by Randy Singer
Bella paused for a second, as if she regretted criticizing her mother. “She was a wonderful mother and a good person; she just didn’t have time for organized religion.”
Bella turned abruptly into the parking lot of Chesapeake Estates, and Sarah said a quick and silent prayer of thanks. She saw no reason to speak. Bella didn’t seem to be looking for advice.
“Mom never did anything for herself,” Bella explained. “She worked her fingers to the bone to provide for us. Dad’s checks would show up some months; other months they wouldn’t. He never did. Mom, on the other hand, never missed any of my school events. The older I got, the closer I got to my mom. She would drive me crazy sometimes because she was so protective and always worrying. But I realized a few years ago that she was not only my best friend; she was really my only friend. Now she’s in this godforsaken home, and I can’t do a thing to make things better.”
Bella turned off the car and continued to unburden herself to Sarah.
“I don’t think Mom has much time left. It’s time for her to get things right with her Maker. I thought maybe you could help.”
“What about you, Bella?” Sarah asked patiently as she climbed out of the car. The fresh air brought her relief from the stale cigarette smoke that saturated the car.
Bella opened the door and hoisted her considerable frame out of the driver’s seat.
“Let’s deal with Mom first,” she quipped. “For some of us there’s no hope.”
“You might be surprised,” Sarah said. But Bella was already hoofing across the parking lot, breathing heavily and burping up pizza.
* * *
They found Gertrude in her small sterile room, sitting in her favorite rocking chair. The television was blaring, but Gertrude was not looking at it. Bella turned down the television and plunked herself down at the foot of her mom’s bed, next to the rocker. Sarah sat gingerly in the only chair in the room other than the rocker.
“Mom, this is Sarah Reed,” Bella said loudly. Gertrude slowly turned toward Sarah and reached out her trembling hand. Sarah immediately got up, took the hand, and held it warmly in both of hers.
“She’s a Baptist missionary,” Bella said proudly. “Kinda like the Protestant version of Mother Theresa. Mom, does that make sense?”
Gertrude nodded her head, and Sarah felt the feeble woman softly squeeze her hand.
“I asked Sarah to come and talk to us about God and heaven, Mom. Is that all right?” Bella was shouting. Gertrude’s door was open, and Sarah was sure that everyone in the building now knew who she was and why she was here.
Gertrude swallowed hard and struggled to talk. The words came out forced and breathy. “Okay. . . . I always . . . liked missionaries.” And then her eyes smiled. Bella looked at Sarah and nodded. This was evidently her cue.
“Bella has told me all about you,” Sarah started. She talked softer than Bella. And as she talked, she moved her chair right next to the rocker so they could talk face-to-face. Gertrude reached out and took her hand again. “About how you took care of Bella. I can tell that Bella loves you very much. You must be very proud of her.”
Gertrude squeezed Sarah’s hand again.
“The way you love your daughter, Gertrude, that’s the way our heavenly Father loves us. And the way you took care of Bella, that’s the way our heavenly Father takes care of us. Have you ever heard of John 3:16?”
Gertrude furrowed her brow. She stopped rocking for a brief moment.
“‘For God so loved the world,’” Sarah quoted the verse, “‘that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.’”
A flicker of recognition crossed Gertrude’s face.
“Have you heard that Bible verse before?” Sarah asked.
Gertrude got ready to respond, but Bella beat her to the punch.
“Sure you have, Mom,” Bella blurted out. “You used to say it to me all the time when I was little.”
“But it’s not enough just to know the verse,” Sarah continued. “You’ve got to do what the verse says. You’ve got to believe on God’s Son, Jesus Christ, for your salvation.”
Bella’s mom closed her eyes and continued rocking. Sarah looked back at Bella, who motioned with her hand to keep going.
