Showdown
Page 1
Praise for
Ted Dekker’s Novels
“Dekker delivers his signature exploration of good and evil in the context of a genuine thriller that could further enlarge his already sizable audience.”
— Publishers Weekly
“[Showdown] strips the veneer of civilization to the darkness of the soul, revealing the motivations and intents of the heart. This is a difficult book to read and definitely not for the squeamish. It brings home the horror of sin and the depth of sacrifice in a way another book would not—could not.”
— Author’s Choice Reviews
“Calling [Showdown] unique is an understatement. Ted Dekker has successfully laced a contemporary thriller with searing spiritual principles.”
— In the Library Reviews
“Toss away all your expectations, because Showdown is one of the most original, most thoughtful, and most gripping reads I've been through in ages . . . Breaking all established story patterns or plot formulas, you'll find yourself repeatedly feeling that there's no way of predicting what will happen next . . . The pacing is dead-on, the flow is tight, and the epic story is downright sneaky in how it unfolds. Dekker excels at crafting stories that are hard to put down, and Showdown is the hardest yet.”
— infuzemag.com
“The prose is smooth and tight, the message on target, and the ideas daring. This is one showdown you won't want to miss.”
— ERIC WILSON,
focusonfiction.net
“Showdown is a well-written and suspenseful novel that can and will give Stephen King and Dean Koontz a run for their money.”
— www.1340mag.com
“[In Obsessed] an inventive plot and fast-paced action put Dekker at the top of his game.”
— Library Journal
“[In Obsessed] Ted Dekker brilliantly weaves two years—1994 and 1973—and two locations—the United States and Germany—into an exhilarating thriller of passion and hope.”
— Christian Retailing
“With the release of White, and the culmination of the Circle Trilogy, Dekker has placed himself at the fore of Christian fiction. His tale is absolutely riveting, and the redemptive value at the heart of the series only makes it all the more remarkable.”
— MICHAEL JANKE,
CM Central
“One of the highlights of the year in religious fiction has been Ted Dekker’s striking color-coded spiritual trilogy. Exciting, well written, and resonant with meaning, Black, Red, and now White have won over both critics and genre readers . . . An epic journey completed with grace.”
— Editors, BARNES AND NOBLE
“Dekker is a master of suspense and even makes room for romance.”
— Library Journal
“Full of heroic action, deep meaning, and suspense so palpable your fingers will dig grooves into the book’s outer cover, Red magnifies the story of Black times ten, raising the stakes to epic proportions. But Ted Dekker’s biggest ace in the hole is that he understands what so many others never realize: substance and meaning can go hand-in-hand with exciting, cinematic storytelling. Red is a thrilling, daring work of fiction that not only entertains—it inspires. Why aren’t there more stories like this?”
— ROBIN PARRISH, editor,
Fuse Magazine, www.FuseMagazine.net
“Black has to be the read of the year! A powerful, thought-provoking, edge-of- your-seat thriller of epic proportions that offers great depth and insight into the forces around us.”
— JOE GOODMAN, film producer,
Namesake Entertainment
“Ted Dekker’s novels deliver big with mind-blowing, plot-twisting page turners. Fair warning—this trilogy will draw you in at a breakneck pace and never let up. Cancel all plans before you start because you won’t be able to stop once you enter Black.”
— RALPH WINTER,
Producer—X-Men, X2:
X-Men United, Planet of the Apes,
Executive Producer—StarTrek V: Final
Frontier
“Put simply: it’s a brilliant, dangerous idea.And we need more dangerous ideas . . . Dekker’s trilogy is a mythical epic, with a vast, predetermined plot and a scope of staggering proportions . . . Black is one of those books that will make you thankful that you know how to read. If you love a good story, and don’t mind suspending a little healthy disbelief, Black will keep you utterly enthralled from beginning to . . . well, cliffhanger. Red can’t get here fast enough.”
— FuseMagazine.net
“Just when I think I have Ted Dekker figured out, he hits me with the unexpected. With teasing wit, ever-lurking surprises, and adventurous new concepts, this guy could become a real vanguard in fiction.”
— FRANK PERETTI
“[With THR3E] Dekker delivers another page-turner . . . masterfully takes readers on a ride full of plot twists and turns . . . a compelling tale of cat and mouse . . . an almost perfect blend of suspense, mystery, and horror.”
— Publishers Weekly
“Ted Dekker is clearly one of the most gripping storytellers alive today. He creates plots that keep your heart pounding and palms sweating even after you’ve finished his books.”
