An Open Heart

by Harry Kraus

  The intern looked at Evan Martin. “Ready to move?”

  Evan nodded. “Let’s roll.”

  His captors kept Jace in the back of a village duka stockroom until a car arrived just after sunrise.

  This time, Jace was restrained, bound hands and feet, and dropped into the trunk.

  For the next four hours, all he knew was road noise and his bruised body flopping about over merciless potholed Kenyan roads.

  After two hours, his captors opened the trunk and allowed him to drink water from a cup. He was so thirsty, he didn’t worry about amoebas or the dysentery sure to follow. A large man scoffed at him. “I’ll bet you are praying, huh, Daktari?”

  Jace shook his head. “No. I’m not much for that anymore.”

  The man’s face changed, an inquisitive look replacing his smile. “Maybe you should learn,” he said.

  Then the trunk slammed and the journey continued.

  In the darkness, Jace reviewed his life, a life he wasn’t sure would continue beyond that day. In spite of his present danger, the hours of captivity seemed to prod Jace into an inspection of his past. Funny, he thought. All the significant plot points in my life story revolve around death.

  Timmy O’Reilly.

  Janice.

  Anita Franks.

  Michael Kagai. Anthony Kimathi. Boniface.

  He thought about praying. And he remembered the day he promised never to talk to God again.

  It had been on that final campout on the Malewa River for Jace and Janice and their RVA friends before they all left Kenya. It was their last day, and they’d returned to a favorite spot with high cliffs to swim.

  Janice had always been afraid to join the others in a daring leap from the top into the water below.

  Jace dared her, taunted her, telling her it was her last chance before college. He jumped, screaming as he fell. The water was cool. Refreshing.

  And that day, deadly.

  Everyone else had jumped. Some were swimming in the water below. Others sunned themselves on flat rocks on the other side.

  Jace climbed back to the top where Janice sat judging his jumps.

  “Seven point two,” she said.

  “Oh, come on. That was a nine!”

  He walked to the edge again. The rocks were getting slick because of everyone’s dripping bathing suits.

  A straight jump wasn’t really that daring. You needed to clear a distance of only three feet to avoid the jagged rocks below. But Jace wanted a higher score, so he did a handstand on the edge of the cliff.

  “Stop, Jace, you’ll fall!”

  “I’m not going to fall. If I just lean over, I’ll clear it easy.”

  “Jace, no!” She walked over and pulled on his shorts.

  He collapsed his handstand. “I’ll do a flip then. You’ll give me a ten for a flip.”

  “Stop.”

  “Why?” He looked at her, then remembered. “You think I’m going to die, don’t you? You think I’m going to miss my chance to be saved, don’t you?”

  “Jace, don’t.” Janice looked over her shoulder at their classmates, who seemed uncomfortable at the twins’ exchange.

  “You do it then. Jump. Jump or I’ll flip.”

  She edged closer and stared down at the water.

  “It’s only twenty-five feet, give or take.” He smiled. “Less than a second.”

  He snuck up behind her, meaning only to give her a scare. He only intended to shove her shoulders and then pull her back.

  He yelled as he grabbed her by the shoulders. She gasped and immediately pushed back, but lost her footing on the muddy cliff edge.

  Her foot slipped over and Jace lost his grip. Her head bounced off the rocks as she went over.

  Jace heard, rather than saw, her descent. Thud. Scream. Thud. Silence.

  He’d heard that scream in his head a thousand times since that day.

  He looked over the edge. Her body lay mostly in the water, having rebounded off the unforgiving face of the cliff.

  He jumped immediately, yelling her name, “Janice!”

  He swam back to her and turned her face toward the sky. Her neck bent at a sickening angle. Blood and bubbles came from her nose and mouth.

  “No!”

  The others came.

  No one could help. Janice gasped. Once. Twice. Three times.

  And then she died in Jace’s arms.

  That afternoon, he took the small wooden cross his sister had worn around her neck and tossed it into the campfire. He whispered, “I asked You to show me if You love me.” He paused. “So now, I guess I know.”

  He spoke the next words crisply. Each was a stake pounded into the dry earth of his heart. “I. Will. Never. Serve. You.”

  Midmorning in Nairobi’s Uhuru Park, the Honorable John Erastus Okombo was set to take the stage at a political rally. The air was electric. Some were comparing him to President Kibaki and wondered if a Luo could do a better job of uniting a country separated along so many tribal lines. Certainly his success negotiating exports of Kenyan coffee and tea were examples of his smooth tongue. Okombo’s future could only be bright.

  But rising to power in Kenya took many friends in the right places and a willingness to be ruthless to one’s enemies. He couldn’t have Jace Rawlings talking to Kibaki’s anticorruption czar, raising questions about his driver or his loyalties, could he?

  Soon, he thought, Jace Rawlings will be out of my way forever.

  Okombo looked out over the crowd, scanning for friendly faces. There was the group of some of Kenya’s finest physicians he’d invited to brag of their modern facilities. Even the heart surgeons, his generous benefactors, were there to cheer.

