by Ted Dekker
Miriam slipped at the corner, scrambled to her feet, and tore around the hut. Then she was at the car, panting. Seth sat behind the wheel, waving her in.
“Hurry!”
“I am!” Miriam clambered around the back, threw the front door open, and dived in. “Go!”
“When we get to the Mercedes on the far left, I need you to get out,” Seth said. “They still don’t know that Omar has divorced you. You’ll be safe. I won’t be—”
“I understand,” she said. “It’s Omar’s car. His driver’s in the hut now. Drive!”
“That’s right. Don’t worry about the tires—”
“Go! Hurry!”
Seth threw the stick into reverse. The car shot backward, throwing sand. They cleared the shack. A dozen rifles spun their way.
“We’re cutting it close,” Seth said. “Omar’s up.”
He jerked the stick into drive and roared for the abandoned Mercedes. Gunfire popped across the sand. Metal pinged and one of the tires blew. They flew, and Miriam was sure they would slam into the hood of the car.
Seth hit the brakes at the last moment, and they slid to a stop, inches from Omar’s car, nose-to-nose.
Miriam shoved her door open and stumbled out.
Immediately the gunfire stopped. Once again, the men’s fear of Omar worked against him. She leaped to her feet, swung around the open door, and ran for the driver’s side of Omar’s Mercedes.
Seth ran for the other door, protected by the heavy car.
Miriam slid into the driver’s seat. Seth piled in beside her.
Omar and his driver spilled out of the hut.
Beside her, Seth was smiling. “Take us out of here, honey.”
She pushed the accelerator to the floor. They slammed into the car they’d just vacated.
“Sorry, I saw that coming,” Seth said. “Other way.”
She dropped the gearshift into reverse, and they spun backward in a tight loop. Something thumped into the car. Two more. Bullets! Then a whole row along the rear windshield. She glanced at Seth and saw that he was still grinning.
“Any other car, we’d be dead,” Seth said. “This one’s bulletproof. Literally. Omar’s parting gift.”
Of course! “Ha!”
“That’s right, ha!” he mimicked.
“The tires?”
“No chance.”
“Ha!” She slammed the steering wheel in elation. They roared over the sand, leaving the circle of cars behind in their dust.
“Left or right?” she asked.
“Left, back to the highway. Then south, toward Jidda.”
Miriam pushed the car to a breakneck speed. For a full minute neither spoke. She glanced at the rearview mirror—a plume of dust rose from the dirt road.
“They’re following!”
“Don’t worry, we have an ace behind the wheel,” Seth said. “I told you your driving would come in handy.”
“We were nearly killed back there!” she objected. “What if they call ahead and have the road blocked? We’re in Omar’s territory now, not the United States.”
“Omar may try to block the road. But your father will withdraw his support now. The coup will crumble. King Abdullah will regain the upper hand. Khalid and Omar will be forced to run for their lives. Think about it, Miriam, they have no use for you now. Neither does King Abdullah. You are no longer their pawn.”
She thought through his analysis. It made perfect sense.
“You see all this?”
“No. I don’t see anything now. It’s gone.”
She looked at him, alarmed. “Then how can you be so sure?”
“Because I saw enough when I did see to know how this works.
I’m pretty sure my days of seeing are over. We’ll have to wander around in the dark now, but I’m not sure that’s so bad, are you? Have a little faith.” He grinned. “We’re free, princess. Trust me, we’re free.”
Seth pulled Omar’s phone from his pocket and dialed a long number. He looked at her and let it ring.
“Clive? Hello, Clive—”
Seth listened for a moment.
“Easy, my friend. Omar’s divorced Miriam. The sheik is withdrawing his support. The coup is history. I have Miriam now and we’re headed for the embassy in Jidda. Yes. Please have it open for us. I’ll explain later. In the meantime, tell the State Department to call the sheik. He’ll confirm everything.”
Seth cut the connection.
