Silenced

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “But it’s too late for all those innocents in Rome and Paris!”

  “Don’t you think I live with that twenty-four hours a day? But what could I do? Who would I have told? The authorities would have demanded to know what he wanted with me. I couldn’t give up the people here. When years passed and nothing happened, I tried to tell myself he had just been talking. I didn’t think he would ever go through with anything.”

  “How did you know he wasn’t a true brother?”

  Chappell sat again. “For one thing, he never mentioned the name of Christ. That is a dead giveaway, you know. A lot of God talk and a lot of revenge talk, but no evidence of a real relationship with Jesus. He did not pray with me. I asked him to pray for us, and he asked if I would please do it. I didn’t think much of that at the time, but it all added up later.”

  “Are you still in contact with him?”

  “I could be. He tries to contact me.”

  “He doesn’t know you are onto him?”

  Chappell shook his head. “It confirmed for me that he was not really one of us when he railed against the USSA NPO for capturing the Jonah character. You were behind that, weren’t you?”

  “I was, and any discerning believer should have been able to tell that Jonah was a charlatan.”

  “Of course.”

  Jae wasn’t the intelligence expert her father was—who was?—but she found it disconcerting when the earnest eye contact she had enjoyed while he was trying to woo her to his side against Paul for treason was now absent as she pressed him for details of Paul’s misplaced affections.

  “Too much time unaccounted for,” Ranold said. “That kind of thing. You know he’s on the prowl, Jae. Leopards don’t change their spots.”

  “You’re telling me you have no hard evidence? You can’t tell me of all-night visits, frequenting sex shops, that kind of thing?”

  “We will be able to soon.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Now he was clearly nervous, not merely avoiding her gaze but also looking at the floor, out the window, anywhere but at her. “We’re going to set him up.”

  “Entrap him, you mean?”

  “That’s a strong word, Jae.”

  “You’re going to entrap him!”

  “If he’s clean, he can’t be entrapped, can he?”

  “That’s true, but what if he wants to stay clean? He keeps himself out of those situations, stays in contact with me. And then while he’s weak and tired and homesick you put a woman within reach? Dad, I can’t guarantee what I would or wouldn’t do with an available young hunk if you tried to entrap me at the wrong time.”

  “Jae, that’s disgusting.”

  “No more disgusting than trying to entrap one of your own people.”

  “If you forbid it, we won’t do it. But if I were you, I’d want to know how he reacted.”

  Jae couldn’t deny that she definitely would want to know. “Who’s in charge of this?”

  “Ms. Balaam.”

  “I met her in L.A. Scary. Paul doesn’t like her much.”

  “That’s been clear.”

  “She’s a little old for him, isn’t she, Dad?”

  Ranold laughed. “She wouldn’t be the plant, Jae! We have our choice of, of—”

  “You don’t have to say it, Dad. I get the picture. Is Balaam going over there?”

  “Soon. She’s got a son home from college who goes back in a few days.”

  “So I’ll see her today? She’ll be at this meeting?”

  “She’s looking forward to it.”

  “I’ll bet she is.”

  16

  FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE he’d left the States, Paul was onto something. “You willing to help flush Magnor out for me?”

  “Why do you think I told you?” Raison said.

  “I’m still trying to understand why you never told anyone else.”

  “What was there to tell, Paul? He was encouraging to me, trying to support me, to share my grief and anger and sense of vengeance. When I thought he was a brother and he was vowing to get revenge, I was not in a position to argue. In my heart I knew it wasn’t right. I know vengeance belongs to the Lord. But what could I say? I would have murdered the gendarmes myself, the ones who executed my family—not just my wife, herself an adult rebel, Paul, but children! Children not yet ten!”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “Chapp, I know I can’t really put myself in your shoes, but I too have a young girl and boy, and I love my wife. I would feel the same if someone took them from me.”

