by Ted Dekker
She couldn’t disagree with his thinking. In some ways his ironclad logic reminded her of Sultana. Sultana should consider leaving the kingdom to marry this man. They would make a deserving pair.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve been through more than I’d planned in the last few days.”
“No, really, it’s okay.”
“You’re really here because of the vision you had?” she said. “If not for the vision, you would be home?”
“I didn’t say it was a vision.”
“You refuse to call it anything. So I’m calling it a vision. You saw a man coming for me in the bathroom. Where I come from, we would call that a vision from God.”
“Of course. Muhammad was famous for his visions.”
“You’re insulting the Prophet? This is the broad American mind?”
He paused. “I’m sorry. Really, I’m not trying to be disrespectful.”
She humphed. “You should examine something more closely before speaking so flippantly.”
“I’ve read the Koran.”
“When?”
“Most recently? Two, two and a half years ago. I even memorized most of it, sura for sura, by age twenty-one. Certain things tend to lock themselves in my mind, poetic abstractions being chief among them. As you know, the Koran is very poetic. So is the Bible.”
He’d memorized the Koran? “You can’t possibly understand Islam, living here in America.”
“Actually, I know this may sound arrogant, and I apologize in advance, but I think I understand both Christianity and Islam quite well. They have a surprising amount in common.”
“They are like black and white!”
“Both claim that there is one God, an all-knowing Creator, which is where I part company. Both believe that Jesus was born of a virgin and was sinless. Both believe that the writings of Moses, David, the prophets, and the Gospels were divinely inspired. The primary differences between Islam and Christianity are found in contradictions between the Koran and these other writings. Muslims explain away the discrepancies by saying the Gospels and the Christian Bible have been altered.”
He had his facts right, but his dismissal of the Koran infuriated her. “And perhaps you’ve read a bad translation of the Koran. A twisted English version.”
“Actually, I read and understand Arabic. Language is like mathematics—both come easy to me. I admit that the translation I memorized was in English, but I understand it was quite accurate.”
He understood Arabic? She spoke a sentence in Arabic.
He answered in English. “Yes, most Westerners do have difficulty with Arabic. And really, forgive me for taking Islam to task, but to question is the nature of man, right? Every religion has its place. Christianity has its place; Islam has its place. They hold societies together and answer man’s unanswered questions and such. But I reject both on philosophical grounds. I’m not ready to attribute my so-called ‘visions’ to religion.”
“So then. Why are you here, Seth Border?”
He hesitated. “I’m here because I saw the future.”
“But you won’t call it a vision. What is the difference?”
“I’m not sure. I just wanted to make the distinction. Just because we don’t understand how something works doesn’t mean we have to credit some deity. The world was once flat because religious people said it was flat, remember? Have you ever considered the possibility that time is the same way? It’s a dimension that we don’t understand, so when someone sees now what happens later, he’s stepping beyond that dimension. It may be as simple as that.”
“Simple? Oh, I see. How silly of me. Then at least tell me what stepping beyond a dimension feels like. Indulge me.”
Seth’s tone turned self-conscious, she thought. “I’m not saying that’s necessarily what happened. I’m just telling you that it might have been what happened. It’s possible.”
“Then tell me.”
He ran his fingers through his curly blond locks. “You ever been in a dream that feels real?”
“Yes.”
“It felt like that. But so fast that it didn’t interrupt anything I was seeing in the present.” He paused. “Make sense?”
“Sounds like a vision,” she said.
“But different,” he said.
They drove in silence for a long time after that. Miriam lost herself in comforting thoughts of Saudi Arabia—the best of her beloved homeland. The beaches of Jidda, the sands of the desert, the palaces shimmering with wealth. In some ways it wasn’t so bad to be a woman with the run of a palace, was it, veil or no veil? Sultana would slap her for even thinking it.
For the first time since her whirlwind escape, Miriam felt lonely. For Haya and for Sita and for Sultana. For Samir.
Dear God, what had she done?
Seth exited the interstate and pulled into an empty parking lot at two a.m., suggesting they get some rest. Sleep came almost before she closed her eyes.
Warm sun on her face awoke Miriam. She sat up groggily, searching her memory for where she might be. A car door slammed and she looked right. A large man was walking from a white Jeep. He glanced her way as he headed toward a building to the far left of where they—
Seth! He was gone.
No. He was walking toward the car, hands in his pockets, hair in his eyes. The wild man who had memorized the Koran and stepped beyond time dimensions.
He opened his door and plopped into the seat. He looked tired.
“Morning, Miriam. Sleep well?”
“Well enough. You don’t look like you slept at all.”
“Never could sleep in a car.” He shrugged. “I got some.”
“Where are we?”
“Two hours this side of Los Angeles. Twenty minutes outside of Santa Clarita.”
She just looked at him, lost.
“I called a friend of mine back at the campus,” he said. “Dr. Harland. The closest thing I have to a real dad.” Seth grinned and shook his head. “Boy, did we cause a ruckus. He said the place was crawling with cops within half an hour.”
