Naheem shrugged. “I already broke my promise by asking you two questions instead of just one.”
“You’re a crafty old man,” Marwan said with a bitter smile. “With all due respect, of course.”
“Of course.”
Just let it go! Move on! There’s no time to deal with this stuff. You can work it through after you have a plan or maybe even after this whole thing blows over. Now is not the time.
But part of him would not, could not, let it go. “Okay, you win. Go on,” he said.
“As you wish,” Naheem said with a twinkle in his eye. “You said it wouldn’t matter what you said because of all the things you’ve done. But I’ll tell you that it’s those very same things that you’ve done that actually don’t matter.”
Marwan dismissed the statement with a wave of his hand. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“You’re right. But God does, and still he wants you to be part of his family. You see, there’s nothing you can do that will move you any closer to God or any farther away from him. All of us have sinned and become separated from him. And the only way back is through taking his free gift of salvation.”
Marwan nodded. “‘Salvation is a gift, not a payment.’”
Naheem looked surprised. “Yes.”
“Dalia told me you used to say that a lot.”
The older man smiled. “I did. And I still do. Because it’s true. And here’s something else that’s true. You told me about your friend Kadeen, who was killed after he helped you. He proved his love for you by putting his life on the line to save yours. But you need to know that you’ve got another friend who also sacrificed himself for you—and he did it not to protect your life but to protect your death.”
Marwan shook his head. “You’re losing me, Pastor.”
“Let me put it this way. This life is just a blip in our eternity. We are put here on earth for a short time with the purpose of serving God and loving others. Once this short life is over, eternity begins, and you will either spend it with God or apart from God.
“Jesus died so that you can know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that your eternity is safe in God’s hands. But as we’ve both said, there’s nothing you can do to earn that precious gift. All you can do is receive it.”
“But that’s the frustrating thing,” Marwan said, getting up to look out the window again. This conversation was making him extremely uncomfortable, but for some reason he just couldn’t break away. “Everyone talks about ‘receiving the gift’ and ‘accepting his sacrifice’ and ‘being born again.’ You may know what you’re saying, but to someone like me, I have no clue what you’re talking about. Yes, I want to receive the gift,” he said, holding out his hands. When nothing magically appeared, he threw them up. “Do you see what I mean? They’re meaningless words.”
“You want to know the difficult, soul-wrenching, spiritually-exhausting process of receiving the gift of salvation?”
Marwan held out his hands again. “I’m ready,” he said, half-mocking.
“Just say yes.”
Marwan dropped his hands. “Just say yes?”
“Exactly. Just say yes. Yes to Christ. Yes, Jesus, I believe you are who you said you are—the Son of God. Yes, I believe you died for my sins. Yes, I want your forgiveness for all I’ve done. Yes, I want to live for you.”
“Yes, huh? That’s it?”
“That’s it. The Bible calls it believing and receiving. Believing means you accept it with your head as truth. Receiving means you accept it with your heart as the principle on which you are going to base your life. Believing and receiving—yes, Jesus, I believe in you; yes, Jesus, I receive you as my Lord.”
Marwan didn’t know what to feel. It was as if all the years of running from God, all the reasons and excuses he’d been harboring for turning his back on Jesus’ gift, came crashing to the ground in that moment. I’m done, God. I’m tired of saying no. I’m ready to say yes. “Would you . . . ?”
“Of course.”
They both bowed their heads, and Naheem led Marwan in a prayer, using words very similar to what he had already said. When they were done, Naheem put his hand on Marwan’s shoulder and said, “God is good! The second prodigal in two days has returned home.”
65
“He’s not answering.” Ramy threw the satellite phone down on the bed in Goddard’s hotel room.
“What?” Goddard looked up from the laptop he was working on.
“Marwan’s not answering.”
“Try again,” Goddard said, turning back to his work.
“I’ve tried four times!”
“Okay. So what does that mean?”
