by Lela Gilbert
Betty hung up. Her heart was beating far too fast. She felt dizzy and faint. Despite the steady strengthening of her faith, some symptoms of her hypochondria had recurred in the past few weeks. Would life ever be normal and happy again? She tried to put everything out of her mind except her trip preparations.
Passport. Tickets. Converter plugs. Chloroquine . . .
She took a moment to call her father. “Daddy? Hi. How are you?”
“Freezing to death. I’m trying to keep a fire going.”
Betty decided not to inquire about the indoor temperature of Harold Fuller’s mobile home. “Well, I’m about to leave for Africa, and wouldn’t you know it, there’s another hostage-release rumor.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. It’s probably just another false alarm.”
“But what if it isn’t?”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to cross that bridge when you get to it.”
You’re a profound man, Daddy. “Keep me in prayer while I’m gone, will you? I don’t want to get sick—that’s the last thing I need.”
“I pray for you every day. Just relax. You’ll make yourself sick if you keep worrying. Read Philippians 4.”
“Right. Philippians 4. Look, I’ll call you when I get back. Bye, Daddy.”
OMI was sending two enormous suitcases to Uganda with Betty, and she had to make sure they got all the way to Entebbe along with her own luggage. Jim helped her check her baggage onto the Pam Am flight to Frankfurt. She would have a six-hour layover there and then fly on to Nairobi. Ten hours later, she would somehow get herself and all the luggage aboard a Kenya Airlines flight to Entebbe. The entire trip, door to door, would be almost thirty hours long.
She shoved her flight bag under the seat, belted herself into the big 747, and settled in for the duration. The flight was delayed almost forty-five minutes, and before long some of the passengers were expressing their annoyance. Not Betty. I might as well be here as wandering around the Frankfurt airport, she told herself. At least I’m comfortable.
All at once unexpected tears burned in her eyes. With the jetway removed and the plane waiting on the runway, Betty felt completely cut off from Jon. There would be no news, no phone, no word of any kind for nearly two weeks. Was she somehow betraying him by leaving home? Why did a release rumor have to hit the wire services the very day she was leaving?
Her heart began to pound in her ears, but it was quickly drowned out by the roar of the engines. At long last the big aircraft lumbered down the runway and laboriously lifted itself into the sky. The landing gear thudded into place.
Betty was on her way back to Africa.
She sat scribbling in a notebook in the coffee shop at Frankfurt’s immense international airport. Betty had hardly slept on the eleven-hour flight, and now she was trying to keep herself awake by writing a poem.
During the course of the journey she had tried to think optimistic thoughts, and had found herself contemplating the joy Jon had brought to her life. True, her times away from him had been marred by insecurity and haunted by ghosts of past rejection. But never before had she experienced such continuing happiness. Perhaps it wouldn’t be long before that happiness returned. She smiled as she wrote,
Hello, Pain—old, familiar—here you are again.
When I so welcomed Joy to come, to enter in,
The door was left unlocked, and in you came,
Bearing your brutal tools, your cruel game
Of tortured thoughts and fears; and yet I see
That you have lost some power over me.
For Joy has brought sweet music, and to my delight
Love, Laughter, and the Hope of wrongs made right.
So, though you slash and stab,
and though I ache and sting,
I stand erect. And as I bleed I sing!
Yes, it was just the way she felt. Even with all the pain, there was immeasurable joy in knowing someone as wonderful as Jon loved her. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she belonged to someone, belonged with someone. Betty copied the verse over one last time, determined that Jon would see it some day. After she wadded up the several rough drafts, she stood up to stretch her legs.
As she lazily glanced around the bustling crowds outside the restaurant, she suddenly caught her breath.
Is that Mike Brody?
Betty squinted across the building. Three well-groomed men in business suits were walking toward the coffee shop in her direction. They were engrossed in conversation, not looking her way at all. The longer she stared, the more convinced she was that the man on the left was, indeed, her friend Mike.
