“Tom, wake up. We’re getting out of here,” he whispered.
Tom sat up and looked at his rescuer, uncertain. For a moment they just stared at each other’s faces. Decker hadn’t looked in a mirror at any time during his captivity, and though he knew his body was emaciated, he hadn’t seen his face, where the most dramatic effects of his deprivation were evident. Seeing Tom’s face, he understood not only his friend’s condition but his own; he was closer to death than he had known. Finally, he forced his eyes away and began untying Tom’s hands.
Outside the apartment, Decker and Tom walked stealthily down the hall, desperately hoping to avoid detection. Christopher, on the other hand, went on ahead showing absolutely no sign of concern. Quickly they descended three flights of stairs, smelling of urine and cluttered with trash and broken bits of plaster and glass. Still there was no sign of their captors. As they emerged into the open air, Decker closed his eyes as the bright sunlight struck him in the face with its warmth and glow.
“Mr. Hawthorne.”
“Mr. Hawthorne.”
Decker opened his eyes and looked around, struggling to remember where he was. Standing at the door was Decker Donafin. He was still in Petra.
“Wake up, Mr. Hawthorne, it’s time to go.”
Horror filled Decker’s eyes as he suddenly understood what Tom Donafin’s final words had meant.
Chapter 12
Judas
Sunday, June 6, 4 N.A.
The wilderness of Jordan, north of Petra
The dusty gray four wheel drive truck sped across the off road terrain north from Petra, negotiating its way around and over rocks and ruts. Having long since given up on the notion of conversing with her passenger — he hadn’t said ten words since he got in the vehicle outside the Siq of Petra an hour before — the driver thought about plans for her upcoming wedding. When she received her assignment to drive Decker to Jerusalem, she had expected him to be hostile, still enraged about his abduction. Instead he seemed almost in a trance, so preoccupied with his thoughts that he acted as though she wasn’t there.
Time and again he ran his right hand up the side of his face and over his head, pulling at the thinning gray hair as it passed between his fingers. Alternating between nervous twitching, tapping his foot on the floorboard, and a frozen tableau moving only with the jarring motions of the truck, Decker tried to understand, tried to think if there was something that he had missed. But there seemed no doubt what Tom had meant: Christopher intended to leave him in Lebanon.
Decker squinted in reflection. Clearly, it was all the similarities between his current situation and what had happened in Lebanon all those years before that caused him to have the dream again. Still, he couldn’t escape the meaning. How could he have missed it for so long? His mind was filled with the single thought and its awful implications. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t have been an accident. Decker knew that if he was right, he had discovered the single slip in an otherwise flawless plan. Christopher’s hesitation when Decker asked about Tom had seemed so insignificant at the time, but if he was right . . .
Another hour passed before the truck finally came to a real road, bounced onto the blistering hot blacktop, and turned west. Decker’s mind flashed back to the road in Lebanon where he and Tom Donafin had been rescued by the convoy carrying Ambassador Jon Hansen. Had that really happened just by chance?
About three miles down the highway, the driver pulled to the side of the road and stopped behind a old station wagon. “The key’s in the glove box,” she said as she handed him a canteen full of water. “Just keep heading west for about thirty kilometers and you’ll come to Jericho.”
“Thanks,” Decker said reflexively as he took the canteen and the leather satchel that held Elizabeth’s Bible, and got out of the truck. The temperature was well over 110 degrees Fahrenheit with the sun beating down through perfectly clear skies, but he was oblivious to such details. Going to the car, he mindlessly opened the door, got in, and closed it behind him. The driver who had brought him from Petra sat in the air conditioned comfort of her own vehicle waiting for him to start the car, but despite the heat Decker just sat there, absorbed in thought. Finally, when she was about to go and check on him, he remembered something about the key being in the glove box and reached over to find it.
Decker started the car and, without looking back at the driver, drove off. Only the intense heat of the steering wheel in his bare hands broke his concentration, and he used his shirttail to hold the wheel as he tried to determine how to turn on the car’s air conditioning. It was fortunate that the car was pointed toward Jericho, for he had no recollection of the woman’s directions and no thought of where he was going.
Decker got past the UN border guards in Israel without incident, though they were a bit unnerved to have a high official of the UN arriving unexpectedly. Their response gave no indication that he had been reported missing. Apparently, Rosen was right: Decker traveled so frequently that after being gone for only four days, no one was seriously concerned about where he was. This was a point of some relief, as he had no desire to explain where he had been or what had happened to him until he first had some time to think.
He found a small restaurant off the beaten path where he thought it unlikely that anyone would recognize him. As he ate, he agonized over what to do next. Certainly he should call his office to let them know where he was and that he was all right — all right, he thought in pained irony, now there was a relative term. He decided the best course of action would be to call Debbie Sanchez, his second in command, tell her that he had taken some time off and would be gone for another week or so. She could tell anyone else who needed to know. That should work, he thought; Debbie would probably be irritated that he hadn’t told her of his plans ahead of time, but she was too new in her job to question him or insist on an explanation. When she got over being mad, she’d probably welcome the opportunity to be in charge for a while.
