Fatal Harvest (28 page)

“We believe he has found a way to get in—perhaps in the south.”

“Ah.” The man scratched his head. “We have trouble with the southern borders. The rebels, you know.”

“Sir, we must find this boy and take him back to America.
Minfadlak
…please…help us find a way to overcome the problem of the visas.”

He looked from her to Cole, his expression grim. “
Inshaa’ allah.
Give me both passports,” he said. “One moment, please.”

The metal legs of his chair scraped across the concrete floor as he stood. He walked across the secure area to speak with another official, and Jill stepped up her praying.
Dear God, You parted the Red Sea. You knocked down the walls of Jericho. You burst open the prison gates that held Paul captive. Please, please, Lord…

“Jill, I will not leave this country without my son,” Cole said in a low voice. “They need to understand that.”

Jill touched his arm, and she could feel the tension in his muscles. “Don’t do anything desperate. These Third World countries have a lot of bureaucracy to wade through. You have to be patient.”

“I never had much patience to begin with, and what I had is long gone.”

She read the steely resolve in his blue eyes. “Pray, Cole. Just pray.”

“I’m praying. But I will do what I have to in order to get through those doors and find Matt.”

“The machine guns are not for show, Cole. If you make any sudden moves, the guards will kill you. It’s that simple. In Sudan, there are no human rights.”

“And my son is in this country? He doesn’t stand a chance!”

At the despair in his words, Jill couldn’t hold herself away from him any longer. She took a step toward Cole and slipped her arms around his waist. Laying her head against his chest, she hugged him gently.

“Relax, relax,” she whispered. “We’re walking through the valley of the shadow of death, but we don’t have to be afraid. God is with us.”

She felt his hands slide across her back. His arms tightened around her.

“Jill, I don’t know what I’ll do if they kill Matt.”

“I don’t, either,” she said. “It’s too awful to contemplate.”

He heaved a deep sigh. She looked over at the two Sudanese officials. They were using the phone now—a black rotary-dial phone that bespoke the antiquated infrastructure within the country.

“They
have
to let us through,” she said. “Getting visas could take weeks. And if Matt made it into the southern part of Sudan somehow, he’s in danger. We can’t lie to ourselves, and we can’t wait on the bureaucracy. Just pray, Cole.”

The official moved their way again, and Jill stepped out of Cole’s embrace.

“Miss Jill Pruitt and Mr. Cole Strong.” He read the names from their open passports. “Yesterday, the United States government alerted Sudanese authorities to the possible presence of a sixteen-year-old, Matthew Strong, who is accused of murder and other crimes. Our security forces are searching for him already. When he is captured, he will be extradited to your country.”

“Captured!” Cole barked.

Jill gripped his arm, as if she could hold him back. “That’s very good, sir. We’re so happy to have the cooperation of the Sudanese—”

“Miss Jill Pruitt and Mr. Cole Strong, you do not have visitors’ visas, therefore you are not permitted to enter Sudan.” He read from a small paper on which he had written
himself a note. “Today is Thursday. The next Lufthansa flight departs from Khartoum Airport on Monday morning. Now you will be taken in a security bus to the Grand Holiday Villa Hotel in the city of Khartoum, where you will stay for three nights at your own expense. You will be kept under guard at all times. You will not leave the hotel even for tourism purposes. On Monday morning, you will be returned to the airport so that you may depart Sudan. Thank you—
shokran.
”

He rattled off a string of commands in Arabic. One of the two armed soldiers left his post.

Dismayed, Jill bowed her head and covered her eyes. This was terrible! Impossible! Struggling to hold back tears, she felt Cole’s arm around her shoulders. He drew her close and held her for a moment. The guard beckoned, and they had no choice but to accompany him through the terminal toward the exit.

C
ole sat in the rickety bus, his injured fingers aching and every muscle in his body tensed for action. He had made it to Sudan.

The city of Khartoum, built at the convergence of the Blue Nile and White Nile Rivers, stretched for miles in all directions. A guard drove the minibus down an unpaved street lined with one-story houses and shops. Ramshackle stalls displayed stacks of shoes, bolts of fabric, laundry detergent, eggs, fruit and other basic commodities. People glided along the alleys in flowing white robes and flip-flops. Some women wore bright fabrics wrapped around their bodies and draped over their heads.

Though Jill had told Cole that the people were Muslim and spoke Arabic, they had the dark skin and curly hair of Africa. “Brown,” Cole commented. “Everything here is brown.”

“The color of drought.” Jill’s eyes reflected her green scarf. “Look, there’s a camel!”

He glanced down a dirt lane to see a heavily laden camel lumber past, with the man who led it moving in equally slow motion. On one street corner, a vendor sat on a short stool and sold coffee from a three-foot-high conical brass urn. Everywhere, groups of ragged children huddled against the houses, their eyes dull and their bodies unwashed.

“What’s the story on the kids?” he asked, pointing out one of the clusters.

“They’re called
Shamassa
—‘Children of the Sun.’ They’re mostly war orphans, though some are demobilized soldiers who fought in the civil war. They’ve lost their families, their homes, even their culture. These children flee north to Khartoum hoping for food and work. But they’re lucky to stay alive.”