Ramy ticked off the answers on his fingers. “It means either the phone is off, he doesn’t have it with him, or . . .”
The room went silent. Ramy snatched the phone off the bed and dialed again.
“Don’t worry,” Goddard insisted as the phone rang and rang in Ramy’s ear. “We’ll find him.” I just hope he’s still alive when we do.
Goddard’s own phone rang. It was DuVall. He answered immediately. “What have you got, Colette?”
“A message from the Skeleton,” DuVall answered bitterly.
“Let me guess. Lemieux’s information has led him to believe that Marwan Accad is hiding out in Tehran or Kathmandu or Ulaanbaatar, and we better get there quick.”
“Right idea, wrong location. He said that they were able to track a boat leaving Sharm el-Sheikh and heading south down the Red Sea to Soma Bay. There are witnesses there who saw Accad and a woman walking through town and entering the Sheraton.”
“And you, my lead investigator, find yourself doubting the veracity of his statements?”
“Most definitely. Especially since I think I know where he is.”
Goddard leaped to his feet. “You know where he is?”
Ramy threw the phone onto the bed and ran over to Goddard.
“We’ve been able to locate the boat that was stolen in Sharm. It was moored in Dahab. And about an hour ago a complaint was lodged with the police in Dahab about a rental boat that was never returned. They showed a picture of Accad, and—”
“He was the one who rented the boat.”
“Exactly, but as an Englishman named Andrew Cooper.”
“Where is the boat now?”
“We haven’t found it yet, but I can almost guarantee it is in Aqaba, Jordan.”
“Where is he?” Ramy demanded of Goddard, who waved him quiet.
To Duvall, Goddard said, “That makes logical sense, but why are you so sure?”
“The girl with Accad—Dalia Nour—”
“Yes, yes.”
“She’s from Jordan—grew up in Ma’an.”
Goddard turned to Ramy and said, “They’re in Ma’an, Jordan!”
“Ma’an?” Ramy echoed, not at all expecting that answer.
“Where’s Lemieux?” Goddard asked, knowing the answer he was going to get.
“I don’t know. He’s pulled one of the disappearing acts that he’s so famous for before breaking open a case. Everyone here is abuzz thinking he must be following a hot lead and that an arrest is imminent. I agree with them—all except for the arrest part.”
Goddard felt his stomach tighten. “Have the Jordanian authorities been alerted that Lemieux is coming?”
“Not that I can tell, sir.”
Not good, not good, Goddard thought. That means he’s taking his own men. We’ve got to get some help on this! But how do we break through Lemieux’s reputation?
“Colette, can we prove yet that Lemieux is crooked?”
“No, sir. I don’t believe so.”
“What’s it going to take? What do you need?”
“Time. We just need more time.”
Frustrated, Goddard shouted, “We don’t have more time! If Lemieux finds Marwan Accad, he’ll kill him!”
“Should I call the Jordanian authorities and have them arrest Lemieux?”
“No,” Goddard said
. “They’re not going to take down the great inspector unless they have a whole lot more evidence than we have at the moment.”
“Then what are you going to do, sir?”
“The only thing I can, Colette. I’m going to take down the Skeleton myself.”
66
Marwan expected to feel totally different, but there really wasn’t much of a change. He was still wanted for murder. There were still people who wanted to kill him. Dalia’s family was still in serious danger.
But something had changed. The feeling of guilt that had been weighing him down was gone. The anger that he felt at his situation had been replaced by a strange sense of peace. The fear he felt for Dalia and her family had been overtaken by trust in God’s will and God’s power.
“Thank you,” he said to Naheem.
“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything except point the way.”
“Even so, thank you.”
Naheem nodded, then stood with a loud grunt. Marwan followed.
Before they left the room, Naheem asked, “Would you be willing to do me one favor?”
“Of course. Anything.”
