True to his word, the jailer soon returned with a tray that included a few slices of baked apple and small portions of beans and squash. The main course of the meal was a bowl of some type of porridge made of a sweet white flour. In his years at the United Nations Decker had eaten foods from every country in the world, but he had never tasted anything quite like this.
After lunch, Decker laid down on the bed, and despite his concern about his situation, slipped off to sleep. He was awakened at about 7:00 p.m. by a knock at the door. In protest Decker did not respond and after a moment, the knock was repeated. When Decker still did not respond, the visitor came in uninvited.
"Good evening, Mr. Hawthorne." The speaker was a large man, over six feet tall, in his mid-sixties. His thick curly hair, now gray with age, still held a trace of color, revealing that it had once been jet black. On his forehead beneath the curls was the blood-red insignia of the KDT. "I apologize for keeping you waiting," he said.
"Why have you brought me here?" Decker demanded.
"Only to talk with you," the man answered calmly.
"You mean to brainwash me, don't you? The way you did to Tom Donafin!" Decker watched for any reaction by his captor, and though there was none he continued. "That's right! I know what you did to Tom!" Tom Donafin had told Decker that he had been with the KDT: it was only logical to conclude that it was the KDT who had convinced him to assassinate Christopher. "Well, it's not going to work. Not this time!" Decker continued to study his captor's face closely for any reaction or hint of a weakness he might use to his advantage.
"Mr. Hawthorne, I assure you, no one brainwashed Tom Donafin." Decker was a little surprised that the man so freely admitted his familiarity with Tom.
"Oh, well," Decker sputtered in feigned contrition, and then very firmly added, "you'll forgive me if I think you're a liar!"
"If you wish. But liar or not, this is my stated intention for bringing you here: it is not to brainwash you, but only to talk with you. Whether you believe this to be a lie or the truth is up to you."
"So I'm supposed to believe that kidnapping me has nothing to do with my relationship with Christopher Goodman? Your thugs just picked me at random for a free trip to Petra."
"I apologize for my methods, Mr. Hawthorne, but there didn't seem to be any other way to get you here."
"If you think you're going to use me to get at Christopher, you can just forget it. And if you think that by holding me you can manipulate Christopher, you're not only mistaken, you're stupid. Or maybe you're just hoping to make him mad. Well, you might just succeed at that."
The man shook his head through each of Decker's conjectures. "I only want to talk with you," he repeated.
"You don't really believe that the U.N. Security Forces are just going to overlook the fact that you've kidnapped the Director of Public Affairs, do you?"
"You travel frequently in your job, Mr. Hawthorne. I suspect it may be several days before anyone is sure you're actually missing."
He was probably right, but Decker had no time to consider it. As he studied the man's face, suddenly something seemed vaguely familiar. Decker cocked his head and looked closely at him, trying to remember. He strained his memory but to no avail. "Do I know you?" he asked, finally. "I do know you!" he said, not giving the man a chance to answer. In part at least, Decker was bluffing: he wasn't really sure that he had ever seen the man before, but still there was something undeniably familiar about him.
"Yes, Mr. Hawthorne. We know each other," the man said. "My name is Scott Rosen."
Decker just stared. The name meant nothing to him. It had been many years since he had last heard it.
"My parents were Joshua and liana Rosen."
Decker remembered Joshua and liana well but could not immediately recall very much about their son, other than the fact that they had one. The family resemblance was obvious, however. In fact, as Decker considered the man's face, he realized that it was only this resemblance that had made him think he recognized the man. Then he remembered. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I know you. You betrayed your parents to ;|fj||| keep them from getting their Israeli citizenship." The reference ™ appeared to sting a little and Decker looked for some way to Illl exploit it. "So I see you're still an obnoxious bully," he said, as III he shook his head in disgust. He wanted to do everything he could to belittle his captor. It was not just to strike back at him for the kidnapping, however: it was the beginning of a plan. Decker knew from intelligence summaries and news reports that _ the fundamentalists did not kill their hostages before getting HI them to'convert.' He assumed the KDT probably did the same. It was a long shot and he knew it, but Decker hoped that if he could quickly convince his captor that it was hopeless to try to convert him, perhaps he might still get out of this alive. It was not that easy.