  Chappell sat in silence a moment. Then, “When I came to my senses and finally understood I was dealing not with a brother but a madman, I was more ashamed than ever. My people here were helping me work through my pain and suffering, and they agreed it would be best to leave Magnor alone. If we exposed him, to whom would we do that? It would only turn the focus on us, because the natural question would be why he turned to me. That is a door, I am sure you agree, that we do not want to open.”

  Paul thought a moment. “We have to come up with a plan, something foolproof, to draw him out. You’re sure he is not aware that you are onto him?”

  “Unless my silence has already given me away. But I have never challenged him, never told him how I feel. And he still tries to make contact.”

  “Would you be willing to thank him for what he has done?”

  “What?”

  “Get word to him that you are rejoicing in how he has vindicated your family?”

  Chappell covered his mouth, then pulled his hand away just enough to be understood. “That makes me ill, Paul. It would take every bit of fortitude I have to be able to express that.” His eyes were red and full. “But if the leadership here agrees it is the thing to do and it will in any way avenge the tragedies in England, Italy, and France, I will do it.” With that, Chappell Raison broke down.

  Paul felt deeply for him, impressed that he had mentioned avenging the terrorist attacks and not even his own family.

  He put a hand on Chapp’s shoulder and felt his heaving sobs. “Listen to me,” Paul said. “I memorized this from something Straight gave me. It’s from the Psalms:

  In times of trouble, may the Lord respond to your cry. May the God of Israel keep you safe from all harm. May he send you help from his sanctuary and strengthen you from Jerusalem. May he remember all your gifts and look favorably on your burnt offerings.

  May he grant your heart’s desire and fulfill all your plans. May we shout for joy when we hear of your victory, flying banners to honor our God. May the LORD answer all your prayers.

  Raison slowly raised his head. “Thank you, my brother. I can’t wait until you meet my team.”

  By late morning in Washington Jae had been proudly escorted by her father to a lavish boardroom at NPO regional headquarters. She remembered the building from her childhood, but she had never noticed the ornate opulence. Back then it was just where Daddy worked, but now she saw it for what it was: a monument to materialism. With its European-like carvings in the outside granite walls and similar renderings deep in the mahogany inside, it shouted wealth and success and achievement. Her father had long said that this was a place not where someone started but rather where a person finished, “a place to aspire to.” Of course, it was built as the national headquarters of the NPO and now merely served as a regional site.

  Ranold introduced Jae to various department heads, many who responded to her with friendly smiles before apparently realizing why she wasn’t returning their expressions in kind. “Good to have you here,” they would say. “I understand how difficult this must be for you.”

  The rawboned Bia Balaam, whom Jae would have described as the woman with no lips, seemed overdressed for the occasion. This was a Saturday meeting, off-work hours, and she was dressed in a copper lamé dress and heels, pushing her well over six feet tall, her silver hair up and festive. And those eyes. Jae decided that if she had eyes that matched he
r hair color as eerily as did Ms. Balaam’s, she certainly wouldn’t do a thing to try to enhance them.

  While formally introducing everyone around the table, Ranold made an issue of his regret over pulling “Chief Balaam away from her college-age son.”

  “He’s probably relieved,” Bia said with a smirk. “I tend to dote on him.”

  Though Jae had had an aversion to the woman since they met, and while her comment seemed self-serving and inappropriate to the tone of the meeting, Jae had to admit that somewhere within her own core, she could identify with doting on a child, regardless of age. Just the knowledge that Bia Balaam was a mother slightly softened Jae’s impression of her lack of humanity.

  Ranold began to drone on about how he didn’t want to keep them long and was eager to get down to business. Jae had learned his rhythms and cadences and knew when to tune him out. All she could think of was that if these people were wrong, if they had misread Paul’s motives and intentions and actions, too many people suspected him by now to get the cat back into the bag. Innocent or not, Paul’s reputation had been irretrievably soiled.

