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  “I don’t know, David. It seems unlikely––unless they plan on blowing up the White House.”

  That was a startling thought. Could that be their intended target? Were the bombs en route to Washington? No. That didn’t make sense either. All of this activity would have tripled the security at the White House.

  A nagging thought entered his mind. The preemptive nature of the hostage situation and the bomb scare weren’t the only peculiar things. In all of the turmoil of the day, he hadn’t had time to stop and think about this, but now, it seemed obvious. The terrorists had given his son a warning, and later they had given him a warning. Granted, they only gave him one before they started trying to kill him, but why give any warning at all? He had never heard of terrorists calling in a bomb threat. It had always been the higher the casualty count the better.

  These terrorists apparently had a conscience. Why hadn’t they just stormed his house and killed everyone? Why take the chance that he and his son would inform the authorities of the cases? Maybe this was a new breed of terrorist, birthed here in the United States and instilled with a value for human life but still driven to create fear for the sake of bringing about change?

  “David?” Sharon’s voice brought him out of his introspection.

  “Sorry. I was thinking.”

  “Well, I should let you go, so you can try to process things. When are you coming tomorrow?”

  “First thing.”

  “Okay. I hope you’re not up all night. You’ve had quite a day.”

  “Yours wasn’t much better.”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “This will pass, honey.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “I’ll see you all in the morning. Give the kids a kiss for me.”

  “Yes. I love you, honey. Bye.”

  David rolled over and put the phone back on the receiver.

  Terrorists that didn’t act like terrorists. Supernatural prophetic messages. Dirty bombs. It had been a crazy day. He clasped his hands behind his head, leaned back on the stack of pillows, and watched numbly as the scene at the towing company played out on the silent television screen. It felt like a distant memory now, even though it had happened only a short while ago.

  Amazing. This was perhaps the biggest story in recent history, and he was there, right in the middle of it, a prophet of God sent to save the city from the hands of evil men. He laughed at himself. Prophet of God––more like some fruitcake with a bizarre brain mutation––a poor empty-headed monkey venturing out from the genetic pack. Was he a prophet, or nature’s guinea pig? The question gnawed on his soul with venomous fangs.

  Science versus religion, it was the age old debate he had long since given up on. But now it was back, without his consent, demanding an answer. But he had no answer to give it. He could ask the messages if they were coming from God, like he’d asked about the assassin. But even if the messages came right out and said, ‘Hello David, God here, nice to meet you.’ Would he believe it? No, probably not, because he would just convince himself that it was only his jacked-up mutated mind acting upon his own wishful thinking. Would it kill God to just show himself? Was that too much to ask? He gritted his teeth and drove his head back into the pillows. Why does it have to be SO complicated?!

  He envied Frank. To believe without proof. How wonderful that would be. To have confidence in one’s own destiny and to move toward it with unwavering purpose. That was true peace. But David could never fully taste a peace like that, because he denied himself what he longed for the most, for fear of wasting his life on a lie. He could not bear the thought of subjecting himself to the strict tenants of a religious belief, only to find out it never really mattered. What a sad pitiful existence it would be, forced into a weekly regimen of door to door evangelizing only to find out the god you believed in was nothing more than a figment of your imagination. David would only give himself to truth, and as far as he could ascertain, it was not possible to know truth. His cynicism had seen to that.

  But despite everything, something Frank had said or done had given him a measure of peace. Was it possible he had gained a little faith? There had been moments that day when he had almost believed it was God directing him with his divine hand. Yes. There was something infectious about Frank. And whatever that something was, David wanted more. He fished his cellphone out of his pocket and navigated to Frank’s number. With his other hand he picked up the hotel phone and dialed.

  “Hello?” said Frank.

  “Good, you’re home. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

  Frank sounded pleased. “No, not at all, David. I was just thinking about you.”

  “They let you out, so you must be doing better.”

  “Yeah. For now. They have me scheduled to go under the knife at the end of the month anyway, so there really wasn’t much else they could do now. I’m just supposed to stay close to my nitro until then, that’s all.”

  “Well I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Yep. Fit as a fiddle. Is that why you called? Just checking up on me?”

  “Yes and no. I mean, yes, I wanted to see how you were doing, obviously. But I’m still trying to figure out where these messages are coming from.”

  “Still getting them, huh?”

  “They’re drawing me into all this terrorist business. Have you seen the news?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m following it. Everyone is.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I’ll help you any way I can. Although, I’m not sure I helped much last time. You were pretty bugged at the end of your visit.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. The topic of God gets me cranky.”

  “And yet––you want to talk about him some more?”

  “N- No, not really. But yes. I mean. I’m facing terrorists with guns and bombs and I’m feeling a little vulnerable right now. If I make one mistake, I could end up dead. And ah––I guess I better be as ready as possible, you know––if I have to meet my maker.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “My whole life I’ve tried to confirm the existence of God, and over and over I come away with the same conclusion, God just doesn’t want me to know.”