— JEREMY REYNALDS,
Syndicated Columnist
“Ted Dekker is the most exciting writer I’ve read in a very long time. Blink will expand his fan base tremendously. Wonderful reading . . . powerful insights. Bravo!”
— TED BAEHR, President,
MOVIEGUIDE Magazine
“What an emotional and thrilling story within a story! Ted’s approach allows you to see faith in a whole new light.”
— MAC POWELL,
Third Day
“Ted Dekker paints a picture that will create a longing in each of us to be with our heavenly father.”
— DEBBIE DIEDERICH, National Director,
30 Hour Famine,World Vision
“The Martyr’s Song drives home the realities of standing for your faith in a world where it isn’t always an easy decision.”
— MIKE YODER,
Director of Church Programs,
World Vision
“I can think of no better way to say it than: this is Deeper Magic. High praise indeed, for those who recognize the reference. For everyone else, I’ll just say: Highly Recommended.”
— Christianfictionreview.com
“Everything a Book Could Hope to Achieve . . . a cross between Peretti and The Stand.”
— Religionexplorer.com
SHOWDOWN
Other Books by Ted Dekker
The Martyr’s Song
Obsessed
Black
Red
White
Thr3e
Blink
Heaven’s Wager
When Heaven Weeps
Thunder of Heaven
With Bill Bright:
Blessed Child
A Man Called Blessed
Nonfiction:
The Slumber of Christianity
SHOWDOWN
TED DEKKER
Copyright © 2006 by Ted Dekker
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, TN, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
Thomas Nelson, Inc. titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please email SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Dekker, Ted, 1962–
Showdown / Ted Dekker.
p. cm.
ISBN 13: 978-1-59554-005-8 (HC)
ISBN 10: 1-59554-005-9 (HC)
ISBN 13: 978-1-59554-081-2 (IE)
ISBN 10: 1-59554-081-4 (IE)
ISBN 13: 978-1-59554-222-9 (TP)
ISBN 10: 1-59554-222-1 (TP)
1. Colorado—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3554.E43S56 2006
813'.6—dc22
2005009708
Printed in the United States of America
07 08 09 10 11 RRD 11 10 9 8 7
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY - FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY - SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY - SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY - EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY - FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY - SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY - SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY - EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY - FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY - SIX
CHAPTER FORTY - SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY - EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
PROLOGUE
“HOW MANY children?” Marsuvees Black asked, examining his fingernails. Strange behavior for a man interviewing for such a lofty position.
“Thirty-seven,” David said. “And they may be only thirteen or fourteen years old, but I wouldn’t call them children. They are students, yes, but most of them already have the intelligence of a postgraduate. Believe me, you’ve never met anyone like them.”
Black settled back in the tall leather chair and pressed his thumbs and fingers together to form a triangle. He sighed. The monk from the Nevada desert was a strange one, to be sure. But David Abraham, director of the monastery’s project, had to admit that genius was often accompanied by eccentric behavior.
“Thirty-seven special children who could one day change humanity’s understanding of the world,” Black said. “I think I could pull myself from my desert solitude for such a noble task. Wouldn’t you agree? God knows I’ve been in solitude for three years now.”
“You’ll have to take that up with God,”David said. “With or without you, our project will one day change the world. I can guarantee you that.”
“Then why do you need me? You’re aware of my”—he hesitated—“that I’m not exactly your typical monk.”
“Naturally. I would say you’re hardly a monk at all. You’ve spent a few years atoning for rather gratuitous sins, and for that I think you possess a unique appreciation for our struggle with evil.”
“What makes you think I’ve beaten my demons?”
“Have you?”
“Do we ever?”
“Yes, we do,” David said.
“If any man has truly beaten his demons, I have. But the struggle isn’t over. There are new battles every day. I don’t know why you need a conflicted man like me.”
David thought a moment. “I don’t need you. But God might. I think he does.”
Black raised an eyebrow. “No one knows, you say? No one at all?”
“Only the few who must.”
“And the project is sponsored by Harvard University?”
“That is correct.”
David had spent months narrowing his search for the right teacher to fill the vacant post. Marsuvees Black brought certain risks, but the job was his if he chose to take the vow of secrecy and sequester himself in the Colorado mountains with them for the next four years.
The monk stared at his fingernail again. Scratched at it. A soft smile crossed his face.
“I’ll let you know,” he said.
CHAPTER ONE
PARADISE, COLORADO
One year later
Wednesday
THE SOUND of boots crunching into gravel carried across the blacktop while the man who wore them was still a shimmering black figure approaching the sign that read Welcome to Paradise, Colorado. Population 450.
