The Heaven Trilogy

by Ted Dekker

  “The police are corrupted by Glenn, then?” Ivena asked.

  “And I’ll tell you something else,” Helen said. “We won’t be safe here forever.”

  They all turned to her. “Why?” Joey asked.

  “They know we’re north of town. They followed me that far before I lost them.”

  Silence settled around Joey’s kitchen table. No one knew quite how to deal with the revelation.

  “Which basically means we’ve got a problem,” Jan said. “A very big problem. We have no one to turn to.”

  “Karen?” Ivena asked.

  “She has no political clout. She might be help in a courtroom, as a witness, but not with the police now. What does it matter if we’re in the right if Glenn kills Ivena? What we need is protection now.” He shook his head. “I can hardly believe it’s come to this. It’s a free country, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Can the ministry help?”

  “No.”

  “What about other friends? Surely you have well-placed friends,” Joey said.

  “I’ve been in the country for five years. Apart from Roald and Karen and their circle I’m only a passing face. And what does it matter? Glenn owns the rights to the movie. He owns me!”

  “No one owns you, Janjic. What is this movie? I told you—”

  “The movie is the future of the ministry, Ivena. Say what you like, but it’s the gateway to a million hearts. And it’s a livelihood.”

  “Not if Glenn Lutz owns it.”

  She was right. She could not be more right.

  “Then what?” Joey asked. “I’m not hearing too many options that make sense.”

  No one responded.

  “It’s not safe here. What do we do?” Joey asked quietly, his eyes wide.

  Jan knew then what they had to do. He’d known deep inside from the moment Roald walked out of the conference room last night. But it was suddenly very clear. He glanced at Helen and wondered how she would respond.

  He snatched up the phone and punched in a number. The others only stared at him. It rang four times before someone picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Betty?”

  “Jan! Jan what on earth’s happening? The police are—”

  “Thank God you’re there. Listen to me carefully, Betty. I need you to hear me very carefully. Is anyone else in the room?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Please don’t tell anyone that I called. It’s very important, do you understand? What I’m going to say to you has to remain absolutely confidential. You can’t tell the police anything. Can you do that?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “No, you need to be certain. My life may depend on it.”

  “Yes, Jan. I can do that.”

  “Good. I need you to do a couple things for me. First you must go to my house. It’ll be watched by the police, but ignore them. If they question you, tell them that you’re retrieving mail as you always do when I’m absent on trips. If they ask where I am, you tell them that I’m in New York, of course. You have that? New York.”

  “Yes.”

  “Under my bed you’ll find a small metal box. It’s locked. Take it with you. Can you do that? It should fit under your dress.” Jan glanced at Ivena, who’d raised her eyebrows. He ignored her.

  “Yes,” Betty said.

  “Good. And I need to meet with some of the employees tonight. John and Lorna and Nicki. Some of the group leaders. Not at the ministry.”

  “My place?”

  Jan hesitated. Betty’s house would be perfect. She lived on a small farm on the west side of town. “Yes, that would be good. Be sure that no one knows. I can’t overstress the need for secrecy.”

  “I understand. Really. What about Karen?”

  The question took Jan by surprise. “If she’s still in town, perhaps. Yes. There’s one more thing. I need ten thousand dollars in cash. You’ll have to convince Lorna to cash a check, but do it discretely. She may give you some trouble, you know how she is—”

  “I can handle Lorna. Are you okay, Jan? This isn’t sounding good.”

  “We’re fine, Betty. I’ll see you at nine o’clock tonight. If there are any problems, please leave your porch light off. I’ll know not to come then.”

  Betty told him that she’d pray for him, and not to worry, she hadn’t been born yesterday. That much he knew. He wondered if sending her to the house to smuggle his safe out under the nose of the police had been so wise. He hung up and exhaled.

  “And what was the meaning of that?” Ivena asked.

  “That, Ivena, was our ticket out of this mess. Our only way now. And it’s your dream come true.”

