Authors: Jerry B. Jenkins
I, Saul (16 page)
Traveling by land with dozens of camels, their drivers, and slaves, Father and I took the long route, north and west of the Mediterranean, that led to Issus near the southern border of our province. From there we would laboriously make our way through the Syrian Gates mountain pass and eventually into Antioch.
We had said our tearful good-byes to Mother and to Shoshannaâwho told me she was actually going to miss me. I felt the same but couldn't bring myself to say it. I could see from the look in her eyes that she knew how I felt.
I was the only member of the vast traveling party under the age of twenty. Not only was I not assigned any tasks, but I was also told to stay out of the way of the slaves and their masters. Father explained that the transport company had goals they had to reach every day to make the trip profitable, and they intended to succeed.
Besides the camels that each transported almost a thousand pounds of food and water and wine, horses carried the masters who made sure the colossal flatbed wagons, pulled by oxen, remained steady on the stony roads built for the military.
Father told me the animals could cover about thirty miles a day but that the wagons would slow the entire caravan to the pace of our walking. With the ruts in the roads jostling the loads, the slaves had to re-secure the cargo whenever the carts stopped so the drivers could grease the wheels with animal fat. It was a slow journey.
The wagons bore high piles of tents, which could be easily assembled by the buyers as long as the pieces stayed together and didn't pitch off onto the ground when the wagons tipped.
Ingeniously, Father had the slaves store on top of two of the wagons tents that could be easily used every night and disassembled every morning, allowing the whole party to sleep in privacy and comfortâas comfortable as one could be in that barren, dusty terrain.
I was so full of enthusiasm and energy that as soon as we started out I dashed in and out of the way of the camels and horses. Footpaths ran along either side of the eight-footwide road, and while Father kept to these, I ran ahead and wondered why we couldn't go faster. At this rate it would take forever to get to Syria, let alone to Damascus. And Jerusalem was several days beyond that!
Every thousand or so paces we found great, heavy, stone markers that Father said were a little less than a mile apart. Every twenty or thirty miles we saw inns, often very nice ones. Because of the size of our party, we used Father's tents rather than pay for lodging.
The worst part of the trip was the sheer boredom. There was little for me to do but walk along with the slow caravan or sit on one of the bouncy wagons, trying to hang on.
When I complained, Father reminded me of the scrolls and my responsibility to keep up with my schoolwork, memorizing the Scriptures and the law. It was not easy to read on a bouncing wagon, but Father created a sun shade for me, so all I had to worry about was keeping myself aboard and not dropping the scroll.
Much of my adult life would consist of traveling thousands of miles, so I am grateful that I learned to use the time for lively conversation, prayer, even reading and studying.
The rest of the people on our journey, none of them Jewish, seemed fascinated or even amused by our pausing to pray three times a day, beginning at dawn. Father and I would attach our tefillin (small boxes filled with Scripture) to our foreheads, bind upper left arms with leather straps, and wear the tallit (shawl).
By the end of the second week I was bored to the point of madness and had to remind myself that Jerusalem was the reason for this ordeal. It seemed to me a mirage by now, but I just aimed at the great day when we would arrive and I would see all the things I had heard about the Holy City.
Nine Millimeter
THURSDAY, MAY 8, 8:50 A.M.
Augie pulled into the Arlington Seminary parking lot a few minutes before his Greek final. How he'd love to have been taking this exam rather than monitoring it. Greek had come easy to him and was one subject in which he'd scored perfectly.
As he headed inside, going over everything he had to accomplish before his Friday morning flight, Sofia called from Athens.
“Augie, I'm worried. My last message from Roger said he had something he would leave for youâeverything you needed to know in case anything happened to him. What could he have gotten himself into?”
“Wish I could be there now,” Augie said, and he told her about Roger saying he'd also have a gun for him.
“There's a pleasant thought I can chew on the rest of the day.”
“So where do I find this stuff if I can't find him?”
“He doesn't want me to tell you by phone or text,” Sofia said.
“So you're coming to Rome? I know you're a daredevil, but I don't want to be responsible forâ.”
“Roger is my friend too, Augie. If I go, I know the risks.”
“I've got to get to class.”
“Just one more thing. The guy my father hired to take the job you turned down, Dimos Fokinosâ.”
“Your dad told me about him. Everything I'm not. Gorgeous, ambitious â¦.”
“Anyway, my father's trying to set us up.”
“You and Dimos? That's just great.”
“He's brilliant, I'll give him that. He guesses the age of an artifact on first sight, then examines it to see how close he came. Pretty impressive.” “Uh-huh.”
“Augie, you have nothing to worry about. You know I've already made my choice.”
The final was uneventful and Augie was preoccupied with the conversation he had to have with Les Moore. Augie dropped the blue books in his office, and as soon as he arrived at Les's office, the man rose and pulled on his suit jacket.
“That's certainly not necessary,” Augie said. “This is just me as a friend with a couple ofâ.”
“Dr. Knox, seriously, we're not friends.”
“âdifficult requests.”
“If you're asking that I reconsider the salary cutâ” “No, I'm accepting the offer.”