"Mr. Hawthorne," Scott Rosen answered, "what I did to ;l||| my parents was wrong."
"You're damn right it was!" Being a very literate man who never lacked for adequate vocabulary Decker seldom swore, but right now it seemed a good way to drive home his point that he had no interest in anything that this religious fanatic had to say.
mil Unshaken, Rosen continued his response without
HII acknowledging Decker's interruption. "As I have come to
realize, I was wrong not only for the way I treated my parents,
I was also wrong about my parents' beliefs. I now know they
were right: Yeshua — Jesus — is the Jewish Messiah."
"So this is all an attempt to make up for what you did to your parents," Decker said, without missing a beat. "Well, I can assure you that this is no way to go about it. I knew your parents well and I'm certain they would not approve of your kidnapping people! If you have any respect for the memory of your parents at all, you'll release me immediately and tell your friends to surrender to the United Nations authorities in Israel." Decker realized as soon as the words had left his mouth that he was pressing his luck with the part about the KDT surrendering themselves, but his adrenalin was pumping and he was on a roll.
"Mr. Hawthorne," Scott Rosen said again, "All I want is to talk to you."
"Well, I don't want to talk to you!"
Scott Rosen ran his fingers through his long thick beard. "As you wish, Mr. Hawthorne," he said as he got up to leave.
Decker felt a rush of success: he had gotten a reaction. He was still the prisoner, but he was in control; even if it was only control of the conversation. Though he would have liked to continue lecturing Rosen on the impropriety of his actions, he decided to hold his tongue. For now he would wait and see what came next.
As Scott Rosen reached the doorway, he turned in apparent afterthought with one question "Mr. Hawthorne, why have you not taken the communion? Why don't you have the mark?"
"I was on my way to get it when your people kidnapped me," Decker answered quickly, hoping to negate any significance that Rosen might attach to the fact.
"My friends — the ones who brought you here," Rosen said, "had specific orders not to take you if you had the mark. If you had, it would have been too late."
Decker glared at this kidnapper who would presume to judge him.
"It's not an accident that you've not taken the mark," Rosen continued. "It's the grace of God."
Decker laughed mockingly. "You people interpret whatever suits you as a sign from God. Well, you're wrong, Rosen. The whole idea of the mark was mine. I'm the one who originally suggested requiring the mark, and I would have taken the communion myself and had the mark by now if your thugs hadn't grabbed me!"
"Going to get the mark and having the mark are not the same thing, Mr. Hawthorne. God — I have learned — is never too early and never too late, but always right on time."
Decker's supper was much the same as lunch with the exception that it included a small mutton chop, and the sweet meal used earlier to make the porridge had been used as flour to make a sort of pancake which was fried in olive oil. After eating, Decker laid down and tried to go to s
leep. It was only 9:30 p.m. but he was certainly tired enough to sleep. Besides, he knew if he was to survive whatever Rosen and the KDT had in mind for him, he would need all the rest he could get. The mountains which formed the walls of Petra did their part by shutting out the sun well before it grew dark outside this city hidden in the hollow of the mountains. Still, despite his best efforts, or in part perhaps because of them, he just couldn't fall asleep. No amount of sheep-counting seemed to help; there was simply too much on his mind. It felt as though he had been lying there all night. In truth, it was only about 11:30 when he finally dozed off.