Naheem paused, as if trying to weigh whether or not to say what he wanted to say. Finally he made his decision. “Don’t tell Rima about who you really are—at least not yet. You said you think that we have another day or two before things might get dangerous. Let Rima have a day with her daughter; then tonight I’ll tell her the truth. I’ll probably pay for it, but I think it’ll be worth it.”
Marwan wanted to say, “No, it’s too dangerous. We’re already on thin ice.” But he was finding it very difficult to give a negative response to anyone in this family.
“Okay. But tomorrow you follow my lead so that I can get all of us to safety.”
“It’s a deal,” Naheem said, shaking Marwan’s hand with his big paw. “Now, let’s go out and tell the women about what’s happened in here this morning.”
The news of Marwan’s conversion was received with screams and laughter and tears and hugs. Dalia, especially, held on to Marwan, whispering in his ear, “Let’s start over, you and I. This time we’ll do it God’s way.”
“If you’ll show me how, that’s what I want too,” he whispered back.
Once things calmed down, plans for the day were made. When Marwan heard that Rima and Dalia wanted all of them to go to Petra—Jordan’s most famous archaeological site, only a few kilometers from Ma’an—he protested at first. But again, contrary to his better judgment, he found himself saying yes.
After taking a quick shower to wash off the residue from the morning’s run, he decided against shaving. His three-day beard gave him a shadow on his face that just might help him achieve the look he wanted. Borrowing an old pair of aviator sunglasses and a large cotton safari hat from Elias’s closet, he checked himself in the mirror and decided he did indeed look just ridiculous enough to blend in well with all the American and European tour groups that were bound to be there.
After Marwan endured some razzing from Naheem and Dalia, they all piled into Naheem’s car. Along the way to the site, Dalia, who sat in back with Marwan, pointed out different places to Marwan—her elementary school, the first site of her dad’s church, the church’s new location, the small community theater where she first held a boy’s hand.
Marwan smiled and made small comments during Dalia’s tour, but the whole time he was thinking what a bad idea this was. At least he had the gun, in case things fell apart. But would it be enough?
When they arrived, Rima asked if she could hire a donkey cart to carry her through the one-mile Siq. Dalia offered to go with her, while Naheem and Marwan walked.
As they trudged down the narrow gorge between the sandstone cliffs, Naheem told Marwan about growing up near Petra half a century ago. Born just two years after the creation of the state of Israel, his childhood was filled with memories of Palestinian refugees and poverty.
The day after his seventeenth birthday, his father left the family to fight against Israel in the Six-Day War. When he returned, minus a leg and the lower half of his right arm, he wasn’t the same. He lasted three months before he hung himself.
Devastated, Naheem vowed revenge, and on his eighteenth birthday he enlisted in the Jordanian army. Knowing he’d have a far better chance for action in the special forces, he signed up right after boot camp, training hard and pushing his body beyond what he thought he could do. But in his mind it was all worth it, because when the time came to push Israel into the sea, he’d be on the front lines.
As it turned out, his first action was not against the Israelis after all. It was against fellow Arabs. In September 1970, the militant elements of the Palestinian refugees were getting too strong, and King Hussein was afraid they were going to try to set up their own separate state along the Jordan River. So he sent in his military to push the fedayeen guerrillas out of the country. Well over three thousand Palestinians were killed by Jordanian ammunition—five by bullets fired from Naheem’s own rifle.
Anger and guilt plagued Naheem, and the first opportunity he had to get out of the army, he did. Without a job and without a future, he seriously considered joining the Palestinian Liberation Organization, which was reorganizing itself in Lebanon. But misgivings about leaving his mother alone kept him at home.
That’s when the man from Amman came to town. His name was Samir Toukan, and from the day he arrived, he made it clear that his whole reason for coming to town was to build a church and win souls for Christ.
Naheem didn’t care about Christianity one way or the other, but he did see a chance for work. Soon he was hired on to help construct the church’s building. The one requirement Pastor Toukan set down for working there, however, was to participate in a lunchtime Bible study once a week—a small price, in Naheem’s mind, for a paying job.
