Where Tomorrow Leads

by DiAnn Mills

  He reached for Larson and helped her to her feet. She eased into his embrace, her sobs matching the heavy rain.

  “Twice now I’ve almost lost you,” Paul said. “And it’s my fault. Nizam is behind this.”

  “Our baby has to be safe,” she said. “I don’t know what we are supposed to do, but we have to do something to protect our child.”

  “Take her to the truck,” Ben said. “I’ll be there after I deal with this man.”

  “His name is Muti,” Paul said. “He held me at gunpoint outside of Kibum. Claims to speak for my brother.”

  “Do you really think Nizam ordered my abduction?” Larson said.

  “I imagine so.” Paul whipped his attention from her to Muti. “Ben has ways to make you talk. You’d be a fool not to cooperate.”

  “Nizam did not order this.” Muti’s voice was layered with scorn.

  Paul glared at him. “Then you’d better tell all you know.”

  Leaving Muti with Ben, Paul took Larson’s hand and followed Okuk to the truck. Again lightning flashed, and the downpour flooded over them.

  “I’m ready to go home.” She shivered. “I want this nightmare over. Every time I think of the patients they killed inside the clinic, I’m ready to join up with Ben and carry a rifle instead of a doctor’s bag. All this talk about peace from the government, and your brother’s claims to want to know more about Christianity, are nothing but lies.”

  “The infant is alive.” Paul held her close. “I left him with a villager.”

  She was silent for a moment. “I want to keep the baby.” Her words were edged with emotion. “I’m not sure why, but I have to care for that motherless child.”

  “With one of our own on the way?”

  “Yes. It may not make sense to you, but I feel God is asking us to raise him as our son. He is the heritage of Sudan, the hope for reconciliation.” She touched his face in the darkness. “Try to understand me, Paul.”

  “My habibti. If this is what God wants, then this is what I want too.”

  But what of Muti and Nizam? Would Paul bring death and destruction to everyone he touched?

  * * *

  Ben made his way to Daruka’s tukul. He’d hoped to have secured information from Muti by now. Last evening Ben had tried convincing the man that things would go easier on him if he cooperated. But Muti had only laughed.

  “Tell me who ordered Dr. Farid’s abduction,” Ben said.

  “You already have my answer. But I might give you information in exchange for my release.”

  Ben had burned with rage. John Garang once said that he didn’t want negotiations—he wanted dialogue. And Ben wasn’t getting anywhere with Muti.

  This morning he’d left six of his men with the prisoner, and he’d brought four with him and Okuk to talk with the Yar villagers. He’d ordered his men to make friends with them, not frighten them. Once his men gained their confidence, Ben hoped to learn who had linked hands with Khartoum. Maybe his poor health had softened him, but he no longer felt the need to terrorize a village in order to find moles. There were other means to draw out information. However, Muti was of the breed that deserved a slow death.

  Standing outside Daruka’s tukul, he realized the foolishness of his previous plan to establish a relationship with David at any cost. His desires hadn’t changed, but his methods needed a fresh approach. Daruka had expressed her dislike of him on his last visit, and she’d not be happy about this one either. And David . . . The more he thought about his son, the more he saw they shared the same quick temper. The key was to convince Daruka to marry him, with or without David’s permission. That way he could slowly prove himself to the boy, much as he wanted his men to persuade the villagers. With renewed confidence, Ben stepped into the tukul.

  “Why are you here again?” Daruka said, her voice full of scorn. “And why are your men in the village?”

  “I’m here to ask you again to marry me.”

  She pressed her trembling lips together. “Ben, leave us alone. I told you before. I will not marry you unless David agrees.”

  “Can’t you talk to him?”

  “So you can run off and leave us again?”

  “I’m finished with running from my responsibility to you and my son. I have my duties with the SPLA, but my home would be with you and David. You may have no feelings but anger toward me now, and rightly so. But isn’t there something inside you that would consider giving me another chance?”

