Blink of an Eye

by Ted Dekker

  A religious sheik came at dusk and asked Miriam’s father for his consent to the marriage. They signed documents, and then the sheik left to repeat the process with Omar. Her father’s will was sealed. In exchange for his daughter, he would receive the agreed upon bride price, in this case loyalty and power rather than money.

  Nadia gave her a pill to swallow—a drug to calm her nerves, she said. Miriam thought of Sita, drugged before the drowning, but she took the pill anyway. They led her into a limousine at dark. She sat in the back with her father. A train of cars followed.

  For the first time since accepting her fate, Miriam felt the cords of fear wind around her heart. Her father remained deathly quiet as they rode for Omar’s palace. I am their sacrificial lamb. She thought of jumping from the moving vehicle. She eased her hand onto the handle. The doors were locked. She could feel the drug start to take hold. Sweat lined her palms.

  “Father?” Her voice was high and squeaky.

  The sheik turned his head, smiling as she imagined a proud father might smile before giving his daughter to the man she loved. “You are a beautiful bride, Miriam. You will make a wonderful wife.”

  “I don’t want to do this.”

  The sheik looked away. “Your fear will pass. You can’t always think only of yourself. You are a woman now, and you must begin to think of your husband.”

  “I don’t think he will make a good husband.”

  He faced her with warning eyes. “He is whom I have chosen! Do not question my authority!” And then, “Don’t worry, he will earn your love over time. I have demanded it of him.”

  She sank into the seat, begging it to swallow her whole. Nausea swept through her stomach. She closed her eyes, but the swaying of the car made her dizzy, so she opened them again.

  They came to a large palace and Miriam was led into a study with Nadia. Drums beat to laughter on the other side of the walls. She wondered how many guests had been summoned. Whether they knew of the events behind her marriage to Omar hardly mattered.

  A knock sounded on the door and Nadia stood. She smiled sympathetically. “Be strong, Miriam. For your father’s sake, be strong. There is nothing we can do.”

  Miriam just looked at her.

  “Come.”

  She held out her hand and Miriam stood. The woman lowered Miriam’s veil and led her out to a large hall with towering pillars. Several dozen women watched them walk to the front of the assembly. Miriam heard her shoes echoing on the marble floor. There was no sign of Omar.

  She was left at the front and stood alone, facing the women. She couldn’t bear to look at them, now standing without veils and colorfully dressed, as was customary at weddings. The ceremony intended to show the true woman in all her splendor, but to Miriam it was only a farce, a mockery that made them foolish for believing—

  A door sprang open to her right. Her father stepped out. Behind him walked another man she recognized as Khalid bin Mishal. And then another man, dressed in black, smug. Omar.

  A tremble shook Miriam’s body. It was the first time she’d seen Omar. His hard shoes beat the marble.

  She looked away, terrified to catch his eyes. Their walk seemed to stretch forever, their clacking in the hollow hall. From her left the religious man who’d met with her father earlier stepped through another door and approached. The drug she’d taken an hour earlier seemed to slow everything down. Perhaps it really was just a nightmare after all.

  The footsteps stopped. She could hear breathing. Omar’s breathing. Her face flushed. The religious man stepped out in front of them and began to talk, to her father and then to the others. He did not address her. The transaction was between men, between her father and Omar.

  A low, gravelly voice spoke, and she knew it belonged to Omar. She didn’t dare turn to face . . .

  He was there, in front of her, lifting her veil. She held her breath. The face she saw through water was bearded black with dark eyes. A knowing smirk bent his wet lips. His eyes drifted down her body and then returned to her eyes. He grinned and winked at her.

  If not for the effects of the drug, she might have run. Instead, she wept. They ignored her and said a few more words to complete the ceremony.

  Omar walked past her and headed for a side door. The room broke out in the ululating cries of the women, like a flock of crows warning her.

  The religious man stepped forward and told her to follow Omar. She turned and walked, hardly aware that she was moving. Omar entered the same study in which she had waited, held the door for her, and then closed it behind them. She stood with her back to him, terrified.

  His hand touched the top of her veil. He ripped it off and slowly stepped around her. “You are more beautiful than I imagined,” he said.

  She would not look at him. She would never give him the satisfaction of holding her eyes.

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Omar lifted a flask from the desk and poured himself a drink. The clinking of the glass hurt her ears. He took a drink and set the glass down.

  “I think you are. And I want you to know I prefer that. Fear has a way of transforming a woman into a thing of terrible beauty. Did you know that? There is nothing worse than a submissive woman.”

  Miriam stared across the room. He would reduce her to the status of a maggot before he finished.

  He walked around her, drawing his finger over her shoulders. He leaned in close and she could smell his liquored breath kissing her cheek.

  “But you aren’t only afraid; you are angry, yes? I’m not sure I’ve ever had a woman who is both afraid and angry. I think it will be a great pleasure.”

  “I will never—” Miriam stopped, surprised that she had spoken.

  “Yes? Go on.”

  Her voice was hoarse. “I will never give you pleasure.”

  He laughed, a deep, throaty laugh. “Yes, I think you actually believe that. That’s very nice. There will be consequences, of course, but this, too, could be part of our game.”