It took only three studies before Naheem was on his knees saying the same words Marwan had prayed earlier in the day. And in that moment, all his anger against Israel was gone, all his bitterness at his dad’s suicide ended, and all his guilt from killing fellow Arabs was washed clean. For the first time in his life, he truly experienced peace, hope, and joy. Naheem started working at the church, and two years later when Pastor Toukan went back to Amman, he took over as pastor.
“So, you see, Marwan, I too know what it means to feel the power of God’s great forgiveness,” Naheem concluded as he walked.
But Marwan was no longer listening.
He stood rooted in his tracks, eyes wide. They had just about reached the end of the Siq, and Marwan was looking through the Eye of the Needle to the astonishing rock facade of the Treasury—a view made famous to the world when Indiana Jones rode through it while on his last crusade.
Slowly he moved forward, and with each step he took, the view expanded until he was able to take in the whole rock carving at once. He stopped and shook his head in wonder.
Marwan felt he could stand there all day taking in the view—until Dalia asked him if he wanted to look inside. Then he was off in a flash.
67
Marwan ran up through the front entrance, ready to tour the depths of the caves inside, but was stopped short by the rear wall. He looked around for the passage that would take him beyond the twelve-square-meter room.
“Surprise,” Dalia said, bouncing up next to him. “Welcome to Hollywood magic!”
“You mean this is it? No tunnels, no deep crevasses, no ancient crusaders?”
“Nope, just a tomb for two-thousand-year-old rich guys!”
“Really, that’s it?”
“That’s it,” Dalia answered with an I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile on her face.
I can’t believe all that hype for one big—albeit amazingly beautiful—rock carving, Marwan thought as he walked back out into the sunlight. That’s when he saw the facades carved in the rock faces across the way, and his jaw dropped a second time. He had been so fixated on the Treasury that he hadn’t noticed there was anything else.
Again Dalia appeared beside him.
“You mean there’s more?” he asked.
“Surprise a second time!”
She led him to the middle of the Treasury’s courtyard and pointed him left. All along the walls for as far as he could see, there were carvings—some big, some small, some plain, some unbelievably ornate.
“Care to walk with me awhile?” Dalia asked with a grin, slipping her arm in Marwan’s.
“Lead on, my beautiful tour guide.”
For the next three hours, they wandered the ancient Nabataean city. They explored cliffs and caves. They listened to a string quartet from stone bleachers in an amphitheater carved from the cliffs. They lunched at a busy café. They almost took a camel ride, but for once Marwan insisted on saying no—partly to avoid being up high and in the open, but mostly to steer clear of the horrible stench of the beasts. He’d learned his lesson riding through the Egyptian dunes with Dalia.
When it was time to head back, everyone’s legs were tired and their feet were sore. But it had been an amazing day. Marwan had seen things he never imagined existed, wonders of human skill, discipline, and dedication. It was a day he’d never forget.
They were just passing the amphitheater again when a gunshot echoed through the canyon, and Marwan dropped to the ground, clutching his leg.
Dalia screamed. Naheem whipped around to see where the shot had come from, then tried to cover the women with his body.
Another gunshot rang out. This time the bullet ricocheted off the stone theater benches to their right, sending shards of rock and dust through the air.
“Get down,” Marwan shouted through gritted teeth. “Over there, behind the pillars!”
He had Naheem’s SIG in his hand and was scanning the cliffs. He did a quick check of the wound in his leg. It felt like razor blades were embedded in it, but at least he could move it. Still looking up, he shuffled over to where Naheem lay across his wife and daughter.
Slapping him hard on the back, Marwan said, “Get them behind the pillars now!”
Naheem responded quickly, nestling Rima and Dalia under his arms. Two more shots kicked up dirt at Marwan’s feet as he hustled the threesome backward. Spotting a long stone wall, he redirected them that way.
The Witness Page 23