  Ranold’s secretary took lunch orders. Jae declined. How could she eat now? How could she do anything but drink? That was the irony of it. Jae probably drank wine twice a month, hard liquor maybe once a month, and always only as a nightcap. She still had a light buzz from the Scotch and wished she’d had more. What could be worse than this? Sitting with eager agents, their teeth into one of the most important internal investigations in their careers, all expecting her to help take down her own husband.

  A huge screen was lowered at one end of the room and the lights went down. Then came gigantic projected images of Paul, persuading her that her father, at least, had suspected him for a lot longer than she knew. First came shots of him as an almost gawky military man before they had even met. No body fat. All arms and legs and muscles. Interacting with Delta Force Command Sergeant Major Andrew Pass.

  “This was his idol,” Ranold said. “There is no evidence that Pass was an underground rebel at this time. Intelligence tells us they doubt it. When Pass turned, we do not know. His brother, John—goes by Jack—is known as a leader of the resistance in our own district. Andrew’s daughter, Angela Pass Barger—a widow—is shown here speaking at her father’s funeral. Notice that Agent Stepola also attended—click—spoke—click—and interacted with Ms. Barger.”

  Jae was stung by the body language and expressions of those two. Paul didn’t even seem to be trying to hide his attraction to the woman. This had been a year ago at Wintermas. Had Jae been so cold that day that Paul was on the prowl?

  Next came a slide of Paul with a flamboyant-looking redhead Jae did not recognize, even after Ranold identified her as Trina Thomas, head of the Chicago bureau forensics lab. “You’ll see later evidence of inappropriate activity between them, but even here you can tell there’s interest on his part. Forgive me, Jae, if I’m reading into this.”

  Jae wanted to hide. Why must she be subjected to this? Here were surreptitious pictures shot within the very walls of Paul’s workplace! Would not an agent of his stature realize he was fair game in his own office building? And why was she defensive for him? This Thomas woman looked like a floozy, and yet again, his attraction and flirtations were undeniable.

  “Mrs. Thomas, a happily married woman by the way, triggered the remote shutter herself on these. To Paul’s credit, at this time he resisted her advances, though his excuse was he was leaving on assignment the next day and could not accept her offer of lunch in exchange for a favor. The favor, she says, was that he was asking her to examine something for him personally. As you’ll see, he eventually accepts that offer.”

  Jae lowered her head and covered her eyes. How bad was this going to get? She looked up again when she heard Ranold rattle a paper and announce that it was Trina Thomas’s report of the contact. He read from it: “‘Paul told me it was, and I quote, “A personal favor actually. For Jae.” I asked if Jae was ready for me to take him off her hands. He said, “Afraid not. No, it’s more of a—it’s a genealogy project, I think. She came across some document and wondered if its age could tell her who in her family produced it.”’”

  Ranold looked to Jae. “Can you confirm this? Any recollection?”

  She shook her head. What in the world? The letter from his father? Does Paul know I’ve seen it? I hadn’t at that time! Why would Paul lie to this woman?

  Her father set the paper down and continued: “Paul shined in an assignment in San Francisco, killing the woman who headed an underground zealot cell there and himself winding up seriously wounded, the only survivor of that raid. His first day back at work we have these images of him again with Trina Thomas.”

  These were worse than the first ones. Mrs. Thomas was pulling out all the stops. Jae could tell, even if the Washington-based people couldn’t, that Trina was sitting on Paul’s secretary’s desk, her legs crossed and a high heel dangling from one toe. Paul was under surveillance in his own office! It seemed unfair and invasive, and yet he was getting what he deserved.

  Ranold read from Trina Thomas’s report again: “‘I flirted with him unabashedly and got him to commit to the lunch. And I told him what I had determined about the scrap of paper he had given me. It was part of an envelope, at least thirty-five years old, high quality. High organic content, wood pulp, even cloth fibers. Made me as curious as all get-out, but he never mentioned it again, even though I asked several different ways. All he told me was that it came from one of Jae’s relatives during the war at around the turn of the century. I told him I was surprised her relatives couldn’t identify it.’”

