by Ted Dekker
But that was all going to change, wasn’t it?
Casius left the house, tossed the bag in the rear of his black Volvo, and slid behind the wheel. The dash clock read 6 P.M.—nearly twelve hours had passed since his call with David. They would be coming soon. Once the CIA discovered his absence, they would follow him carefully, knowing full well that he would kill whoever got in his way.
And kill he would. In a heartbeat. He glanced in the rearview mirror and turned the ignition key. The car rumbled to life. Killing David Lunow might be a problem—he had actually grown to like the man. If there was anyone on the globe he might call a friend, it would be him. But they wouldn’t send David. It had been five years since the man had seen the killing end of any weapon. No, it would be contract killers. By leaving he was practically screaming for a bullet to the head. A chill ran up his spine and he grinned softly.
Casius shoved the stick shift forward and eased the car out of the long driveway, scanning for surveillance as he left the three-acre lot behind. Of course they knew where he was headed—but they would not know his route.
He reached the lake twenty minutes later. A deserted pier stuck over the water like a rickety old xylophone. The moon lit a thin multicolored sheen of oil that rested on the surface. Casius quickly removed heavy wire cutters from the trunk, snipped the chain strapping the gates together, and eased the black car onto the pier. He withdrew the black sports bag and started the car toward the polluted water.
The last bubbles popped through the surface three minutes after the car’s plunge. Only a wide hole in the water’s oily film showed for the vehicle’s pas- sage. Satisfied, Casius slung the bag to his shoulder and jogged toward the city—toward the crowded streets.
Within half an hour he’d hailed a yellow cab. “Airport,” he instructed, climbing behind an Asian driver.
“Which airline?” the man asked, pulling into the street.
“Just the main terminal,” Casius answered. He pulled the bag against his leg and gazed out the window. He had covered his bases. There was no way for them to trace him now. They would scour his house of course, but they would find nothing.
He was going down into the jungle and one way or another he would put Jamal to death.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Friday
THE GOOD news was that Sherry slept long and hard that night.
The bad news was that her sleep was filled with a hollow scream that could only have been shaped in hell itself.
Sherry doubled over on the sandy beach, throat raw and wailing.
Oh, God! Oh, God, save me! Oh . . .
She was running out of breath and panicking and unable to stop her shrieking. She was dying—a slow death caused by the acid that sizzled on her skin. The pain raged to her bones, as if they had been opened and molten lead had been poured into them. All around her the people were crying and toppling onto the sand, skeletons.
Sherry bolted upright in bed, still screaming. The room echoed with her hoarse voice and she clamped a hand over her mouth. She breathed heavily through her nostrils, eyes peeled at the soaked bed.
She wasn’t dead.
The vision had come back. Stronger this time. Much stronger.
“Oh, God,” she whimpered. “Oh, God, this is worse than the box . . . Please . . .”
Helen!
Sherry didn’t bother brushing her teeth or dressing. She threw her bathrobe on and ran for the car.
Helen answered on the second knock, as if she’d been waiting.
“Hello, Tanya.”
Sherry walked in, still trembling.
“You look a bit ragged, my dear.” Helen looked her over and then walked for the living room. “Come on, then. Tell me again.”
She walked in and sat.
“You did not like the bile, I take it,” Helen said.
The bile?
Helen must have seen her expression. “The stomach of the whale. Jonah. The acid.”
“The bile,” Sherry said. She dropped her head and began to cry.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Helen said gently. “Really, I am. It must be painful. But I can assure you that it won’t end. Not until you go.”
“I don’t want this!” Sherry cried.
“No. But you’re not sweating blood yet, so I suppose you’re all right.”
Sherry stared at her through blurred vision, at a loss for what she could possibly mean. “I can’t go through another night like that, Grandmother. I mean . . . I really don’t think I can. Physically.”
“Exactly.”
“This is mad! ”
“Yes.”
Sherry lowered her head and shook it. Helen began to hum an old hymn and after a while it had a settling effect on Sherry.
Wiping her eyes, she lifted her head and studied the older woman.
“Okay. So what you’re saying is that God has chosen me for some . . . some purpose. I have to go back to the jungle. And if I don’t he’ll torment me with these . . . these . . .”
“Pretty much, yes. I doubt he’s the one doing the tormenting, but he isn’t getting in the way. It seems that you’re needed.”
“Do you have any idea how absolutely stupid this all sounds?”
Helen looked at her for a few seconds. “Not really, no. But I’ve been through a bit.”
“Yeah.” Sherry’s mind swam at the thought of returning to her past.
“I don’t see how that would be possible,” Sherry said.
“Why not?”
“For one thing, the place was overrun by soldiers! Who knows what’s there now.”
Helen nodded. “Father Petrus Teuwen is there. Petrus. Not where your parents were, but in Venezuela, on a mission station farther south, I believe. My husband knew him well when he was a boy. I talked with Petrus yesterday. He’s an exceptional man, Tanya. And he would welcome you.”
A small buzz erupted between her ears. “You talked to him? He knows about this?”
