THE 13: STAND BOOK TWO (8 page)

Quinn made a face and said, “Yeah, doesn’t surprise me.”

Keene didn’t understand. “I’m sorry?”

“Nothing. Never mind. I guess we need to get you ready to move out.”

“Move out? Move out where?”

“Home.”

Instantly Keene was angry. “What do you mean? I’m not going anywhere, except after Chin.”

“No”—Quinn poked him in his chest—“you’re going wait here for Boz. He’s going to take you back across the border. That’s what He wants.” Quinn pointed a finger in the air.

“I might be new at this whole
Christian
thing, but there’s no way I’m going back across that border without Chin’s head on a stick. Got it?” He poked Quinn back.

“Jon, you need to listen to—”

“Quinn
, you need to listen to me! Do you know the hell that man put me—our country—through? Huh? Do you? He’s responsible for everything!”

Quinn backed away and nodded. “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’”

Suddenly, something like a sharp pain shot through Keene’s heart. It made him slump and he had to sit back down.

“That’s Romans 12:19,” Quinn said. He pulled one of the chairs out from under the small table against the wall and dragged it over to where Keene was sitting on the bed. “Jon, you need to understand. God is responsible for this. For everything. Yes, Chin, because of his sinful, wicked heart, was used to perpetrate this act on our country. But make no mistake. God has brought this judgment. And though He used Chin’s wickedness to bring this about, Chin acted because God decreed it. He will exact His justice upon Chin, whether it’s in this life or the next. But know this. Right now, until God says otherwise, Chin is no longer your concern.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds. Finally Quinn reached over to the bedside table and poured Keene a glass of water. “Here.”

Keene took it and drank.

“That sharp pain you felt just a second ago…that was the truth of God’s Word cutting you to your soul, Jon.”

Keene lifted his head. “How did you know—”

Quinn clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Keene set the water back down and rubbed his hands over his face. “Is He going to do that to me every time?”

Quinn bobbed his head back and forth for a second, as if contemplating. “No, I don’t think so. That was just to get your attention. The problem you now have is God has decided to let our country remain.”

“Great! So what’s the prob—”

“Remain…as it is now,” Quinn interrupted him. “If we are to return to the nation we once were, we are going to have to change a lot of things. And I’m just going to be honest with you, Jon. You and I may never see that in our lifetimes. When Israel was dealt judgment in the Old Testament, sometimes it would be hundreds of years before God would restore them.”

Keene felt the air go out of him.

“In the meantime, you and the others are needed to set that course in motion. And that’s why you can’t stay here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. He will begin to reveal certain things to you. Others, I’ll have to inform you.”

Keene slapped a hand on his leg. “Why? Why can’t He just tell—” He looked up into the sky. “Why can’t You just tell me?”

“ ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord,’ ” Quinn said. “Isaiah 55:8.”

Keene pinched the bridge of his nose, thankful there wasn’t another sharp pain. “Okay, then. So what?”

“A new threat has risen from within our borders. One greater than even Marianne Levy and Chin. You need to stop it.”

Keene looked at him stone faced. “Seriously? ‘A new threat has risen….’ Who talks like that? Are you going to do that every time you—”

“Are you going to play games? Or do you want to listen?”

“I’m sorry. I guess I need to work on my personality a little.”

Quinn just stared at him for a few seconds. Then, “Yes, you do. Sorry for snapping at you like that.”

Keene nodded.

“All right, then. As I was saying…China is the last of our worries right now. If God is going to allow us to be restored—at some point in the future—we’re going to have to still be a nation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that something is happening over there right now that could tear the very fabric of the United States apart. And it’s up to you to stop it.”

“How? I mean, what am I supposed to do? What’s going on? Did He say?”

“No. Just that you can’t allow it to happen.”

“What about Boz, Megan, and the others?”

“They, too, are involved. But they need you. You’re the one who will stop it.”

“How?”