June 4, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.) — Petra
Rising early, Decker crept silently toward the window and looked out, hoping his guards might be asleep. They weren't. That, however, was not what caught Decker's attention. Shaking his head to clear his mind and his vision, he looked again at what seemed an impossible sight, for as far as he could see everything lay blanketed with a covering of what looked for all the world like snow. It wasn't snow — it couldn't be — it was a hot morning in June. But despite all his attempts over the next several minutes, Decker could come up with no other explanation. A hundred yards away, a woman and a young boy came out of one of the thousands of tents which speckled the ancient tableau and began scooping up the white material and putting it into a tub. Soon others came out of their shelters, carrying in their arms pots and pans and baskets, and they too began collecting the snowy material.
Decker heard the door open and looked over to see the jailer bringing in breakfast. "What is that?" he asked, pointing out the window.
"Exactly," the man answered.
Decker tried to determine what the jailer meant but his answer made no sense. "No," Decker said, trying again. "Is that snow?"
"No," the jailer laughed.
"Well, then, what is it?"
"Exactly," the jailer repeated.
This was getting nowhere and Decker was not going to ask again.
"I'm sorry," the jailer laughed when he saw he could press it no further. "I always hoped somebody would ask me that."
Decker was not amused.
"That's what it is: 'what is it,'" the jailer said as if that was supposed to be the answer. "The white stuff outside is called 'what is it.' At least that's the English translation. In Hebrew, it's called manna. Here, look," he said, motioning toward the tray he had brought in. On the tray was a bowl filled most of the way with the white substance. "Try it," the jailer said.
Decker took a pinch from the bowl and tasted it. It was crunchy and white like coriander seed and it tasted like wafers made with honey. He recognized the taste immediately as the grain from which the porridge and fritters had been made the day before.
"We use it for everything," the jailer said. "There must be a thousand different recipes. We've got manna bread, manna donuts, manna cookies, manna pasta, manna spaghetti, manna waffles; we've got fried manna, boiled manna, broiled manna, toasted manna, and even raw manna; we've even got manna manicotti. And this morning we've got manna muffins and manna cereal."
"But what is it?"
"Exactly," the jailer said again. Decker wondered if he was ever going to get a complete answer.
"When Moses led the people out of Egypt," the jailer explained, "God provided manna for them to eat. He has done the same here in Petra. Each morning, except on the Sabbath, a dew sets in and when it lifts it leaves behind the manna. Later, as the sun gets hot, the manna melts away, leaving no trace that it was ever there."
It was a preposterous story, but there it was, outside the window and in his bowl.
After breakfast the jailer returned for the tray and brought two cups and a plastic pitcher filled with cold water. Shortly after, Scott Rosen returned.
"When are you going to release me?!" Decker demanded as soon as Rosen walked through the door.
"I prayed about our conversation last night," Rosen said, as though he had not heard Decker's question.
Decker rolled his eyes conspicuously in a pained expression.
"And I realized that I didn't entirely answer your question about why I brought you here."
"You said you wanted to 'talk to me,'" Decker said, sarcastically.
"Well, that's true, but that's not all. I brought you here because I hope to show you that things are not as they may seem: that those you believe to be your friends are in fact your enemies, and those you think are your enemies are actually your friends."
Decker burst into laughter, then looking at the expression of sincerity on Rosen's face, he laughed even harder. The response was unexpected and Rosen was not sure what to make of it. "You mean" said Decker, finally, "that you want to try
to brainwash me! Just as I said last night." The laughter was gone now and his words dripped with sarcasm. "You want me to try to see things your way. Well, is that supposed to surprise me?"
Rosen did not respond to Decker's question but annoyingly returned to the same calm, sincere tone as if he were talking pleasantly with an old friend. "Mr. Hawthorne, you asked me if I was trying to make up for what I did to my parents. I've already said the way I treated them was wrong, but the answer to your question is still no. Your being brought here has nothing to do with an attempt to do penance for my past sins: that price has already been paid in full by Yeshua. Still, in a way, my parents do have something to do with your being here."
"I'm really not interested," Decker said, but to no effect.
"You see, I'm sure that they would have wanted us to talk."
"So now you not only know the will of God," Decker said, "you know the will of your dead parents, as well."
"What I want to tell you is no different than what they would say to you if they were alive."