They drove in silence for several long minutes. The plume of dust still hung on the horizon behind them, but if she wasn’t mistaken, it was farther behind than it had been a few seconds ago.
They reached the highway and Miriam turned south toward Jidda. Seth was right; Omar would have more on his mind than chasing down a woman he’d just divorced. He would be fortunate to survive the night.
It occurred to Miriam that she and Seth had begun their relationship like this, in a car fleeing south over miles of pavement. A Saudi princess and an American outlaw. Bonnie and Clyde. Stranded between two cultures. When would the running stop? Where were they running to? What future awaited them?
Only God knew. Love.
Emotion swept over her like a tide. The road blurred and she blinked her sight clear.
“I don’t think I can live without you, Seth.”
“As long as I’m alive, you won’t have to,” he said. “I swear it. I won’t let them take you back. Do you hear me?”
Miriam wasn’t sure why, but she began to cry softly. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her.
“I love you, Seth. I love you very much,” she said.
“I love you, Miriam. I will always love you.”
epilogue
samir stood at the mosque’s entrance, gazing over the floods of men who milled about after prayers, talking in low tones and nodding in agreement. Sheik Abu Ali al-Asamm stood near the front, discussing matters with several lesser Shia leaders here in Dhahran. Soon the sheik’s day would pass, and one of the lessers would rise up to be the voice of the Saudi Shia. And what would be the word of that leader? Would it be a word of love and peace or a word of the sword?
Two weeks had passed since the failed coup attempt. Samir could not have imagined such soul-searching as had plagued him in these last fourteen days.
A lump rose to his throat. He had not discerned the sum of the matter yet, but he was confident the answers would not elude him for long—God would never indefinitely withhold the truth from any diligent seeker. In the meantime, several observations had presented themselves to him, none of them particularly welcome.
The least welcome of these was that he had lost Miriam’s love forever. She had been and still was the only woman he ever loved, and he’d sacrificed her for a misguided ideal.
“Forgive me, dear Miriam,” he mumbled. He turned from the entrance and walked down the steps to the street.
How could a good Muslim reconcile the militants’ ideals for Islam with true love? How could a good Christian kill Muslims in the name of love?
How could he have turned Miriam over to a beast like Omar?
Samir held no ill feelings toward the American, Seth. In a strange way he was thankful that a man of such obvious character had taken her into a new life. How many men would have risked what Seth risked to rescue Miriam?
The American wasn’t Saudi, of course. Nor Muslim. The pair would endure a host of cultural challenges if they were to wed, but in the end, Miriam would be happy with Seth. If there was anything Samir could do for Miriam now, he could wish her happiness.
“Afternoon, Samir.”
Samir turned to the voice. It was Hassan, a fifteen-year-old son of the sheik.
“Afternoon, Hassan.”
“God is great.”
“God is indeed great.”
The boy smiled and hurried off.
Yes, God was great, but those who swung the sword on his behalf were not, Samir thought.
Omar was dead, killed trying to escape the
day after the coup. Killed by the sheik’s men, no less. A kind of poetic justice. Khalid still hid somewhere out of the country. As long as the House of Saud remained in power, Khalid would be on the run. Ostracized, but not powerless. Others expelled from the kingdom had wreaked havoc throughout the world. Samir expected no less of Khalid.
The sheik had not only been spared but commended for his reversal of loyalty in the eleventh hour. Though he’d been one of the plotters, he was still more valuable to the king as a friend than as an enemy. It was the way of the desert.
The world’s religions had engaged themselves in a great struggle. A struggle between those who wanted to fix the world with the sword and those who wanted to fix it with love. One day all Muslims and all Christians and everyone else would understand that the world was tired of the sword.
Like many of his countrymen, deep in his heart, Samir was a lover, not a fighter. One day, if he would be so fortunate, he would find another woman to love. This time he would love her as he only wished he could love Miriam now, with all of his gifts and all of his gratitude. She would be free, and if she was not, he would set her free. Like a bird.