  Once introduced, it took but three Okombo-sized strides to reach the podium.

  He raised his hands to silence the crowd.

  He waved at a television crew.

  At first, the shot sounded like fireworks. The crowd cheered, expecting a colorful display.

  Okombo felt the impact without conscious recognition of pain. Instead, as he stumbled backward, clutching his chest, his only thought was that he’d been shot.

  A man in a dark suit dove to protect him, shielding the minister’s body with his own. Okombo tried to speak, but he couldn’t get his breath. He tried to push the man away. Dr. Rawlings, you were right.

  Chaos. The crowd stampeded away.

  Okombo heard officers shouting his name. Screams erupted from the crowd. He felt pressure in his chest. Am I dying?

  In Kisii Town in western Kenya, Simeon Okayo watched footage of the shooting and cursed. He flipped off the television. This can’t be happening! He was a trusted ally.

  He paced his little shop and tried to think. The witch doctor needed friends in powerful places. With Okombo dead, he would have to step carefully. Life in Kenya was a balance between old ways and new. It wasn’t uncommon to see a traditional Maasai tribesman with a cell phone. Likewise, political leaders vacillated between using the witch doctors to curse their opponents and denouncing witch doctors as ludicrous followers of outdated superstitions. While other politicians had supported witch hunts, Okombo had allowed Simeon a new status and access to powerful people previously unknown to practitioners of traditional magic arts. Okombo had taken Simeon with him to bless his trade missions. And he’d rewarded him for his faithfulness.

  What would he do with Okombo gone?

  He couldn’t think of that now.

  He’d made a promise to take care of Jace Rawlings. The American surgeon had become a political dead weight.

  And Simeon had made a promise, a blood oath, and he feared the consequences if he failed again. Even without Okombo around to pull the puppet strings, Simeon would have to follow up on the oath. He feared dark consequences if the spirits were angered.

  He picked
up his phone, punching a number. “Have you seen the news? John Okombo is dead. Bring Dr. Rawlings to the warehouse. I’ll have things set up there. No one will care about a little smoke out there.”

  45

  Gabby punched in the long series of numbers to make the call from Kijabe to Virginia. After a few moments, she was rewarded with the voice of her friend. “Heather, it’s Gabby.”

  “Gabby? Where are you? Are you back?”

  “No, still in Kijabe. We’re leaving tonight.” She hesitated. “But there’s a problem. Jace is gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Look, things have been weird since the moment we arrived. Jace is missing, Heather. Someone broke into his house, killed his guards, and Jace is gone. I can’t tell you everything right now, just that we think someone tried to target Jace.”

  “Gone? Where is he?”

  “That’s just it. I think he’s been abducted.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would someone target Jace?”

  “I can’t explain everything. Just that Jace is in trouble.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry, Heather. I can’t explain what I don’t know. It’s confusing to me, too. I’ll explain as best I can when we get back to Dulles. Can you meet us? It will be Saturday afternoon at four. The BA flight from Heathrow.”

  “I know. I heard Jace was coming.”

  “You knew?”

  “A friend of mine was tipped off.” Heather’s breath was heavy into the phone. “Gabby, the police are going to be there. They want to arrest Jace for attacking Anita Franks.”

  “What? That’s crazy.”

  “They have collected some sort of evidence that links him to her.”

  “No,” Gabby said. “You sent me the information on the semen analysis.” Gabby shook her head, even though her friend couldn’t see. “The attacker was blood type A. Jace is type B. He didn’t have sex with her, Heather. It was someone else.”

  Silence.

  “Heather?”

  She listened as Heather broke down. “You’re sure?”

  “According to what you sent me, it’s impossible. Our first patient was type B, and Jace donated blood for her.”

  Heather sniffed. “I’d stopped believing him.”

  Gabby listened for a moment before Heather continued. “But now he’s gone? Where?”

  “The police think someone has abducted him. You need to pray.” She hesitated. “Heather, I’m not getting on that plane without Jace. I’ll call you and let you know.”

  “I’ll be praying.”

  “The staff is gathering here in a few minutes. We’ll be praying here, too.”

  Jace rolled from side to side in the car trunk, feeling every bump in the road, unable to find a square inch of skin that didn’t hurt.

  I am going to die. He’d seen the brutal way his captors dealt with his guards back in Kijabe.

  He quieted his mind, resigned to the inevitable. If only I had a chance to do things over.

  He thought about the messages, how he’d waited anxiously for the last one from his patient, Mohamed Omar. Yet he hadn’t really had time to process what he’d heard. As soon as he got back to his house, he’d been abducted for this death ride.

  What was it he said?

  Something about Issa coming as God.

  I’ve heard that story before.

  It always seemed to affect everyone around me, but not me.

  But now, I’m face-to-face with a realm scientists can’t test. Far away from my scientific comfort zone in America, where everything is predictable.

  Here, in Africa, I’ve seen things, heard things, I can’t explain any other way.

  There is no way my patients could have given truthful predictions of the future without the reality of a spirit world.

  So was Janice right?

  Is Chaplain Otieno correct when he speaks so passionately about the power of Christ in us? The power of the cross?