"They would not have forced me to listen," Decker shot back. "I am quite certain that your variety of Christianity — if that's what you call it — differs markedly from the Christianity practiced by your parents."
"It is not our beliefs that differ, Mr. Hawthorne, but our times and circumstances."
"Your circumstances are of your own making!"
Rosen caught himself. He was letting Decker get control of the conversation and he had not yet finished his explanation. "We can discuss my methods later," he said. "For right now I'd like to finish explaining why I brought you here."
At every point in the conversation Decker tried to keep Rosen off balance, which meant weighing whether he should try to frustrate Rosen's agenda by interrupting or listen for information he might later be able to use to his benefit.
Sometimes the decision was based on his assessment of what Rosen was getting at, sometimes it was sheer intuition. For the moment, Decker decided to listen.
"Besides bringing you here because I think it's what my parents would have wanted, there are two other reasons. The first is that for a long time, almost since the day of my own conversion to follow Yeshua, I have felt drawn to talk to you. This isn't the first time I've made the attempt, either. Six years ago, you and Christopher" — even though most people referred to Christopher by his first name, Decker bristled at the sound of Scott Rosen's casual reference — "came to Israel before the war between India, Pakistan, and China." Decker remembered the trip well: it was just before Christopher had gone into the Israeli wilderness for forty days. It was also the first time Decker had heard of the KDT.
"I don't remember seeing you then," Decker said, not to inform but to challenge Rosen's assertion.
"You didn't," countered Rosen. "I backed down." Decker made a quick mental note of this piece of information. It showed weakness on Rosen's part: something had scared him, made him 'back down.' "Even though I felt that God had directed me to talk with you, you were so close to Christopher, it seemed impossible to me that you would listen."
"You mean it seemed impossible that I would betray him." The response had been intended only as an polemic jab, but as Decker heard the words he spoke, he suddenly believed he understood why it was so important to Rosen that they 'talk.' On the p
lane to Israel after his resurrection, Christopher had said that in a past life Decker had been Judas Iscariot, the apostle who, according to history, had betrayed Jesus. Two thousand years ago, Christopher said, it had been the Apostle John who had convinced Judas to betray Jesus. Now Scott Rosen was attempting to play John's role. Yahweh had indeed directed Rosen to 'talk' to him, Decker realized. Christopher had said that Yahweh would become more and more desperate as he saw the planet slipping from his grip. This must be a sign of that desperation. Well, Decker promised himself steadfastly, it's not going to work this time. Decker had never been able to recall any part of his past life as Judas, so he had no remembered experience to draw upon for guidance, but one way or another he was determined that he would not make the same mistake twice. He would rather die than betray Christopher.
"There will be no reason for you to die, Mr. Hawthorne," Scott Rosen said, unexpectedly.
Decker sat stunned. Rosen had read his thoughts. The one thing Decker had felt he could count upon — the privacy of his own thoughts — was shattered in a single instant.
Decker stared at Rosen in disgust. "You know," he said, "I admit that it was crazy, but somehow I had held on to this ridiculous notion that even though you were a kidnapper and who knows what else, there might be some small shred of decency in you, some little something that would compel you to play fair. You bastard, you've been reading my mind!"
"Not entirely, Mr. Hawthorne," Rosen responded, apparently unaffected by Decker's tone or terminology. "I only know what I am able to perceive from your behavior and by a few glimpses that God gives me of your thoughts."
Decker glared.
"And, though I'm sure you won't believe this either, those things that Christopher told you about John and Judas were lies ... all of them."
Decker's nostrils flared as he clenched his teeth in rage.
"We can deal with that later, however," Rosen continued, oblivious to Decker's reaction. It was as though suddenly he had lost not only his ability to read Decker's mind, he was also blind to the fury on his face. It was clear that Rosen's tactic was to ignore whatever Decker said or did that did not further his cause. "Right now," he went on, "I am determined to finish my explanation of why I brought you to Petra."
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