“There’s another verse of Scripture I’d like to share with you,” Sarah said. “It’s Romans 3:23. And it says: ‘For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.’ That means no matter how good of a mother you were, no matter how much you loved Bella and took care of her, you still did some things wrong that the Bible calls ‘sin.’ And this sin separates us from God, because God is perfect and holy and cannot tolerate sin. And the Scripture says that the wages of sin is death. Does that make sense, Gertrude? Do you understand that you and I and every person who ever lived are sinners and deserve to be punished by God?”
Gertrude betrayed no visible reaction. She just continued to rock in her slow, smooth, rhythmic way. Her eyes remained closed, and her lips stayed in a tightly pursed line.
“Think of the worst thing you’ve ever done, your greatest failure as a mom or a wife or just a woman. Then think for a minute about the price of that sin. John 3:16 says that God gave His only begotten Son. For you to be reconciled to God and forgiven of your sins, God had to send His own Son to this earth. And Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God, lived a perfect life and died a horrible and violent death on the cross. Our sins were placed on Him so that by His death He took our place.”
Though Gertrude gave no visible response, Sarah was talking faster and getting excited. It always happened this way when she shared the good news.
“But the grave couldn’t hold Him, and on the third day He rose from the grave, conquering death once and for all. And because of everything He did—living a perfect life, dying in our place, and then conquering death—we can have forgiveness for our sins through the blood of Jesus Christ. And if we’re just willing to repent of our sins and ask Jesus into our hearts to be our Lord and Savior, then Scripture promises that we’ll be saved. We’ll have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and live eternally with Him.”
As Sarah spoke, the significance of the day’s events fell away. Strobel’s tough examination. Judge Baker-Kline’s unsympathetic rulings. Leslie’s valiant but futile efforts. None of that mattered any more. Life wasn’t about federal court and all its trappings. At least not eternal life.
Sarah believed that her real accuser was Satan, that God was her Judge, and that Jesus Christ Himself was her Advocate. In the only courtroom that really mattered, her Advocate had taken her place as the defendant and endured her punishment. As a result, the Judge of the universe had declared her not guilty. And now, more than anything in the world, Sarah wanted Gertrude to experience that same liberation.
“The Word says that if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. Gertrude, Christ died for you. And for me. We are the ones who should have been on the cross, but He took our place so that we might have eternal life when we die and abundant life while we live.”
Sarah stopped and took a deep breath. She was a little embarrassed that she had been talking so fast and with such animation. But she was not embarrassed about the message. Just talking about Christ, sensing that a soul was hanging in the balance, invigorated her.
“Does that make sense, Gertrude?”
The rocking stopped, but Gertrude didn’t speak. She sat in the chair in complete silence and stillness. The sound of Bella’s labored breathing filled the room.
Sarah noticed it then. A small tear fell silently out of the corner of Gertrude’s closed eye. Then another. And another. She started rocking again, and after a moment she opened her eyes, exposing their redness and the ragged emotion of a woman coming to terms with her eternal destiny.
“Yes,” she said.
Sarah got out of her seat and knelt beside Gertrude. The elderly woman
bowed her head, reached out, and gently placed a shaking hand on Sarah’s shoulder. With her other hand, she clutched Sarah’s.
“I’m going to ask you to pray with me now,” Sarah said. “If you want, I’ll say the words, and you can squeeze my hand if this is your prayer. Is that okay?”
A squeeze told Sarah to continue.
“Dear God. I know I’m a sinner. And I know I don’t deserve Your mercy and Your grace. But I also know You sent Your only Son to die for my sins and make forgiveness available to me. I repent of my sins and receive Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior and ask Him to come into my heart and be Lord of my life. Thank You, God, for giving me eternal life. In the name of Jesus, amen.”
Gertrude clutched Sarah’s hand during the prayer and forced out an amen as Sarah concluded. Sarah looked at Gertrude and recognized the countenance. She had seen it before. A look of relief. A look of freedom. A look of acceptance. Gertrude could not smile with her mouth, but her reddened eyes were dancing. She almost fell from the chair as she reached out convulsively and gave Sarah an awkward hug.
