Underground Zealot 01 - Soon

by JERRY JENKINS

  And don’t worry about your job. No matter what, there’s a place for you in my shop.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  * * *

  Paul wanted to think rather than sleep, but he couldn’t bear the pain. When he was given medication he slept soundly. He awoke early that afternoon, still trapped in darkness but feeling the warmth of the sun through the window, even through his bandages.

  “Hey there, chief.” It was Ranold. Why did everyone feel they had to sound jolly for him? “I’ve got a young lady here who’d like to see you.”

  “Jae?”

  “Hi, honey.” She stepped close. “I’ve been so scared. I’m so glad you’re going to be all right.”

  “I’m not going to be all right. There’s almost no chance I’ll ever be able to see again.”

  “The doctor said that?”

  “Don’t believe me? Ask him. There are things they can try, but it will take time.”

  “How much time?”

  “At least two months. I’ll be here awhile.”

  “Well,” Ranold said, “I think we should hear it from the doctor. Let’s get him in here. What’s his name?”

  “Bihari.”

  “What kind of a name is that?” Ranold said.

  “Indian.”

  “Great. They can’t even give a government agent an American doctor?”

  “He sounds knowledgeable.”

  “Yeah? Well, they all talk a good game.”

  A few minutes later, Dr. Bihari was forthright with Jae and Ranold about Paul’s prospects. Paul heard Jae crying.

  “Turn off the waterworks,” Paul said, “and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “Oh, Paul, this just makes me so sad. I know you’re strong enough to cope with this, but it will be hard—”

  “Hard for whom? I’m the one who’s blind. You’re only making me feel worse.”

  “Paul, I’m not up to fighting. I’m just overwhelmed and sorry—”

  “You’re overwhelmed?”

  Paul heard her leave the room, sobbing.

  “Dr. Stepola,” Dr. Bihari said gently, “situations like this affect the whole family. Everyone will have feelings they need to express, but that doesn’t mean they will be unwilling or unable to support you. And you may need that support.”

  “Spare me,” Paul said.

  “I’m just saying that even a strong man uses all his resources, including his family.”

  Paul shook his head, sighing. “Ranold, would you tell Jae I’m sorry?”

  “No you don’t,” Ranold said. “Believe me, I’ve learned the hard way that women don’t want to be chased down in a situation like this. She’ll pull herself together. Now, Doctor, thank you. If you would excuse us . . .”

  When they were alone, Ranold shut the door and pulled a chair next to Paul’s bed. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you a real doctor, a specialist.”

  “Bihari is a specialist, and I don’t want anyone else. He tells me they’re going to use freezing techniques, synthetic skin, laser debridement of the burned areas, the whole bit. Now please, get Jae back in here.”

  “Trust me on this, Paul. I know these things.”

  Yeah. I can tell from your own stellar marriage.

  “Women are emotional,” Ranold said. “It can take them a while to grasp the big picture.”

  “Which is?”

  “That we should all admire you, Son, for risking your life in the line of duty. You got knocked around in San Francisco, of course, but you didn’t know a bomb was in that house. This time you knowingly stuck your neck out to save a man—that’s what it means to be a soldier. You’ve paid a terrible price, Paul. That makes me proud.”

  Proud? Going blind is what it takes to impress you? “Well, I didn’t save him.”

  “You tried, and that’s what counts. Don’t worry. Jae’s going to come around.”

  Where is she, anyway?

  “And we’re going to get the terrorists who did this to you. You can jump right back into the fight when you’re better. The agency will always need a mind like yours.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Ranold. That’s the same line Koontz fed me.”

  “Don’t be so negative, Paul. You’re an expert on these religious fanatics.”

  I don’t understand them at all.

  “If nothing else, this should strengthen your resolve to stamp them out.

  That alone is going to make you a major asset to the agency. And I feel more sure of you now than ever.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “C’mon, Paul, it’s no secret you and I have always been a little at odds. And then Pass died, the funeral . . .”

  “What about it?” So you did plant that letter.

  “I wasn’t sure how seriously you took the threat. But your work with the task force has shown me the kind of man you are. Now, is there anything you need, or should I just let you sleep?”

  “You know, there is something. Can you get me the New Testament on disc? There’s a lot I’m trying to figure out about these terrorists—what they believe, how they think.”

  “That’s the spirit. Stay focused. I’ve been there. Revenge can be a real motivator. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Ranold returned a few minutes later and read a note from Jae. “‘Paul, I’m sorry this is so difficult for me. It hurts me to see you in pain and so angry. I need a little time, but I promise to try to be strong for you. I’ll bring the kids to see you soon. Meanwhile, know that my thoughts are with you.’”

  11

  Over the next three days, though Dr. Bihari expressed enthusiasm at Paul’s progress—except for his eyes—Jae could see Paul plunging into depression. She knew he was furious about his vision, confounded by his confinement, and frustrated by how little he was able to do for himself; and he was spitting nails at her. The doctors called his attitude

  “displacement”—inflicting his rage and hopelessness on an innocent victim—and assured her it was common and would ebb, ideally, with Paul’s growing acceptance of his blindness. But that didn’t make it any easier to take when every visit brought a new wave of recrimination.