  Did Jesus come as God for me?

  He thought about the vow he made in bitterness, a vow he’d sealed by burning a wooden cross.

  There, bound in the trunk of a car, Jace realized the truth. He knew the story. The incarnation. God made man. A cross to pay an impossible debt.

  And he believed.

  He couldn’t put his finger on the moment he moved from doubt to faith. He knew only that now, when he considered the story in light of everything happening in his life, he believed.

  He believed.

  Jace began to weep. He was not afraid to die. He knew he deserved death.

  Did I cheat on my wife? I’m still unsure, but I know I’m not worthy of Heather. I’ve never been able to lead her as I should.

  The highway noise disappeared. The car had turned off the main road. Jace began to smell dust, the red dirt of Kenya. He bounced along, trying to ignore the pain in his head, neck, back, legs, and shoulders.

  He decided to try the taste of prayer on his tongue.

  Overhead, at twelve thousand feet in a Cessna Caravan, John Okombo rubbed the bruise inflicted by the bullet that had slammed into his Kevlar vest.

  He delighted in his situation. His apparent rise from the dead would do wonders for his political aspirations.

  But now, he had a date in Kisii with the American surgeon.

  Jace Rawlings had saved the life of Okombo’s daughter, yet the MP had been willing to sacrifice him along the political trail. After all, a deal was a deal.

  But Rawlings had come through again, sending a message, warning him of a plot, an impending attack, allowing him to protect himself and prevent his untimely end.

  So now, if Okombo could pull off a favor for the surgeon, he suspected he would win a valuable ally.

  He thought about the Virginia politicians. The jealousy. The dirty laundry of personal favors for promises of deals worth millions.

  Screw them, he thought. The American has become valuable to me.

  He moaned and looked at his useless cell phone. He’d tried to reach Simeon a half-dozen times before takeoff without success. He’s probably too busy preparing for the sacrifice.

  The plane raced along, diverting around threatening weather.

  John Okombo folded meaty hands in his lap and sighed. If I know Simeon, I may well be too late.

  Heather Rawlings paced and prayed, lifting her phone to her ear. “Mr. Meadows? Thanks for taking my call. I hear you are looking forward to my husband’s return.”

  Ryan Meadows said, “Something like that.” He chuckled. “I guess he called you.”

  “No.”

  “Then how—”

  “Doesn’t matter. I need you to listen to me. And if you’ve got an ounce of dignity or an interest in your own political future, you’ll convince the police to back away from their plans to arrest Jace.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because he’s innocent.”

  “You’re naive. Not that I blame you. Dr. Rawlings is quite the ticket to the good life, is he not?”

  “He’s working for the poor in Africa, not exactly my definition of the good life.” She paused. “Don’t have him arrested.”

  “Oh, I’m going to have him arrested. And if you think the commonwealth attorney is going to be satisfied with a sexual assault charge, think again. Jace Rawlings is going to pay for her death as well. Poor woman was drugged, don’t you see? Couldn’t get out of the way of the car that killed her.”

  “Ridiculous,” Heather said.

  “Is it?”

  “It is. Ask the ME.”

  “I’ve seen the autopsy report. It’s quite alarming. Perhaps you’ve seen it?” He laughed again.

  “The semen analysis doesn’t match my husband. So whose was it? The governor was out of town.” She hesitat
ed, but decided that if she’d come this far, she was going all in. “What about you, Ryan? My sources tell me you were quite close to Anita Franks. Nice thing about DNA,” she said. “A glorious one-of-a-kind fingerprint.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re implying. It was my job to be close to the first family.”

  “Of course.” She paused for effect and to still her racing heart. “Go ahead and arrest the wrong man. I’m sure the governor will reward you for it.”

  She closed her phone and her eyes, pinching back the tears that had lived just below the surface since hearing the news from Gabby.

  She backed up against the kitchen wall and slid to the floor, praying again that she’d have the chance to fight for a husband she’d pushed away.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Give me another chance to believe him.”

  Lisa Sprague spread the photocopies across the table in front of her. A photo of Virginia’s first lady hugging Jace Rawlings, her husband’s surgeon. An article Lisa had written on the grueling training of a modern heart surgeon. Jace addressing the media at the hospital after the successful valve replacement.

  She shook her head. Something was bothering her.

  Why would Jace suddenly give up everything when he was just riding the wave of unequalled popularity and success here?

  Was he really trying to escape a dangerous affair?

  But Anita Franks was dead. Didn’t that close the chapter?

  Or did he need to atone for sins we didn’t understand? Just because it wasn’t his sperm found on the autopsy doesn’t mean his relationship with Anita was good and proper, does it?

  Something else bothered her. But what?

  She picked up the picture of Jace and Anita captured in an embrace. This time, she focused not on the duo, but on the background for something she might have missed.

  Behind them were a few bodyguards wearing dark suits and wires in their ears. And beside them, Ryan Meadows.

  She studied him for a moment, noting his scowl. This guy was unhappy about something.

  Maybe he didn’t like the first lady hugging the doctor.