by DiAnn Mills
Finally Paul caught up with the tall, slender man. “If my legs were longer, I wouldn’t have this problem.”
Bishop Malou tossed his ragged bag into the back of the truck. “If your legs were longer, we’d get this truck loaded faster.”
Paul laughed, hoisted a bag of rice, and slid it alongside other bags and boxes of food. “And if you’d let me buy you another vehicle, we’d both get to where we’re going much faster.”
They leaned over opposite sides of the truck bed, the sun bearing down on them in the near-liquid heat. Sweat dripped from both of them onto their soaked shirts—Paul in his Ohio State football shirt and the bishop in a red cotton T-shirt.
“How far down the road do we go before you unload what’s bothering you?” the bishop asked.
“What makes you think anything is wrong?” Paul pulled two cold bottles of water from his backpack and tossed one at him.
The bishop caught it and unscrewed the lid. “I feel it. Man, don’t you know by now that I have an extra sense?”
“You don’t want to hear what I call your extra sense.”
“But I’m right, so let’s get this truck moving, and you can talk to me.”
Fifteen minutes down the rutted and narrow road, Bishop Malou swung him a grin. “I’m prayed up and ready for you to ask for advice.”
Paul chuckled. “I see humility is not one of your virtues.”
“I’m working on it.” They hit a hole, and the bishop focused his gaze on the road. “Is this about Larson and the baby or your brother?”
“Larson and I are fine. Better than fine. We’re praying about where God wants us to live and raise our family—be it here or somewhere else. The problem is Nizam. I’ve decided to meet with him. Larson agrees. My brother should have called over a week ago for my answer, and he hasn’t.”
“Are you afraid something has happened to him?”
Paul yanked on a loose string on his backpack. “The longer the delay, the more I second-guess my decision. If he’s decided to remain Muslim, then I’m back to dodging poisonous darts from him, which I’m used to. Someone gave him my satellite phone number, and I’ve never discovered who. If my brother presses the point of talking with me in person and learning about Christianity, then I must follow through with our meeting. Either way, I could end up a dead man, leaving Larson to raise our children alone.”
“Our families are always a concern. But the whole dilemma goes back to our priorities, and God comes first. The way I look at it is, when God calls us home, it doesn’t matter what we’re doing. What scares me is not being in His will.”
“I have come to the same conclusion, but waiting on Nizam’s call is making me a crazy man.”
Bishop Malou threw him a deadpan stare.
“All right. I’m crazy anyway.” Paul watched a herd of gazelles give the truck a toss of their heads. “I hope my brother has not compromised his safety.”
“Whatever the outcome, God has already spoken it.”
“I wish Nizam would let me know what he’s thinking so I could plan my future.” Paul threw in the last phrase to see the bishop’s reaction.
Bishop Malou shook his head and chuckled. “The future, he says. We’d all like to see where tomorrow leads.”
But Paul felt as though a traitor stood all too near and was attempting to change his tomorrows. He desperately wanted to know who’d stolen his phone number and given it to Nizam. And if his brother had secured information, who else might be stalking his and Larson’s steps?
“I have a story for you.”
“Go ahead. It will take my mind off my problems.”
“A young man in Darfur was running from several Janjaweed mounted on horses. The young man raced to a compound, but there wasn’t a place to hide. The only person in sight was an old man grinding millet. He had a huge pile of the grain beside him.
“‘The Janjaweed are after me,’ the young man said, ‘but where can I hide?’
“The old man pointed to the pile of grain. ‘Underneath here.’ The young man had no choice but to crawl under the grain. Moments later the Janjaweed rode up to the compound.
“The leader greeted the old man respectfully. ‘Have you seen a young man running?’
“The old man nodded. ‘Yes, I have.’
“‘Where did he go?’
“The old man pointed to the pile of grain. ‘He’s in there.’
“The leader of the Janjaweed laughed, and so did those who rode with him. ‘Old man, we are not stupid.’ Shortly thereafter the Janjaweed rode away, thinking the old man was crazy.
“The young man crawled from under the pile of grain. He trembled so badly he could barely speak. ‘Why did you tell them where I was hiding?’
“The old man smiled. ‘Grandson, do you not know that it is the truth that sets you free?’”
* * *
The patients who lined up to see Larson cut into her nap time, but that was the case most days. She wanted to sleep all the time, and when she wasn’t craving a place to lay her head, she pranced around with the need to relieve her bladder.
Oh, hormonal and bodily function overload were real treats.
Larson glanced at the clock. The hospital will have the results of Thomas’s blood work. The doctor planned to send the information by email, but when would she find the time to check it? Sarah had her hands full with a crying baby girl whose mother had walked through the brush for two weeks to get to the clinic. As in most situations where a desperate mother brought a sick child to the clinic, there wasn’t much Larson could do but make the child comfortable and pray with the mother. From all indications, she would not live. Fever and diarrhea raged through her tiny body, and dehydration had taken its toll.
A man midway through the line seized her attention. He held his left arm against his stomach as though it were broken—or he was hiding a gun. Larson’s thoughts always spun with bizarre what-ifs, and she’d had enough close calls lately.