  Paul upbraided Jae for every attempt to help him, along with any other failing he could dredge up from their ten years of marriage. He refused to accept her apologies for what he called her weakness when they first met with Dr. Bihari and her “selfishness” for “abandoning” him afterward. Jae regretted losing control that first day, but the truth was, she was terrified.

  It had been a long time since she and Paul had been on the same track.

  Their early years together had been idyllic. Even Ranold—impressed that Paul was Delta Force but suspicious of his religious studies graduate work—had embraced Paul after he joined the NPO. When the children came along, Paul seemed ecstatic, but it was around then that Jae had caught him in the affair. Paul offered a vapid defense—new-father pressures—but never seemed to show remorse. Jae originally loved Paul’s confidence—“I am who I am; take it or leave it”—but not when he brought the same tough-guy attitude to his family.

  After the affair she felt she could never trust him again. It didn’t help that women were drawn to Paul—waitresses, airline attendants, even some of her friends. And Paul was constantly on the road, exposed to myriad women and temptations Jae was sure he lacked the will to resist. So they had reached an impasse. Jae was consumed by jealousies that Paul did nothing to assuage and that seemed to push him into stubborn withdrawal.

  Now Paul was blind. Could a couple already so resentful of each other withstand such a devastating blow? Jae wasn’t sure she knew how to get through to him anymore—if she even wanted to—or whether he would let her.

  One thing was clear: Jae had to keep a grip on her emotions. She willed herself not to react to Paul’s outbursts. She took it as a positive sign when he started asking about the kids, and she hoped their visit might improve his mood.

  But as soon as Brie and Connor reached the thresh
old of his room, they stopped. Jae had tried to explain how he would look, but they seemed shocked.

  “Go on, say hi to Daddy. It’s okay to touch him, but be careful of his face.”

  Brie and Connor edged in.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  * * *

  Paul gave the kids a crooked smile, sensing their uneasiness. “How are my two favorite kids in the world?”

  Neither responded. Jae approached and touched his arm. “Hi, Paul,”

  she said.

  “Thanks for coming,” Paul said, unable to hide his bitterness.

  “Just be patient,” she whispered. “They’re scared.”

  “Of what? I’m not going to bite. This isn’t contagious, you know.”

  “When will you be able to see, Daddy?” Brie said in a quavering voice, back by the door.

  “Don’t know,” Paul said. “Not too long, I hope.”

  He heard Connor whimper.

  “We’re going to be right outside, Mom,” Brie said. “C’mon, Connor.”

  “Jae, keep them in here.”

  “They’re fine, Paul. Let them get used to this.”

  “They won’t till you do. What did you tell them?”

  Jae sighed. “Just that you had been seriously hurt and that now you’re in bandages. That’s a lot for them to cope with. Listen, I brought this thing Dad said you wanted.”

  “The New Testament?”

  “He said it’s strictly forbidden. What are you planning to do with it?”

  “Well, what do you think? Listen to it, of course. I’ve got to be on top of these people.”

  “I wish you would just focus on healing. Why don’t I bring you some music?”

  “Don’t tell me what to think, Jae. You have no idea how I feel.”

  “I wasn’t telling you anything. By the way, Bob Koontz is coming this afternoon. He has some news.”

  “He said he was going to be here every off-hour. What a joke.”

  “Oh, Paul, that’s a lot to ask.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  * * *

  Jae bit her tongue and took the disc player out of the box, studying the directions.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to set up this thing for you, Paul.”

  “Can’t be that hard. Just adjust it to the frequency of my receivers.”

  She fiddled with the player.

  “Just look at the instructions!”

  “That’s what I’m doing!”

  “Why can’t you handle simple electronics? Who do you think’s going to do it for you now?”

  She said nothing.

  “Grown woman and you can’t even—ah, never mind. I’ll get someone else to do it.”

  “I’m sorry, Paul.”

  “Are you crying again?”

  Jae dropped the box on the bedside table.

  “Now what? You’re leaving? Where are you going?”

  Jae collared the children in the hall and steered them back to Paul’s door. “Tell Dad bye.”

  “Bye, Dad.”

  “Bye, Daddy!”

  * * *

  Paul was still stewing about Jae when Koontz showed up.

  “So much for every off-hour, eh?” Paul said.

  “Hey! You got the New Testament thing. Want me to set it up for you?”

  “Jae was going to, but she pulled her helpless-woman act.”

  Bob got the player working, then rolled the bed table close. “Careful, now. Here, feel this. It’s a standard player. I’ve set the frequency, and the stack of discs is on your left. Can you handle it?”

  “I think so. Just test the volume.”

  Bob turned it on, and the sound reverberated in Paul’s head. “Down a bit,” he said. “There. Perfect. Where’s the On/Off switch?”

  Bob moved Paul’s hand to the switch, and Paul shut it off.

  Koontz sat. “I’ve got to tell you, Paul, I’m very encouraged about your interest in this research. Very. Tells me you’re eager to get back in the saddle. We need you, man. Every day we’re getting more and more news of possible Christian groups.”

