by Ted Dekker
Then one day, his own face.
His mind returned to Miriam. How ironic that a woman was proving to be the final stronghold. The next time he put his hand on her, he would not release her until she understood what it meant to be one of his women.
“Faster, Assir.”
They tried stopping for fuel once, but the station was engulfed by a mob. Then they were south of the city. Turning back to find petrol would only increase the likelihood of running into Omar. If Seth could only see the futures . . .
But he couldn’t. And if he was right, he wouldn’t be seeing anything beyond his own eyes for a long time.
He tried to remove the small security box. He kicked at it in a frenzied attempt to disable it, to no avail. The tiny red light refused to stop blinking.
“We’re running out of gas,” Seth said. “This isn’t good.”
Miriam drove with both hands white on the steering wheel, her mind scrambling for ideas. The desert sands drifted by, strewn with sandstone and small shacks.
Seth lowered his head into his hands and groaned. He was as frightened as she had ever seen him.
“Please, Seth. You’re frightening me.”
“I’m frightening you? You should be afraid of the fact that we’re almost out of gas while a maniac is on our tail.”
“You’re frightening me! We can only do what we can do. We’ve made it this far—maybe there is a way. If not—”
“Don’t say, ‘If not,’” he said. “How can you be so nonchalant about this?”
It was true that she did feel a certain peace she’d never felt before. She’d escaped the jaws of a living hell.
“I was dead in there, Seth. At least for now I’m alive.”
“Well, I for one would like to keep you alive. I realize our situation looks hopeless, but I can’t just give up, not after all we’ve been through.”
He had a point. Still, she was resigned.
“You say you won’t see again for at least five hours. Maybe we can survive five hours.”
“Maybe,” he said, but dread paled his face.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. We have to find a place to hole up. If we run out of gas on the highway, we’re toast. Do any of these side roads lead anywhere?” He indicated a dirt road that ran west.
“They must go somewhere.”
He turned and looked out the rear window.
“Any sign?” she asked.
“No. Take the next dirt road. We have to get off the main road.”
“If they’re close, they will see our dust.”
“I’m sure they know where we are anyway.”
Miriam slowed at the next exit, turned right, and motored up the packed dirt road. They were a good thirty kilometers south of the city now. Perhaps the riots had slowed Omar’s pursuit. Maybe they were out of tracking range.
“What’s west of here?” Seth asked.
“The desert. Jizan.”
They rode in silence for several minutes.
“Did I tell you that you look ridiculous in that abaaya?” she asked. “You look like a monk.”
He faced her. They shared a brief smile, and Seth turned back to his window.
“Did I tell you that I couldn’t get you off my mind?” he asked.
“I was on your mind in America?” she asked. He, too, then.
“Like a plague.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Depends on how deadly the plague is,” Seth said.
“Now your American jargon is losing me.”
“It depends on whether you have the same plague that I have,” he said.
She thought about that. He was referring to his feelings for her, and he was asking if she shared them, if she loved him as he did her.
“How could I possibly not love you?” she said softly.
“Right. It’s hard not to love your savior.”
There was no sign of civilization this far out. They drove over a knoll and dipped into a vacant valley. Dust billowed behind them in clouds of brown. On the dashboard, the fuel indicator rested a millimeter below the E.
“I think we may die together out in this desert, Seth Border. If you could still see the futures, that would be the most likely future, wouldn’t it?”
He thought a moment. “Maybe.”
“Then before I die I should tell you that you’ve changed my life. I can’t ever return to what I was before I met you. You’ve made it impossible for me to love any man who is not as gentle and understanding to a woman as you have been.”
He smiled. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She paused. “I am merely following the commandment of the Prophet. If the world did the same, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Which prophet?”
“Love your neighbor as yourself. That’s the second greatest commandment.”
That brought a small grin to his lips. “Glad to make your acquaintance, neighbor.” Seth took her hand, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed it.
Before she could react, he pointed to a shack nestled at the base of a cliff. “What’s that?”
“Looks like an abandoned home. A squatter maybe.”
“As good a place as any.”
There was no driveway that she could see. The ground was rough and rocky. She swung the car off the road and gunned the motor. They bounced over the dirt.
“Just like Death Valley,” Seth said.
She chuckled. Why not?
“Like Bonnie and Clyde,” she said.
“Just don’t run over the place. Park behind.”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, okay then.” He smiled, but she knew he forced it.
Miriam eased the car to a stop between the rickety old structure and the cliff, then turned off the ignition. Dust drifted past them. A faint ticking sounded from the engine.
The shack was no more than twenty feet by twenty feet, constructed of mud bricks and topped with a tin roof. A single grenade would tear it to pieces.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Now or never.”
They climbed out and walked around the hut. A faint dust lingered over the road, but as of yet they could see no pursuit from the direction of the highway.
“You think they missed us?” she asked hopefully.