What’s he doing here? Did I tell him I was going through Frankfurt on my way to Africa? I can’t remember. The men continued walking toward her and finally moved out of sight as they got into the line for food and drinks. Betty tried to decide what to do. Should she make herself scarce before Mike saw her? Would he want her to speak to him or not? He had been very cold to her on the phone Monday morning.
She was far too weary for clever strategizing. In fact, she was almost too weary to move. The three men seated themselves at a table. The two strangers had their backs to her, but Mike was looking right at her.
Spook city.
Seconds later Betty was staring directly into Brody’s eyes, and he was doing his utmost to hide his surprise. She shrugged, smiled at him, and got up to leave. He watched her go; his face was a mask of inscrutability.
Hoping to disappear into the terminal area, Betty hurried up the escalator. She stopped briefly in front of the big board that announced arrivals and departures. She wanted to confirm her flight’s departure time, but it wasn’t posted yet.
All around her, black vinyl lounge chairs cradled exhausted travelers from every country imaginable. Some of them rested their arms or legs on the finest Gucci luggage. Others had carefully packed their sparse belongings in cardboard boxes bound with twine or rope. The myriad vagabonds seemed to have one thing in common—they were all snoring and wheezing en masse, oblivious to the swarming mob around them.
Mike! Why on earth is Mike in Frankfurt? I’m sure he recognized me—I could see it in his eyes.
Betty decided to walk around some of the airport shops. An electronics store was just ahead of her. Maybe there’s a TV in there—tuned to CNN.
She was about to go in when she heard Mike’s voice. “Betty!”
She spun around. Before she knew what was happening, Mike took her in his arms and embraced her warmly.
“I found you!” he laughed. “I thought you’d disappeared forever.”
“Mike, what on earth are you doing here? Why didn’t you say hello to me in the coffee shop?”
“Betty, I have to talk to you. Come and walk with me for a minute.” He casually glanced around, his well-trained eyes scanning the crowded walkways.
I’d forgotten how good looking he is.
“You’ve got to understand something about me, Betty. I’m not supposed to befriend the people I talk to on the phone. Do you know what I mean?”
“You mean that you’re supposed to be detached and professional?”
“That’s right. But you aren’t exactly a typical contact for me, either.” He looked her over admiringly.
Betty dropped her eyes. “Well, you’ve been a good friend, Mike. You did sound a little tense on Monday, however.”
“Our conversations are sometimes monitored, Betty. I took a big chance talking to you and your friend Jim about the death threats a few days ago. You see, I’m supposed to collect information, not give it out.” He chuckled a little.
“So did Jim and I get you into trouble?”
“Let’s just say I’ve had the feeling that someone may have been listening.”
“Mike, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want you to lose your job over this.”
“Not to worry. It’s not a matter of losing my job. But that brings me to another point. I’m here because I’m on my way to Weisbaden, which is just a few mile
s down the road.”
Betty’s eyes widened. Newly released American hostages were always taken to the U.S. military base at Weisbaden for medical exams and debriefing. “So were you sent here because of the rumors about a hostage release?”
Mike nodded. “We aren’t treating them as rumors. We’re pretty well convinced they are announcements.” She barely found the courage to ask the next question. “Mike, do you think it could be Jon?”
Mike’s face wore a grave expression. “We can’t be sure, Betty. And I don’t want you to change your plans. It could be anyone, really. But I have a feeling Jon’s captors may be wanting to get out of the hostage business.”
“Why?”
“I’ve told you enough.”
Betty’s eyes widened. “Mike, do you realize that I’m going to be out of touch with the whole world for ten days? What if Jon really does get out? He won’t know where I am, and he’ll think I’ve abandoned him!”
Mike surveyed the crowd again. “Betty, I’ve got to go. My friends are going to be looking all over the place for me if I don’t get back. I’m counting on you to keep what I’ve told you to yourself. Just be sure you let the American Embassy know where you are. When do you arrive in Nairobi?”