  He saw the turmoil in her face. Had she loved him all these years?

  “Daruka, I want to spend the rest of my life as your husband and David’s father. Unless there is another man, why not give me an opportunity to prove my faithfulness?” He touched her shoulder. “I have business in Juba mid-August. You and David can come with me. When we’re finished, I’ll take you to Nairobi. You’ve never been to a big city, and I’d like for you and David to see it.”

  A tear slipped from her eye, and she whisked it away. “I don’t know, Ben. It’s been so long. I wonder why you never married. Am I being a foolish woman to want to believe your heart has always held something for me?”

  Could he go through with this? Deceit marched across his mind. “We had good times back then. We can again.”

  She focused her attention on something to her right. “David has not spoken of you since you left.”

  “Where is he now? I want to talk to him.”

  She pointed in the direction where she’d been staring. “He’s watching the goats. We are fortunate to have been given them, and he takes great pride in making sure they are safe and in good pasture.”

  “All right.” He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and manage the pain in his back.

  “I’ll pray for you . . . for God’s will.”

  Her words warmed his heart. He wasn’t worthy of this woman, but he would take care of her properly. “Thank you.”

  Ben walked under the shade of ancient trees and on through tall grass. He caught sight of David with the goats. No wonder Daruka was proud of him. With no one around, he stood erect and guarded those goats as though they were gold. Ben stopped and watched his son. He held a club firmly, and his gaze darted about for signs of trouble.

  Suddenly confusion anchored in him. What should he say to this boy who was a stranger to him? Their last meeting had ended in disaster. This time he’d be as honest as possible.

  “David, can we talk?”

  The boy stiffened. “What about?”

  “Your mother and me.” You are so much like me at your age.

  “I will listen, but it doesn’t mean I want you as my father.”

  Ben started to say he didn’t have a choice, but swallowed his response. “I want to right the past and marry your mother. She’s done a fine job raising you, and I’m grateful for her love and sacrifice. I can’t undo what happened before you were born and the years I’ve missed, but I can begin right now to take care of both of you.”

  “Are you leaving the SPLA?”

  “No, but my role has changed with the signing of the peace treaty. The fighting has diminished as both sides seek to work out their differences.” Ben no more believed his words than he trusted the new government.

  David studied him, his face as troubled as Daruka’s. “I like it that you speak to me as though I were a man instead of a boy.”

  “I believe you deserve it.”

  “Does my mother want to marry you?”

  “Only if you give your permission.”

  “Will it be a Christian marriage?”

  “If that is your mother’s choice.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “Yes. It took me a long time to realize it.” Ben had lied all of his life, but this falsehood was one of the hardest. Yet to have David, he’d sell his soul to the devil. He already had.

  David nodded. “I want my mother to be happy.”

  “So do I.”

  “And you promise not to leave her again?”

  “I will
honor my vows to your mother. I do need to lead my men and continue my duties with them, but my home will be in Yar.”

  David crossed his arms and glanced away. “All right.”

  “Shall we tell her together?”

  “I think so.”

  * * *

  Larson enjoyed having Santino and Sarah with her at the clinic. Talking with them helped her cast aside her fears for those she loved.

  “I thought things were supposed to change with Vice President Garang working with the government.” Sarah straightened the chairs and benches.

  “So did I. But life continues on as usual. Strange, when the peace treaty is supposed to allow us to breathe easier.” Larson unlocked the cabinet containing her precious medicines and slipped her hands into sterile gloves.

  “Nothing is more beautiful than the paradise we have here,” Santino said. “Unlike Colonel Alier, I have faith in the new government.”

  “I want to,” Larson said. “But it’s difficult to trust anyone since Paul’s family have sworn to kill him. I’d like nothing better than to raise our children here, but a few problems need to be resolved first.”

  “Has your husband heard if Muti has given Colonel Alier any information?” Santino folded a few ragged towels.