“Fly, my dear. Fly free, dear Miriam.”
Samir walked down the street, vaguely comforted.
Conversation with the Author about this New Edition
1. Blink of an Eye was originally released several years ago as Blink. How is this version different?
In one word, movie. One of the primary themes of the previous version of Blink was love, and for the movie edition, I’ve drawn out that same theme in a number of ways while dialing back on some elements that were more distracting to the primary love story. The plot itself remains primarily unchanged, but the story around that main line now reads much tighter. The characters remained unchanged, as do the settings and the back stories, but the colors of the story are brighter and will keep readers turning the pages faster without sacrificing character depth.
2. Blink was a very successful novel and many of your fans consider it to be their favorite. What motivated you to go back and make these changes?
In many ways my overall attitude toward the Middle East has changed since 9/11 and that change is reflected in this re-write. I think love is the order of the day, more so than some of the antagonism that slipped into the first version. The changes in this regard have more to do with subtleties that affect tone than with thematic or character changes.
Jesus left us with the second greatest command, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” and this extends not only to Samaritans but to Muslims, regardless of what we may or may not think about their practices, and they of ours. Nearly everything we believe is tied into those familiar words, “For God so loved the world . . .” Jesus was above all the prophet of love and none of us can argue the ageless truth that love does indeed change everything.
My parents took a message of hope and love to cannibals in the jungles of Indonesia. My prayer is that Blink provides a message of hope and love for not only the Mid East, but those of us who preach love as well.
3. Our culture has certainly been in flux since the events of September 11, 2001, and the ensuing war in the Middle East. Do you think it has changed how Americans view other cultures?
Undoubtedly. I’m constantly amazed at how antagonistic many American Christians are toward those who live in the Middle East. Regardless of a person’s conviction regarding the war itself, our attitude to those caught in the crossfire should be drenched in empathy and love. We say we love Muslims, but we don’t, not if our actions are any judge.
I’m afraid that far too many Christians have forgotten the reason Christ died in a war of his own 2,000 years ago. His was fought against the principalities of the air and the religious leaders of his day, and his weapon was love. Perhaps we who claim his namesake should fight the same way.
4. What do you most hope readers get from reading Blink of an Eye?
Again, one word: Love. Love Changes Everything.
We have here a story about a Muslim woman who we learn to love along with Seth. If the reader takes nothing away from the novel but this one lingering impression, I will be a happy man. There’s a wonderful bridge between Muslims and Christians in Jesus, who is deeply revered by both religions. But too many followers of both religions disregard the teachings of this Master whom we honor with our lips. We both can make a mockery of his life and death by refusing to follow his example of love.
5. The title was changed to Blink of an Eye largely so it would mirror the title of the upcoming movie. How similar will the screenplay be to this revised novel?
The screenplay mirrors the theme of love set forth in Blink of an Eye, but the plot takes some liberties in the latter half. The movie medium forces all artists to make some creative choices for several reasons, chief among them length. Translating the entire novel to the screen would give us a five hour movie and break the bank, not to mention our minds. Something has to go, and when something goes, other things have to change to accommodate the vacancy. Some scenes are collapsed into each other or skipped entirely; new ones are added to bridge gaps. It’s a unique art form for a broader audience.
6. Two other novels you wrote or co-wrote—Three and House—have already been made into movies. How will Blink of an Eye vary from those two? Will they appeal to the same audiences?
We have three totally different kinds of movies here. Thr3e is a thriller that primarily appeals to a younger market. House is a horror movie that appeals to a huge audience, mostly under thirty.
Blink of an Eye can be classified as a romantic thriller with healthy doses of both thrills and romance. I think it will appeal to the broadest audience of the three.
7. How would you describe what it’s like to have one of your novels made into a film? Exciting, of course, but are there challenges that you never imagined?
