Dark Rule (COIL Book 3), page 14
"Yes." Frank nodded. "Absolutely. She's my sister. It's all arranged. There's no one else."
"Okay. This is the first time she's missed a scheduled call," Walter said thoughtfully. "What were you to do if this scenario arose? Is there a plan in place?"
"Well, we had a loose plan that I'd start making phone calls until I had some answers. Embassies, heads of state, foreign ambassadors, whomever I could reach, even the media. But Zalzuna is isolated. They don't communicate with the West as it is, so I ran into dead ends real quick. The missionary and human rights groups that would otherwise be able to assist in this type of situation are flagged already because they're well known as Christian or some other advocate against communist ideals."
"So, we need to implement a fact-finding protocol." Walter nodded.
Mr. Kassviney smiled, a proud twinkle in his eye as he obviously admired his son.
"Whoever claimed chess was just a board game, huh?" Bill chuckled to himself and slapped his knee. "What do you think, Walter? You have someone in mind?"
"Yeah." Walter stood, all eyes on him. With one hand in his pocket and the other touching his fair-skinned chin, he began to pace from the mantle to a stuffed steelhead fish on another wall, then back again to the mantle. "It could be worse than we imagine. I'm compelled to send in two waves. The first will be for reconnaissance. We need eyes on the island. The second will be for extraction. That'll take more time to put together, but they can't move until later, so that's okay."
"Excuse me?" Frank interrupted with an uncomfortable smile. "Waves? Recon and extraction? You're serious, Walt?" He raised his eyebrows at Bill. "You have those types of resources, Bill?"
"Don't look at me," Mr. Kassviney shook his head, then nodded at his son. "This is his expertise: strategy."
Walter continued to stare at the carpet, seemingly deaf to the conversation around him.
"We need to be closer—at least in the same time-zone as Zalzuna."
"Athens," Bill offered. "Jasper O'Shottie lives in Piraeus."
"Who's Jasper?" Frank frowned.
"I'll need to make some calls." Walter ignored Frank's uncertainty. "I know a professional who might help us. It all depends if he's busy right now or not. His skills are in high demand—the state of the world being what it is."
"What about the symposium?" Mr. Kassviney asked his son. "You're supposed to be in Berlin by Sunday."
"They'll find a replacement."
"On photoclinometry, Son? I think not."
"Well, they may not have a choice." Walter drew out his calculator again and punched buttons. He walked out of the den. "I'll get started."
The three watched Walter disappear around a corner.
"Consider me confused," Frank said. "I don't understand. Is he—? What's he doing? Is he going to help?"
"Can't you see?" Bill said with a chuckle. "The boy has a one-track mind. You two had better go pack your bags if you want to keep up!"
"Athens?" Frank asked as if it were a fictional place. He shook his head. "I can't. It's—"
"I'll go!" Brad tried to ignore his father's stare. "When's he leaving, Mr. Kassviney?"
"You have a game tomorrow evening, Brad." Frank stood. "The most important game of your life!"
"I can hold him off until tomorrow night," Mr. Kassviney said. "But any later than that, nothing will hold him back!"
"Bill, we don't have money for this type of expedition." Frank touched his pants pocket.
"Sounds like it's become more like a rescue mission, Frank. Ah, to be young again, to run off and save the world . . ." There was no denying the light in Bill's eyes. Then he looked Brad square in the face. "Tomorrow night, ten o'clock, be at the airport. You know Walter. He can handle issues of the brain better than issues of the body. He'll need someone to look after him. I can't think of anyone better than you, Brad."
Frank looked from Mr. Kassviney to Brad, then sighed loudly as he ran his fingers through his hair.
"Oh, boy. I hope you're going to help me explain this to your mother."
*~*
Chapter Sixteen
Nathan Isaacson was treading water in the South China Sea next to fellow believer, Hu Jian. Half an hour earlier, both men had been on a passenger jet destined for Hong Kong. Jian didn't know he was to be arrested when he arrived there until Nathan informed him. Setting up an early departure from the flight, they parachuted out of the jet for a dip in the sea. Instead of an execution now, Jian would be debriefed by COIL representatives in Japan, then taken back to Malaysia where he was a pastor in the underground Christian church.