  “Not to my knowledge.” Larson took a deep breath in hopes her queasy stomach soon settled. She was more than ready to stop throwing up and simply gain her baby weight.

  Sarah planted her hands on her hips. “If he hasn’t, then I imagine he’s not alive.”

  Santino laughed. “Aunt Sarah, you have never liked Colonel Alier or his tactics, but in this instance, you might be right.”

  “Muti still lives. Paul is talking to him now in hopes of finding out who ordered my abduction, since Muti claims that Nizam knew nothing about it.” She studied Santino for his reaction.

  “I’ve never seen your husband interrogate a prisoner, but I don’t think he can do so effectively. It’s not a job for anyone with compassion.”

  Larson wondered about the same thing. She hadn’t questioned Paul about it. His former life in Khartoum stayed right there, and she had no intentions of digging up past sins when she had plenty of her own. “I’m not sure what he has in mind.”

  Santino’s gaze unnerved her. Maybe he actually thought Paul was capable of torture, despite his words to the contrary. “Muti has to be broken in order to end the attacks upon you, Paul, and all of your friends.”

  “My husband is not a violent man. There are other ways.”

  Santino’s eyes narrowed, and he returned to stacking the mound of rags.

  Larson glanced at Sarah, who offered a sad smile. Normally the older woman voiced her opinions whether anyone wanted to hear them or not.

  God, I know You are in control and Paul listens to You.

  Determined to end the topic of conversation, Larson walked across the room to the small reed-woven cradle containing her tiny son. Placing a kiss on the sleeping baby’s forehead, she felt tears near the surface. Where had all of this love come from for one so small and helpless? She smiled, remembering her and Paul’s bantering discussion about a name choice.

  “We can call him Latte for the color of his skin.” She’d swallowed a giggle. The baby’s father must have been Arabic.

  “Not my son.” Paul picked up the baby, who was squirming with hunger. “However, we could call him George Bush Farid.”

  Larson wrinkled her nose. “As much as I support our president, I don’t think that’s a good choice. Do I need to remind you we’re living under a Muslim government?” She tapped her finger to her chin. “My father’s name is Tom, and so is your best friend’s.”

  “Smart woman.” He offered formula to the baby, who greedily drank from the bottle. “I’m partial to Abraham too.”

  “Then we have it. Thomas Abraham Farid.”

  He smiled into the baby’s face. “Do you realize we will have two children six months apart?”

  “More like five months.”

  They laughed.

  Larson enjoyed the memory. Yet still no decision had been made about moving from Warkou. Temporarily, Santino served as her bodyguard, which eased Paul’s fears and made her feel better too.

  Larson stood up from the cradle. “Isn’t he the most beautiful baby in the whole world?”

  Sarah joined her and hugged her waist. “All gifts from God are beautiful, especially our own.”

  Since her abduction and Thomas’s mother’s death, Larson often considered living somewhere other than Sudan. Strange how instant motherhood had changed her perspective. She didn’t understand her new feelings, the unconditional love that held little room for selfishness. Torn between her passion for Sudan and the safety of her family, she asked God for direction. But would she trust Him enough to obey His guidance?

  CHAPTER 17

  “Who ordered my wife’s abduction?” Paul grasped Muti’s jaw and stared into the man’s dark, beady eyes.

  Muti shook his head. “I’m not talking. Go ahead and kill me.”

  “Maybe I’ll attach a bomb to you and let you die a hero’s death.”

  The man challenged him with a defiant glare.

  Paul forced a laugh. “Ah, yes, you’d much prefer a delusion of paradise.”

  “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

  “And now it’s my turn.” Paul wished he had the guts to use torture techniques. He’d been schooled well by his older brother in what gave the best results. But he hadn’t been able to inflict any of those methods then, and neither could he do so now.

  When he died with Christ, the old passed away. Now, in this tent with Muti—a man whose hands were stained with the blood of the innocent, a man who sat in his own filth and shouted murder to the infidel—Paul recalled a phrase of Scripture.