  Frank laughed. “Doesn’t want you to know? Why would you say that?”

  “It doesn’t seem like he wants anyone to know. He put us on this earth with all of these writings from people who claim they have spoken with him, and it’s our job to figure out who he is. Why doesn’t God just speak to us directly?”

  “He used to. He spoke to the people of Israel from Mount Sinai in the time of Moses, but the people went to Moses and begged him to ask God not speak to them any more, because they couldn’t bear it. I don’t think you understand what you’re asking for. The Bible says no one has ever looked upon God and lived. God is perfectly good, and can’t be in the presence of evil, even the smallest evil. Without his Son’s sacrifice as a covering, we can’t be in the presence of God without being destroyed, because his anger would be kindled against us.”

  “Okay, let’s just say that what you’re saying is true, why doesn’t he give us some kind of supernatural evidence so we know what the right religion is?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, like, if the Bible is the one true book, then why not make it burn with a fire that can’t be put out? Then it would be easy. Follow the instructions in the burning book and go to heaven, follow the instructions in the non-burning books, and go to hell.”

  Frank laughed again. “Besides the fact that it would be a little difficult reading a flaming book, having a supernatural object like that would remove the need for faith.”

  Here we go. Here come the riddles. “Faith? How does faith help anyone? Terrorists have faith––enough faith to drive a plane into the side of a skyscraper. Is that what God wants?”

  Frank was silent, and David could almost sense him squirming, but finally he spoke. “If you saw a man punch a little girl in the face, would you know that
was wrong?”

  “Of course I would, what does that have to do with faith?”

  “If you saw a man strap a bomb to himself and go blow up a café filled with innocent people, would you know that was wrong?”

  “Yes.”

  “If someone told you to put people into ovens and incinerate them, would you know that was wrong?”

  “Frank. You’re changing the subject. The topic is faith. I hope you have a point.”

  “You know what is right, and what is wrong, because God has put it in you to know. But there are many who hear lies, and for whatever reason, be it wealth, sex, power, you name it, they give their ear to the lies. Something inside them chooses the lie over what they know is truth, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, they begin to allow their heart to be calloused, until they are no longer bothered by the evil, because they have justified it in their own mind.”

  A calloused heart, that was an interesting idea. Could a person lose the ability to know right from wrong?

  “On some sick level, they have convinced themselves, or have been convinced, that blowing up innocent people is pleasing to God. I agree with you, the terrorists have faith. But you have to ask yourself, what is their faith in? Someone has told them that Allah wants them to kill, because on the other side of the killing, there will be a reward, and peace. They know that peace is good, so they do the evil, so good will result.”

  “So good will result.”

  “Yes, but this is not the kind of faith God wants from us. He wants us to put aside our own desires, and put our faith in him, and him alone.”

  “O-kay.”

  “See, it’s not faith itself, but what, or more accurately, who, we have faith in. Okay, think about this. If a person is going to go bungee jumping, but decides to use a piece of string instead of a bungee cord, do you think the string would hold him if he had enough faith in it?”

  “Of course not.”

  “See. Faith itself has no power, it’s what you put your faith in.”

  “But how can you know you have faith in the right thing?”

  “Because he confirms it, like you told me he is doing with you. When you look at those words, something inside you confirms what you are looking at, and you know for sure it’s true.”

  A shadow passed by the blinds of David’s room and came to a stop. David whispered into the phone. “Someone just stopped in front of my door.”

  “Where are you?”

  David slid down between the two beds, leaving the phone behind. Outside the door he could hear shoes scuffling. Had the terrorists found him? How could they have? He’d covered his tracks with flawless precision. The sound of a key card in the door made him frantically yank open the nightstand drawer and grab the pistol he’d stashed earlier. The handle wiggled, but the door did not open. There was another swipe, and the handle shivered again.

  David crawled around the bed and across the carpet to the wall, avoiding the door. He’d seen his share of television cop shows. Thugs always shoot through the door; he wasn’t going to fall for that one. Leaning back against the cold wallpaper, the shuffling of shoes was much clearer. It sounded like two sets, but he wasn’t sure. He looked down at the gun, it was heavy in his grip. Who am I kidding? If I get away from this without shooting myself in the leg, I’ll be doing well. He inched himself up, keeping his back to the wall. When he was high enough, he opened the slats with trembling fingers.

  Three men stood outside. Their attire was semi casual. All wore spring jackets. He couldn’t see their faces but the one closest to him had tight curly black hair under a baseball cap. Possibly Arab, but he couldn’t be sure. They were huddled together, and their voices were muffled. One turned again with the key card. David shifted his weight and held the pistol toward the floor, his body quaking with terror. The card slid through the slot and the handle wiggled again.

  What would they do if they couldn’t unlock the door? Kick it in? Go through the window? The pistol had six shots. There wasn’t much room for error. He pressed his back to the wall under the curtains and positioned himself in the corner. That way, if they forced entry, he would have the drop on them.