After splashing down, they waved at a Japanese fishing vessel trawling nearby. Though the small ship was rigged for fishing, the crew wasn't in the fishing industry at all. Pulling the two from the water in one pass, the vessel then continued toward the Philippines in the east. On deck, Japanese fishermen played their roles of maintaining nets in case satellite cameras passed overhead.
Immediately, Nathan and Jian were whisked below deck to join a number of Japanese and other technicians who were operating computer monitors and comm devices. A Canadian—evidenced by the flag on his breast pocket—handed Nathan a towel as Jian was given a change of clothes. The man introduced himself as Graham Lordue, a COIL operative who worked the Pacific Rim. He had a long neck and eyes that looked like they'd seen too much suffering. Graham led Nathan into one of the cabins where they could talk privately. Nathan changed clothes as Graham briefed him.
"We'll be in Manila by midnight, maybe a little after." He handed Nathan a cup of coffee. "How've you been since New Guinea?"
"Too busy to remember when I even did that job," Nathan joked. "You keeping safe out here?"
"In the Lord's will." Graham shrugged. "Had a little scuffle in Brunei a couple months ago." Graham pulled up his shirt to show a four-inch scar over his bottom rib. "The sultan's niece wanted out of the country after converting. Should've been a quick grab. Walked right into it. They jumped us after we tied off. Lost two men and a good dash of blood, but some of us got away."
"And the sultan's niece?" Nathan gulped his coffee, thankful for something warm.
"Scheduled to teach Malay to Australian missionaries. Speaking of Australia, did you check your messages? They want you in Sydney for something."
Accepting a PDA from Graham, Nathan logged into COIL's message service. He read through information on a recon job in Zalzuna. There was also a firebombed church in Germany that needed some hands-on assistance with the locals.
He took a deep breath before opening a third message. It was from Chen Li. Having rescued her during the Gilgal operation two years earlier, he constantly worried and prayed for her safety. What was her current assignment? Would his next mission be to rescue her again?
But her message was brief. She missed him and wondered if he considered her his teammate yet. It was an ongoing jab he knew was meant to be flirtatious. He didn't mind at all.
Nathan responded to the first two requests, but decided to wait to respond to the third one. It would be a negative to Germany. Since he had a past there, he was the wrong man for the job. But he planned on accepting the Zalzuna recon job. Basking in the Greek Isles for a week or two? No problem! He tossed the PDA back to Graham.
"Looks like I'm on the plane tonight, already."
"Something I can help you with?" Graham raised his eyebrows, perhaps hoping for a little more action.
"Nah. Shouldn't be much. Might even call it a vacation."
"Well, good. Sounds like you deserve it, Nate. I'll let you catch some sleep. See you tonight."
As soon as Graham was gone, Nathan relaxed on the bunk and reflected upon the message from headquarters. This was the first moment of peace he'd had in days. Though he'd told Graham the next assignment would be something like a vacation, running a recon for an infiltration team was never a walk in the park. Granted, Nathan was the best man for the job. Having led dozens of his own missions into foreign countries, he knew what to watch for. The message hadn't said much—Recon Zalzuna. Jamison Christians arrested. Details in Sydney.
This time of the year, Zalzuna would have the best weather, but running recon in a communist country was something like taking point in a jungle full of ambushes. At the least, he'd need a fake identity and an escape route. In the past, as part of the special ops teams, he was rewarded with the gratitude of freed captives. But not now. Doing recon, he would note traps and safe-houses, friends and foes, then walk safely away. No one would know he'd been the forerunner.
The Zalzuna mission had been accepted for other reasons as well—reasons that pointed to his past. Trevor Niles was from Zalzuna. Had he returned home? Was he still bent on destroying others to achieve his own goals? If Nathan could get word to Interpol, an arrest for murder was long overdue. For two years, the killer had been on the run. Christians worldwide would be safer with Trevor Niles behind bars.
