THE 13: STAND BOOK TWO (7 page)

“Hey, I’m just along for the ride.” He held up his palms.

Megan nodded.

“Unless someone starts something,” he finally said. “And then I’m going to finish it.”

Megan shook her head and grabbed the door. “Do they just upload you guys with the same generic program at spy school?”

Eli stood to follow and smiled at Boz and Jennings. “No, milady. I’m afraid we’re uploaded with that from birth!”

“Just let me do the talking when we see Peterson,” she said.

F
arid Naser was hyperventilating. He sat down on the couch that was provided in the private lounge area and placed his head between his knees.

Breathe, you idiot! In from the nose…out through the mouth. Just breathe
.

It hadn’t really hit him what he’d done until they’d stepped off the plane a few minutes ago and he’d set foot on Moroccan soil. He’d left. All of it. Just threw his lab coat in the trash on the way out the door and got on a plane to Africa. A private plane. Completely bypassing customs. With a complete stranger.
Who does that?

But she wasn’t a stranger. At least not in his mind. He’d spent weeks by her side. Watching her. Listening to her breathe. Imagining who she was. Where she came from. What her story was… Imagining a life with her. And then she woke up.

Still—it all happened so fast—he was here. In Morocco. She hadn’t explained much yet. She was even more secretive about how she got the plane to get out of there in the first place. She hadn’t said more than a few sentences on the flight. She was tired, she explained. Everything was still groggy, she had said. She slept. For almost the entire flight.

Now, here he was. Sitting in the Salon Convives de Marque lounge. Alone.

“Stay here,” she had said. “The lounge has anything you need. I’ll be gone less than an hour. When I get back, we’ll need to leave again.”

“Where to? And where are you going?”

“You’ll see. And I can’t tell you. But I will.”

“You’ll see!” he muttered to himself again, now sitting here trying to catch his breath.

He checked his watch. She’d been gone for only fifteen minutes now. He lifted his head and looked around. A small bar sat to one side of the room and some food trays at the other. He decided he could use a sandwich. And a drink. He moved across the room and fixed himself both.

He sat back down on the couch and had been eating for only a few minutes when the door to the lounge opened. He checked his watch again. Thirty minutes had passed. But she was back. She smiled and came to him.

“Okay. We’re ready. Let’s go.”

“I thought you said an hour. Where to? What’s going on?”

“I said
less than
an hour. And I told you. You’ll see.”

He sat there. Still.

She reached for his hand. “Farid, we need to go. I’ll explain on the way.”

He wiped his mouth with the napkin and took her hand, leaving the sandwich. He picked up the glass of bourbon and drank it down in two long gulps. But when she pulled at his arm for him to stand, he pulled his hand back.

“Alex, listen.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I just completely walked away from my life. Why, I don’t know. Other than, I just want to be with you. But I can’t just follow you around like a puppy, not knowing anything about what’s going on or where we’re going.”

He stood up and grabbed her by her arm. “I’m not stupid. Nor am I naive. I don’t pretend to think that you’re someone who happened into my hospital by virtue of some weird accident. I’ve imagined a thousand times the reason you ended up on my floor. And though I may not know the answer, I know it involves something that could get you into a lot of trouble. And now probably me, too. But I’m here. I’m here because…” He let go of her and held his arms out to his side.

“Farid—”

“No, listen. I’m here because I want to be. Because you’re here. And I knew you couldn’t stay in Dubai. And I didn’t want to never see you again.”

“Farid—”

“Please, let me finish.” He took her hand again. “You don’t have to tell me everything right now. But I do need you to tell me.”

She blew out a long sigh. “I will. I’ll tell you everything. As soon as we get on the plane.”

“Okay.” That was going to have to be good enough for now, he conceded. But she was going to have to answer at least one thing. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to Boston.”

B
oz let Eli and Megan leave Jennings’s office and waited a few more seconds until he spoke. “What aren’t you telling me, Kevin?”

Jennings looked at him straight faced. “You know everything I know.”

“But…”

“No but. I’m just worried.”

“About Jon?”