  I was no better than Muti, and God called me to be His own. Father, must this all be so hard? Do I kill him so he will not kill my family?

  “You are weak.” Muti chuckled. “You refused to kill me before, and you can’t now.”

  Paul shook his head and turned toward the opening of the tent, not wanting Muti to see how he trembled—not in cowardice but in fear of not obeying God. He whirled back around. “You have no idea what real strength is.”

  “I see what it isn’t.”

  “Your life is not in my hands, but those of the soldiers who hold you here. I will leave this camp today, whether you tell me what I want to know or not. Once I’m gone, how long will these men keep you alive?” He leaned in to the foul-smelling man. “You want to make a deal? Tell me who ordered the abduction of my wife. Nizam? One of my other brothers? My father?”

  Muti’s stoic face and cold eyes were his only reply.

  “You’re making a serious mistake,” Paul said. “I will leave within the hour. If you value your life and change your mind, let me know.” He stepped out into the drizzly afternoon and drank in the fresh air, glad to be unencumbered by a man who’d rather die than give up his beliefs in a false god.

  Commander Okuk approached him, and Paul pushed aside Muti’s repulsiveness from his mind.

  “There’s been a terrible accident.” Commander Okuk’s expression hardened. “Colonel Alier just informed me John Garang has been killed in a helicopter explosion.”

  Paul’s pulse raced. “Are you sure?” Could Ben have obtained false information? Not John Garang, Lord. He wanted to make so many changes. He welcomed Christians.

  “The colonel said the information came from a reliable source. Six other Sudanese and seven Ugandans were also killed in the crash.”

  Paul’s stomach churned. How would the Sudanese community respond to this tragedy? “I don’t want to believe it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  From inside the tent, Muti laughed. “Allah be praised.”

  Okuk pulled out his 9mm.

  “No, Okuk. I’m not done with him yet.” Paul started to touch the commander’s arm, but he thought better of it. Okuk did not like him, and bo
th men were upset with the dire news. “Why not gather your men and tell them about the explosion?”

  A murderous scowl cemented itself on Okuk’s face. “If you don’t kill that jackal, then I will. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to skin him alive.”

  * * *

  Ben attempted to draw Daruka into his arms, but she refused him. Years ago she’d met John Garang, and her heartache was doubled. The hope of southern Sudan, and a leader she’d personally revered, was gone.

  “Let me comfort you,” he said. “I know how much John meant to you—to all of us.”

  Her face softened, and she stepped into his arms. “I’m being selfish. Your sorrow must be more than mine.”

  Grief and anger pierced his heart and mind. John Garang is dead. Rebecca, the vice president’s wife, had to be devastated with the loss of her husband. For years she’d lived with the knowledge his life could easily be destroyed. But this? After the signing of a peace treaty? Now that her husband’s hopes for Sudan were finally taking form, he’d been snatched away.

  For Ben, life was spiraling down to an unfathomable depth. His gun would not bring back his lifelong friend or cure the cancer raging through his body. In the past, he’d shoved away hopelessness, believing it was the fodder of weak men. Now he sensed the snake of despair uncoiling in his body.

  “What will happen to our people now?” Tears streamed down Daruka’s face. “John Garang fought for years for our people, just like you have. I’m frightened heavy fighting will begin again.”

  “There are good men who are deciding important matters right now. We have to hold on to our faith in the South’s leaders.”

  “And in God. He will not forsake us.”

  Ben tightened his hold on her frail body. He remembered when he’d left her years ago after learning she carried his child. She hadn’t believed in God then. Perhaps his abandonment and the task of raising David had caused her to turn to God.

  “I’m shocked about the news too. And as much as I hate to leave you and David, I need to be with my battalion. I must be there to stop my men from panicking.”

  Daruka lifted her tearstained face and offered a shaky smile. “I would not try to keep you. Our people have always looked to you for leadership, and now more than ever before.”