Silenced

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “‘I will take vengeance,’ says the Lord,” a woman said.

  “Then it is for Him to accomplish and not for us,” Chapp said.

  Paul nodded. “Now you’re talking.” But what was Chapp talking about?

  “She’s in Europe now?” Jae said. “That’s what you’re telling me? If I’m such a crucial part of this new team, why would I not have known that?”

  She and her father sat in the living room while Jae’s mother made breakfast for the kids.

  “Not all members of the team are required to approve every decision,” Ranold said. “Chief Balaam is my designee for this operation, as well as our choice to represent us in Bern for Chancellor Dengler’s announcement Monday morning.”

  “And Paul didn’t know she was coming?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But he does now?”

  Ranold looked at his watch. “By now, he should. And the bug should have been planted.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Ranold looked self-conscious again. Jae hated when that happened. That meant he had something he knew she ought to know but was sheepish about telling her. This from one of the most powerful men in America. When he got this way, especially with her, she came as close to hating him as a daughter could hate her father.

  “When, ah, Chief Balaam greets Paul, she will plant on his person, probably his jacket or whatever piece of material she touches, a microscopic device that will transmit to a receiver she can use to record anything useful.”

  “Such as?”

  “Conversations.”

  “With?”

  “With whomever, Jae. If he is behaving, he should have nothing to worry about.”

  “I want to know if you are hoping to catch him in subversive activity or an infidelity.”

  “Frankly, I don’t care, Jae. Either will confirm my suspicion that he is not the new man you believe him to be.”

  “But the latter is my business, not yours, not the NPO’s, not Bia Balaam’s, and certainly not the USSA’s.”

  “It will go a long way in solidifying your role on the team though, won’t it?”

  “Your pursuing it might cost having me on the team at all.”

  “I don’t believe that, Jae. I admire your loyalty to Paul; I really do. I confess I don’t understand it. If I thought your mother was unfaithful to me, I’d be homicidal.”

  As she should have been, rather than averting her eyes so many times?

  “But this,” Ranold continued, “is intended merely as a monitor. Maybe it will record Paul doing what he is supposed to be doing, and it will go in his file as another stellar example of great work.”

  “Yeah, right. That’ll happen.”

  “But if in setting him up to see how he responds to an interesting situation we also find that he is fraternizing with the enemy, that could prove very beneficial as well.”

  “You set him up?”

  Her father’s gaze was darting again, and he actually reddened.

  Jae stood. “Just tell me. You know I’m going to be steamed either way, so just put it on the table.”

  Paul remembered the sweet hours of prayer with the underground in Los Angeles as he and the other members of the French underground knelt. He had to admit, this was not the same. Singly, in pairs, and sometimes all at once, they poured out their hearts to God, beseeching Him to act. Some prayed that He would unleash judgment as He had in the book of Exodus to persuade the evil world leaders to let His people out from under the tyranny of religious persecution. Others pleaded with Him to show mercy and patience, to use some other means to get through to the hard hearts in Bern.

  “All we want is to serve You,” someone prayed. “All we want is the freedom to tell others the news of Your salvation and see them come to Christ.”

  When they finished praying, Chappell had a concrete, practical idea. “Just like in Los Angeles, we need to publish our response to what the government is doing. Once the announcement is made in Bern, we need to circulate far and wide our warning that if any believers suffer because they refuse to sign the decree—obeying man rather than God—we are praying that God will make the government regret it.”

  “Frankly,” one of the older men said, “I will be praying at cross-purposes to that.”

  “So, God was wrong in Exodus?”

  Paul knew God was never wrong, but he didn’t know how to pray either. He stood and approached Chapp. “You and I need to talk in private about what we’re going to do about Styr Magnor. I know that soon enough I will have to declare my true loyalties publicly, and that will mean the end of my tenure within the government. But if we can buy even a few days in the meantime by delivering this terrorist, it will also serve to protect the world from mortal danger.”

  22

  JAE COULDN’T PUT HER FINGER on what was happening to her. She didn’t know if it was the stress of living under her parents’ roof again, the shock of knowing that her husband was suspected by the very people he worked for, the fear that he might again be straying from her, or what she had allowed into her mind by listening to the New Testament. But something was wrong. It was as if she were losing her mind.

  She was all right with the kids, but she found her mother more maddening than ever—her docile take-life-as-it-comes attitude, letting Ranold get away with whatever craziness he dreamed up. And her father! Jae scolded herself. No way anything Ranold said or did should have come as a surprise to her. He was what he was, always had been, always would be. He had said as much himself when telling her the story of what his own mother had said on his fiftieth birthday.

  Jae was impatient, angry, frustrated, unable to concentrate for two seconds. And now, early in the morning, her father was telling her about the woman the NPO—the NPO!—was putting in Paul’s path for the express purpose of entrapping him.

  “She’s good,” her father said with obvious admiration.