"Please watch over me, Lord . . ." Nathan covered his face with his hands. He meant to pray longer, but instead, he lapsed into a dead-man's sleep.
#######
Albert Jamison woke with a start. He shivered from the cold in the wide cell, his back against a damp, cement wall. As he turned his head to look at Lacy, his neck hurt, but he didn't care. His pain was nothing compared to what the interrogators had done to her.
Lacy lay in the fetal position next to her father, his hand on her shoulder. She'd said nothing since he'd crawled into the cell. They'd both been beaten. Her clothes were torn and she was missing a shoe.
The authorities wanted to know why they'd come to Zalzuna and who their religious contacts on the island were. Albert hadn't betrayed Trevor Niles, the man who'd invited them to the island, but Albert wasn't sure if they'd made Lacy talk. Touching his jaw with his unbroken hand, Albert felt that his jaw was broken, too.
"The Lord is our Shepherd," Albert whispered, but he choked on the words. His throat was bruised from when they'd strangled him into unconsciousness. He squeezed his eyes shut, a tear trickling from his battered face. "We praise You, Lord, even in this suffering . . ."
As afflicted as he was, Albert wasn't disoriented. Now, away from his torturers, he could sort through what he knew. They'd been in Zalzuna only a few days. Trevor Niles had been their only contact, but other Christians might've also been involved. Someone had rented them a house in New Manchester, the little English town on the northern shore of the island. Again, Trevor Niles had been the liaison. Albert frowned at the thought. Perhaps Trevor Niles was the betrayer? It made little sense, but he'd been the only one who knew they were visiting the capital city of Zalzuna on the eastern coast. He was the only one who'd known of the other Christians they were supposed to have met at the docks.
Suddenly, Albert's eyes opened wide.
"There was no one at the docks." He groaned in realization. His lips cracked as he continued to talk, but he couldn't stop now. Perhaps his words would comfort Lacy. "It was a trap the whole time—the island, the house, the docks, Trevor Niles . . ."
His daughter didn't move as he continued to consider the conspiracy behind his wife's murder and their arrest. A single light bulb in the center of the ceiling lit their cell, and Albert stared at it for symbolic enlightenment as he spoke aloud. But still, Lacy didn't move. She'd witnessed atrocities before. The body found ways to heal, and she'd know that. But he was worried about her mind. If she could maintain her wits, he'd worry less. This body was temporary, but the mind had a way of increasing the torture exponentially.
Obviously, Trevor Niles wasn't whom he portrayed himself to be. Albert tried to remember what he knew about the man. He'd been secretive, which was only natural for an underground believer. But his secrecy had been for a much different reason, Albert now understood. They'd made contact through the Internet. Niles had been an invisible man named Zal, but they'd eventually shared their real names. Then Niles had met them at the airstrip on the southeastern corner of Zalzuna. Albert remembered that polite, dark-haired man with the flattering words and a scar down the right side of his face. He'd seemed confident, too sure of himself. Usually, underground Christians were reserved, more cautious, and ever humble. Sure, Trevor Niles had been secretive when it came to information, but his personality had been too outgoing!
"I'm such a fool," Albert said.
He should've known, seen the signs, felt the awkwardness! Albert may not have been able to flee the island once they were in Niles' hands, but if Albert had known the man was an imposter, Albert could've alerted the outside world to be more wary than he'd been. Who else might Niles entice to the island?
"Now what?" Albert asked the light bulb. "I saw other cells down the hallway. This is some sort of old hospital. We can't be the only ones held here. Maybe that's why God allowed this, huh? There are people we need to reach here!"
Straightening his right leg, Albert drew the colored pencil from his pocket. Though it was broken in two places, the ends could be sharpened and used. He moved his good hand away from his daughter and touched the rock wall. It was whitewashed rock, perfect for a masterpiece. What would he draw? Something about Calvary, where all hope lay. Perhaps Jesus carrying the cross to Golgotha. Albert held the pencil up to the light. It was a green-blue color, dark enough for the wall, but a difficult color to shade. Should he start now? No, he decided. He'd wait until Lacy could help him brainstorm the details. Such a project would help her focus on Jesus.
