Forsaken

by James David Jordan

  As we talked, we walked into the kitchen. I sat at the breakfast table. “I can get a security team together, but this will take a lot of advance planning. How much time do we have?” I pulled a pen and note pad out of my purse and scribbled some initial thoughts.

  “There’s not going to be a security team. I’m going alone.”

  Elise touched Simon’s arm. “What? You can’t be serious.”

  “There’s a big difference between going to Dearborn without security and going to Beirut without security,” I said.

  Simon leaned back on the edge of the table. “I don’t want to show up with an entourage when the point is to do missionary work. That’s not the first picture I want people in the Middle East to get of me.”

  “Excuse me,” Elise said, “but considering what you’re going over there for, how do you expect to stay alive without security?”

  “I didn’t say that I wouldn’t have security. I said I’m not taking a security team. We’ll have to arrange something when we find out where I’m going. If it’s Lebanon, Hakim’s family can help. Besides, there are many Christians in Lebanon. They’ve been there a long time. Somehow they’ve managed to stay alive and be major players in the country. Lebanon is not Iran.”

  I flipped my notepad shut. “Come on, Simon. You know the distinction here. All those Christians who’ve been living in Lebanon for so long are not the world’s best-known evangelist, and they’re not running around trying to debate religious issues with imams. That puts you in a different security category, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’ll rely on God to keep me secure.”

  Elise pointed at him. “I’ve got a hunch God doesn’t spend a lot of time working a security detail for fools who won’t take commonsense precautions for themselves.” She turned and walked out of the room. A few moments later the front door slammed.

  Simon tilted his head to one side. “I think she was beginning to see it my way, don’t you?”

  I didn’t want to humor him by laughing, but I couldn’t help it. I was not about to let him off the hook, though. “Do you actually not see that she loves you? Are guys really that blind?”

  He gave me a perplexed look. I realized that, incredibly, the answer to my second question was yes, but this was no time to try to correct a million years of evolutionary misfiring that must have accounted for that result. “Forget that for now. I agree with Elise.”

  “So you think I’m a fool too?”

  “Well, not that part. I think you’re a guy who feels that he has something to live down. I understand that feeling, so I don’t think you’re a fool.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you want my personal feeling about what you’re doing?”

  “I thought you just gave it to me.”

  “That was a specific response to the question of whether I thought you were a fool.”

  “Okay, then, what’s your personal feeling?”

  “I’m afraid for you, and I’m afraid that if you go to Lebanon or wherever over there, I’ll never see you again. I’d have a hard time dealing with that.” I ran a hand through my hair.

  He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Thanks, Taylor. That was a nice thing to say. It means more to me than you know.”

  For a few moments neither of us said anything. When the silence became so awkward that I simply couldn’t take it anymore, I said, “I don’t suppose that anything I can say is going to change your mind?”

  “Frankly, no. Nothing anyone could say would change my mind. I’ve got to do this. I understand everyone’s concerns about me. But the reality is that there are some things more important than living.”

  I looked out the window. The day had been hot and clear, and the night promised to be huge and bright. Even sitting in a well-lit kitchen in the middle of the city, it was easy to spot individual stars blinking to life all over the sky. I smiled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “My dad said that to me once.”

  “Said what?”

  “That there are some things more important than living.” I stood and picked up my purse. “You came up with the one argument I can’t dispute, because I believe it too. I hope things work out for you, Simon. I hope that God will bless you, because you’re a good man.”

  I turned and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE ARRANGEMENTS FOR THE debate moved quicker than anyone expected. Hasim Saladin, a professor of religious studies at Oxford University, acted as the go-between to negotiate the rules. The imam recommended Saladin as a moderate voice of Islam, a reputation that required little time for Elise to confirm. Simon and the imam quickly agreed that Saladin would also act as the debate moderator and that the event would take place in Beirut.

  They agreed to keep the location strictly confidential. Simon, Elise, and I were the only ones in the Mason camp who knew. Because there would be no live studio audience, the location of the event was easier to keep secret than it otherwise would have been. The only requirements from a production standpoint were an adequately sized room and a good camera crew.

  An old friend from my Secret Service days, Roger Baines, was a pilot experienced in handling “sensitive” cargo. I’d sent him a considerable amount of business since I started my security service, and he was always eager to please. I arranged for him to fly Simon to Great Britain to pick up Professor Saladin. The plans were so secret that even Saladin, when he stepped on the jet in Manchester, would not know where he was going. From there Roger would fly them to Amman, Jordan.

  On the ground we were relying heavily on Hakim’s extended family. They were thrilled that Simon was coming to Lebanon, and even more thrilled about his purpose. Their connections reached into neighboring Jordan, and that came in handy in our planning. Hakim assured us they could arrange to move Simon and Saladin quietly through customs at the Amman airport. Two of Hakim’s cousins would drive them from there into Lebanon and on to Beirut. We hoped that the chances of his being spotted would be greatly reduced by not flying into Beirut. We were concerned about secrecy in the imam’s camp, but there was little that we could do but trust his assurances on that score. His personal risk was at least as great as Simon’s.

