by DiAnn Mills
She managed a faint gasp. “Thank you.”
“Wars are won by force. Anything else is barbaric.” His words were soft, nearly whispered, but he’d spoken them. Ben wasn’t going to admit to love, even if Farid hadn’t been with them. Some things were better left unsaid.
* * *
Larson saw the village ahead, the one where the slave trader lived. She shifted in the truck, her backside sore from the worn seat. Admittedly, her anxiousness had nothing to do with the uncomfortable ride. She could barely wait to wrap her arms around Rachel. No matter what evil had befallen the girl, the future must be better than the past. Larson could only imagine Rachel’s heartache over her capture and the sight of the soldier gunning down James. She had had no one to turn to these past months for comfort, no one but God. But now all that was about to change. Now she would have those who loved her and would encourage her spiritual growth.
The thatched-roof huts grew closer. The village looked typical, nothing out of the ordinary. Children rushed to meet them, and curious adults stopped their work, no doubt recognizing Larson’s truck. The Sudanese called it “medicine wheels.”
Ben pulled the vehicle to a stop. “I’ll check with Quadir and be right back.”
“I’d like to go with you.” Paul’s words were firm. Larson wondered how he and Ben had kept from killing each other when they journeyed to Khartoum. Each one wanted to be in charge.
“No. Quadir is suspicious of strangers. I’ll explain to him why you’re with me. Be ready in case he refuses.”
After Ben disappeared, Larson and Paul stepped from the truck and stretched. Nyok climbed over the back. The rainy season had left the ground soggy and the plants a brilliant shade of green.
“I hate waiting.” Larson paced the length of the truck. “I’ve prayed until there isn’t another word inside me.”
Paul stared at the direction in which Ben had disappeared. “I’m trying to imagine how he feels. This must be killing him.”
Larson studied the path Ben had taken. “He’s a lonely man. Despite his combative personality, he has a heart for those things that count.”
“I’ve seen his heart,” Nyok said. “When I was with the soldiers, he acted like a father to me.”
“You can’t blame the colonel for the things he does,” Paul said. “His every action stems from his commitment to the South. I admit at times I’ve found it hard to forgive him, but that’s been when my pride stepped in the way. None of us would want his responsibilities.”
“You’re right,” Larson whispered. She wrapped her arms around Nyok’s waist. “He sets out to do what is right, even if his methods are not always the best.”
The colonel headed their way. A short Arab walked with him. How surprising that a villager hadn’t slit the slave trader’s throat. Larson braced herself. She studied Ben’s face as he approached, looking for anger, grief, anything.
“You can go,” Ben said. “We have about a kilometer walk.”
“You have no weapons?” the man said.
“Quadir, I told you these people have no need to bring guns. They are merely concerned for the girl’s welfare.”
Quadir stepped toward Paul. “You are a peculiar one.” He patted Paul’s pockets and down the side of his pants. “If any of you show any signs of hostility, the deal is off. Agreed?”
Larson nodded along with the others. Without another word they followed Ben and Quadir beyond the outskirts of the village along a narrow path through the tall grass. Larson’s heart thumped against her chest. Her stomach churned, and her fingertips tingled.
Lord, she has to be all right. I beg of You, let her be all right.
* * *
Paul didn’t trust the slave trader any farther than he could throw him, and he didn’t think Ben did either. Something about the greasy-looking man reeked of deceit. Paul remembered Ben referring to him as a jackal—the term fit the man.
The grass cleared. In the distance a large baobab tree, with branches that sprouted upward like roots, seemed to touch the sky. Some tribes used the wide trunks of the trees as jails or pens for animals. An eerie sensation spiraled up Paul’s spine. Why, he didn’t know. God had answered their prayers for Rachel’s return. Paul had no need to fear, but apprehension still needled him.
“There.” Quadir pointed. “We will make the exchange near the tree.”
Paul studied the area, as he well realized Ben did the same. The tall, thick grass could serve as a perfect hiding spot for the GOS. The tree was wide enough to conceal at least a half-dozen more.