“Maybe.”
“You don’t think so.”
“We can always hope,” he said.
The wooden door hung on a single hinge. Seth pulled it open, stepped through after her, and closed it as best he could.
Light fell across a dirt floor from a boarded window beside the entry. A rustic wooden table stood against the right wall, flanked by two shelves and a couple benches. A small bed made of planks filled the shadowy space opposite the table.
Miriam crossed to the shelves and righted two large candles. Several pots and pans rested on the table next to an old dusty Koran.
“It’s a common hut,” she said. “Used by travelers on occasion.” She picked up a box of matches and struck one. “They even left matches.”
The lit candles dispelled the shadows. Miriam replaced the matches and turned around. Seth stood looking between the window’s boards. He did look like a monk standing there, craning for a view, she thought. The monk who had been able to see many futures, who was neither Christian nor Muslim, but who believed that prayer worked.
She watched his Adam’s apple move through a swallow and her heart swelled. She looked at his strained face and knew that despite his attempts to pretend otherwise, her monk was a desperate man at the moment. He had come to the end of his world.
Not an hour ago, she’d been as desperate, at her own end. But now she was seeing with different eyes. No ending could compare to the one from which Seth had rescued her.
Seth turned from the window and walked to the bed, one hand on his hip, the other gripping his jaw, deep in thought. He stopped with his back to her, facing the dark corner.
Miriam took a step towa
rd him. “Seth.”
His shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh.
“Seth.” She stood behind him. “There is one more thing I must tell you.” She put her hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t turn.
She pulled him gently and he turned. His eyes swam in tears. One had broken down his cheek, leaving a trail that glistened in the candlelight.
“No, there are two things that I will tell you,” she said, wiping the tear from his face. “The first is that you have not failed me. You think you have, but I am happy to die with you today.”
He closed his eyes, fighting back more tears. She stepped into him and pulled his head down to her shoulder. She stroked the back of his head, fighting the knot in her own throat.
He lifted his head, wiped his eyes, and sniffed once. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know what my problem is.” He turned away. “I’ve always been able to reason my way through this world. I’ve always been strong, you know.” He walked to the window, glanced out, then turned and leaned back against the wall. “I really don’t know what I was thinking, coming to Saudi Arabia.”
She took a step toward him. “You came to give my life back to me,” she said. “And you’ve done that.”
He looked at her and his eyes misted again. She knew he couldn’t understand how freeing her did anything but postpone the end.
“The other thing I must tell you is that I wasn’t completely honest with you,” she said. “You’ve done more than change my life. You have stolen from me.” She smiled. “Do you know what the punishment for theft is in this country? You’re terribly guilty.”
He stared at her without understanding.
“You have stolen my soul and my mind,” she said. “You have stolen my heart. I can no longer live without you.”
The words sat between them, beautiful and elegant and demanding silence.
She touched his face. “I am in love with you, Seth. I think I have been in love with you since we first met. Not as a neighbor.”
She leaned forward, rose to her tiptoes, and touched her lips against his. It was the first time she had initiated a kiss, and she felt as though a fire were sweeping over her mouth.
For a moment he did not respond. Then she felt his hands on her waist, and he kissed her in return, soft as a rose petal.
He pulled her to him and kissed her again, on her lips and then on her cheek. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. A soft sob broke from his chest and he caught himself.
“It’s okay, Seth. We will be okay now,” she said.
“I love you, Miriam. I missed you so much.”
She was going to die—she knew that. But she felt safe and complete, and if she could arrange it, she would die in his arms. All she needed was mazel.
chapter 38
clive studied the printout and drew his finger over the information, nerves taut. Pencil marks covered the margins in a maze of arrows and notes. Three months of Seth’s foresight had translated into seventy-three pages. He’d circled each event that mentioned the sheik, fifty at least. Abu Ali al-Asamm figured importantly in a government run by Khalid. The question was, what part of this future yielded any useful information that might be common to all futures, including the one they faced now?
The coup was only nine hours old, and already the world was scurrying. A militant Islamic government in Saudi Arabia would wreak havoc in the Middle East, providing a safe haven for terrorists and dissidents, that very small minority of Muslims bent on the destruction of all who stood in the way of their extremist utopia.
Those who followed the politics of the region knew that the destabilization in Saudi Arabia could easily spread to other Arab countries, as well as to other Muslim countries.
The U.S. military was already developing plans to take out a Saudi kingdom run by Khalid, but Clive held an extrapolation of such plans, and it didn’t read as though removing a militant king would be easy. In fact, according to Seth, they would fail, at least in the first three months.
He glanced at the clock. Time was running out. According to information from within Saudi Arabia, Khalid would storm the palace in less than four hours.
“Come on, Seth,” he muttered. “What am I looking for?”
An image of Seth bent over the computer, typing away, ran across his mind. What made a mind brilliant?
