into that dark corner of an abandoned basement flashed into her mind. She couldn’t leave them. Not like this. She couldn’t give up. She had to fight back.
“Let’s go.” Chekhov had needed time to gather his strength. Now he motioned for her to move. She opened the door and slid out.
“Step back.”
He ground out the words. Sassa stepped clear of the door. He had to lower the weapon to pull himself across the seat. He moved so slowly, it might be her chance to run. She glanced around. There was nothing large enough to hide behind. Chekhov would simply raise the gun and shoot her in the back. Now was not the time to make a move.
He slipped out of the truck and his knees buckled. He caught himself only because his gun arm lay across the open window. He lifted himself with sheer willpower, never once taking his gaze off Sassa. He was weak but not so weak he couldn’t shoot.
What could she do? Sassa looked at the gravesites. Flowers still surrounded the headstones. A bright blue vase with tall gladiolas stood right in front of Sam’s marker. Smaller flower arrangements rested below it and around June’s headstone. Christopher’s marker was empty.
On the other side of Sam’s grave was a large mound of dirt covered by a green tarp. Next to the mound was an empty grave. Ankle-high gold-colored markers surrounded the open pit. Obviously, another funeral service was scheduled for the morning. Would they arrive to find her body in that pit?
Sassa closed her eyes and turned away.
“Show me where Sam hid the formula.”
Her eyes flew open. Chekhov came toward her with jerky movements. He was having trouble making his legs work properly.
“Don’t worry, Sassa. My trigger finger still works.”
She gritted her teeth. He motioned her forward. She turned and headed for the graves. Her back tingled as if a bullet was already screaming toward her. She caught her breath and it came out like a sob.
Help me, Lord. Let me stay strong to the very end. Be with me.
Energy surged through her like electric shocks. Her senses tightened, fine-tuned to a deeper level. The fog brushed against her cheeks like a damp touch. She inhaled the smell of plant decay and the moist, dark dirt of the recently dug grave. Her fingertips tingled with awareness.
Move slow. Take your time.
That was hard to do when her senses were zinging back and forth like electric wires. She headed to Sam’s headstone first. She knew the numbers on the bracelet by heart but she twisted her wrist in the light until she could see them. Then she counted each stone out loud for Chekhov and called out the numbers as she pushed the corresponding buttons. Then she waited.
Nothing happened. She looked back at Chekhov. He wavered back and forth like a man about to topple over. But when he saw her looking, he stiffened.
“Clever. Sam was most clever. But you can stop wasting our time. Sam vi
sited Christopher’s grave the day before he left. If the formula is anywhere, it will be there.”
Sassa swallowed and pushed the tall vase of flowers out of her way. The tips of the soft gladiolas brushed against her fingertips as she stepped across to Christopher’s headstone.
The fog drifted over them, obscuring her view. She had to turn in the light to see the numbers. Holding up her wrist, she punched the numbers again and held her breath.
Something clicked. A small V-shaped crescent opened in the headstone. A black thumb drive rested at the bottom of the crescent.
Sassa exhaled a long sigh. Her breath rasped in the cool air.
Chekhov moved up behind her, stumbling as he came forward.
“Is it there?” In his excitement he came closer, close enough for her to reach him. Her senses fired off like snapping electrodes.
His stench hit her again but she refused to back away.
“Give it to me.” He held out his hand.
Sassa picked the thumb drive up and gripped it in her hand.
“Give it to me now.”
Sassa’s fingers clenched around the plastic drive.
“I said give it to me.” Chekhov raised his gun.
A flashlight beam hit him in the face. “What’s going on here?”
Chekhov jerked his arm up and spun to face the voice behind the flashlight.
Sassa turned, too, her fingers brushing against the tall gladiolas. She gripped the blossoms, crushing the delicate petals, and lifted. The bouquet slid up inside the tall vase. Sassa’s breath caught.
Would the flowers come all the way out? At the last minute, the wide stems stuck in the bottleneck but the vase rose off the ground. Sassa swung it around with the full force of her adrenaline-drenched nerves.
The ceramic container struck Chekhov on the side of the head and shattered. He cried out in pain. The gun fired, but his aim went high and wide as he doubled over. Still gripping his head, he stumbled sideways onto the mound of soil beside him. His foot tangled in the green tarp and he fell. He hit his head on the metal barrier around the open grave with a sickening sound. Then he tumbled headfirst into the freshly dug earth.