Cecil Marshal shifted his seat on the town’s only public bench, shaded from the hot midsummer sun by the town’s only drinking establishment, and measured the stranger strutting along the road’s shoulder like some kind of black-caped superhero. It wasn’t just the man’s black broad-brimmed hat, or his dark trench coat whipped about by a warm afternoon breeze, but the way he carried himself that made Cecil think, Jiminy Cricket, Zorro’s a-coming.
The town sat in a small valley with forested mountains that butted up against the buildings on all four sides. One road in and the same road out. The road in descended into the valley around a curve half a mile behind the stranger. The road out was a “snaker” that took to the back country, headed north.
Paradise was a typical small mountain town, the kind with one of most things and none of many things.
One convenience store/gas station/video store/grocery store. One bar/ restaurant. One old theater that had closed its doors long ago. One church. One mechanic—Paul Bitters, who fixed broken tractors and cars in his barn a mile north of town. One of a few other establishments that hardly counted as establishments.
No hospital. No arcade. No real grocery store other than the convenience store—everyone shopped in Delta, twenty miles west. No police station or bowling alley or car dealer or bike shop or choice of cuisine . . .
The only thing there was more than none or one of was hairdressers. There were three hairdressers, one on Main Street and two who worked out of their homes, which didn’t really count.
“Looks lost,” Johnny Drake said.
Cecil turned to the blond boy beside him. Johnny slouched back, legs dangling off the bench, watching the stranger.
His mother, Sally Drake, had come to town after being abandoned by some worthless husband when Johnny was a baby, thirteen years earlier. Sally’s father, Dillon Drake, had passed away, leaving her the house that she and Johnny now lived in.
She’d decided to stay in Paradise for the house, after unsuccessfully trying to sell it. The decision was mighty courageous, considering the scandal Sally suffered shortly after her arrival. The thought of it still made Cecil angry. As far as he was concerned, the town hadn’t found its soul since. They were a sick lot, these Paradise folk. If he could speak, he would stand up in that monstrosity they called a church and say so.
But Cecil couldn’t speak. He was a mute. Had been since his birth, eighty-one years ago.
Johnny watched the stranger and rolled a large red marble between his fingers. He was born with a crooked leg, which was one thing that had bonded him to Cecil. The Children’s Hospital in Denver corrected his leg surgically, a
nd even though he still limped now and then, he was pretty much an ordinary boy now.
No, not ordinary. Extraordinary. A bona fide genius, they would all see that soon enough. Cecil loved the boy as his own. It was probably a good thing Johnny didn’t know about the mess that had followed his birth.
Cecil turned back to the stranger, who’d left the graveled shoulder and now clacked down the middle of the road in black, steel-toed cowboy boots like a freshly shoed quarter horse. Black boots, black pants, black trench coat, black hat, white shirt. A real city slicker. On foot, three miles from the nearest highway. I’ll bet he’s sporting a black mustache to boot.
Cecil dropped his eyes to the leather-bound copy of Moby Dick in his lap. Today he would give Johnny the book that had filled his world with wonder when he was fourteen.
He looked at the boy. Kid was growing up fast. The sweetest, biggest-hearted boy any man could ever want for a son.
Johnny suddenly gasped. He had those big light brown eyes fixed in the direction of the city slicker, and his mouth lay open as if he’d swallowed a fly.
Cecil lifted his head and followed the boy’s eyes. The black-cloaked stranger strutted down Main Street’s yellow dashes now, arms swinging under the folds of a calf-length duster, silver-tipped boots stabbing the air with each step. His head turned to face Cecil and Johnny.
The brief thought that Zorro might be wearing a disguise—a Halloween mask of a skull—flashed through Cecil’s mind. But this was no mask. The head jutting from the stranger’s white shirt was all bone. Not a lick of skin or flesh covered the bleached jaw. It smiled at them with a wide set of pearl teeth. Two eyes stared directly at Cecil, suspended in their deep bone sockets, like the eyes down at the butcher shop in Junction: too big, too round, and never blinking.
Cecil’s pulse spiked. The ghostly apparition strode on, right up the middle of the street as if it owned Paradise, like a cocky gunslinger. And then the stranger veered from his course and headed directly toward them.
Cecil felt his book drop. His hands shook in his lap like the stranger’s eyes, shaking in their sockets with each step, above a grinning face full of teeth. Cecil scanned the man’s body, searched for the long bony fingers. There, at the end of long black sleeves, dangling limp, the stranger’s hands swung to his gait.