“He knows some things. And he knew of your parents.”
“So you’re really suggesting I pick up and go down there?” Sherry asked incredulously.
“I thought I said that yesterday. You weren’t listening?”
“For how long?”
“Until you have had enough. A week, a day, a month,” Helen said.
“Just up and fly all the way to South America for a day? It takes a full day just to get down there.”
Was she serious? Of course she was serious! Maybe God was calling her as he had called her parents nearly twenty years ago.
But the irony of the thought. Helen was right. Sherry had spent eight years running from her past and now she was suggesting Sherry just step back there. Like it was some kind of booth at a fair she could walk in and out of at will. But it wasn’t some booth—it was the house of horrors and the last time she’d gone in there the lid had locked shut.
But then that was Tanya Vandervan. She was Sherry Blake. The changing of her identity suddenly struck her as absurd. Goodness, her mind couldn’t see what her hair or eyes looked like. The mind was on the wrong side of the skull, where the visions and nightmares wandered around at night.
The silence was stretching.
“You’re free to go now that you’ve left the hospital,” Helen said. “Do you think this is by chance? Think about it, Sherry.”
She did. She thought about it, and the thought that returning might bring justification to her leave of absence from the hospital felt strangely warm. “So just buy a ticket and show up on Father Teuwen’s doorstep?”
“Actually, I’d get word to him. But basically, yes.”
Sherry sat for a long time and tried to wrap her mind around this call of God’s. But the more she thought about it, the more its madness faded.
She spent most of the day with Helen, who took it upon herself to make some phone calls. Sherry mostly sat in the big armchair, crying and asking questions and slowly, ever so slowly, warming to the idea that something very, very strange was hap
pening. God had his purposes, and somehow, she had been pulled into the middle of them all.
DAVID LUNOW sat in the director’s office with legs crossed and palms wet. He had been brought in to discuss Casius, of that he was sure. The large desk Friberg sat behind was made of a wood that reminded him of oak. Of course, it couldn’t be oak—oak was too cheap. Probably some imported wood from one of the Arab countries. Two high-backed chairs faced the desk. Mark Ingersol sat in one, David in the other. He couldn’t remember spending so much time with the brass.
Friberg dropped the phone in its cradle and stared at them without expression. He stood up and walked to the tall window behind the desk.
“No word?” Friberg asked.
“No,” Ingersol said.
“Then we move. Quickly,” Friberg said, facing them. His jaw muscles flexed. “Under no circumstances can we allow this man to live.”
David blinked. “Sir, I’m not sure I understand why he poses such a threat. He’s off on his own, and I can understand your frustration with his pigheaded attitude, but—”
“Shut up, Lunow,” Friberg said quietly. “The only reason you’re sitting where you are now is because you know the man better than anyone else. You played a part in his leaving and now you’ll play a part in his elimination. You’re not here to express your reservations.”
Heat flared up David’s neck. The warning Casius had spoken on the phone rang through his head.
“Of course, sir. But without knowing more, I’m not sure I can be effective. It seems he knows more than I do about what’s going on.”
“He’s after Jamal,” Friberg said. “And to get to Jamal he’s going through Abdullah Amir. That’s all he knows and it’s all you need to know.”
“I’m not sure that’s all he knows. He at least suspects more.”
“Then we have even more reason to take him out.”
David sat quietly now. He’d stepped into deep waters, that much was now clear.
“Perhaps it would help if we knew your concerns,” Ingersol said. “I’m just as much in the dark here as David. Casius has become a liability, but I’m not sure either of us understands just how much of one.”
Friberg turned back to the window and leaned on the ledge. He spoke out to the lawn. “I don’t have to tell you that this is ‘need to know’ only. And as far as I’m concerned, you’re the only two who need to know.” He ran a hand over his balding head. “Casius has inadvertently stumbled into an operation we were involved in eight years ago.” He turned back to them. “We know about Abdullah Amir. We know about his compound, and suffice it to say we can’t allow Casius to compromise our position in Venezuela because he has some hairbrained notion that Jamal is involved.”
Ingersol shifted in his seat. “We have an operation involving Abdullah Amir?”
“It was before your time, but yes. Let’s leave it at that. Under no circumstance is Casius to reach that compound. Am I making myself clear? We pursue him at all costs.”
David sat stunned. He wasn’t sure they knew what they were getting into with Casius. He’d never known a more dangerous man. The man was born to kill. “I’m not sure pursuing him is the best option, sir.”
“Because?”
“He may do more damage defensively than he would otherwise.”
“It’s a risk we’ll have to take. This man of yours may be good, but he’s not God. And now that you’ve blown our chances of dealing with him cleanly I need your recommendations for bringing him in.”
David ignored the comment and considered the request.
“I’m not sure you can bring him in, sir. At least not alive.” He lifted his eyes to Ingersol. “And there certainly aren’t any operatives I’m aware of who could kill the man easily.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ingersol said. “No man is that good.”
“You can try,” David said. “But you better take the cavalry with you, because there’s no way a single man will have a chance against Casius in his own backyard.”