* * *
Sarah and Gertrude had not been the only ones praying.
Unnoticed, Bella had slipped off the bed and knelt beside it while Sarah prayed. To Bella, it seemed a fitting posture. It was how her mother had taught her to pray. But it also seemed appropriate to be on her knees, to actually humble herself, as she prepared to ask the God of the universe to forgive and forget a whole truckload of sin.
Bella mouthed the words silently as Sarah prayed. Like her mother, she followed Sarah’s amen with one of her own.
When she stood, she felt a sudden need to sit again. She felt the unconditional love and acceptance that had eluded her throughout her life. The scenes of her past ran together in a swirling collage of misery—a neglectful father, an overprotective mother, teasing classmates, failed attempts at relationships, the hardening of her heart, the cynicism and hopelessness that resulted. But in this moment, it all seemed to be washed away in a flood of forgiveness and acceptance. An uncaring earthly father replaced by a loving heavenly one. So while Sarah and Gertrude hugged, Bella simply sat on the bed and basked in a wave of love and forgiveness that was unlike anything she had ever experienced.
30
“I WITHDRAW THE PENDING QUESTION, Your Honor,” Mack Strobel announced as he stepped behind the podium Thursday morning.
“You what?” the judge exclaimed. She furrowed her brow in disapproval.
“I’d like to withdraw the pending question at this time,” Strobel repeated confidently. “I would also like to reserve the right to recall Mrs. Reed at the conclusion of my case, if necessary.”
Baker-Kline looked at Strobel like he had lost his mind. “It’s your question,” she said at last.
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Sarah couldn’t fathom the reason for this surprising turn of events. From the witness stand she looked at Brad and registered her surprise. What does this mean? Brad could only shrug and smile. As Judge Baker-Kline permitted Strobel to proceed, Sarah realized she had been holding her breath and slowly exhaled. Thank You, Lord.
Her relief did not last, however, as Strobel spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon grilling her with misleading questions and innuendos. She hesitated and stumbled in several answers, fearful of misstepping again, and said a few things inconsistent with her deposition testimony. By the time the judge dismissed her from the stand, Sarah’s credibility had been badly tarnished.
After Sarah stepped down, Brad called Dr. Patrick Rydell to the stand and questioned him for the rest of the afternoon. When court adjourned, Brad assured Sarah that she had done just fine and promised her that things would take a turn for the better on Friday.
* * *
At 8:15 a.m. on Friday morning, she pulled up behind Patrick O’Malley’s van parked on a side street about a block from Norfolk General District Court. The timing would be tight. She was to meet Ahmed at 8:30. Brad expected her in Federal Court on the other side of town by the start of testimony at 9:00.
A nasty wind battered the streets of Norfolk, and it began to drizzle. She hopped inside Patrick’s van. He handed her a manila envelope containing a note and the three transmitters from the office. The radio blared in the background as she unfolded the paper and read.
“I’ll be listening on a frequency that picks up these transmitters. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be there. These things don’t have great range, so keep them close to Ahmed.”
She nodded, glad to be operating with a partner now, and closed the envelope, leaving the note with Patrick. “Good luck,” he mouthed as she climbed out into the cold.
* * *
Ahmed stared ahead and did not acknowledge her presence.
“I thought I told you to come alone,” she hissed.
“You’re wired,” Ahmed snarled back. He grabbed her left arm at the bicep and squeezed with powerful fingers, drawing her closer to him. She gasped. “And you’re not in charge here anymore. The men stay.”
“Of course I’m wired. I’ve got your bugs.”
“Show them to me,” he demanded.
“Then let go.” She said it firmly. Could he sense her fear, smell her fright?
Ahmed waited for an instant, then released her arm.
She pulled the envelope out of her purse and handed it to him. He turned to face her, staring right through her with those cold, gray eyes. His lips curled into a vicious little half smile. “You seem to be shaking, my friend.” He had noticed; he knew he was in charge! He looked at the transmitters. “What’s the plan for Shelhorse?”