  He squeezed her cheeks with a powerful hand and wrenched her head to face him. She kept her eyes low. Her lips were squeezed like a fish’s.

  “You are my wife now, Miriam. That is what you are. Nothing more, nothing less. You will please me, and if you are fortunate, you will bear me a son. That is all you will do. Do you understand?”

  The room swam through fresh tears. She closed her eyes.

  “I have something special planned for you, Miriam. A special chamber. Something so delicious must not be rushed. You will take a night to prepare yourself for me. Fear is good, my sweet. Let the drugs wear off and let your fear take hold. Then I will take you. It will be delightful, you will see.”

  Omar leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. She felt as though she might throw up before he pulled away.

  Then he released her. She swayed on her feet, nauseated again. When she opened her eyes, he no longer stood in front of her. After a moment she looked around cautiously. The room was empty.

  Miriam allowed herself to sink to the solid floor and began to weep.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” Peter Smaley said. “Running from a manhunt in California is one thing. Waltzing into Saudi Arabia on a half-brained rescue attempt isn’t remotely similar. What were you thinking?”

  “You don’t exactly control a guy like Seth,” Clive said. “When he’s on, he’s unstoppable.”

  “When he’s on.”

  They sat in the same conference room they had planned on using to debrief Seth: the two generals, a colonel, the secretary of state, and the deputy, Smaley. Clive had told them about Seth’s ultimatum and departure; he was holding back the disk as his ace.

  “Either way, you allowed him to leave,” General Smites said. “That’s not unlike giving them the keys to this mountain.”

  “Overstated,” Clive said. “It’s a mistake to assume that he intends to do anything in Saudi Arabia but help Miriam. His actions will benefit our interests as much as
Abdullah’s. And like I said, he was going, whether we agreed or not. I couldn’t have stopped him.”

  “You put a guy in a locked cell and he’s not going anywhere; I don’t care what he can see.”

  “That’s not necessarily true,” Clive said. “And he wasn’t here as a prisoner.” It wasn’t altogether true, but it was the best he could come up with at the moment. Honestly he wasn’t sure if they would end up giving him a medal or a death sentence.

  “I realize how significant a man with Seth’s abilities is to the military,” Secretary Gray said after a long silence. “But frankly I’m more concerned with the stability of Saudi Arabia. I don’t need to educate you on the pains we’ve taken to keep militants from seizing power in the Middle East. If what you’re saying about this marriage is true, we could have a real problem on our hands.”

  Clive cleared his throat. “Then you may want to take a look at something Seth left with us.” He rolled his chair over to a computer and slid the disk into the drive. “This is the scenario he ran yesterday afternoon while we were occupied. It starts with a future in which Khalid succeeds in toppling Abdullah, then extends out three months.”

  “How’s that possible?” Smaley asked. “I wasn’t aware he could extend beyond three hours.”

  “Neither was I. He found a way to string consecutive episodes together. I showed this to Garton; he checked Seth’s algorithms. He’s convinced it works.”

  Clive tapped a few keys. The monitor blinked and then filled with numbers. Streams of text rolled up the frame too fast to read. Several hundred lines passed by in a blur, and then a single page popped up. Key Indicators of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and Region—Plus Three Months.

  Clive rolled the monitor stand toward them. “Not a pretty sight.”

  They read Seth’s conclusions.

  The secretary looked at Clive. “What are the chances that this might be accurate?”

  “If Khalid takes control, pretty good. Short of having another scenario contrary to this, we’d better assume that what Seth provided is at least probable.”

  For a moment no one spoke. Gray pushed his chair back. “Where is Seth now?”

  “If he makes all the flights, he’ll be in Riyadh”—he glanced at his watch—“in seven hours.”

  “Do you have any confidence that he might upset this wedding?”

  Clive shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine. When he left, his clairvoyance was cycling, a few hours on, a few hours off. Without it, he’s a sitting duck over there. He can read Arabic, maybe even speak a bit, but there’s no way he’ll pass for an Arab. And there’s the distinct possibility that his periods of remission might lengthen. It’s a crapshoot at best.”

  “The king doesn’t know?”

  “No, sir,” Smaley said. “We don’t have any corroborating intel—”

  “This is good enough for me,” the secretary said. “We tell him that we suspect Miriam has been returned to Saudi Arabia and is being given in marriage to Omar bin Khalid in an agreement with Sheik AlAsamm. We urge him to arrest Khalid bin Mishal immediately.”

  “He won’t have the political will to arrest Khalid without concrete evidence,” Smaley said.

  “That’s his choice.” The secretary stood. “I’ll make the call myself.” He looked at Clive. “No offense, but I pray you’re wrong. God help them if you’re not.”

  “No offense taken. And you might find this interesting: One of the conclusions Seth came to in his state of heightened awareness was that prayer works.”

  Smaley’s mouth fell open, as if wondering anew why Clive had let Seth go.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” the secretary said. He turned and walked from the room.

  chapter 34

  king Khalid International Airport sat thirty-five kilometers north of Riyadh, a city covering roughly six hundred square kilometers, occupied by over three million inhabitants. Seth knew without a shred of doubt that negotiating his way through immigration and into the city would be impossible without his clairvoyance.