  “Oh, that makes me feel better,” Jae said, feeling the blood rise in her neck. She was not about to defend Paul, and if he succumbed, she didn’t think she could forgive him again either. But she believed the man was trying. She believed he had quit putting himself in compromising situations, and she wished no one else would either—especially while he was trying to develop some moral muscle in that area.

  “Name’s Calandre Caresse, and we’ve used her before. She’s—”

  “Come on, Dad. That’s not her real name. That’s a stripper’s name.”

  He cocked his head. “Far as I know, that’s her name. She’s classy, discreet, and can be trusted.”

  “Listen to yourself!” Jae said.

  Ranold looked genuinely puzzled.

  “All right,” she said, “let me ask you something. How would you describe me?”

  “Smart, pretty, loyal.”

  “You’ve said that before. Be more creative. Am I classy?”

  “I’ve always thought so.”

  “Discreet?”

  “Sure.”

  “Trustworthy?”

  “You bet.”

  “Dad, you just described a woman who lures men to her bed for a living the same way you would describe me.”

  He shrugged. “Well, okay. Maybe I should have qualified that. For a woman in her game, she’s classier than most.”

  “That helped. So, what’s the plan? What’s she going to do? Does Paul have a chance?”

  “I don’t know the details,” Ranold said. His eyes twinkled as if he couldn’t wait to hear the results. “But if he has eyes in his head, he’s as good as done for. She’ll get him. And you’ll have all the ammo you need.”

  “So what if he’s just lonely, missing me, trying to stay true? You don’t see this as totally unfair to him? To me?”

  “You deserve to know what he really is, Jae! All this phony Paul’s-a-new-man malarkey . . . if we do decide to send you over there, I want you clear that Paul is the target, the enemy.”

  “Send me over there? Are you serious?”
/>   “Well, for sure not until you get your mind right about him.”

  From that very second on, Jae became obsessed with going, even if it meant convincing her father that she believed Paul was the enemy personified.

  Only Paul and Chappell Raison remained in the little farmhouse nestled among the trees. “I apologize for coming on so strong, Chapp.”

  “I understand. I needed it.”

  “It’s just that all I’d heard about you was your intensity and drive, and I saw that ebbing.”

  Chapp stood and moved to gaze out a window. “Frankly, it has ebbed, my friend. But if I understand what we’re doing now, my intensity has nothing more to do with this. We are trusting God to act, because in ourselves we are not capable of competing anymore. We probably never were.”

  “You’re still going to need some fortitude to get Magnor.”

  “I’m spent, Doctor.”

  “Look at it this way. The death of your friend has rekindled your desire to work with Magnor. He might have been suspicious if you finally started returning his calls all of a sudden, but this gives you cause.”

  Paul waited. He had pushed Chappell so hard today that he feared the man was at his breaking point. This had to come from him.

  “So I call him? Or I wait for him to call again?”

  “What’s your gut tell you, Chapp? Have you rebuffed him so many times that he will give up? Or might he call again?”

  “He called last night and again this morning, and Lothair told him I was grieving, too upset to talk.”

  “He told me the same thing.”

  “It was true, brother Paul.”

  “Actually, it’s perfect. Without even intending to, you’re forcing him to play into our hands.”

  “How?”

  “You don’t ever want to appear too eager. To sting him, you have to make him come your way. No doubt the reason he has begun calling again is because of the death in your group. News like that spreads fast in the underground. He has to be thinking that if today you are too upset to talk, tomorrow you might be mad enough to join forces with him.”

  “So if that is his proposal, I accept?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, you force his hand. Tell him you’re defeated, whipped, through, and you’re convinced he can’t do anything to turn the tide either. Then hang up on him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. We want him certain that you are dead set against the idea that there is any value in your associating with him. Make him beg.”

  “But what if he believes me? What if I convince him I mean it?”

  “So much the better. Play hard to get. It will keep from his mind any vestige of suspicion that you are too eager.”

  “Because?”

  “Because if you come off too eager, it might be because you are cooperating with agencies that can bring him down.”

  Chapp sat back down, and Paul had the impression he was getting into this. “So how many times do I turn him down before finally agreeing?”

  “That’s entirely up to you. Use your intuition. Take him right to the breaking point where he’s convinced it’s hopeless. Then make him offer a show of good faith.”

  “Such as?”

  “Meeting on your terms, at your place.”

  “He’d be a fool.”

  “Of course he would, but we’re going for a compromise here. He has to win one somewhere along the line. You insist to the end he needs to come and see you where you are, and of course he’ll have to flat refuse that. Just before letting the whole thing fall apart, he’ll likely suggest a neutral spot, closer to where he is. That’s where you make your most important move. You name the place.”

  “Where?” Chapp said.

  “What would work?”

  “The question is, what would work for you, Paul? I imagine you’re not going to play this out long. Once we know where he’s going to be, I’m going to disappear and you’re going to come in with the authorities, no?”

  “Now you’re thinking.”

  “So, you tell me where,” Chapp said.

  “London.”

  “London? He’ll never come to London.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me,” Chappell said. “Would you if you pulled off a terrorist attack there?”