“Good thinking. You have the cushiest job in the place.”
“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Augie said. “You may want to withdraw the offer when you hear what I need. Dr. Moore, tomorrow morning I'm boarding a flight to Rome andâ.”
“Surely you don't mean tomorrow morning,” Les said, running a finger along the top page of his calendar. “You have two finals tomorrow, not to mention your summer-school class that starts next Wednesday.”
“About that â¦.”
“No. Whatever it is you're asking, no. This budget thing is decimating us, Dr. Knox. We'll be short staffed like never before, and we can't have you gallivanting all overâ.”
“Les, sorry, but I need you to cover my finals tomorrow and to take the first few days of my summer-school class next week if I'm delayed getting back.”
“You can't be serious! I can't do that.”
“Then you'll have to find someone who can. It doesn't even have to be a faculty member, just someone to sit in there and then gather the blue books.”
“What's so pressing in Rome?”
“I'm not at liberty toâ.”
“You think I'm going to drop everything, inconvenience myself, not to mention anyone else, to let you run off on yet another trip? What's so all-fired important about it?”
Augie sat back and sighed. “A dear, trusted friend needs me. A guide I've worked with for years. That's all I can say.”
“Have I met him? Was he on that tour I took a few years ago toâ.”
“Israel, yes! Roger Michaels.”
“What's his problem?”
“All I know is that he needs me and I'm going. I'll be back as soon as I can.”
“This Michaels is not a believer, is he?”
“What in the world does that have to do withâ.”
“I'm just saying.”
“We're only to help needy friends if they happen to share our faith, is that it?” Augie stood. “You can keep that contract.”
“Calm down, Augie. I was just making an observation.”
Augie dropped back into the chair. “See how easy that was, Les, to call me by my first name? Can't we just talk this through? Let me be clear. If going costs me everything I love here, so be it. Now I'm asking you, as my superior, to help make this happen.”
Les Moore folded his arms and stared into his lap. “You'll owe me, Dr. Knox. No more shenanigans, no more asking to have your classes covered. And, you know, the wife and I wouldn't mind being invited on one of your trips this summer.”
“I've been asking you for years. We cover everything for those willing to serve as hosts.”
“We'd be happy to do that.”
“Then are we good for tomorrow and next week?”
“But not beyond next week.”
“I wish I could promise that,” Augie said.
In the parking lot of the Wildfire Gun Shop, Augie locked his briefcase, bulging with blue books, in his trunk next to his mother's box of klediments. The shop was a low, concrete-block building painted industrial green. He heard pop,
pop, pop
from the range in back and was surprised to hear the same inside. A handsome woman with gray hair to her waist introduced herself as Katrina, the wife of the owner, and explained that they had “an indoor range too. By noon won't be
nobody wantin' to shoot in that sun. 'Cept maybe me. I don't mind the heat.”
Augie told her he needed to be brought up to speed on a Smith & Wesson nine millimeter that would be waiting for him in Rome.
“Good thing,” she said, “'cause you'd have to jump through so many hoops to take one with you, it wouldn't hardly be worth it. This nine, is it a parabellum?”
“Yes! What does that mean?”
“Just tells me the kind of ammo it uses. And it'll take me twenty minutes to run you through the safety procedures, how to load it, the safety, grip, aim, all that. Then you can shoot a few rounds. Have to charge you for that. Nothin' for the training, just for the bullets, cheap target ammo. If you need it for protection over there, you're gonna want high-velocity hollow points.”
Augie was taking notes. “How can you do this for nothing?”
Katrina laughed a throaty chortle. “You're gonna get hooked, young man. Then you'll be in here looking for your own gun, bullets, ear protection, holster. I'll make some coin off ya.”
She stepped behind a glass counter, pulled out the nine, and showed him everything from where to seat the handle in his hand to how to determine his dominant eye, and how to dry fire. When she was satisfied he knew how to load the pistol and handle it safely, she handed him a pair of ear muffs he worried had been used by dozens before him. She put on her own and signaled for him to follow. “You mind shootin' outside?”
Augie found the weapon loud and explosive. Within half an hour he had emptied four ten-round magazines.
God, deliver me from ever having to use a thing like this.
“You know enough to protect yourself,” Katrina said, beaming. “Just remember, average response time by the copsâhere or in Rome, I betâis
about twenty minutes. Response time of a nine parabellum is about eleven hundred feet a second. Make sure if an attacker gets to you, he's comin' through a hail of bullets. If he kills you, it better be with your gun empty.”
At the hospital Augie's mind was already in Rome, but over lunch his mother wanted to talk. “I should have told you about your father,” she said. “It would have made your life a little easier, at least.”
“I just don't get why he didn't want help,” Augie said. “Smart man, well-read, he had to know a professional could help walk him through this. He couldn't have enjoyed living the way he did. Is he still mad at God?”
“I'm afraid so. There's no question of his faith. He believes what he studies and teaches, but I know the little boy in him still resents feeling like his prayers were ignored. Truthfully, August, I don't understand that myself. To allow a defenseless child to be abused â¦.”