  The travel documents that Clive had drummed up took him to London and then on to Beirut, where he’d caught a four-hour flight into Riyadh. So far so good.

  There were only two problems. One, Saudi immigration would reject his visa—he’d seen that in every possible future. His fake ID was no masterpiece. And two, his clairvoyance was about to run out. He couldn’t see exactly when—he couldn’t ever look into the future and see how his clairvoyance would act.

  But he’d been seeing plainly for about two hours now, and by his last calculations, two hours was now his limit. The duration of his clairvoyance was shrinking steadily. Worse, the blank slate was expanding by nearly an hour between each episode. When his seeing faded this time, it would not return for at least six hours.

  Even worse still, he saw less each time the clairvoyance returned. Gone was the expansive sight that reached beyond his immediate circumstances. His clairvoyance was simply fizzling out.

  Seth deplaned and walked for immigration, sweating bullets. He was still seeing. The trick was to thread his way past their eyes. He had to go only when and where he would not be seen, effectively walking right past them without their knowing.

  Even if he did get past them, he would still be no closer to finding Miriam. Fear sat like lead in his gut.

  Concentrate!

  His mind’s eye showed him precisely who would look where and when. At least as a sea of possibilities. He would have to isolate a particular current in which none of the immigration authorities would be looking at a particular spot at a particular time. He would have to be in that spot at that moment, then string together another few dozen unseen spots before he could slip by.

  Three lines wound into immigration stations where officers examined and stamped passports before allowing the passengers through. Two stations to his left were unmanned, roped off. He could slide under the red rope easily enough.

  Problem was, he couldn’t actually see any futures in which he was unnoticed. The likelihood of all the guards averting their attention long enough for him to evade them was very small. Very, very small. He discovered a number of futures in which the left of the hall went unsupervised for a period of several seconds, and a few futures in which the right went unseen for brief moments, but neither for long enough.

  He stepped behind a large pillar and did his best to look relaxed. Dripping in sweat and shaking like a leaf wouldn’t help his effort. Unless something came to him soon, he would be detected in the next four minutes.

  Maybe he should go back to the plane, pretend he’d left something on board. That would buy him time. But no, he had to make his move while the immigration stalls were still busy with other passengers.

  This is it, Seth. You’re finished.

  They wouldn’t kill him, would they? No, he was an American. Unless a coup changed loyalties. The thought did nothing to lessen his perspiration.

  A mother cloaked in black, with two daughters clenching fistfuls of her abaaya, passed by. Seth forced a smile and stepped out. The immigration line was just ahead.

  This was crazy! He felt like he was walking toward a cliff with the full intention of stepping off. He couldn’t do this!

  A picture of Miriam filled his mind. She was sitting across from him at the table, cracking a crab leg with her teeth, smiling over the candlelight at him.

  Seth bent to tie his shoe and buy more time. The problem with the future was that it depended on others’ decisions as well as his. In this case, the authorities’. He saw that he could actually get up to the gate without being spotted, but there at the gate, a guard who now stood behind the stations would spot him in every future.

  A drop of sweat ran down his temple, tickling. What were you thinking! Think! Think, think . . .

  He blinked.

  No, don’t think. Step beyond your mind.

  Seth’s heart thumped in his ears. He stood slowly, still staring at the floor. Step beyond your mind.

  He
caught his breath. His mind snagged a new thread, and he knew it had come from beyond him.

  He stood there stunned, mouth agape like an idiot.

  Walk! Now! Walk!

  Seth wiped his slippery palms on his corduroys, walked forward three steps, and turned to his left. He took two steps, counted to four, and then turned right.

  No one yelled. No one shouted out, “Stop that man!”

  Trust it, Seth. You can’t stop now.

  He hurried ten paces to the right.

  If any of the authorities had seen him, they would have undoubtedly stared in amusement. The American in black corduroys was walking ten paces to the right, stopping, taking three steps backward, and then crossing at a slight angle to the other side of the hall, a lunatic marching around the terminal as if he were engaging a dozen other invisible characters.

  In reality, he was stepping precisely where their view of him was blocked by a head or an arm, or when this one or that one was looking down. One small boy watched Seth the whole way, for all five minutes it took him to reach the gate. But the boy only stared at him as he jerked his way about the hall.

  The new future that had come to him required that he stand at the gate, face the far wall, and clear his throat. The sound bounced off in such a way as to pull a distant guard’s attention away just long enough for Seth to walk by.

  And then he was through. Trembling and nauseated with dread, but through. He walked away from the immigration posts on numb legs.

  He was still seeing. That would end at any minute, and then he would be blind.

  Seth quickly located the bathrooms and hurried for them. An abaaya hung in the ladies’ room—he needed that abaaya. Thank goodness he had seen at least that much.

  He slipped into the restroom, hands quivering from the exhilaration of his success. If he could just . . .

  The world blinked to black. The clairvoyance was gone!

  He saw the black abaaya and grabbed it off the hook. He fumbled for an opening. Found one. Top or bottom, he didn’t know—he’d never touched an abaaya, much less worn one.