Albert touched Lacy's shoulder again, but she flinched away.
"We're going to be okay, sweetie." He forced a chuckle through a sob. "God's on our side. These people don't know what they're up against."
#######
Brad Alden was pitching a perfect game. They were in the ninth inning. One out. The score was two runs to nothing. He cracked his neck left, then right. The wind-up. Then, the pitch!
The ball was hit high into left field. Pushing the bill of his cap up, Brad watched the ball fly into the night sky. His outfielders were converging perfectly . . .
Then . . . they dropped the ball! Brad backed-up second base as the runner slid headfirst. Safe.
Tossing the ball into his glove, Brad walked back to the mound. Although the perfecto was gone, a no-no was still in play. But he was still having trouble focusing on what was surely the biggest game of his life. Yesterday, he would've been focused, but that was before he'd become involved in the Zalzuna inquiry to find his aunt, uncle, and cousin. Instead of thinking about the scouts measuring the speed of his fastball, his mind was on catching the plane after the game. While reporters waited to talk to him behind the dugout, Brad wondered what he was going to tell Josie. They'd had plans to go out afterwards with their old high school friends. Would she understand?
He nodded at the catcher's sign. A change-up pitch. Brad cracked his neck again. The wind-up. Strike!
For the next two pitches, Brad mixed it up. He sent a split-finger fastball skipping off home base, then a wicked curve. The batter swung at each. People in the stands were on their feet now. His mother and father were clapping.
Brad had the best life. Did he really have to fly to Greece? He could skip the search for his relatives and stay in Bandon where he could secure his future as a well-paid athlete.
The next batter had been trouble for Brad in years past. The guy was wiry with a good eye. Shaking off the first sign, Brad nodded at the second. Outside fastball. He checked over his shoulder at the runner on second base. A home run at this point wouldn't only end the no-hitter, it would tie the game, and send them into extra innings. It was looking like Brad would miss his flight.
Again, he cracked his neck. The wind-up. The pitch. Strike!
Backing away, the batter cast Brad a dirty scowl. But Brad never took the scowls personally. After the game, they would all greet each other as fellow ball soldiers.
His second pitch was wild, and skipped off home plate. The catcher scrambled through the dirt to grasp the ball. He came up with it in time to see the runner reach third base.
Catching the ball, Brad stood on his mound. All eyes were on him. Everyone was cheering for him. He smiled. They thought his mind was on his final pitch. Instead, he looked up at the night sky. It was daytime in the Greek Isles at that minute. Was Lacy dead or alive? What kind of trouble could she and her family get into on such a little island? Since it wasn't on his father's office globe, he'd had to pull out the almanac to find the island. Though it looked like any other island in the Aegean Sea, it was unlike other Greek islands. Zalzuna was a sovereign nation, an independent dictatorship that had returned to communism after being a French colony for nearly a century.
The catcher's sign was for an inside fastball. It was a dangerous call since the batter was crowding home base.
Brad cracked his neck. The wind-up. Even as he released the ball, he saw the batter's smirk. He'd forced the inside pitch, hoping the catcher would call for a base-crowding pitch to scare the batter away. As the batter swung, Brad grit his teeth. The batter cut his follow-through short as he braced for the connection of the ball on the bat. The third-base runner was tensing, anticipating the to come.
The crowd was quiet as the ball shot forward. Brad saw a blur of white flashing toward his head. Instinctively, he threw up his open mitt, then closed it an instant later when the ball slapped leather.
People in the stands were on their feet. Surprising even himself, Brad opened his mitt to look inside. He'd caught the ball! The batter threw the bat away. The game was over. The team ran onto the field to carry Brad toward the dugout. They scooped him up as the crowd from the stands flooded the diamond. Riding on his teammates' shoulders, Brad searched for his parents. He waved at his tall father. Frank smiled and waved back, as did his mother, though he could see only her hand in the air.