“That’s outrageous. The government or somebody ought to—”

“Street children live in every major city of the world, Cole. I saw them in Juarez while you and I were down there. I-FEED, UNICEF, and other groups work with these kids in Calcutta, Rio, Nairobi—you name it. It’s overwhelming. They just keep turning up, and there aren’t enough workers or programs or funds to take care of them all.”

Cole shifted on the plastic seat, uncomfortable in the intense dry heat, and angry that such conditions persisted. Why did God allow this kind of suffering? It wasn’t right, and it didn’t fit with Cole’s idea of a loving Creator.

“You know the
Shamassa
, madam?” the guard asked over his shoulder. “You have been to Sudan?”

“Marhaba!”
Jill said in the greeting Cole had heard several times. She leaned forward, animated again. “
Naam
—yes, I came here three years ago.”

“How do you like Sudan?”

“It’s very beautiful! The people are so friendly.”

Hearing her observation a second time, Cole scowled out the window at the brown city and its impoverished inhabitants. What did Jill find to like about the place? It didn’t even smell right.

“You visited Khartoum?” the guard asked.

“Only for one day,” Jill replied. “Then I flew by Sudan Airways to the south.”

“Where did you go in the south?”

“I went to Rumbek.”

“Rumbek!” He looked at her again and beamed. “I am from Gogrial! It is near Rumbek.”

“I’ve been to Gogrial!” Jill slid her hand across the seat and grabbed Cole’s fingers. “It’s a lovely town.”

“Not now. Gogrial no longer exists, madam. My village was destroyed by the Sudanese army. The houses were all knocked down, and the people were killed. If not killed, they ran away.”

“This is terrible news. Was your family harmed?”

“Yes, madam. At that time, I was fighting with the People’s Liberation Army in another area. When I returned to Gogrial, I learned that my wife and my seven children had been shot. All of them died.”

“Your whole family?” Cole demanded in disbelief.

“Yes, sir, even my parents and my brothers and sisters. The Sudanese army killed them.”

Cole’s rage bubbled at the boiling point. “How could soldiers murder women and children?”

“They don’t care. Everyone can be the enemy of the Sudanese army. Children become guerrilla fighters. Women feed the rebel troops. So they must die. After my family was killed and Gogrial was destroyed, I left the People’s Liberation Army and traveled here to Khartoum to find work. God was with me, and I took this job as a security guard at the airport. But every day, I search the faces of the
Shamassa
who live on the streets. I hope I may see my children among them. I pray to God they did not die. I pray they escaped and came to the city. Yet, I do not find them. Not even one.”

Thinking of Matt—an innocent American teenager in such a place as this—Cole knew an icy fear. “Are there no laws in this country?”

“The Sudan government imposes the Islamic law known as
sharia.
This law has no mercy, only justice. I am a Chris
tian. I try to obey the laws of my country, but I do not follow the teachings of the Koran.”

“How did you become a Christian, sir?” Jill asked. “We are Christians, also.”

“Everyone in America is a Christian,
naam?
”

“Not everyone,” Cole said. “People may say they are, but not everyone chooses to live by the teachings in the Bible.”

“Ah.” The driver nodded. “This is also true in Sudan. But my mother was a true Christian, and she took me to worship God at the church in Gogrial. Missionaries from Sudan Inland Mission taught my mother about Jesus Christ and built the church before they were forced to leave the country. Now in Sudan it is very dangerous to be a Christian. Many have been killed or sold into slavery. Here in Khartoum, we meet in a secret place. My father practiced our tribal religion—we are of the Dinka people. But I saw the truth in Christianity, and I chose the way of my mother. This is my faith and my practice.”

Cole knew he was tired, but that didn’t fully explain the emotions swirling through him. How could a man whose entire family had been slaughtered believe in God at all? How could anyone in such a country—a place of hunger, poverty, homelessness and drought—practice any kind of faith? Where was God in Sudan? What was He even
doing?

“My friend has lost his son, also,” Jill was saying. She leaned forward, her arms folded across the back of the seat in front of her. “The boy ran away from America to Sudan because he wanted to help the hungry people here. He has gone to the south to try to find the I-FEED station in Rumbek. We’re very worried about his safety, of course, and now we cannot go and search for this child.”

“Why can you not go to Rumbek?” the driver asked. “Sudan Airways will take you. Or you may ride in a train.”

“We came to Sudan too quickly to wait for the visas.”

“This is why you must stay at the hotel?”

“Yes, and then we will be forced to leave Khartoum on Monday. We feel very upset about this, because we need to find this lost child.”

The guard fell silent as he pulled the minibus up to the front of the Grand Holiday Villa, a large and elegant hotel with liveried bellmen waiting to greet arriving guests. Cole casually tried the door, but it was locked. No chance of bolting.

The driver shouldered his automatic weapon and walked around to let his passengers out. Jill leaned against Cole for a moment and whispered in his ear. “Pray. This man is a true believer. He may help us.”