  “I’m eager all right. If these eyes would cooperate.”

  “You can’t hurry that, Paul. Concentrate on your study and let the healing happen on its own.”

  “C’mon, Bob. We both know the odds. I’m never going to get to do the job you gave me.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I’m not going to kid myself, Bob. My career has the same odds my eyes do.”

  “Well, call me crazy, but I’m optimistic because I know you.”

  Paul waved him off. “Jae said you had news.”

  “Get this. As soon as you’re able to travel, you’re on your way to D.C.

  The White House. The regional governor is going to honor you in the Rose Garden for bravery in the line of duty.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Big stuff, pal.”

  “I don’t know if I want an award I can’t see.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The whole thing smells like a PR stunt—something to show the NPO

  was on the ball in Texas, even if Tick screwed up.”

  “Don’t be cynical. You earned this award. Be proud.”

  “Of what? A man died and I went blind. I’d call that a lose-lose.”

  “So what are you going to do? Tell the governor that?”

  “No. I guess I won’t pass it up.”

  “Of course you won’t! And I’ll be there in the front row.”

  * * *

  As soon as Koontz left, Paul felt around for the disc player. The New Testament had figured in recent, major turning points of his life—in that service in San Francisco before the raid, when he had killed for the first time; in the ruse he’d used to extract Stephen Lloyd’s confession; and of course, in the letter that, coupled with the death of Andy Pass, had led Paul to join the task force. He still felt Ranold had all but admitted planting the letter by saying that he finally felt sure of Paul.

  But did Ranold know Paul had asked Angela Pass to get it analyzed?

  All Angela had was Paul’s secure e-mail address. She had probably already sent him a report on the ink and handwriting samples. Paul would have to devise a way to find out.

  The ideas in the letter—the “springs of life-giving water,” the

  “punishment and suffering” for unbelievers, and especially the “I am coming soon” promise—had been echoed in the San Francisco subversives’

  meeting. Ranold’s lackeys had clearly done their homework. Paul felt sure the New Testament was the key to discovering whatever “critical tasks”

  the rebels were plotting. Maybe the book of Revelation was the place to start.

  He kept advancing the disc to find it, but each time he stopped to check his place, he found himself caught up in a fascinating story. Like most religious texts, the New Testament was a teaching tool. It took good stories to hold people’s interest. Paul became engrossed by the letters to the first-century churches from his namesake, the missionary apostle Paul.

  They told of constant persecution, and Paul was amazed that he had totally forgotten that the early Christians were also persona non grata with the government and had to meet in secret and worship virtually underground.

  He decided to go back and start listening from the beginning.

  Involved as he was, midway through the four Gospels that preceded the letters, Paul dozed. Laser debridement of the burned flesh on his ears and nose, where the synthetic grafting would take place, was excruciating, despite the painkillers, and left him exhausted. The disc finished playing, and it was late afternoon by the time he awoke.

  * * *

  With his heightened hearing, Paul found the ringing phones, the clatter of food trays in the hall, and the visitor chatter tormenting. He was so close to the nurses’ station that his ears throbbed with the gossiping, arguing, and questions. He longed to pull his pillow ov
er his head, but his ears were too tender. He could do nothing but lie there and stew.

  One voice grew distinct from the rest: a deep, rich, baritone singing, humming, musing, and greeting staff as it wended its way down the hall.

  Paul wasn’t up to what sounded like an energetic visitor, and he tensed when the voice seemed to hover outside his door. Then Paul heard a cart roll in and rattle to a stop. He fought the urge to turn toward the sound, hoping whoever it was would assume he was asleep.

  “Are you awake, sir?” asked the baritone voice. “Might I trouble you for a moment?”

  “Well, I don’t have much choice now, do I?”

  The man approached. “Where might I touch you in greeting, sir, if I have your permission?”

  “You don’t. What do you want?”

  Paul felt a light squeeze on his shoulder from an extremely large hand and wrenched away, but that didn’t seem to deter the man. “The name’s Stuart Rathe. Stuart with a ua and the last name spelled R-A-T-H-E. The nickname’s Straight, and you may feel free to use it. I saw your name and title on the sign outside. How might I address you?”

  “Rip van Winkle.”

  “They tell me you should be sleeping at night and up most of the day.

  Paul, is it? May I sit?”

  “Stop asking if you’re just going to ignore the answer.”

  Straight dragged a chair next to the bed. “So you’re the blind man.”

  “You caught that, did you?”

  “Well, I hope it’s temporary. Meantime, I would like to offer you my services. Anytime you’ve had enough of me, simply say so and I will be on my way without the slightest offense.”

  “I’m saying so.”

  “The nurses sent me. I am here to help in your recovery, not to tire you out. May I continue?”

  “No.”

  “I, sir, am fifty-nine years old and an African-American. I am six-foot-four and weigh 225 pounds. I lost a foot in a car wreck with a drunk driver eight years ago, but more importantly, I lost my family too. Fortunately there were no other vehicles involved, but unfortunately that makes me the drunk driver. You can imagine, sir, how such an experience sobers a man.