  JAN TURNED the Cadillac’s headlamps off before entering the long dirt drive to Betty’s house at nine that evening.

  “Light’s on,” Helen said.

  The porch light was on. “I see that.” He flipped the car’s lights back on and drove to the ranch house. A white picket fence bordered the small neat lawn. Jan recognized the cars parked along the drive, Karen’s blue Fairlane among them, straddling the grass to their right. He turned off the ignition and they got out.

  “You’re sure about this, Jan?” Helen asked, standing before the white farmhouse.

  Jan took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “It’s the only way.”

  “He’s right,” Ivena said. “It feels right.”

  “You’re not sure, Helen?” Jan asked.

  “It’s not me. I like the idea, but I’m not the one jumping off a cliff.”

  Jan pulled her hand and they walked up the sidewalk. “We eagles like the cliffs,” he said with a grin.

  Betty answered his tap on the door. “Jan. Come in.” He ushered Helen and Ivena inside and they stood gazing at nearly a dozen familiar faces, now crowded in Betty’s living room. Silence swallowed whatever speculation the staff harbored about the meeting’s purpose.

  Betty smiled and nodded at Jan. John sat beside Lorna, both intent on him. Steve wiggled nervously to their left. Karen stood at the back with folded arms.

  “Good evening, my friends,” Jan said, smiling.

  “Good evening.”

  Helen and Ivena took seats that Betty had set out facing the couch. Jan stood behind his chair. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. And thank you, Betty, for getting everyone here.”

  He took a deep breath. “So then, I’ll be as brief as possible.” They hung on his words already. Such a devoted group, so many friends. “You’ve all met my wife, Helen.” A string of acknowledgments. “Most, if not all of you, were at our wedding.” He paused and looked at Helen. She’d agreed to his plan wholeheartedly, but now she blushed.

  “Some of you know the circumstances surrounding our marriage. But today you will all become participants in a dilemma that is changing our lives.” Move on, Janjic. Tell them. “What you hear may sound . . . unusual to some of you. It may even sound impossible, but please hear me out. For your own sakes, hear me out.”

  No one moved. He glanced at Betty and saw her head dip slightly. Not even she knew what he’d come to tell them.

  “Twenty years ago a priest named Father Micheal discovered a love for God, and he died for that love. Little Nadia died for the same love; you all know the story well—it is The Dance of the Dead. That love changed my life. It introduced me to the Creator.”

  He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Today, it seems that love has been born in me as well. I who saw the martyr’s death, I who saw the love of Nadia am myself learning their love. We all are, I suppose. But to feel the love of the Father, it is something that will undo a man.”

  Jan fell silent for a few moments, judging their response. But they just stared at him with round eyes, eager for him to continue.

  “I tell you this to help you understand what I will say now. I am taking my bride back to Bosnia.”

  The room suddenly felt evacuated of air.

  “I won’t be returning to America. Ivena, Helen, and myself are lea
ving for Bosnia to live. In Sarajevo.”

  They sat like mannequins, unmoving. Perhaps they didn’t understand what he was saying. “But . . . but what about the movie?” John asked.

  “The movie is gone.”

  Now a gasp ran through the gathering. “What? Why? That’s impossible!”

  “No, I’m afraid it’s not impossible, my friends. You see, I was given a choice. The producer doesn’t think my marriage . . . benefits the movie.”

  “But that’s ridiculous,” John said. “What does your marriage have to do with the movie?”

  Choose your words, Janjic. “Nothing. Nothing at all. And yet they disagree. They seem to think that my character is in question.” He put his hand behind Helen’s head and she blushed.

  “I would like to wring their necks personally!” It was Betty again.

  Jan did not laugh. “Believe me, I understand the sentiment.”

  “So they can do that?” John demanded. “They can insist that?”

  “They can and they have.”

  Lorna spoke the question undoubtedly on all of their minds. “And what does that mean for the ministry?”