  Ranold looked to Jae again, and she shook her head. “I gave him no such document. This had to be something of his own.” Never had she been more tempted to tell her father about Paul’s father’s letter, but she wasn’t about to do that in front of these people.

  Ranold projected more images on the screen, almost enough to make Jae leave the room. But she could not pull away. Here was Paul in the dark corner of an elegant restaurant with Trina Thomas. They were eating, leaning into each other, laughing. Now enjoying wine. And more wine. And more. Finally, Paul sat with his arm around her, as if he was about to fall asleep. She looked drunk. And finally an amorous kiss.

  Ranold read from her report: “‘It was a three-hour lunch, and my assignment was to see if I could get him to, you know, prove he was the same old Paul Stepola.’”

  “Assignment from whom?” Jae interrupted.

  “Guilty,” Ranold said. “I wanted to know if he’d cleaned up his act, and if he hadn’t, I would have told you.”

  “If he hadn’t?”

  “Listen to this: ‘That was as far as it went, and he has avoided me since.’” Ranold looked up. “So that was encouraging.”

  “To you, maybe. What I just saw was enough.” Boy, was it. Lucky for Paul he was not within striking distance. How she would be able to interact with him by phone without letting on that something was wrong was beyond her.

  Ranold reported that Paul went on to succeed on yet another assignment, this one in Gulfland, where suspicious oil-well fires appeared to be terrorist acts by the Christian underground. “Paul arrested one of the ringleaders, then risked his life to save the man who had stoned his prisoner to death. Paul lost his sight and wound up in the hospital.

  “One of our most encouraging signs about Agent Stepola came about this time when Paul asked me for a disc version of the New Testament. Plainly, he expected to regain his sight and rejoin the ranks of the NPO, and he wanted to be ready and up to speed on his targets. He had majored in religious studies in graduate school, but nothing, he told Koontz, had struck him as so pervasive among devout believers that would cause them to be as zealous as he was finding them now.”

  Click.

  Jae was surprised to see a photo of Straight.

  “Here is a man we have yet to figure out,” Ranold said. “Name’s Dr. Stuart Rathe, now age sixty. He’s a former profe
ssor at the University of Chicago who lost his job and his family, and a foot I might add, in a car wreck in 28 P.3 while he was drunk. Seems to have tried to put his life back together and assuage his guilt by volunteering at PSL Hospital in Chicago, where he met Agent Stepola. They have become fast friends, have attended chess tournaments together, and appear to keep in touch. He accompanied Agent Stepola here when Paul was still blind and received the Pergamum Medal. I met him when he dropped Paul at our place. Seemed most congenial. We did photograph him lunching with Agent Stepola and the widow Barger on their way out of Washington. Not knowing whether Ms. Barger is associated with the underground the way her father was and her uncle is, we were unable to draw any conclusions about Mr. Rathe. Jae, I assume you know this man, as he has been seen frequenting your home.”

  “He is a dear friend of the family.”

  “Any evidence of subversive activity? Underground connections?”

  “None.”

  “He has visited you even in Paul’s absence, has he not?”

  Jae noticed double takes on the parts of some around the table. “I said he is a dear friend of the family. He’s wonderful with the kids. And I resent the idea that my home is under surveillance.”

  “It’s for your own protection, honey.”

  Jae stared hard at her father, who quickly moved along.

  “Dr. Raman Bihari, an eye specialist at PSL, reports that the restoration of Paul’s sight was as close to miraculous as anything he has encountered in medicine. The NPO was merely grateful to know that Paul would eventually be back to full strength. He was next spotted in Toledo at a chess tournament with Mr. Rathe, and while we suspected an inappropriate sexual dalliance there—a suspicion shared by you, Jae, if you recall—”

  If I recall?

  “—we were unable to confirm that. Paul completed successful operations in New York and Las Vegas, though we began to suspect him in earnest then. In New York he met with a woman from the offices of Demetrius & Demetrius, who had ties to the underground, but we determined he was merely interrogating her.