Pull yourself together. Deep breaths. This guy is scum—treat him like it.
“As I told you before,” she said evenly, “the plan is to prevent Shelhorse from testifying. When I do, you will deposit one hundred thousand dollars into the Cayman Island bank account referenced on this sheet.” She handed him a slip of paper that contained the wire instructions. This time her hand was steadier.
She lowered her voice another notch and spoke slowly, deliberately.
“There is something else. I know a juror that we can buy. He’s a leader. You buy him, you’ll have your verdict.”
Ahmed’s eyes lit up. “Which one?” he demanded.
“None of your business.” Her fear began to dissipate.
Ahmed turned to her and spread his hot breath across her face. “I’m making it my business right now. We already own one juror. I must know whether this is the same person.”
He watched closely, unblinking. She could not hesitate on this, even for a fraction of a second. He was testing her. Her heart slammed against her chest.
“Juror number six,” she said calmly. “Which one do you own?”
“That truly is none of your business,” Ahmed said. He paused, staring. “But it is not juror number six.”
The co-conspirators exchanged a look. She thought she could see a slight relaxation in his jaw muscles.
“What’s the cost?”
“Two million,” she said without flinching. “Here are the wiring instructions.” She handed him a second sheet of paper, this time for a Swiss bank account. “If our juror doesn’t deliver the rest of the panel, you owe us nothing.”
“‘Us’?” Ahmed asked.
“I’m no fool. And I don’t trust you. What would stop you, once you get your defense verdict, from eliminating me?”
“You’ll have my word,” Ahmed said lamely.
“Worthless when I’m dead.”
“What are you proposing?” Ahmed asked. His words had a sharp edge. His muscles were again tensed.
She waited just long enough to let him know she could not be intimidated. “The nation of Saudi Arabia deposits one hundred million dollars in trust in a Swiss bank account. I get a copy of this trust document—” she thrust it at him but held it tight—“signed by a Saudi official. Not you. That money serves as my life insurance. As long as I’m alive, the money stays in the bank. If I die, unde
r the terms of the trust document, the person I appoint as the executor of my estate must perform an investigation of the circumstances of my death. If he, or she, concludes I was murdered or that there were suspicious circumstances surrounding my death, the hundred million goes to Sarah Reed and her children. If my executor determines that I died from natural causes, then the money goes back to Saudi Arabia.”
She could sense Ahmed’s rising frustration; the death stare was back. She kept her voice low and even. She leaned forward as she spoke, her mouth a mere foot away from the transmitters.
“By next Friday, I want the money on deposit, and I want this document signed by an authorized representative of the Saudi government and delivered to the Swiss bank. Questions?”
Ahmed took the trust document. He made a great show of studying it, turning the pages slowly and methodically.
He placed the document in his own briefcase, placed the transmitters next to it, then whispered in her ear, his words dripping with vitriol.
“You don’t set deadlines; I do. I will have the document signed, but not until after you have delivered on your promise for Shelhorse. And I’ll have the money in the account when I’m ready—sometime before the jury begins deliberations. Your arbitrary deadlines mean nothing to me. I’ll call the next meeting, not you. . . . And one more thing, which I’m sure you’ve figured out. If you don’t get rid of Shelhorse, or for some strange and tragic reason, we don’t get a defense verdict, then you will die. And no escrow account will stop us.”
She hardened her features, narrowed her eyes, and stared back.
“By the way,” Ahmed said brusquely, “two million is too much. I’ll set that price later.” He stood, grabbed his coat, and headed out.
She watched him leave and clenched her jaw. She was at once frightened and angry. Her head throbbed as adrenaline coursed through her entire body. She had been threatened by a cold-blooded killer.
But she had looked him in the eye, backed him down, and demanded her two million. She willed herself to rise, thrust her jaw in the air, and walk fearlessly from the courtroom.