Within ten feet of the tree, Quadir held out his hand to stop the small party. “Bring the girl,” he called.
From behind the tree, three Arab men emerged with Rachel. She looked thinner, but Paul couldn’t tell anything else. Rachel wasn’t close enough to reveal her eyes, for in them would lie the truth—and the pain.
“Is this the young woman you’re looking for?” Quadir said as though he addressed thousands of people.
Ben clenched his fists. Not a muscle moved. “Yes.” His reply echoed around them.
“Now that you’ve seen her, do you have the dinars?”
Ben held out one hand and reached inside his pant pocket with the other. He pulled out the redemption price.
Quadir motioned to the men behind him, and one gave Rachel a slight shove. She walked up alongside Quadir. Not a trace of emotion crossed her lovely face. “Do you know this man?”
Rachel lifted her chin. “He is my brother.”
Paul caught his breath.
“And what is your brother’s name?”
“Colonel Ben Alier of the SPLA.” Rachel glared at her brother.
Paul heard Larson gasp behind him, but he dared not move.
Quadir grinned. “Speak louder, please.”
“Colonel Ben Alier of the SPLA.”
“What is this?” Ben started to reach inside his shirt just as Quadir whipped out a pistol.
“I would not advise that, Colonel.”
From behind the baobab tree, five GOS soldiers stepped forward, their rifles ready.
Quadir laughed. “I did not believe you when you gave me your name before, but the truth is clear.” He pointed to Rachel. “Whom do you serve?”
Rachel stiffened. “Allah. There is no god but Allah.”
“Rachel!” Fury flew from Ben’s mouth. “What have you done to my sister?”
“She chose for herself,” Quadir said. “My sources told me she willingly embraced Islam and offered to betray her brother.”
“Is this true, Rachel?”
“My name is no longer Rachel. It is—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
A soldier aimed a gun at Ben’s face. “I have an order to execute you, Colonel.” He spit the title as though it sickened him to say it. “Although, we thought you’d be a fool to fall for this. You’re getting old.” He waved the gun at Paul and the others. “None of you will live to see another day. Move up beside the colonel.”
Nyok moved to Ben’s left while Larson and Paul stood at his right. Paul could see Rachel clearly. She moistened her lips. Did he see regret? Did she remember the love Ben, Larson, and Nyok held for her? More important, did she remember what Jesus had done for her on the cross?
Paul stepped forward. “I believe your men would rather have me than the colonel.”
“Why? Who are you?”
“I’m Abdullah Farid, the eldest son of President Farid.”
“You lie,” the soldier said.
“I have no reason to lie. Contact Khartoum. They will tell you the truth.”
“Shut up. You’re wasting our time,” the soldier said.
“Let the others go,” Ben said. “It’s me you want. My life for my sister’s.”
The soldier laughed and raised his rifle. “I’ll rid the world of all of you.”
Paul watched Rachel break from Quadir’s side. She stepped between the soldier and her brother. “Please. Spare them.” Paul threw hi
mself into Ben and Rachel’s path, knocking them both to the muddy ground and protecting Rachel’s slender body. Rifle fire split the air. Paul heard Larson scream, and more shots whizzed around him. He realized only mere seconds more and one of the bullets would find him.
Jesus, take us home with You. I pray for Sudan and all of its people.
Silence.
Rachel lay beneath him quivering, sobbing. He couldn’t tell whether the colonel still lived. What of Larson and Nyok?
“It’s all right, Farid,” Ben said. “The GOS soldiers are dead and so is Quadir.”
Paul turned to look around him. Several SPLA surrounded the area. Larson slowly rose to her feet along with Nyok. Paul rolled from Rachel, her tears soaking his shirt.
“Ben, I don’t know what came over me. I thought my faith was strong until they did things . . .” She buried her face in her hands. “Please, forgive me. I’m so weak. I thought I could endure the torture, but I gave in. It wasn’t until I saw you and Larson and Nyok that I realized how wrong I’d been. I’m so sorry. I should have died for Jesus.”