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to return what we’ve been paid to the movie studio. It means that we have no choice but to close the ministry.”

  The cry of outrage came immediately from every corner of the room. “No! They can’t do that! Never!” Even Karen looked stunned. Yet surely she knew this was coming.

  “Can’t we fight this?” Steve demanded. “Can’t we get a lawyer or something?”

  Jan looked at the wiry old man. The ministry had become his life. Helen lowered her head as if she was beginning to understand the price being paid for her.

  “We could, but I am told that technically the producers are within their rights. It comes down to a choice that I must make. And I’ve made that choice. The ministry must close its doors. I’m sorry. The time has come for me to return to my homeland.”

  “What about Roald?” John asked. “Can’t he do something?”

  “Actually, I’m afraid even the council is deserting us this time. Not everyone sees the church in the same way, and now they see it differently than I do.”

  “I never did like that stuffed shirt!” John said.

  “Please understand me, my friends. I don’t want to leave you. But it’s the call God has put in my heart. My story isn’t finished, as Ivena has insisted for some time now, and the next chapter does not occur on American soil.”

  “And what will happen in Bosnia?”

  “We will be free to love each other.” He glanced at Helen.

  Jan stated it simply and firmly, but they did not swallow it so quickly or easily. They went back and forth for another full hour, the more outspoken employees speaking their minds repeatedly, some arguing that Jan was right, others questioning what they saw as a preposterous suggestion. How could a whole ministry just shut down because of one deal gone bad?

  In the end it was Lorna, biding her time for most of the debate, who brought the room to stillness once again. She simply outlined the financial state of the ministry. Without the movie deal, they would be lucky to get out of their lease without legal action. They were flat broke. Payroll was out of the question—even the one coming this Friday. And Jan? Jan would have to give up his house and his car, not to mention possibly being forced into bankruptcy. They might all be losing their jobs, but Jan was losing his life.

  That silenced them all.

  They stared at Jan with sad eyes now, finally understanding the full purpose of the meeting. For five long years they had given their lives to The Dance of the Dead. And now the dance was over.

  They cried and they hugged and in the end they smiled. Because Jan could not hide the glint in his eyes. He was sure that they finally did believe him: It was indeed God who had placed this new tune in his heart. So he would dance a new dance—a dance of life, a dance of love.

  And now that he thought about it, Jan could hardly stand to remain on American soil a second longer. It was time to go home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  GLENN SAT cross-legged like a brooding beast on top of his desk. A dull pain throbbed relentlessly under the sling that held his right arm. A single white bandage sufficed for the finger on his left hand, but at times its pain overshadowed that of his shoulder.

  They had scoured the northern outskirts of Atlanta for nearly two days without finding a sign of Helen following her disappearance. She’d come to him, and that had been a slice of heaven. But she had also left, and then lost the tail he’d put on her. Worse, the preacher had not followed through with his promise to meet Charlie. Charlie had tipped his hand, and Glenn had nearly taken his head off telling him so.

  But they couldn’t hide forever. Now it would be better to kill them all. One way or another he would at least kill the preacher and the bag of bones. And the next time he laid hands on Helen, he would maim her. At least.

  The door suddenly cracked and Beatrice stepped in. “Sir, I have some news.”

  “Well, give it to me. You don’t have to be so theatrical,” he growled.

  She ignored him and made her way to the guest chair. Only when she’d seated herself and smoothed out her black skirt did she speak. “They’ve left the country,” she said.

  Glenn sat, speechless. What was the wench telling him? They had fled to Canada? Or Mexico?

  “The preacher has signed ownership of everything over to a manager for liquidation and he’s taken the women out of the country.”

  A panic washed over his back. He’s taken her? He’s taken her for good? Glenn shoved himself off his desk, hardly aware of the pain that shot through his bones. His phone crashed to the tile. “He can’t do that! He can’t do that, can he? Where? When?”