  There was a knock at the door.

  What the...

  The knock came again. “Alright. Very funny. Open up.”

  Not what he was expecting. The voice had no accent, no hostility. Were these the terrorists?

  Knock. Knock. Knock. “Come on. Open up! Our key won’t work.”

  Terrorists don’t beg you to open the door so they can kill you. David slid the pistol behind the mini fridge and crawled back to the bed. Once there, he stood and walked to the door. He wiped his hands over his face and opened the door a crack. “Can I help you?”

  The men looked surprised. “Oh. Sorry. We must have the wrong room,” said the man with the key card. He was clearly inebriated, his voice carrying a distinct slur.

  David opened the door wider. “Who are you looking for?”

  “Our buddy.”

  David held out a hand. “Let me see your key.” The man handed it over. It said 211B. “You’re in the wrong complex guys. You need complex B.” He pointed. “It’s over there.”

  The men looked across the parking lot.

  “Thanks, dude.” The man retrieved his card. “Sorry to bug you.” The others joined in the apology and the three set off down the open air corridor.

  David retreated back inside the room, closed the door, and let out a long labored breath. Once his pulse returned to something close to normal, he walked over and picked up the phone. “Frank? You still there?”

  “Yeah. What was that all about?”

  “I thought they were the terrorists, but it was just some guys looking for a friend’s room. They had the wrong building.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I overreacted. Look. I’m gonna let you go. I know it’s abrupt, but I don’t think I can wrap my brain around anything else tonight, okay? Maybe I’ll call you later.”

  “Yeah, anytime. But, David, I just want to say one more thing. You keep asking me questions about God, which I don’t mind, but I want you to know that all you really need to do to find answers, is to read the Bible yourself. I know you aren’t convinced it’s from God, but if you just pray, and read it, and be patient, God will answer your questions, and you’ll find peace.”

  “Yeah, I know, Frank. I’ll have to do that.”

  “But don’t hesitate to call if you have more questions. I’ll be here.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Alright, well, take care.”

  David laid the phone back on the receiver. He did have more questions, but the incident at the door had derailed him. He grabbed the remote and aimed it at Brad in his orange jumpsuit flickering on the television screen like a digital apparition. He pushed the button and the screen went black.

  He laid back and fixed his eyes on the stucco ceiling with its brown water stains, the fear still tingling in his forehead and chest. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wished it would all just go away, the messages, the terrorists, the fear, all of it.

  He rolled over and his eyes fell on the open drawer of the nightstand. Inside was a dark blue book with gold lettering on the cover. He didn’t have to look to know what it was. He took in another deep breath. “–Yes, Frank,” he mumbled. “When all this is over, I’ll read it. I will read it.”

  Because I want what you have, Frank. I want that peace.

  Chapter 27

  Karen folded her arms and glared out the truck window at the sea of flashing lights. From their new position, she couldn’t even see the farmhouse. If I’d wanted a view like this, I would have stayed at the station! she thought, turning her glare upon Larry. “What are you smirking at?”

  His smile broadened. “I know somethin’ you don’t know.”

  “What?!”

  “Andy.” He gestured to a man in a Bomb Squad jacket standing by a black Humvee. “He just happens to be the Pu
blic Relations Officer for the Boston Bomb Squad, and me and him, we was talkin’ a couple a weeks ago about him increasing public awareness about the dangers his men face every day.”

  Karen gave him a stunned look. “And you’re still in the truck why?”

  “Well back home there’s a little word we like to call please.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Come on, Karen. It’s for the sake of the story, for the sake of Brad. You can do this. She smiled. “Larry, would you please go and see if the nice man will get us into the farm?”

  “Well, since you asked all polite like...”

  She waited until the door had closed completely before beginning a rapid tirade of Spanish curses, it was the only language she could speak coherently when she was angry. Larry appeared in front of the truck, and she ceased abruptly. He looked at her casually. What is he doing? A smile caused the Texan’s mustache to rise. She reluctantly returned his smile with what could be best described as two parts sarcasm, and one part loathing. The big Texan took in a deep sniff, adjusted his pants, and turned toward the Bomb Squad officer.

  Her eyes burned into the back of his red neck with the curse of a thousand painful deaths. The nerve of him to ask her to say please. I should have to told him off. I don’t need him! She could have approached the officer herself and worked the situation just fine without him.

  Larry spoke with the man for a few minutes then returned to the truck. He looked pleased with himself as he climbed back into the driver’s seat. “They’re making a sweep of the farm to make sure there’s no more terrorists”

  “More terrorists? They found some? How many?”

  “I think he said four.”

  “You think?”

  “Once they’ve secured stuff, Andy says he’ll let us observe the disarming of the bomb.”

  Karen’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Guess he’s been bugging people in high places. They’re gonna allow closer coverage of a bomb extraction, for public awareness.”

  “How close?”

  “Right in the barn where the bomb is, darlin’.”