They say that writing a novel is like rowing a bathtub across the Atlantic, something I’ve been known to repeat. Making a movie is trying to fly a paper airplane to the moon.
Put another way, both are like giving birth. I’m a man, how would I know, you ask? I’ve birthed sixteen novels and I doubt many woman could put up with the kind of pain endured with each delivery.
Part of the pain in translating a novel to the big screen is watching as not only another writer, but a director, then an actor, then an editor each put their spin on what was once your vision. In the end it’s all good (hope-fully) but the process isn’t a Sunday stroll.
But then nothing worthwhile ever is.
8. Your novels seem to fall into three distinct categories. Explain what those three categories are and which one Blink of an Eye falls into. If someone loves Blink of an Eye, what other novels might they be interested in?
Although all of my stories are written in my distinct voice and plumb themes that connect with like-minded readers, I’ve explored these themes in what can be seen as three genres: Mystery, Thrillers, and Fantasy.
My first six novels might be best understood as Mysteries that explore the greatest mystery of all, our faith. These would include Heaven’s Wager, When Heaven Weeps, Thunder of Heaven, Blessed Child, A Man Called Blessed, and now Blink of an Eye.
Having said that, many of my readers don’t draw such distinctions and tend to read my Thrillers (like Thr3e and Skin) and my novels in the Fantasy category as well (Black, Red, and White, for example).
If you enjoyed Blink of an Eye, I would point you toward Blessed Child or Heaven’s Wager as a good next novel. But then again, I feel like I’m betraying Showdown and Saint and Skin and Thr3e and the Circle Trilogy.
I have a better idea: Ask your friends. They know you better.
AN EXCERPT FROM
TED DEKKER’S NEXT NOVEL . . .
COMING SEPTEMBER 2, 2008
CHAPTER ZERO
MARSUVEES BLACK reread the words penned on the yellow sheet of paper, intrigued by the knowledge contained in them. He felt exposed, almost naked against this sheet of pulp that had come
his way.
August 21, 2033
Dear Johnny –
If you’re reading this letter, then my attempt to help you has failed and I’ve gone to meet my Maker. I don’t have much time so I will be brief. None of what’s happened to you has been by accident, Johnny—I’ve always known this, but never with as much clarity as now, after being approached by a woman named Karas who spoke of the Books of Histories with more understanding than I can express here.
Where to start . . .
The world is rushing to the brink of an abyss destined to swallow it whole. Conflict between the United States, Israel and Iran is escalating at a frightening pace. Europe’s repressing our economy.Famine is over-running Russia, China’s rattling its sabers, South America is battling the clobbering disease—all terrible issues, and I could go on.
But these challenges pale in comparison to the damage that pervasive agnosticism will cause us. The disparaging of ultimate truth is a disease worse by far than the Raison Strain.
Listen to me carefully, Johnny. I now believe that all of this was foreseen. That the Books of Histories came into our world for this day.
As you know, the world changed thirteen years ago when Project Showdown was shut down. Myself and a dozen trusted priests sequestered thirty-six orphans in the monastery in an attempt to raise children who were pure in heart, worthy of the ancient books hidden in the dungeons beneath the monastery. The Books of Histories, which came to us from another reality, contained the power to make words flesh. Whatever was written on their blank pages became flesh.If the world only knew what was happening!
Billy used the books to write raw evil into existence in the form of Marsuvees Black. A living, breathing man who now walks this earth, personifying Lucifer himself. He (and I cringe at calling Black anything so humane as a “he”) was defeated once, but he hasn’t rested since that day. There are others like him, you know that by now. At least four maybe many more, written by Black himself from several pages he managed to escape with. I believe he’s used up the pages but he’s set into motion something that he believes will undo his defeat. Something far more ominous than killers who come to steal and destroy in the dead of night. An insidious evil that walks by day, shaking our hands and offering a comforting smile before ripping our hearts out.