Decker turned on his phone, which had been taken from him when he was kidnapped and returned to him that morning. He crossed his fingers — it was going to be hard enough to sound like nothing was wrong without trying to look the part as well. He could turn the video off, but that would just raise questions.
Putting on the best face he could manage, he dialed the phone. Debbie Sanchez had worked for him for less than a year, and although she was a very intelligent woman, he hoped she might not be able to see through his performance.
“Ms. Sanchez’ office,” a woman said. It was Kwalindia Oshala, Debbie Sanchez’ administrative assistant. “Mr. Hawthorne!” she said. The inflection in her voice and the look on her face made it clear she was surprised to see him. This wasn’t a good sign: Obviously there was some concern about his unplanned absence, even if they hadn’t begun an all-out search.
“Let me talk to Ms. Sanchez,” Decker answered, as if everything was fine and he hadn’t noticed her surprise.
“Sir,” she responded, “she’s out. She’s covering for you at a meeting of the World Press Club.” Decker had forgotten about being scheduled to speak, and for an instant he felt guilty about missing the appointment.
“What about Martin?” he asked, referring to Debbie Sanchez’ aide.
“He’s covering for Ms. Sanchez at a meeting in Beijing,” she answered.
Decker really didn’t want to leave a message with a secretary. That would hardly seem like appropriate behavior from someone who had been missing for the past four days. He quickly discovered that the option wasn’t really open to him anyway.
“Mr. Hawthorne,” Kwalindia said, “Jackie Hansen left orders for me to contact her immediately if you called. She said not to let you off the phone until she talked with you.”
Decker thought fast but came up with nothing. This wasn’t working out as he had planned. If Jackie was so insistent, it probably meant that Christopher wanted to talk to him, and he was not at all prepared to do that just yet — not until he had time to think this whole thi
ng through. But he couldn’t refuse to talk to her. There was nothing to do but hope he could talk to Jackie briefly and try to appear as if nothing was wrong. “Put me through to her,” he said reluctantly, with a pasted on smile.
“Jackie Hansen,” came the answer a moment later, followed by, “Decker! Where have you been?”
Decker was about to try to answer when he heard another voice from out of camera range. “Decker?” the voice said. It was Robert Milner. “Let me talk to him!” A second later Milner came into view on the screen. “Decker, where have you been? Are you all right? We were about to send out search teams!”
Mentally Decker groaned, but his face maintained its smiling innocence. “I’m fine,” he answered. “I just decided I needed a few days off.”
Milner was dumbstruck that Decker would so trivialize their concern. “I’m sure you deserve it,” he said, finally, “but it’s customary to let someone — at least someone on your staff — know where you’re going and when you’ll be back.”
“I’m really sorry,” he said, trying to come up with some believable excuse. “I thought I mentioned it to Debbie Sanchez before I left,” he lied. “I guess I didn’t make a big deal of it. I should have been clearer. I certainly didn’t mean to worry anyone.”
“Just so you’re okay,” Jackie interjected.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I hope that Christopher—”
“No,” Jackie responded, anticipating Decker’s question. “I asked him about you yesterday, thinking he might have sent you on some mission somewhere; but I didn’t tell him why I was asking or mention that nobody else knew where you were. I didn’t want to worry him before I knew if something was really wrong. He’s got enough on his mind right now.”
“Good, good,” Decker said. The look of relief on his face was in earnest.
“When can we expect you back, then?” Milner asked.
“I’m not sure,” he replied. He wished he could just leave it open-ended, but he knew he had to give some kind of an answer. “Maybe a week,” he said finally.
“Where will you be?” Jackie asked. Decker didn’t want to answer. He needed uninterrupted time, and once this conversation was over he didn’t want to have to talk to anyone close to Christopher for a while. Worse still would be receiving a call from Christopher himself — he was certain that Christopher would be able to see through his act and know something was wrong. Still, he needed to say something.
“I’ll be at my house in Maryland,” he said finally. “I’ll see you when I get back,” he added, hoping to bring the conversation to a close.
“Okay,” Jackie said, instinctively complying. “Well, I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Thanks,” Decker responded.
“Enjoy yourself,” Milner said halfheartedly. “And next time you decide to take off, make sure your phone is turned on.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Decker said.
And with that, he ended the call. Milner knows something’s wrong, he thought. He didn’t believe me. Quickly he ran over in his mind everything he had said for anything that might have given him away. Then he remembered: Debbie Sanchez had not been in the office the day he was kidnapped. If Milner followed up on it, that mistake would surely fuel his suspicions that something was indeed wrong.
Before he left the restaurant, Decker made two more calls: one to arrange for passage on the next United Nations flight to the U.S. and the other to have Bert Tolinson, the man at the agency that took care of his house, get the place ready for an extended visit. That evening Decker caught a UN troop transport in Tel Aviv bound for New York. The accommodations were less than those to which he was accustomed, but there was no one else on the plane except the flight crew, so he had plenty of privacy. From New York he took a commuter flight to Reagan National Airport in Washington, D.C.