“I think we get in at about midnight and leave for Entebbe at 10:00 A.M. Something like that.” She rustled around in her bag, futilely searching for an itinerary. “Since it’s going to be the middle of the night, I’m not going to leave the airport. I’ll be in the transit lounge.”
Mike made some notes in his daytimer, nodded and put his arm around her again. “Have a good trip, Betty.” He held her firmly against his side for a moment or two. “You’re a very special woman, you know.” With that, he kissed her on the top of her head, turned on his heel, and stalked off without looking back.
Betty slept most of the way to Nairobi, and when she wasn’t sleeping she was trying to assimilate everything that had happened in Frankfurt. She had half considered missing her plane intentionally and checking into the Frankfurt Airport Sheraton, just to see if anything happened. She figured she could always catch the same Pan Am flight the following day. But it would have been extremely difficult for her to get word to the OMI staff inside Uganda. And besides, she’d told Mike where she would be, and he’d given her no way to contact him even if she did decide to stay in Frankfurt.
Mike. Now there was an interesting twist. The last thing she’d ever imagined was Mike Brody kissing her on the head and telling her she was special. Maybe he wasn’t the one who aborted the milk shipment after all. If it weren’t for Jon, Mike might be an interesting person to know a little better . . .
Glancing at her watch, she calculated that twelve hours had already passed since she’d talked to him in Frankfurt.
As the big aircraft touched down in Nairobi, Betty watched the airport lights slip by outside the window. Bittersweet memories of Jon nearly overwhelmed her. Just two years before, they had taken off from Nairobi for London together. She could almost see him sitting next to her, holding her hand. How she longed to be with him—to relive all the wonderful times they’d shared. Would they ever be together again?
Oh, God. Will the waiting ever end? Am I going to spend my whole life in this vacuum? She followed several other passengers into the dreary airport transit lounge. She had just settled herself into a dilapidated chair when a U.S. Marine hustled into the smoke-filled room and began scrutinizing the various passengers who were waiting for connecting flights.
Finally he spoke. “Is there an American passenger here named Elisabeth Casey?” The Marine glanced her way, correctly guessing that she was the woman he’d been dispatched to find.
“I’m Elisabeth Casey,” she replied, automatically reaching for her passport. At that very moment, she knew exactly what the young man was about to tell her, and she was absolutely right.
Jon was free! The American Embassy had received word of the release and a request that she should return to Frankfurt as soon as possible.
After all the waiting she was more than grateful for the good news. But she was too exhausted to be elated. She felt only a quiet, intense sense of relief. “Thank you,” she said to the Marine again and again. “Thank you for coming to get me.”
“We’ve scheduled you on the next flight to Frankfurt. It leaves in about ten hours. In the meantime, I have orders to take you to the embassy. There are some messages for you there and you can rest.”
Thank God I have a Kenyan visa, she congratulated herself as she cleared passport control.
The Marine drove her through darkened streets to the U.S. Embassy, where she was given official State Department word of Jon’s release. There was also a cryptic, unsigned message from a German fax number, advising the embassy staff of her whereabouts.
Mike, of course.
The embassy staff couldn’t have been kinder to her. Someone booked a room for her at the Nairobi Hilton. Someone else agreed to see that the two huge OMI suitcases were safely delivered to the right people at Entebbe. One embassy official even volunteered to send a fax for her.
Betty debated about calling home, but decided to send a letter instead. She quickly wrote out a message that was immediately faxed to Jim Richards at OMI.
Dear Jim,
I’m afraid the report on the children is going to be delayed for a little while. I’ve just been intercepted by the State Department at Nairobi Airport. They have officially notified me that Jon is free! Can you believe it? The State Department has agreed to fly me back to Frankfurt, and I’ll be going from there to Weisbaden to see him.