Ingersol turned to Friberg. “I’ve already alerted all our agents south of the border. We have eyes in every major town in the region. Why can’t we insert two or three teams of snipers?”
David answered, “You could, but I doubt he’d ever give them a shot. You have to remember, the guy grew up in the region. He knows the jungle down there. His father was jungle trained, a sniper himself. Trust me, Casius would put his father to shame.” David shook his head. “I still think going after him will be a mistake. You’d have a better chance taking him once he reemerges.”
“No. We waited once; we won’t wait again!” Friberg’s face blotched red. “I want Casius dead! I don’t care what we have to send in there after him; we send it all. I want some strategic options for a takeout here, not this quibbling over snipers. You just tell me how we can get to this guy and let me worry about the execution.”
“What about sending troops, David?” Ingersol asked softly. “If you don’t think snipers can reach him—what about cutting him off?”
“Troops? Since when does the CIA order troops around?” David asked and immediately regretted the question. Ingersol’s left eye twitched below that slicked-back hairline, as if to say, “Get off it, David. Just answer the question. ”
“Yes, well supposing you could get troops, they would have to be Special Forces. Jungle trained with combat experience. You insert them in a perimeter around this plantation Casius is presumably headed for and you might have a shot at him.”
“We can do that,” Friberg stated flatly. “How many do you think it will take?”
“Maybe three teams,” he replied uncomfortably. “Provided they’re jungle trained. I think he’d have a hard time getting around three Ranger teams. But it won’t be pretty.”
A new light of hope seemed to have ignited behind Friberg’s eyes. “Good. I want specifics on my desk in three hours. That’s all.”
It took a moment for Ingersol and David to realize they had been dismissed. David left with words buzzing through his head. They weren’t Friberg’s words. They were the words spoken by Casius a day earlier and they were suggesting he go away for a while.
Far away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“HELLO, MARISA. Sorry to wake you. I missed you last night and I woke early.”
“It’s okay. I just got up. Where are you?”
Sherry hesitated and shifted the receiver. “I had the . . . vision again last night—” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat.
The phone sat silent at her ear.
“I’m leaving for a few days. Maybe a week. Maybe longer, I don’t know.”
“Leaving? Where are you now?”
“Well, that’s just it. I’m at the airport. I’m going to Venezuela, Marisa.”
“You’re doing what?”
“I know. It sounds crazy. Like going back into the snake pit. But I had this talk with Helen, and . . . well, there’s a flight that leaves at eight. I have to be on it.”
“What about passports or visas? You can’t just hop on a plane and take off, can you? Who are you staying with?”
“My parents got me dual citizenship, so actually, yes—I can just hop on a plane. I’ll be there in twenty-four hours. It’s just a trip, Marisa. I’ll be back.”
The phone went silent again.
“Marisa?”
“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this! It’s so sudden.”
“I know. But I’m going. Something’s . . . going on, you know? I mean, I don’t know what, but I’ve got to go. For my own sanity, if nothing else. Anyway, I wanted you to know. So you don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry? Sure, okay. You’re going back into the jungle to look for a boyfriend who’s been dead for ten years, but hey—”
“This isn’t about Shannon. I know he’s dead. This is different. Anyway, I’ve gotta get to the gate.”
Marisa sighed. “Watch yourself then, okay? Really.”
“I will.” Sherry smiled. “H
ey, I’ll be back before you know it. No big deal.”
“Sure you will.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sunday
“I DON’T know, but I don’t think it’s about the boy,” Helen said.
“It never was about the boy,” Bill replied. “Besides, I thought he was dead.”
“Yes. So they say. But it’s not about Tanya, either. Not really.”
“So you’ve said. Tanya is a Jonah, and it’s really about Nineveh.”
“I know, but I’m not sure it’s about Nineveh anymore either.”
“So now we don’t even know who the players are in this chess match of yours?”
“We know who the players are. They are God and they are the forces of darkness. The white side and the black side. What we don’t know is which players they are prodding and whether those players will actually move. But I have this feeling, Bill. The black side doesn’t have a clue about what’s really happening. This is an end run.”
“As long as the players cooperate.”
Helen was silent for a moment.
“Have you ever wondered what kind of man embraces evil, Bill?”
“What kind of man? Every man. What do you mean?”
“I mean, what kind of man would kill others?”
“Many men have killed others. I’m not sure I follow.”
“It’s just something that’s been gnawing at me. One way or another Tanya is going back to confront the same evil that killed her parents. I was just thinking about what kind of evil that was. That drove those men. And I think you’re right . . . I think it’s the same kind of evil that’s in every man. But not every man embraces it.”
“And the death of Christ destroys it.”
“Yes. The death of Christ. Love.”
THE VALLEY would have looked like any other valley in Venezuela’s Guyana Highlands, except for the black cliffs jutting to the sky. As it was, the stark contrast between the green jungle and the sheer rock served as a reminder to the Indians that the men occupying the valley were men with black souls. Death Valley, that’s what they now called the region that had only eight years ago been occupied by messengers of God.