Monday, June 7, 4 N.A.
Derwood, Maryland
Decker awoke in his home in Derwood with one thought so clear that it had doubtless been deliberated for hours by his unconscious mind. Rested and in the brilliant light of day, with the sound of birds outside, it seemed inconceivable that he could ever have imagined such an awful thing about Christopher. Yes, there were some things that needed to be explained, but he must have been out of his mind to have thought— He didn’t even want to think about what he had thought. It was all so ridiculous. He shook his head in disbelief and more than a little embarrassment.
Of course, there were extenuating circumstances that had facilitated Decker’s lapse of lucidity. After all, he had been kidnapped; and while the KDP apparently had not intended to harm him, he didn’t know that at the time. It was a traumatic experience and he realized now that it was foolish of him to think that he was immune to its ill effects. One of those effects, no doubt, was being open to suggestion: both the suggestions of Scott Rosen and of the dream.
The clock beside his bed said it was 12:30 p.m. Adding eight hours to that meant that it was 8:30 p.m. in Babylon. He toyed with the idea of whether he should call or just get on a plane and go back. Right now, he was going to get out of bed, go downstairs, and fix himself some breakfast. Then he’d call and find out when the next plane was leaving for Babylon.
Decker opened the refrigerator and freezer in unison. Bert Tolinson had done his job well — all his favorites were there. For a fleeting moment he thought maybe he wouldn’t go back right away after all. He really could use a vacation. As he fixed breakfast, with the smell of bacon and waffles and coffee in the air, it was hard not to look around and think back to better days: days of getting up early and having breakfast with Hope and Louisa before they headed off to school, days of driving to the “kiss and ride” at the Metro with Elizabeth. He would never have that back.
But he would have Elizabeth. Christopher had promised him that.
The joy of that thought made him all the more embarrassed that he could have doubted Christopher.
Decker carried his breakfast into the living room and turned on the live-net. It was better than eating alone, and he needed to catch up on what was happening in the world. He was met by a very strange sight: The newscaster appeared to be in great pain and had bandages on her forehead and chin and several places on her arms. His initial thought was that she had been in an accident or perhaps mugged, but as he listened, the camera pulled back to reveal another reporter who was similarly bandaged. Decker wondered for a moment at the level of ambition that would drive these reporters to show up at work under such conditions. “As for the cause of the painful lesions,” the newscaster said, “while it’s still too early for any definite conclusions, one scientist at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, speaking off the record, told me that there is clearly one distinguishing factor between those who have the sores and those who do not. As far as has been determined, only individuals who have taken the communion have the sores . . . a bitter irony that while so many have taken the communion because of the promise of good health, it now appears it may be the cause of this terrible plague.”[124]
Decker recalled Scott Rosen’s warning in Petra that things were going to get much worse fast. It was beginning already.
The picture went to a reporter on a nearly abandoned street, interviewing whomever could be found of the local citizenry. The few who weren’t bandaged revealed by their lack of gauze and tape what the rest had hidden: ugly, open, ulcerous lesions. Nearly all business had come to a halt. Only the hardiest ventured out at all. Governments around the world had shut down except for essential services. Soon came the public service advisories on how to prevent infection and reports of long lines of people waiting to buy gauze, tape, and pain relievers at the few drug stores that remained open.
Decker didn’t call that day to make arrangements for passage back to Babylon, nor did he do so the next. He told himself that there was no hurry — Jackie and Milner didn’t expect him for at least a week. Besides, if he went out in public and was recognized, it wouldn’t be well received that someone so close to Christopher didn’
t have the mark and the lesions. And, he thought, it made no sense to get the communion now, when it would likely cause him to get the sores. He had enough food to last for a while, and Bert Tolinson would get him anything else he needed. It was far more reasonable, he concluded, just to wait a few days and see how things played out.
But even as he clung to the “reasonableness” of his actions, Decker was emotionally torn by the barely suppressed recognition that he was again beginning to wonder about the dream. What changed his mind? he wondered; though he couldn’t yet admit to himself that a change had occurred. Why had the certainty of a few hours earlier so quickly evaporated? Was he now thinking more clearly, or was he once again falling into the role he had played two thousand years earlier — a part he performed so well that it still bore his name: Judas.
Chapter 13
Red Tide
Tuesday, June 8, 4 N.A.
Derwood, Maryland
“People of the world,” Christopher began in an empathetic and determined tone. “Citizens of the New Age of Humankind: Nothing worth having comes without cost . . . even today, in this New Age for our planet. In simplest terms,” he declared, “Humankind is under attack.”
The whole world watched and listened and hoped. Some were confused, most were angry, nearly all were in pain.
“For more than three years the world has been at peace — with no war, no famine, and with disease and death nearly eradicated. The future of Humankind, our future, shines like a brilliant light before the eyes of all the universe — a future that welcomes all people with open arms.”
The Christ Clone Trilogy - Book Three: ACTS OF GOD (Revised & Expanded) Page 17