Ben knelt by Rachel’s side and gathered her into his arms. He held her like a small child, rocking her, kissing away the tears. “It’s all right now. You’re safe. I’m here with you.”
Paul saw Larson was crumbling. He pulled her to him. “It’s all over,” he said to her. “Rachel is back, and she’s unharmed.”
“I know. I just never expected—”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You’re right.” She swallowed hard and leaned her head on his chest.
Ben peered up at Paul. “Thank you. I owe you for this. I’ve been wrong.” He paused. “I’d be honored if you’d call me friend.”
With Ben’s arms wrapped around Rachel, Paul grasped the colonel’s shoulder. “Friend it is.”
Ben nodded and smiled, a rarity for the big man. “As my friend, I’m entrusting you to help me get Rachel and Nyok out of Sudan until the country is safe.”
“I will,” Paul said. For a moment he thought the big man would break down.
“Larson,” Ben began, “would you allow my new friend to take care of you too?”
Paul whipped his gaze to her, hoping and wondering if she felt any of the magnitude of feelings he held for her.
“I wonder if he could use my help.” Her voice trembled.
In her eyes, Paul saw the light of love. He reached for her hand and squeezed it lightly. “I think we’d make a great team, as long as she is willing to stay in Sudan.”
“For as long as it takes.”
Epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER
Larson heard the distinct hum of Paul’s plane breaking through the village chatter, and her stomach did a flip. She envisioned his intense dark eyes filled with pools of love for God, her, and the Sudanese people. Energy surrounded him when he walked into the midst of others. No more denying her love. From the moment she’d met him, he captured her heart and enveloped her with dreams she’d thought abandoned.
Any minute he’d land and they’d be off for the States. She glanced around her small clinic for signs of yet one more task to complete before leaving. She’d never taken a two-week vacation, a much-needed reprieve from tending to the sick and wounded. Her body and soul needed rest to continue her life’s work—her and Paul’s life work.
A doctor from Nairobi was accompanying Paul. The man would take over the clinic in her absence, and Sarah had promised to help. She would make sure everything ran like a tight ship, or she’d be wagging her finger and scolding the doctor. Despite Larson’s misgivings, those needing medical care would realize they had a capable man to care for them.
Excitement caused a giggle as though she were twelve years old again. She and Paul planned to spend part of the time in Ohio visiting her parents. They hadn’t met him yet, and Paul wanted a conversation with her father. She could guess at the topic of discussion. Paul had expressed his love for her and a desire for a life together. How incredibly endearing for the man who held her heart like a treasured gem.
They’d be spending the second half of their trip in California, where they’d see Rachel and Nyok. Two families at Paul’s church had volunteered to take in the two young people. Sweet Rachel planned to pursue a nursing degree and was studying every moment possible. Nyok had discovered books, technology, and the world of sports. Larson couldn’t wait to squeeze them both and hear about their new life.
She picked up a worn and chipped mug Ben used for coffee whenever he visited. Right now he was miles away fighting in the Nuba Mountains. She kept it out so he’d always know he was welcome. He and Paul had grown close despite her. She’d known Ben had feelings for her for a long time. One day she hoped he found someone who loved him fiercely, perhaps someone who showed him the love of God too. Until then, she and Paul would live their faith unashamedly, caring for the sick, the wounded, and the hungry.
Turn the page for an exciting excerpt from
Available soon in stores and online
Join the conversation at
www.tyndalefiction.com
5
IN THEIR BRIEF SEARCH of Judge Mendez’s office, Jon and Leah didn’t turn up anything of note. Jon contacted Houston FBI for a team to image the computer, sweep the room, and request a search warrant for the judge’s courthouse office. He hoped the FBI team had better luck.
In his truck with Leah beside him, Jon drove down Thirty-Second Street toward the home of Edgar Whitson, the witness to this morning’s crime. Leah had called him as a courtesy to make sure he was home.
GPD officers surrounded St. Peter’s on the corner. Jon parked half a block away from the church near the Whitson home, a freshly painted white bungalow facing seaward and backing up to the church. With residences lining only one side of the street, the chances of neighbors having cameras that might have picked up those who’d dumped the judge’s body decreased.