  Beatrice shrank back. “To Yugoslavia. Yesterday.”

  “Yugoslavia? Bosnia?” Glenn strode quickly to his left and then doubled back to his right. The preacher had taken Helen back to Bosnia! It was impossible! “He can’t just leave! He owes me over a million dollars. Don’t they know that?” He was having difficulty breathing, and he stopped to pull air into his lungs. “Doesn’t that imbecile Charlie have any control at all?” He swore. Think. Think! “We have to stop them.”

  “I’m not even sure Detective Wilks knows it’s happened. I received a call from the man in charge of the liquidation. He told me not to bother suing; he’s already been instructed to funnel all proceeds from the sale to satisfy your debt.”

  “But she went with him?”

  “Relax, Glenn. It’s not the end of the world. You stand to lose a lot of money on the movie deal. That should concern you more.”

  He whirled to her. “And you know nothing, you witch!” He spit savagely to his right. “I’m losing her!”

  She did not respond.

  Glenn suddenly pulled up. “They are in Bosnia?”

  “That’s what I—”

  “Shut up! Maybe it’s better this way. I’ll have them killed in Bosnia! They can’t touch me!” But that was not true. Nothing could be better this way!

  Beatrice sat back. “Killed in Bosnia? All of them?”

  “If I can’t have her, I have no choice but to kill her. You know that.”

  A thin smile crossed her mouth. She stared at him over her horn-rimmed glasses. “Who do you know in Eastern Europe?” she asked.

  Glenn closed his eyes and desperately tried to settle himself. How could this have possibly happened? He groaned and exhaled a lungful of stale breath. He walked to the desk and ran his hand along its high-gloss finish. He would see her again, he swore it to himself. Dead or alive he would see her again.

  His hand came to rest beside a notepad. He lifted it. The preacher’s book stared up at him, its red cover mocking him in full-throated laughter. The Dance of the Dead. He picked it up. To think that this maniac had actually made a fortune from his tale of death. They were not so different, he and the preacher. And the other pig, the one who had butchered—


  Glenn froze. A chill snaked down his spine. The notion exploded in his mind like a white-hot strobe and he stood with a limp mouth.

  “Glenn?”

  “I want you to do something, Beatrice,” he said softly and turned to face her. “I want you to find someone for me. Someone in Bosnia.”

  “Who? I have no idea how to find anyone in Bosnia,” she said.

  Glenn smiled as the idea set in. “You will, Beatrice. You will find him. And you will learn about him in this book.” He held it toward her with a shaking hand.

  “Who?” she asked again, taking the book.

  “Karadzic,” Glenn said. “His name is Karadzic.”

  BOOK FOUR

  THE BELOVED

  “Love is as strong as death,

  its jealousy unyielding as the grave.

  It burns like blazing fire,

  like a mighty flame.

  Many waters cannot quench love;

  rivers cannot wash it away.

  If one were to give all the wealth of his house for love it would be utterly scorned.”

  SONG OF SONGS 8:6–7 NIV

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Sarajevo, Bosnia

  Four Weeks Later

  IVENA STOOD at the graves where they’d buried Father Micheal’s and Nadia’s bodies. She stared up at the pitted concrete cross. It was her third visit in as many weeks since their return. Already the vine she’d brought from Joey’s garden curled around the graves and wound up the lower half of the cross in a delicate embrace. The large white flowers seemed totally natural now, reacting as she had expected to the rain and the sun that spurred their growth.

  The small village had faded over the years, now hardly more than a collection of vagrants who eked out an existence off the land and lived in the crumbling houses. The church’s blackened spire stretched against the sky, a burned-out backdrop to the overgrown graveyard she stood in. Most towns had managed to recover after the war’s atrocities. Most.

  Some of the others who had been there that day still visited regularly, but they could not keep the grounds up. The locals couldn’t care for the grave of an old dead priest, no matter how horrible the tale of his death. The country was simply littered with a hundred thousand stories as terrible.