Jim, would you do me a favor and call my father at the number I left with you? Let him know what’s happened. And please give Joyce a hug for me. I’ll soon be able to tell Jon all about your efforts on his behalf and mine. I can never thank you for everything you’ve done.
Pray for me, Jim. And tell Joyce to pray, too. (Tell her I’m feeling a little nervous about seeing Jon again.) Thanks for everything. We’ll all be together soon, and after we’ve celebrated, I promise to get the Uganda children sorted out for you—posthaste!
Love,
Betty
9
For six months Betty had dreamed of the moment she and Jon would be reunited. She had imagined making lavish preparations for a glamorous reunion. She’d planned to schedule manicures, pedicures, facials—the works. All the fatigue, all the circles under her eyes, all the stress lines around her mouth would cosmetically vanish. She would wear new clothes, new shoes, maybe even carry a new handbag and buy new earrings for the occasion.
Now here she was, dressed in the best of her wash-and-wear “Africa wardrobe,” a three-year-old Banana Republic dress and a pair of tan espadrilles. She had slept only briefly during the past forty-eight hours, and then she’d barely slept. Her ankles were swollen from flying, an unflattering condition that vaguely reminded her of elephants’ feet.
Worse yet, all the makeup in the world couldn’t disguise the weariness on Betty’s face. She pulled out a mirror and proceeded to pile more mascara on her eyelashes, more circle cream under her eyes, and more lip gloss on her mouth. As far as she was concerned, it was to no avail.
The Lufthansa flight attendant smiled when she saw Betty re-primping. “You look lovely,” she said.
Are you nuts? I look disgusting.
“Oh, thanks.” She glumly clicked her compact shut and brushed her hair—again.
What would happen when she got to Frankfurt? Was Jon already at Weisbaden or would she be there for his arrival? When and where would they actually meet? Courteous as the American Embassy staff had been at Nairobi, they hadn’t provided her with much information.
The diamond on her left hand caught her attention. She had seriously considered not wearing it to Africa. It was a large, impressive gem and she feared it might be stolen. Now she thanked God and her own sentimental nature that she hadn’t left it behind. Jon would have been devastated if she’d appeared at Weisbaden without her engagement ring.
She dozed for only a few moments at a time, always waking with the same quiet thought—it’s over! Gradually questions began to arise. She became curious about the circumstances surrounding Jon’s release. Several hostages had been held far longer than he, and they still remained captive. Why had Jon been taken and released so quickly? Why only six months?
She reflected on the conversation she’d had with Mike Brody in Frankfurt. Hadn’t he said something about Jon’s captors wanting to get out of the hostage business? The explosion of Irangate a few years before had cast grave shadows across all kinds of negotiations. Since November 1986, there was little evidence of any effort being made on behalf of the Lebanon hostages. Only State Department lip service was paid to “doing all we can.”
So why was Jon free? Betty believed in prayer. And although thousands of people were praying for the other hostages, many of those who personally knew Jon were almost fanatically serious about their intercessory prayer for him. Had that been a factor in his sudden freedom? In actual fact, Jon’s release really did seem like a miracle. Betty couldn’t wait to learn more about it.
When the Lufthansa plane finally landed in Frankfurt Betty took one last glimpse in her mirror, hoping the flight attendant wouldn’t notice. It was one of those beauty inspections that made her wish she hadn’t bothered to look in the first place.
It’s too late now . . .
She shoved the compact in her purse, unfastened her seat belt, and headed for the airplane exit.
Of course she should have realized that the press would be waiting for her in full force, but she had mistakenly assumed that they had all been left behind in Southern California. She was thoroughly unprepared when she walked into the blazing white lights and the tangle of microphones. “We were expecting a big smile,” one reporter shouted. “Where’s that beautiful smile?”
“How do you feel?”
“Have you spoken with Jon?”
“Who negotiated Jon’s release?”
“Did the U.S. government deal with Iran for his release?”
“Are you aware of any secret deals with the Israelis?”