An elderly man with a full head of snow-white hair stepped out of the house onto a porch bordered with yellow roses as thick as dandelions in spring. An American flag waved from one porch post, and a Texas flag saluted them on the other. As Jon and Leah approached the porch, the man introduced himself. Jon reached out and shook his hand. “I’m Agent Colbert, and this is my partner, Agent Riesel.”
She grasped his hand. “We appreciate your willingness to talk to us.”
“I fought in the Punchbowl in 1951, the Korean War.” He nodded. “The families here on the island who’ve been hurt need to see justice served.” Mr. Whitson returned her smile. “Miss, the FBI’s doing a great job of recruiting pretty gals.”
“Thank you.”
“The wife’s lying down. Feeling a bit puny today. The older we get, sleeping comes full circle like we’re babies again.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We won’t be long.”
“Whatever y’all need. Come on inside, where it’s cooler.” He opened the door to a living room bright with sunlight. Usually older people lived in the dark, at least in Jon’s experience. The scent of freshly brewed coffee met his nostrils.
Mr. Whitson led the way into the kitchen. “Made a new pot a few minutes ago. Want a cup?”
“A jolt of caffeine sounds wonderful,” Leah said.
“You, sir?”
“Never met a cup of coffee I didn’t like.” The three filled their cups, rich and dark like Jon preferred. He picked up a framed wedding photograph near the coffeemaker. A much younger Edgar, dressed in his Marines uniform, stood erect beside a lovely petite woman.
“That’s me and the missus some sixty-five years ago. The war was over, and we were ready to put it behind us.”
Jon handed it to Leah. “What a beautiful couple.” She glanced up. “Mr. Whitson, you’re still the same size as you were then.”
He laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell the missus. She complains about my middle. Our granddaughter’s an interior decorator, and she says pictures don’t go in the kitchen. But I don’t care.”
“Me, either.” Leah peered at the vintage photo. “Looks perfect here.”
“Mr. Whitson, we’d like to record your testimony.” Jon held up his cell phone. “Are you okay with that?”
The older man hesitated. “But can you keep my name out of it for the missus’s sake? The Venenos won’t take kindly to me talking to you folks.”
“We’ll keep your name from the media,” Jon said. “In fact, we’ll be knocking on your neighbors’ doors too. If your information leads to an arrest and the case goes to court, we’ll make sure you and your wife are protected.”
“Good.” Mr. Whitson nodded. “Let’s take our coffee out back. Been thinking about the view from there, and you might want to take a few pictures.”
“Mr. Whitson, you’re a smart man,” Jon said. “Might need to recruit you.”
Leah held up her phone to Jon. “I’ll take the pics if you’ll record.”
Outside, humidity dripped from plants and flowers. Jon complimented him on his vegetable garden. Huge red tomatoes, green and red bell peppers, and two varieties of lettuce. Jon gazed about sixty feet over the five-foot-tall bush line to the rear door of St. Peter’s. “What happened this morning?”
“I woke early, before 6 a.m., and thought I’d pick a fresh tomato from the garden. Me and the wife like ’em for breakfast. I went outside and heard a commotion at the back of the church, like a thump. I peered over there and saw two men at the rear door. They walked down the steps to a car parked real close. One of them slammed the trunk. Drove off. Didn’t think much about it until I saw the police show up around 8:30. I went over and learned a body had been found at the church. I told an officer I needed to talk to whoever was in charge. They connected me to Chief of Police Everson. He told me the FBI had been called in to work the case. Before you two got here, I heard on the news about Judge Mendez’s body left at St. Peter’s back door.”
“Are you sure of what you saw?” Leah said. “It’s still dark then.”
“There’s a light pole in the church’s parking lot, and I have one mounted back here on my garage.” Mr. Whitson pointed to both. “The lights showed me the man’s face who shut the trunk. He looked familiar, but I didn’t place him until Agent Riesel called me about your visit.” He yanked a weed shooting up from a bottlebrush. “Thought I got all them boogers.”