  The event was highly publicized, and media speculation was rampant about the location. Most of the prognosticators favored Dubai as the likely location, because of its elaborate efforts in recent years to Westernize and become an international tourist destination. The press surmised that Dubai would enjoy a public relations coup if it could peacefully pull off such a high-profile dialogue between faiths. The government of Dubai consistently denied that it was hosting the event. In light of the many favorable stories about its pro-Western climate, though, the denials were less strenuous than they could have been.

  One thing quickly became clear: It hadn’t occurred to anyone that either Simon or the imam would be crazy enough to conduct the event in a country as unstable as Lebanon. For its part, the U.S. State Department immediately informed Simon that it considered his trip, whatever the destination in the Middle East, to be a huge mistake. The U.S. government would be powerless to ensure his safety.

  There were many risks of leaks, but the most significant came from the television side of the event. The parties agreed that one network would handle the live television feed and share it with any network that requested it. The chosen network was required to sign a confidentiality agreement with a hefty penalty clause that would cost it millions in the event of a traceable leak. Furthermore, the parties would not disclose the location to the network until forty-eight hours prior to the event.

  The parties took a commonsense approach to the rules, keeping them as simple as possible. The discussion would address four topics: the fundamental tenets of the faith; the founder of the faith and his significance to it; the history of the faith and how that history is relevant to believers of today; and the ways in which the faith provides a better foundation for life than other faiths.<
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  No one had any illusions that the time periods allotted would allow for much detail. It was not designed to be a theology lecture but a starting point for a continuing dialogue.

  Both Hakim’s extended family and the imam had connections at the highest levels of the Lebanese government, and both agreed it would be best not to notify the government at all. Lebanon had historically been one of the few countries in that part of the world where Muslims and Christians had shared power. In theory, it seemed to be an ideal location. In recent decades, though, Lebanon had been far from a peaceful haven for religious dialogue. Everyone concluded that it was impossible to determine which players in the government could be trusted. Instead, each side would make arrangements privately for its own security. In Simon’s case, Hakim’s family was to provide it. Many of Hakim’s extended family members had served in Christian militias during Lebanon’s civil war, so they had no shortage of training or armament.

  The evening before Simon was to leave for Beirut, he called and asked if he could see me for a few minutes. By that time the press was stalking him, so he asked if I’d mind coming by the house. We could both imagine what the scandal sheets would say if he were seen going into my apartment.

  When he called I was sitting on my bed reading a client report. I hugged my knees to my chest. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I’ve got something to give you.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  I pulled on a pair of jeans and a yellow Chicago T-shirt that I had bought in the Azure Hotel’s gift shop when my suitcase finally hit empty during our stay there. At one time I’d have been driven to distraction by trying to guess what Simon wanted to give me. Those days of romantic fantasizing were over. I no longer viewed him as a knight waiting to rescue me from loneliness. This knight had warts, and I had seen them. Nevertheless, I was curious enough to apply a heavy foot to the accelerator on my way to his house.

  Simon met me at the front door. The tail of his rumpled golf shirt hung out over faded cargo shorts. His beat-up running shoes were unlaced, as if he’d stuck his feet in them just to answer the door. “Thanks for coming,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you before I leave. It’s nice outside. Let’s go out on the back deck.”

  As we passed through the kitchen, he pointed to the refrigerator. “You want an iced tea?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  He pulled a pitcher out of the refrigerator and filled two tumblers. “Let’s see, you don’t take sugar, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  He handed me the glass. I held it up and made a show of examining it. “A pitcher of tea in the refrigerator? Very civilized. Who’s responsible for that? I’m guessing it’s not you.”

  He smiled. “Meg was here today.”

  “I figured.”

  He held open the back door and we walked out onto the deck. Simon’s backyard had a distinct southern look. The deck was elevated several feet above a rectangular swimming pool, and the floor and rail were as white as the rocking chairs in which we sat. Beyond the pool the long, narrow lawn stretched two hundred feet or so to a lanky stand of cedar elms that guarded the back fence.

  Simon took a drink of his tea and rested the tumbler on the leg of his shorts. We sat in silence and rocked, looking out over the yard. The day had been hot and dry, typical for August in Dallas. The sun had been down for half an hour, and a surprisingly refreshing breeze curled in from around the trees, rippling the pool water and making the evening not only tolerable but pleasant. With each movement of the water, the pool light cast up translucent blue ghosts that swirled up and down and over the porch rail.

  “Where’s Kacey?”

  “She had a thing at school. I’m meeting her near campus for a late dinner.”

  “It must be hard.”

  He looked down at his glass. “I can barely think about it, the idea of saying good-bye to her . . . It’s the one thing that could make me not get on the plane tomorrow. If I can’t think about it, you know how difficult it is to talk about it.”