“Sarah, can you come here a minute, please?”
The old woman brought the whimpering baby with her. Larson turned to speak with her privately. “Step outside with the baby and find one of the guards. Have him join us with some complaint that needs my attention. There’s a man waiting who looks suspicious, the one holding his arm to his stomach. I want to make sure we aren’t in for any surprises today. Stay outside so nothing looks strange.”
“Santino should be here. He’d protect us.” Sarah turned and headed for the doorway.
A moment later a thickly built soldier stepped into the clinic. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Dr. Farid, but I have a severe pain in my stomach.”
“We can’t have that.” She pointed toward the line. “Anywhere is fine, but preferably not at the end. Our soldiers need to be feeling well as soon as possible.”
The soldier eased in beside the man holding his arm. Larson inhaled sharply and focused her attention on her patient. My job is healing. His job is allowing me to do it in one piece.
Shortly thereafter, Sarah reentered the clinic. The baby had ceased its weak cries. Larson studied the child long enough to determine she was either unconscious or had died.
“Sarah, I need to see the baby.”
The old woman looked at Larson and shook her head. Some days Larson hated her work. She sent Sarah to console the mother and make arrangements for burial. Warkou’s burying ground had far too many residents.
Through the mixture of Dinka, other tribal dialects, and Arabic, she heard the soldier and the man beside him talking. All seemed well. Eventually she learned the man did have a broken arm, but he was carrying a knife inside his shirt. The soldier took possession of it until she finished setting the bone.
The day ended late, and she still hadn’t been able to access her computer to find out about Thomas’s test results. Long after sunset, she cuddled her baby boy and held his bottle while she searched through her email. The message from the doctor in Nairobi sat in her in-box. She kissed Thomas’s cheek, desperate
ly wanting her baby to be healthy. A veil of sadness overwhelmed her as she recalled the baby girl’s fate earlier in the day.
Finally Larson clicked on the message. One glance captured what the hospital had determined. All of Thomas’s blood levels fell within the normal range. No HIV, no indications of serious disorders. He was a fine, healthy baby boy, and she’d do whatever she could to ensure he stayed that way.
CHAPTER 22
Ben raged through the camp in search of Muti. He and Commander Okuk tore through tents and studied the trails for footprints. Their prisoner had escaped through a knife slash in the rear of the tent. But who was the accomplice? Ben interrogated each soldier with the threat of death in his every breath. Guards had done their job, and no one had seen anyone suspicious in or near the camp. Ben even went through each soldier’s belongings in search of money that might point to treachery.
Another mole existed, and this time it was among his men. His soldiers had served under him for years, and the Rhino Battalion stood as one of the finest. He’d trained them hard, and they’d defended their homeland well. Recalling each man’s actions in firefights, Ben could not accuse or find fault with a single one.
When their efforts proved futile, the two men made their way back to Ben’s tent.
“Okuk, think hard. Did you see or hear anything that might give us a clue as to what happened?” Ben needed a pain pill, but Okuk and David sat in the tent with him, and he didn’t want to hear their questions about what he was taking.
“No, sir. When I saw Muti earlier, he said nothing to indicate he might be freed. In fact, the man was silent. In his weakened state, I find it difficult to believe he had the strength to crawl out of the tent.”
“Unless he faked his near death to fool us.” Ben cursed. “And now we’re the fools because he’s gone. When I find the man who helped him escape, I’ll slit his throat.” He started to say more, but David was there. A sideways glance revealed a stoic expression on his son’s face. Ben swallowed more curses and reached out to touch David’s arm. “I’ve got to get you back to your mother. Muti is capable of bringing down an army upon us.”
“Father, I want to stay with you.” His voice cracked. “Boys younger than me fight.”
“If you were five or six years older, I’d hand you a rifle. But you’re too young, and your mother would never forgive me.” Ben shook his head. “I’d never forgive myself if I put you in danger. You’ll be grown soon enough.” Ben turned to Okuk. He wished Santino were here, for he’d send his son with the younger man in Okuk’s place. “You’re the only man I can trust with my son. Take one of the trucks and deliver him to his mother.”
Commander Okuk rose from his chair. “I’ll leave right away. Like you, I sense Muti may bring down a firefight on us.”
Ben stood, and David reluctantly joined him.
“Will you return to us soon?” David said.
“Yes, as quickly as I can get the situation here resolved.” I’d take you back myself, but it’s impossible. Ben pulled his son into a hug. “I love you. Take care of your mother for me.”
He never knew when this might be his last glimpse of David. A father could not be more proud of a son than what he felt for the young man beside him. Each time he was with his son or thought about him, Ben understood why men with families rushed into battle and sacrificed their lives. He’d do anything for David. Anything. Since marrying Daruka and establishing a relationship with his son, Ben had resigned himself to do the good and noble thing for as long as he lived.
Ben watched Okuk and David leave. His pain-racked body longed to call David back. Such a strange mixture of sweetness and bitter reality. He wanted what he could not regain—time and an opportunity to recapture the past.