“Don’t know. But
you
will.”

Keene stood up from the bed and started pacing back and forth. None of this made sense. The Chinese were the ones who invaded their country. Why weren’t they the biggest threat? “I have no idea what you’re saying. I don’t understand.”

“I’m saying”—Quinn stood to match his stare—“that you need to get home and find out what’s going on. And when you do, you need to stop it.”

Keene looked down and noticed for the first time that he was wearing some sort of hospital gown, with only his boxer shorts on underneath. He swept the room with his eyes and saw his clothes piled up on the small table against the wall. He walked over and grabbed the pile. He undid the gown, let it fall, and pulled his shirt down over his head.

To Quinn he said, “Then I suggest we get moving.”

P
emberton spit the tip of his fourth Louixs for the day over the banister of his front porch. The wind outside was whipping back and forth, which made lighting the cigar difficult. It was starting to look like maybe this unseasonably warm weather had run its course. He hoped not. With this weather, he had been able to get almost an entire second crop out of his tobacco production. He cupped his hand and flipped the lid of his old lighter. A collector’s edition, hand-engraved Zippo. He took a long pull as the flame disappeared into the belly of the rich tobacco. Even after twenty years of his favorite cigar, he still smiled at that first drag.

The jangling from the old landline phone forced him to get up from his rocking chair and go back inside. He had been expecting any one of three calls today. He figured this was one of them. He grabbed the handle and answered the same way he had since he could remember.

“It’s your dime.”

“Gavin, this is Joe.”

“Yeah?”

There was silence on the line for a few seconds. Finally the governor spoke.

“I just had a very interesting phone call.”

“Yeah? By who?”

“I think you know.”

“Joe, I’m many things. A mind reader isn’t one of them.”

“I’m talking about my father-in-law.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting!
Have you lost your mind? Do you know what could’ve happened if he’d said no?”

“Didn’t have a choice. This doesn’t happen without him.”

“And you didn’t think that I needed to know that?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet! You’ve got to be kidding me! This whole thing…I’m the one going to be sticking my neck out front on this. I don’t appreciate being blindsided by my own father-in-law telling me something that you should’ve already told me.”

Pemberton grabbed the cradle of the phone and stretched the cord outside, back out onto the porch. He flicked the ash of the Louixs over the rail and blew on the tip to stoke the ember. He could tell the governor was waiting for a response, as the other end of the line had gone quiet. He took another long drag from the expensive cigar, swished the smoke around the inside of his mouth, and slowly blew it out again. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Milton and I didn’t tell you because we didn’t want you running to him before we had a chance to talk to him. You might be the face of this little shindig, but Irving’s the backbone. He needed to hear it from me. Not you. Because I’m running this show. Not you.”

That seemed to quiet him for a second. Pemberton knew the governor was a great man of the people, but he was not, nor had he ever been, a great strategist. He was the face that everyone liked and followed. But his ideas had never been his own. The political machine that had driven him into the governorship of the state was, and always had been, Pemberton. And the governor knew it.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to jump all over you. It’s just that—”

“Forget it,” Pemberton said. He let the line stay quiet for a few more seconds just for emphasis. He needed the governor to know his place. When he was sure he’d made his point, he continued, “Cancel whatever plans you have for tomorrow night. You and I are going to meet up with Milton and Irving at the Shed. Seven thirty. Don’t be late.”

“Can’t do it. I’m supposed to have dinner with Senators Buchannan and Gilmore. Now that we’ve got all these refugees—I guess that’s what you’d call them—from across the mountain living here, we’ve got to figure out how to get them housed—especially before this weather turns—and their kids back into school. Just another stupid mandate from President Walker.”

“Cancel it. Seven thirty. The Shed.”

Pemberton placed the receiver back in the cradle and took another long drag from the Louixs.