  “I might, if I was as full of bravado as Magnor. He may just rise to the challenge. He’ll be giddy that he finally has you on board, if he can just see his way clear to get to London. And then he’ll think, why not? Later he can crow that he was in the very city he attacked.”

  Chappell raised his eyebrows and for the first time that day, Paul saw his smile. “Doctor, is thinking like a criminal required for your job?”

  They left it that Chapp would check in with Paul anytime he communicated with Magnor. On the way back to Paris Paul grew suspicious of two different cars that could have been trailing him. To be sure, he drove a hundred miles out of his way and stopped at various tourist sites. Eventually he convinced himself it had been only his imagination, but he felt more secure when he finally reached the city after dark.

  Along the way he felt a sudden, deep urge, a compulsion to pray for Jae. Straight had told him about feelings like this. He didn’t even know what to say or whether he should try to pry from her later what might have been going on with her during that time. He simply prayed that God would protect her and be with her and give her whatever she needed right then.

  Half an hour later Paul parked the second rental car a couple of blocks from his hotel. As he got out he became aware of a dark, attractive young woman heading for the door of Le Hotel Boutique across the street. She was trying to protect her long, brown hair from the cold wind. Paul was passing just as she reached the top of the marble steps leading to the entrance, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her fall in a noisy heap.

  “Whoops!” Paul said, charging up the steps and reaching for her, but she was holding one ankle with both hands.

  “I think I sprained it,” she said with a slight French accent. “Can you tell?”

  She reached for his hand and put it on her ankle. Her foot trembled, but Paul didn’t notice any bruising or the telltale immediate swelling that usually came with a sprain. “Maybe you just twisted it,” he said. “Want to try to stand on it?”

  “In a second,” she said. “Your hand is so warm.”

  Paul hadn’t minded kneeling there with his hand on her, but when two bellhops hurried out, he stood, and she told them she was all right. As they moved away, she reached for Paul’s hand again, and he helped her up. She stood gingerly and mince-stepped around. “I hope it’s not sprained,” she said. “But it hurts. Help me in, would you? I owe you a drink at least.”

  “Not necessary,” he said, extending his arm. As she leaned all her weight on him, they moved inside her hotel to a tiny round table outside the lobby bar. She ordered wine, he a decaf coffee.

  “I feel like such a fool,” she said.

  “Not at all. It happens. I’ve always been a klutz.”

  “Oh no!” she said. “Not you. You carry yourself with such grace. You must have been an athlete.”

  “Played a little ball.”

  “See?” she said. “I knew it. I’m Calandre. Calandre Caresse, and yes, I know what that means in English.”

  “Calandre or caresse?” he said.

  She laughed. “I meant caresse.”

  “Everybody knows what that means,” Paul said. “What does it mean in French?”

  “‘Endearing.’”

  “And Calandre?”

  “‘Lark.’ So you were caressing a bird.”

  “Was I?”

  “You were. And I’m already feeling much better, sir.”

  “Ray,” he said, shaking her hand. “Ray Decenti.”

  “Are you staying at Le Boutique too, Ray?”

  “No. Nearby.”

  As she bantered with him, Calandre frequently leaned into him, touched his h
and and arm, and became more and more familiar. Paul did not reciprocate but couldn’t say he found her touch unpleasant. He had been away from home too long.

  “Are you in Paris alone?” she said.

  “I am. You?”

  “Yes. I live in Toulouse but must come here for my work occasionally. I am an editor of a fashion magazine, and this is the fashion capital of the world.”

  “It is that,” Paul said.

  “And what brings you here?” she said.

  “Just business. Sales.”

  “Interesting,” she said, and he almost believed her.

  When the check came, Calandre insisted on putting it on her room. Paul moved as if to leave. “You don’t have to rush off, do you, Ray? No one will know if you are late getting back to your lonely room, will they?”

  He smiled and shook his head.

  “You must let me show you the magnificent view from my suite,” she said. “But maybe you have a bigger one and on a higher floor at your place.”

  “I doubt it. Standard-issue for salesmen, you know. Budgets and all.”

  “Thankfully that is not true of our magazine. Come, you must see it.”

  Paul hesitated. “I have an early morning.”

  “I won’t keep you long. Please. I might not be able to make it all the way with my injury.”

  He laughed at her obvious teasing, and against his better judgment walked her to the elevator. She leaned on him and limped as if her ankle still hurt.

  When they got to her suite, she handed him the pass card and he opened the door.

  “Wow,” he said. “It is palatial.”

  “Come see the view.”

  He stepped inside, but the door shutting behind him seemed to bring him to his senses. “I really have to get going.”

  She passed him and threw the draperies open wide. “Just look at this,” she said, slipping her coat off and draping it over a chair. She reached back for him and tugged him to the window. “The City of Light.”

  “Spectacular,” he said.

  As he stood there she lifted her sore foot off the floor and leaned fully into him so he was supporting her. He carefully stepped away and held her with both hands. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you. You all right now?”