Cancer. He silently cursed the disease that strangled the life out of him. He didn’t want to die in front of Daruka and David. If there really was a God, he’d plead for Him to spare his family the image of a diseased man in a broken body.
At his tent, he swallowed a pill and snatched up his phone. “Paul, got some bad news here.”
“More fighting?”
“Worse. Somebody cut Muti loose.”
“How did that happen?”
Paul’s critical response raked at Ben’s pride, and he didn’t like it. “If I knew how he escaped, then I’d have the jackal.”
“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to sound like your men weren’t doing their job. What happened?”
“The tent was slashed, and he crawled out the back.”
“I have no doubt you’ll find him.”
“Look, Paul, I called because I’m worried about you and Larson.”
“I appreciate it. Santino is due back to Warkou today. But if he’s not there yet, she needs to get out of the village.”
“You’re not with her?”
“I’m with Bishop Malou, and we’re heading back to Warkou shortly. I’d say we’re about six hours from there. I’ll call her right away.”
“Okay. I doubt if Muti stays in hiding long. Be careful. Tell her to get into that Hummer and stay hidden until Santino arrives.” Ben slipped the phone into his pant pocket. Suddenly friends meant more to him than ever before.
The thought of Larson being hurt unnerved him. His thoughts ventured her way far too often, as they always had. At his and Daruka’s wedding, he’d avoided eye contact with Larson for fear she’d see the truth. Who was he trying to fool? But for the first time, he wanted to love Daruka more than Larson. Maybe it would happen before he died.
He turned and stepped back into the camp. A fire of sorts had spread through his soldiers—one of suspicion and distrust. And although the flames lapped at him too, survival meant trusting the man carrying a rifle next to him. Trust was more important than the caliber of weapon or the number of men for or against you. Without it, the man and the cause died.
Ben would spend the rest of the day interviewing each soldier again. He’d find the mole and execute him in front of the others.
“All of you but the guards in front of my tent.” Ben allowed his voice and presence to fill those around him. “One at a time, we’ll go through this again. No one leaves. No one is to speak to another man unless we’re attacked. Be aware that Muti may be gearing up for a firefight.”
* * *
Paul felt like throwing his phone. Why wasn’t Larson answering? Four times he’d dialed her number, and it continued to ring, then roll over to voice mail. She didn’t place the same value on keeping up with her phone as he did. Some days it was frustrating. Today it frightened him.
He listened to Bishop Malou explain to the villagers what it meant to live a life that mirrored Jesus. To trust not in men but in the God who controlled His creation with a perfect plan.
That’s what I lack right now. Trust that Muti doesn’t come after Larson with no one there to guard her. More so, Paul had to believe God would protect his family.
Once the service ended, Bishop Malou made his way to Paul’s side. “I see the anxiousness on your face, my friend. And I saw you talking on your phone. Is there trouble?”
“Colonel Alier informed me Muti has escaped.” Paul pushed aside his dread of the bishop’s truck not starting. “I’m afraid for Larson, and she’s not answering her phone. I shouldn’t have left before Santino returned.”
“We shall drive to Warkou at once. But let us pray first.”
Paul much preferred to pray along the way.
“My friend, the enemy plaguing your life is not too big for God.”
Anger threatened to surface. “God expects me to take care of my family. And standing—”
A small family made their way to them before Paul could finish—a good thing, since the words on his lips were those of mounting fury.
“Bishop Malou, my family would like to be baptized before you leave.”
The bishop held out his hand to the man. “You became a Christian during my last visit.”
“Yes, sir. Now we want to be obedient in baptism.”
Paul cleared his throat. “Bishop Malou must leave. He can baptize you the next time he’s here.”
The bishop smiled, not once taking his eyes off the man. “I will be happy to baptize you and your loved ones today. What a fine family you have, and I praise you for your decision today.”
“We need to leave now.” Paul would have left him in the village if not for the fact that they were traveling in the bishop’s battered truck.
The bishop swung a quick glance back at Paul. Tension sprang from the man’s body. “The Lord’s work first. Then we go.”
Paul clenched his fists and nodded. If he opened his mouth, he’d say things he’d have to apologize for later. Instead he walked to the truck for privacy and again pulled his phone from his pocket.
Larson. In moments she answered the phone.
“Are you all right? I’ve been trying to call.”
“Yes, of course. I was napping while Thomas slept. What is it, Paul?”
“Muti escaped from Ben’s camp.”
“How?”
“Ben doesn’t know. He’s angry, just like I am. Who knows where Muti is headed.”
“Santino should be here soon.”
“But I should be protecting you. That’s my job.”
“Must you be so sharp?”
Paul took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” He rubbed his hand over his face as if to change the man he’d become of late. “I’ll be on my way home within the hour. Bishop Malou is going to baptize a family first.”
“Then things have gone well?”
He couldn’t remember when his head hadn’t been filled with worry about so many things. Had God forgotten him? “Ah . . . yes. Many have decided to become Christians.”
“Wonderful. Paul, I love you. You can’t be everywhere to solve all of the world’s problems. You can only be where God wants you to be at any given moment.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not in my shoes.”