  “Sorry.”

  He set his glass on the porch rail. “I had an interesting visitor yesterday afternoon. Brandon dropped by. I understand you’ve become friends.”

  I cocked my head. “Brandon? Hey, wait a minute, I thought the whole twelve-step thing was supposed to be confidential. Did he rat me out?”

  He chuckled. “No, it wasn’t about you. He called to tell me why he resigned as my accountant.”

  My mind flashed to my telephone conversation with Brandon and how he’d rushed off the phone when I raised this subject. “Oh? What did he say?”

  “He asked me why five hundred thousand dollars was missing from my ministry’s general fund. That’s why he quit. He thought I was skimming money.”

  I turned and looked at him. “Five hundred thousand dollars just disappeared?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Why didn’t he tell you this when he quit?”

  “Brandon may be sarcastic, but he’s the farthest thing from confrontational. I think it just wasn’t part of his makeup to cause a scene. I don’t know why he changed his mind and came to me yesterday.”

  “You still haven’t called the man who left the note about your son, have you?”

  He shook his head. “No, and he only asked for two hundred thousand anyway.”

  A few months earlier I wouldn’t have even considered the possibility that Simon could have been involved in skimming money from his ministry. Since hearing the story behind the note, I was no longer sure what to think. I set my iced tea on the deck beside my chair and turned my rocker toward his. “Do you know what happened to the money?”

  He looked me in the eye. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

  I studied his face, and in an instant I knew the answer. Knew it with certainty. “You’re a good man, Simon. I know you didn’t take the money. Did Brandon believe you?”

  “He said he did. For one thing, he knows that I’ve never had anything to do with the money side of the ministry.”

  I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. “Then who did take it?”

  “I have no idea—and I don’t know for sure that anyone took anything. Remember, this was just Brandon talking. I had to fire him once for messing up an audit. No one has confirmed what he’s saying.”

  I turned a palm up. “On the other hand, he’s sober now, and he strikes me as a pretty smart guy.”

  “That he is.”

  “If you’re not involved in the money side of the operation, who is?”

  “A whole staff of people. We collect a huge amount of money in the course of a year.”

  “Is Elise one of them?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Only in the sense that they all report to her. Look, Elise wouldn’t steal money from the ministry. She just wouldn’t.”

  I rocked back in my chair. “I didn’t say she would. I just wanted to know who was in charge. So what do you want to do?”

  “Obviously, I don’t have time to investigate this before I leave for Beirut. I wanted you to know about it. If this were to blow up, I’d never want Kacey to think . . .” He ran a hand over his head.

  “Don’t worry, she never would. When you come back, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  “Yes, when I come back.”

  He picked up his glass off the rail, took a long drink, and put it back. He crunched an ice cube as he rocked. When he stopped crunching, he tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Can I show you something?”

  “Sure, what?”

  “Follow me.”

  We walked back into the house, through the family room, and into the garage. He turned on the overhead light and led me around his pickup truck to his woodworking space in the back corner. The accumulated heat of the day made the garage air oppressive. I swiped the back of my arm across my forehead.

  “I know, it’s like a sauna in here,” he said. “This will help.” He flipped the switch
on a floor fan and turned it so it pointed at me.

  I held out my arms to maximize the breeze’s coverage.

  “I’ve been working on something for Kacey,” he said. “I put the final coat of stain on it this afternoon. This is where I’ve been hiding it.” He stopped in front of a five-foot stack of moving boxes. He pulled the highest two boxes off the stack and motioned for me to look over the top.

  I stepped away from the fan and leaned over the boxes. On the floor behind them was a mahogany baby cradle. I put my hand over my mouth.

  He narrowed his eyebrows. “You don’t like it?”

  There was nothing else to do. I ran into the house, shut myself in the hallway bathroom, and cried.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  TEN MINUTES LATER I had composed myself, and we were back in our rocking chairs on the porch. My eyes were red and my mascara gone. Realizing that things could still get worse, I’d stuffed my pockets with clean tissues before I left the bathroom.

  Simon rocked slowly, his eyes on the pool water. “I wanted her to have something from me—in case I don’t . . . in case I have to miss some of the important things in her life.”

  “It’s a beautiful cradle.”

  “I’m just glad you could identify that it is a cradle.”

  “This is no time to try to be funny.”

  “If I don’t laugh, I’ll be crying along with you.”

  I took a drink of my tea and set the glass back on the porch rail. “I don’t know how to say this, because I know how much of yourself you must have put into the cradle, but you realize you can’t give it to her, don’t you? It would be like telling her you don’t expect to come back.”

  “I thought of that too. I don’t intend to give it to her.”

  “Then why did you make it?”

  “I’m going to put it in the attic. She would never go up there unless something happened to me and she was sorting through my things. I’ll attach a note to it. The only way she’ll find it is if I’m gone. If I come back, I’ll save it until she has a baby.”