B
oz sat on the edge of the bed looking at the rucksack he’d prepared, going over each and every detail, making sure he didn’t forget something. Forgetting something that needed to be in
this
bag could be the difference between life and death. For him and Jon. And he wasn’t about to make a mistake like that. He unzipped the bag, dumped its contents out on the bed, and started again. Just to make double sure.

When he was satisfied that he was as prepared as he needed to be, he walked downstairs and set the bag by the front door. He then moved past the living room and into the kitchen. He wasn’t terribly hungry, but the old soldier in him reminded him of the military’s rule number one:
always eat and sleep when you can
. You never knew when you would have the chance to do either again.

He took the sandwich and chips into his office, set them down, and grabbed his Bible, remembering Boz Hamilton’s rule number one:
always feed on the Word of God every chance you get
. You never knew when you would have the chance to again. He thumbed through the old, worn-out leather-bound pages until he came to one of his favorite passages. He said a quick prayer and grabbed the sandwich and began to read.

He’d just finished the last few chips and all of 1 Peter when the sat-phone on his desk rang. He swallowed down his last mouthful and clicked the button on the phone.

“This is Boz.”

“Hello, Mr. Hamilton.”

“I’ve been waiting for your call, Quinn. I’m ready to go. Just say when and where.” Then, “How is he?”

“Remarkably well. Which is good, because you two have another long road ahead of you.”

“I’ll take care of him.”

“Yes, I know you will.”

An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment, as if the Prophet wanted to say more but couldn’t.

“Is everything okay?” Boz felt that sinking feeling in his gut.

“Everything is fine. You’ll need to leave now to make it where we are by dark. You’ll need to move fast once you’re here. You’ll only have a few hours before daylight to get back across the mountains.” Then, “Are you armed?”

Boz was slightly taken aback. “Yes, of course.” Immediately, he sensed the Prophet was going to tell him God had directed that he go in there with just his bare hands. A slight panic coursed through his veins.
Okay
,
God
, he thought.
If that’s how You want it…

“Good. You cannot allow yourselves to get captured again. At any cost. Do you understand, Mr. Hamilton?”

“Roger that,” Boz answered, allowing himself to slip back into the black ops persona. “What’s your location?”

“Just outside of Nashville. A small row of motel rooms. There’s a road here called Murfreesboro Road. Runs directly out from the city. About two and a half miles south is where you’ll find us. Pinkish stucco building sitting back from the south end of the road. Lots of unsavory characters out and about. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“What’s the room number?”

“Twelve. All the way in the back.”

“Okay, so I guess I’ll see you sometime around dark, then.”

“Just Jon, Mr. Hamilton.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Just Jon. I’m afraid the two of you will be journeying without me. But don’t worry. If I’m needed, He’ll send me to you.”

Boz was immediately disheartened. He had thought about sitting down and having conversations with Quinn about the whole Prophet thing. He was so intrigued and in awe of how God had used Quinn. Boz just wanted to pick his brain. See how it all worked.

Boz sighed. “Okay, then. I guess we’ll just wait to see if we hear from you again.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Good-bye. Oh, and Quinn?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Boz.”

“So it is. Good-bye, Boz.”

As soon as the line went dead, Boz punched in a new number. Jennings answered on the second ring.

“Quinn just called. I’m on.”

“Then go get our boy.”

“I’m walking out the door as we speak.”

M
egan opened the door to the small café and walked inside, Eli right behind her. The café was where Jennings said they would find Peterson.

They’d spent the three-hour drive mostly in silence. Eli was asleep, thirty minutes in. But that was good. Megan didn’t feel much like talking anyway. Her mind was racing, thinking about Boz and Jon. How was Boz going to get across the border undetected? Was Jon really okay? What if they got caught trying to get back? And then there was this new threat. What was going on? And who was doing it? Lots of questions. No answers.

Eli woke up about an hour out of Raleigh. They spent the rest of the drive with Eli looking at a map, and Megan following his directions. They found the café easily enough. Now they just had to find Peterson.