“Did your friend help you?”
“Yes. It seems the police know about you. He told them he thought I might call. They suggested that we go to the State Department in Los Angeles. Someone will be there to take you into protective custody. An old acquaintance of mine from the NSA—Clive Masters. Small world. But I’m pretty sure we can trust Clive. I guess we’re supposed to be there at eleven o’clock.”
She furrowed her brow. “Why should we trust anyone?”
“This isn’t Saudi Arabia, Miriam. This is the place where people like you escape from oppressive governments.”
“And what if the police turn me over to authorities from my country? You can imagine what they’ll do to me. Think of Sita.”
“Why would they turn you over if you tell them what you’ve told me? Besides, we’re not going to the police; we’re going to the State Department. The whole point is that you’re seeking asylum.”
She just looked at him.
Seth averted his eyes. “Harland and Clive won’t lie to us. If they do, I’ll get you out.”
“How?”
“I can always use the bathroom trick.”
He grinned and she smiled despite her anxiousness. His demeanor had changed, she thought. His eyes didn’t hold hers with as much confidence as they had last night. He looked at her several times, but then glanced away.
“I think you’ll be safe, Miriam. Besides, unless you’ve got some other brilliant plan, I can’t think of any better alternative. We can’t just take off across the country like Bonnie and Clyde.”
She cast him a questioning glance.
“Bonnie and Clyde? Two famous . . . lovers, fugitives?” He looked away again. “Old story. You said you had some money on you. You mind me asking how much?”
“Five,” she said.
“And I’ve got ten. I was thinking you could use a change of clothes, but I guess we’ll have to make do.”
“
Clothing! That’s a wonderful idea. There’s a store nearby?”
“Santa Clarita. But fifteen dollars isn’t going to buy us food and clothes.”
“Fifteen dollars? I said that I have five thousand.”
He looked at her sideways. “Five thousand?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to leave Hillary’s house without some change.”
“Okay. Change is good. Well then, we’ll just have to go shopping, won’t we?”
“Yes, that would be good.”
Miriam ran her fingers through her hair and then twisted the rearview mirror to look at her face.
“The bathroom’s in there,” he said, nodding at the building. “To the left of the entrance.”
“Thank you.” She opened the door.
“Hurry back.”
“I will.”
Five minutes later they pulled back onto the freeway and headed south. She asked Seth if she could listen to the radio, and he obliged her with a tour of the airwaves. He did seem to know music. Watching him enthusiastically expound on why Frank Sinatra and a band called Metallica were really cut from the same cloth, she was once again struck by his strange appeal. A kind of appeal that brought to mind his reference to that Bonnie and Clyde.
The mall in Santa Clarita was still closed when they arrived, but Seth insisted the twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart across the street would work just fine. Same basic clothes, but with different labels for different folks, he said. Most of the threads probably came out of the same factories.
He parked in a near-empty lot and walked her through the doors of the huge store.
“Ladies’ clothes up twenty-three paces and to the right five paces, across from photography and this side of lingerie,” he said. “All Wal-Marts follow one of several basic footprints, and this one I know. I’m going to the left, where I hope to find a couple of toothbrushes and some paste for whitening the teeth and refreshing the breath.”
She looked at him. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand; it was that his choice of words took her an extra second to process.
“Is that okay?” he asked.
She glanced up the aisles. “You’re going to leave me alone? What if I get lost?”
“You won’t. If you do, ask someone in a blue vest where the checkout counters are. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”
She hesitated. It wasn’t like she’d never shopped before. “Okay.”
He walked several paces before turning back. “And for the record, I’d go with the blue jeans and the white top any day over a dress. Considering our situation, that is.”
She stared at him, taken aback. “How did you know I was considering blue jeans or a dress?”
“You were considering that?”
“Exactly that. Nothing more.”
“Hmm.”
“Now you’re seeing into my closet? What else can you see?”
“I’m not seeing into your closet. I’m not really sure what I saw.”
“But you did see something?”
He hesitated, as if just coming to the realization himself. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
Seth turned and ambled toward the pharmacy. They walked out together twenty minutes later, Seth holding a bag of toiletries and another bottle of Dr Pepper, and Miriam dressed in blue jeans and a white blouse.
chapter 14
hilal drove south in the Hertz Mercedes, tuned to the scanner, thoughts drifting while the police tightened their net.
They failed to locate the Cougar, but the American, Seth, had used his Texaco gas card at a station near Kettleman City. He was indeed headed south. They had passed Santa Clarita and were headed into the maze of freeways that covered the Los Angeles basin like a spiderweb. He reached up and tested the scanner, which had remained silent for a few minutes. Static sounded, indicating a clear signal. A new Kenworth tractor-trailer rumbled past on his left, hauling three large Caterpillar generators to some destination where they would no doubt provide power to some free individual. Personal freedom. America had been built on the notion that the individual’s rights were supreme, despite the slow erosion of those rights in recent years.