She stepped out into the bright sunlight, and Cole emerged behind her. Another uniformed guard spotted them. He started across the hotel entryway, his gun strap over his shoulder and the barrel pointing skyward. Cole slipped a protective arm around Jill. He didn’t know why he’d agreed to let her come with him. If the Sudanese army had no problem slaughtering women and children, she could be in real danger.

The Christian minibus driver approached his two passengers, blocking their view of the oncoming guard. Only his machine gun separated them as he spoke in a low voice. “God is good. Perhaps you wish to give me your passports for safekeeping?”

Cole glanced at Jill in confusion. She was breathing hard. She hesitated only a moment, moistening her lips. “Yes,” she said, “God is good.” She dug into her purse, slipped a folded stack of American currency into her passport, and handed it to the guard.

Stunned, Cole shook his head. “Jill, I’m not going to—”

“Give him your passport.” She plucked the blue booklet from Cole’s hand. The driver slid the documents into his uniform pocket and turned away without saying more.

“Jill, this is crazy!” Cole whispered. “You gave our passports to a total stranger.”

She took his arm just as the hotel guard assumed his station at their side. He introduced himself as Ahmed and indicated they were to enter the hotel.

“You bribed that guy,” Cole continued. “That was a lot of money! And for what? He’ll sell our passports on the black market. They’re probably worth a fortune.”

“The thing to remember is that he’s our brother in Christ,” Jill said calmly. “We have to trust him.”

“I don’t trust anybody. Especially not in this—”

“People are people, Cole. Some are trustworthy and some aren’t. That man took a huge risk in telling us he’s a Christian. I think that’s significant.”

Cole thought the only significant thing was that he was stuck in Africa with an AK-47–toting guard, no visa and now—no passport. And he had no idea if his son was even alive.

“Wow, look at this,” Jill exclaimed as they entered the lobby. Bathed in the grandeur of a bygone era, the room gleamed with polished mahogany, marble and brass.

A bellman smiled, apparently oblivious to the fact that the hotel’s newest guests were under armed guard. “Welcome to the Grand Holiday Villa.” He glanced around. “May I take your luggage?”

“No luggage,” Cole said.

“Marhaba!”
Jill’s greeting echoed from the domed ceiling. “What a lovely hotel this is!”

“Thank you, madam. You speak Arabic, I see. You have been to Sudan? How do you like our country?”

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“And the people are so friendly.” Cole finished her mantra. He stepped up to the front desk. “We need two rooms.”

“Two?” The clerk checked his register. “But I was told—”

“We’re not married.”

“Ah.” He looked confused. “Our American guests usually—”

“We’re not married,” Cole repeated. “We need two rooms.”

“I see. A customs official called us to say you would be coming. Upon his instructions, we have prepared a room and hired a guard. Perhaps you will stay together.”

“No, we will not.”

“Very well. Please excuse me. I must speak to the hotel manager.”

He walked into a back room, and Cole turned on Jill. “I can’t believe you gave away our passports. You don’t even know that guy’s name. We’ll never find him again, and even if—”

“Cole, can you please learn to trust God?”

“God—who abandons war orphans and child-soldiers to starve on the streets of Khartoum? God—who lets an entire continent suffer under famine and AIDS and who-knows-what-other hardships? I’m supposed to trust that God?”

For the first time since Cole had met Jill, he saw her beautiful green eyes fill with tears. “God is not the author of famine, disease, poverty and war, Cole. Those are Satan’s tools.”

“God could put a stop to it.”

“He will one day. But not yet.”

“Jill!” He grabbed her shoulders. “I need my son. I need to find Matthew!”

“Cole, we don’t have anyone but God now. We can’t rely on anyone but Him. We’re at the bottom of the barrel, okay? We have nothing. Nobody. No hope. All we have is God. If we’re going to get out of Khartoum, find a way to Rumbek and rescue Matt, we have to trust God. Can you try to do that?”

Cole turned away from her, fighting the emotion that swelled a lump in his throat and tore through his chest like a cancer. While trapped in the wrecked car, he had renewed his commitment to Christ. He had vowed to change his life. To get his priorities straight. To trust God instead of himself.

Now he was being called on to do that. And he couldn’t. He couldn’t trust. Not enough to hold back the worry and fear. Not enough to hold back the doubt.

“I don’t have the faith,” he said through clenched teeth. “I told you that.”

Jill’s hand stroked down his back. “Yes, you do,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against Cole’s shoulder. “Lord, this man believes in You. Help his unbelief. Help mine, too. We’re so scared. We’re terrified that Matt might be hurt. We’re worried about the passports. I gave them away, and now that I think about it, I probably shouldn’t have done that. So here we are, Lord. Just Cole and me. We need You. We need Your help, and we could also use a large infusion of faith. Amen.”

“Two rooms!” The clerk held a key in each hand. “And now I must have a credit card to ensure payment. You will stay until Monday? Yes, but I am told no sightseeing is permitted. This is most unfortunate. Only 180 kilometers to the north, we have the pyramids of Meroe. Very interesting! And near Khartoum stands the city of Omdurman with a famous mosque—and a silver dome! At Port Sudan on the Red Sea, visitors may snorkel and dive in the—”