“You’re still out there, aren’t you, Seth? This isn’t over, is it?”
Clive looked back at the printout. The secretary was right about one thing: A militant government would depend on the cooperation of the sheik and the Shia. A thin thread of an idea tickled his mind. If Seth still had his gift, he would be able to tell Clive whether this mind-bending exercise would yield anything of value in the next few hours.
Forget Seth. Back to the printout.
Sheik Abu Ali al-Asamm stood at the entrance to his tent, looking over the valley filled with his men. If God wills it, he thought. For twenty years, thirty years, God had not; today he had changed his mind.
Riyadh sat on the horizon, dirtied by a haze of smoke from a hundred tire fires. The afternoon prayer call was just now warbling over the city. Yes, pray, my fellow Muslims. Pray, as I pray.
The House of Saud had grown softer with each passing decade. Abdul Aziz would roll in his grave if he could see Abdullah today. They had abandoned the central teachings of the Prophet for favor with the West. So now those who were faithful were called fundamentalists and regarded with distaste and suspicion. Was religion a thing to change with cultural moods?
Evidently, most thought it was.
One of his most trusted servants, Al-Hakim, approached from behind. “We have received another message, Abu.”
The sheik didn’t remove his gaze from the city. “From whom?”
“It’s the Americans,” he said. “They are saying that should the coup succeed, they will not allow fifty years of progress to slip into the sea.”
Al-Asamm closed his eyes. Why the Americans insisted on putting their fingers into every jar, he would never understand.
“Go on.”
“They say they are drawing up plans for the removal of Khalid already.”
Al-Asamm smiled. They were a cunning lot; he would give them that. And it was true that his bloodline would not be fully established in the kingdom until Miriam bore a child. But they underestimated the value of both his mind and his word. Everything was negotiable in the American mind, including their own religion. Not so with the sheik, Abu Ali al-Asamm.
“Tell them I am more interested in the will of God than in the will of men. Then remind them that they are merely men.” The sheik paused. “On second thought, don’t tell them that last part. It will only send them into a panic. Just tell them to mind their own business and stay on their own side of the ocean.”
Al-Hakim bowed and returned to the room where they kept the telex machine. Al-Asamm crossed his arms and walked to his mat. It was time to pray.
chapter 39
they sat at the table, her hands in his, sharing precious minutes. As they talked, Seth periodically stood and crossed to the window before returning.
Their predicament was hardly comprehensible. Miriam was an Arab. A Muslim. She was a Saudi princess, daughter to the Sheik Abu Ali al-Asamm, and now she was married to a Saudi prince. Seth, on the other hand was . . . well, what was he? A brilliant man, surely destined to change the world by discovering light travel or a longer-lasting lightbulb. Seth was a Jew, at least in heritage. An American, not a Saudi.
And they were in love; this was a problem.
He told her briefly about his trip to Saudi Arabia, about how he’d awakened in Cheyenne Mountain after seeing her in his sleep, and about how he passed through Saudi immigration. But he seemed disconnected from these events. He’d had these powerful experiences so recently, but recounted them as if they were only distant dreams.
For Miriam they were not remote abstractions at all. Their implications burrowed through her head. Perhaps the problems of love were on
ly illusions of the mind.
Miriam stood and walked toward the candles. When the light was on in Seth’s mind, he could see so clearly, but when it was off, he became blind. Yet the truth was unchanging, waiting to be lit by a candle, wasn’t it? And what was that truth?
Seth sat in silence behind her. She lifted her hand and slowly ran it over the flame. So small and yet so hot, so real.
“Do you think it’s possible that so many millions of people could be wrong about love?” she asked. She felt her pulse quicken even in speaking the question.
He was quiet.
“That love is the only way?” she said. “The implications are almost too much to bear.”
“How so?” He looked at the candle.
“How can you kill your neighbor if you love him?”
Seth nodded. “I suppose you can’t.”
“Why are we not taught this in our mosques? Why do your churches and synagogues and temples ignore this greatest truth?”
He thought about that for a long moment. “Because politics and power are greater.”
“They’d do better to think with their hearts.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“But you now believe?”
“In love?”
“In the God of love.”
“Yes. I do. He changed the future.” The candlelight flickered in his eyes. “But I’m not seeing the future now.”
“You are depending on your mind!”
“What do you mean?”
“When you see things in your mind, they’re easy to believe. All your life you’ve depended on this brilliance of yours. But when these things—these futures you see—are no longer in your mind, you lose faith. The whole world puts the mind before the heart. It’s killing us all.”
He stared at her. She could almost see wheels spinning behind his eyes.
“You saw the futures and you believed, enough to come to Saudi Arabia to save me. But now that you can’t see, you lose faith.”
“Faith?”
“You’ve never had faith,” she said. “And now it may cost us our lives.”
He turned and stared at the boarded-up window, pondering this logic like a stunned child who’d just seen a card trick.