Perhaps America and Saudi Arabia would one day hold a limited variety of personal freedom in common.
Although King Abdullah wasn’t ready to open up his palaces to the average citizen, he understood the power of freedom more than most in Saudi Arabia. The militant extremists, on the other hand, would negate personal freedom in the name of the Prophet and use a sword to enforce their beliefs. A terrible shame.
The world had changed. In his humble opinion, unless Saudi Arabia changed with it, she would be washed into the seas of history. He hoped to protect the kingdom from just that. And if doing so required the death of one woman named Miriam, so be it. Not that he had any intention of killing her at this point. She was, after all, royalty.
Hilal sighed. It was a complicated world.
The scanner burped to life. “Units near 5 and Balboa respond to a possible sighting of a vehicle matching the description of a brown Cougar on the bulletin. Sky reported vehicle exiting the freeway, westbound on Balboa.”
Balboa. The exit was directly ahead.
Hilal glanced in his mirror and eased the Mercedes into the right lane. His pulse quickened. So his gamble had paid off.
The scanner squawked again. “Copy 512. Will take that. We’re ten miles south on 5. There’s not much out there past the truck stop.”
A short silence. Hilal sped under a sign that told him the Balboa exit was one mile off.
“Confirm. Looks like the truck stop. Sky’s headed south and will be out of visual shortly. What’s your ETA?”
“Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes, over.”
Hilal instinctively felt for the bulge in his jacket and touched the gun’s cold steel. He had fifteen minutes.
The isolated truck stop sat on the north side of Balboa, roughly three hundred yards from the highway in the center of a dusty dirt parking lot. The dry, vacant setting did not match any notion she had of what balmy California was supposed to be.
“You haven’t experienced America until you’ve sat in a smoky truck-stop diner and choked down their greasy hash browns,” Seth said.
“How long will it take to reach the State Department?” Miriam asked. It was now eight o’clock.
“Two hours. We have an hour to burn.” They climbed from the car. “Let’s eat some grease,” he said, winking.
They walked to the dining room through a dim hall lined with video games and pinball machines. The gentle odor of grilled bacon and eggs filled the place. A woman wearing a red-checkered apron smacked some chewing gum as she approached.
“Two?” she said.
“Two,” Seth replied.
The woman seated them in a booth that faced the parking lot. Seth’s brown Cougar sat next to a dilapidated Toyota Corona, body rusted by the salty ocean air of the coast. Otherwise, the lot was empty. Miriam scanned the menu. The loneliness she’d felt last night had fled. Their new plan and the promise of a hot meal reestablished her good mood. Only a few days ago she’d been standing in the souk with Sultana, hiding behind a veil, plotting her unlikely escape. Now she sat across from an American named Seth, trying to choose between the greasy hash browns and the banana splits on the back cover. If Samir would come to America, she was sure they could build a good life together in this country.
She looked up and saw that Seth was watching her.
“So. What do you want?” he asked.
“The hash browns are potatoes?”
“Shredded and fried.”
“You recommend them?”
“I do.”
She smiled at him. “Then I want hash browns.”
“Me too.” He set aside his menu.
“You are very fortunate, Seth Border.”
“Why’s that?”
“To live in such a beautiful, clean country.”
“Don’t let the trees fool you, my dear. I hear
there are goblins in the forest.” He grinned, as if embarrassed. His colorful way was only part of America’s charm, she thought.
“And by this you mean what?”
“Well, actually, I was just making an offhand comment that behind the plastic smiles you see everywhere, I promise you’ll find greasy mugs that will make the hash browns you are about to eat seem dry by comparison. The ugly side of human nature is not exclusive to the third world.”
“So are most Americans criminal?”
“No. But in the plastics department, I’m sure we have the edge.”
“Plastic. As in fake,” she said. “You are a cynical man; has anyone told you that?” Seth shrugged. “Excuse me,” she said, sliding out. “I would like to freshen up.”
“Back in the hall next to the pinball machines,” he said, pointing behind her.
Seth watched her walk toward the hall, dressed in her new carpenter’s jeans and white shirt, and could not deny the strange feelings that had overtaken him during their drive south. He was attracted to her, but beyond her obvious beauty, why? In an uncommon way they were the same, Miriam and he. They were both misfits in their own worlds, rebels with their causes. In other ways they were different—from separate planets altogether. He had no business feeling anything toward her beyond what a good Samaritan might feel.
Yet here he sat, his belly light and his pulse on edge. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so taken by any woman in his entire life.
She disappeared into the hall and Seth picked up his coffee cup. The notion that she was a princess on the run from some sinister characters seemed like something he might read in a book. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. But the events of last evening were nothing out of a book. He would deliver her to safety in a few hours and then . . .
And then he didn’t quite know what.
Seth took another sip of coffee and looked out into the parking lot.
A black Mercedes had parked at the far end of the building. He yawned. The lack of sleep was starting to catch up to him. Before he did anything, he would have to sleep. Deliver Miriam to safety and then—