“About the whole thing, Boz. We’ve been sitting around here for weeks on our heels. The Chinese have stopped taking potshots at us. The country—what’s left of it—is starting to get back to some semblance of normalcy—if you can call it that. And Walker is actually doing a decent job of managing this crisis.”

“And then Quinn makes contact and says it’s all about to fire back up again.”

“Exactly! It’s no secret that there are those around here who aren’t happy with the fact that we’re not advancing back on the Chinese. It was only a matter of time before something like this would come up.”

“Kevin, you and I both know this is what we’re supposed to be doing. If God wanted us to take back our country right now, He would have made that perfectly clear. Instead, He has chosen to humble us. We need to be happy that He has spared us at all.”

“I agree. But that doesn’t stop the fact that we’re now looking for another Marianne Levy.”

“Listen, if someone really is organizing something, he’s not going to be able to keep it quiet. News like that is going to travel fast and gain support. Let’s just wait to hear back from Megan and Eli. Then we’ll figure it out.”

Jennings got up, walked around his desk, and closed the door. Boz could see there was something else Jennings wanted to tell him. But the man was holding back for some reason.

“What is it?”

“Boz, are you sure? About what you said? About God making it perfectly clear?”

“What? That we are supposed to just move on from here, and not advance back on the Chinese?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? C’mon, Jennings. What aren’t you telling me?”

Jennings sat down in the chair next to Boz. “Listen, can I talk to you in like a…pastor-type…or whatever it’s called—”

“You mean, like pastoral counseling?”

“Yeah. That.”

“I would be honored.”

“Boz, I’ve been going to church off and on my whole life. I mean, I guess I always believed, but…you know…I—”

“You never really walked the walk.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Okay. Well, let me ask you a question. Where’s your heart? I mean now.”

“I think it’s where it’s supposed to be. I mean, I want to do whatever God wants from me. I never really cared about that before. But recently, I’ve found myself questioning every decision I make. Asking myself,
Is that really what God wants?”

Boz laughed out loud and shook his head. “Kevin, you’re fine.” He stood up and reached for the door. “You holler at me when Quinn calls back and tells us where Jon is. We need to get our boy back.”

“President Grant woke up this morning.”

Boz stopped cold. He took his hand off the handle and came back to his chair. “Calvin is awake?”

Jennings stared straight ahead, like he was a million miles away. Finally, he folded his hands in his lap and nodded. “Sit back down, Boz.”

Boz’s heart sank. He and President Grant had been close friends for years. Like brothers. Boz had even baptized Grant’s children. When the Russian woman had shot Calvin before the invasion, Boz thought he’d lost his friend. But Calvin was strong. He’d managed to survive, albeit in a coma. The doctors had said they had no idea whether he would ever wake up. Or if he did, whether or not there would be any residual effects or permanent damage. Boz sat back down and prepared himself for the worst. “How is he?”

“They don’t know yet. He only woke up for a few minutes.”

“What about the coma?”

“They say he’s responsive. But they’re keeping him sedated until they can run tests. They want him out of the coma, but need him unconscious to do their evaluation for brain damage and any lasting effects.”

“When will they know?”

“They haven’t said. But the initial conversation with him leads them to believe that Calvin seemed to have full control over his thoughts. I mean he was confused about what had happened. But he remembered everything once they told him. He seemed to be fully functional. I mean brainwise.”

Boz let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “That’s incredible! That’s great news.”

“Yes, it is. But it brings up another problem.”

“What are you talking about? What problem?”

“Boz, technically, Calvin is still the president of the United States. If he wakes up and is fully capable of continuing in his office, what are we going to tell Walker?”

Boz stood up from his chair. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He moved past Jennings again and grabbed the door.

Jennings nodded. “Right. You’ve got a bag to pack. And if I had to guess, you haven’t had to pack
that
bag for a long time. You better go get it ready.”

Boz knew exactly what Jennings was talking about. He was about to go dark. He was going to cross over into Chinese territory and bring back one of their own. And that meant that the only resources he would have would be the ones he could carry with him.

“You call me, Jennings. The moment you hear anything. And I mean about Jon or Calvin.”

He pulled the door closed behind him and headed for home. Not a single morning, afternoon, or evening had passed since Calvin had been shot that Boz hadn’t spent time on his knees, praying for God to heal his friend. As he walked down the hall, a single tear slid down his cheek. He lifted his head to the sky.

“Thank You, Lord.”

M
r. Keene, wake up….Mr. Keene…It’s me, Quinn….
Jon!
”

Jon Keene felt his eyelids flutter. A voice. Someone calling his name in a hurried whisper.

“Jon Keene…wake up! I need you to wake up!”

He felt the blood stir in his head. Everything was still foggy. Where was he? He needed to open his eyes.
C’mon Keene, get ahold of yourself. You need to wake up…something’s not right
.

He forced his eyes open. Someone was standing over him. A hand…coming at him…reaching for his throat…

Immediately the adrenaline kicked in. His fight-or-flight response was engaged. He reached up and grabbed the man’s wrist and used the man’s weight to carry him off to the side. He sat up, still holding on to the man, and reached for the first thing he saw. A small wrought-iron lamp in the stand beside him. He grabbed hold of it and brought it up to swing.

Suddenly, the other man had reversed his position and caused him to lose his own balance. In only a second, the man was back on top of him. Keene struggled to fight him off, but he was still weak. The other man quickly overpowered him and had him subdued. But he wasn’t hurting him. The man had one hand holding him down by his chest, and the other clamped tightly over his mouth. The look in his eyes told Keene that he wasn’t trying to hurt him. Rather, he was trying to keep him still and quiet. After a few seconds, Keene recognized the man. Suddenly everything came back. The prison, the escape, the hotel room…coming in and out of consciousness to see the Prophet—Quinn Harrington—taking care of him. But now something was wrong. And Keene understood. He nodded.

Slowly the man lifted his hand off Keene’s mouth and put it to his own.
Shh
.

Slowly, Quinn walked over to the window, tiptoeing as quietly as he could. He leaned against the glass and ever so slightly pulled the corner of the drape back an inch. Keene watched as Quinn stayed glued to what was happening outside. Finally, Quinn gently placed the corner of the drape back into place and turned back to Keene.

“Armed Chinese guard,” he whispered. “First time I’ve seen them here.”

“Where?” Keene whispered back.

“Here. At the hotel. It’s been quiet since I brought you here. Haven’t seen any Chinese soldiers at all. But I guess I should’ve expected it sooner or later.”

“Why? Did God tell you they would come?”

“Mr. Keene, I know you and I haven’t seen eye to eye on everything. I know you think that I’m some kind of nut—”

Keene waved him off. “No, I’m serious. I’m not bustin’ your chops. Did God tell you they would come?”

Quinn looked at him with a questioning stare.

“A lot’s happened since you and I last spoke, Quinn.”

“Yes, I guess it has.”

“When you came for me in the prison…you said God had heard my prayer.”

“I did…but—”

“Let’s just say He and I had a come-to-Jesus meeting. Literally! I think you and I play for the same team now.”

Keene watched a smile crease Quinn’s face.

“Guess He didn’t tell you that, huh?”

“He might have mentioned it,” Quinn said. “I just wasn’t sure how you were going to react to me…now that you’re…you know.”

“Right. Well, then we better get to it. How do we get out of here?”

“Mr. Keene—”

“Jon. Please call me Jon. I hate Mr. Keene.”

“Okay, then. Jon.” Quinn walked back over to the window and pulled the drapes back an inch. “Looks like they’re gone.” He let the drapes fall back into place again. “But I’m not sure you’re ready to move. You were pretty beat up and sick.”

“Well, Quinn, I’d say you missed your calling in life to be a nurse, or a doctor, but that would pretty much be a demotion on your part, huh? I feel great. I’m starving! But great.”

And he did. He actually felt alive for the first time since getting captured by General Chin and his men. Still a little weak, but other than that, great. The bruising from the beatings could still be seen on his arms and legs, but the effects of them had passed. He felt like he’d just woken up from a twelve-hour night of sleep and had a hot shower.