Titus Ray Thriller Box Set, page 10
part #1 of Titus Ray Series
I switched the radio on and listened to the news. There were several reports on the President’s latest political upheavals, and Israel’s prime minister was warning the world about Iran’s nuclear ambitions—again.
The only news coming out of Iran was good news, and for a brief moment, I wished I were in Tehran to share it with Javad and Darya. Fox News was reporting that after three years in prison, Youcef, their pastor, had finally been released from confinement.
Pastor Youcef had been imprisoned and tortured on numerous occasions because he had adamantly refused to recant his Christian beliefs. According to Javad, Pastor Youcef had told the authorities he would willingly give his life for his faith.
Would I give my life for my new faith?
I turned off the radio and thought about that question.
I knew I would give my life for my country. That was a given. In my career, I’d often found myself in perilous situations where dying was a real possibility. However, during those times, my motivation for pressing on had been the security of America and the upholding of my own patriotic ideals.
Now, I wondered if I was as committed to Christianity as I was to my country. Would I really choose to die rather than disavow my beliefs?
It was hard for me to admit it, but I just didn’t know the answer to that question. For one thing, I didn’t fully understand what being a believer meant.
I had no doubt Javad could have defined it for me, but it wasn’t as if I could pick up the phone and have that conversation. However, I knew what Javad would do if we were able to have such a conversation. He would open up his Bible and explain his answers from the words he read there.
I thought about that as I entered the outskirts of St. Louis.
Right then, while maneuvering through heavy traffic, I decided I needed to start reading the Bible for myself. It might be the only means of knowing God and the way to know if I had the kind of faith exhibited by Youcef, a faith I would not recant, even in the face of death.
I decided to tell God about my decision. “I don’t know if you’re interested in vows, God,” I said out loud, “but Javad said I should start reading what you said to me. So right now, I’m making a vow to you,” I paused in my prayer and gazed off at the Gateway Arch on my right, “as this arch is my witness, every day I will read something from the Bible.”
I never regretted making that vow. Not even once.
Chapter 11
I arrived in Oklahoma City around eight o’clock in the evening. However, I decided it was too late in the day to pick up the key to the Ortega property from the realtor who was in Norman, thirty minutes away, so I drove to the south side of the city and looked around for a motel. After spotting a Comfort Inn, I got off the expressway and spent the night there, saving my arrival in Norman for the following day.
Before drifting off to sleep, though, I remembered my Gateway Arch Vow and looked around the room for a Bible.
I knew most motels provided Bibles for their guests because I had slipped into a hotel in Miami once and replaced one room’s Bible with a different version of the Scriptures. Although the Bible I had placed in the nightstand looked exactly like the hotel’s Bible on the outside, the Agency’s tech division had equipped the new one with a special camera, enabling my asset—who was to occupy the room later in the evening—to take miniaturized photographs of some highly classified documents when he returned to his own country.
However, the Bible I found in the nightstand at the Comfort Inn had no such modifications, and I picked it up and read a random chapter.
It didn’t make much sense, but I was very tired.
* * * *
At nine o’clock the next morning, I was standing in the lobby of the Dylard Group Real Estate Agency waiting for Eric Hawley. The moment the receptionist assured me that Hawley was on his way, a tall man with sandy hair, wearing a crisp white shirt and blue slacks, entered the building.
He gave me a big smile. “Hi, I’m Eric Hawley.”
“I’m Titus Ray. I’m leasing the Ortega property on East Tecumseh Road.”
“Oh, right. Let’s go up to my office.”
We took the elevator up to his office on the second floor where I signed all the necessary paperwork.
After handing me a copy of the lease, he said, “Now, if you want to follow me out to the house, I’ll show you around the property.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I quickly replied. “I’ll be able to find it.”
“Oh, I’m sure you could locate it, but Phillip had some extra security installed on the property this week, and when the installers came by the office to drop off the security codes, they left this manual.” He picked up a thick book. “The instructions are pretty detailed. I was barely able to figure them out.”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” I said. “I could call you if I have any difficulty.”
“No, no, it’s no trouble. Phillip Ortega is an old friend of mine, and I’ve been out to his house plenty of times. I’ll enjoy showing you around.”
It was obvious he’d made up his mind, so I got in my car and followed him out to my new home.
On the way out there, I did a little belly-button gazing and asked myself why I was so reluctant to have him take me out to the property. Maybe it was simply the nature of my business to be guarded, holding even friendly people at a distance, or perhaps it was my loner personality—I don’t need much social contact to be content.
Realizing I was going to be leading a different kind of life in Norman, I decided to view my new civilian life as if I were on assignment. To survive, I needed to adapt to the culture and environment of the area. Eric Hawley was a friendly guy. I needed to be friendly too.
I suddenly realized I might be embarking on a difficult assignment.
* * * *
I had no real need to follow Eric Hawley in order to find Tecumseh Road. Since I’d lived in Norman before, I knew there were four main roads into Norman from I-35: Tecumseh Road, Robinson, Main, and Lindsey. With the expressway virtually splitting the town into two parts, each street was labeled east or west depending on its location from I-35.
Within two minutes of leaving the real estate office, we were on Tecumseh Road. After crossing over I-35 and traveling east for almost ten miles, we arrived at Phillip Ortega’s residence.
The aerial photo from Kellerman’s presentation made the Ortega property appear isolated, but now I saw several other homes situated nearby. Each of them, like the Ortega property, had plenty of acreage surrounding a residence. Nevertheless, despite the acreage, I realized I had some neighbors living in close proximity to me.
Hawley stopped his Cadillac Escalade outside a brick wall fence and exited the car. By referring to an index card in his hand, he entered some numbers onto a key pad. He gave me a thumbs up when the gate swung open.
A tree-lined paved access road led up to a large modern-looking farmhouse with a wrap-around front porch. A second paved road curved south to the barn. Hawley stopped his car in front of the three-car garage attached to the residence by a breezeway.
When I walked up beside him on the driveway, he gestured expansively around the grounds and asked, “Isn’t this a great place?”
“It’s absolutely amazing.”
I meant every word.
Several massive oak trees shaded the front lawn. About fifty yards beyond the house was the lake I had seen on Kellerman’s slides. The early morning sun was shimmering off its surface, making it sparkle like a brilliant diamond. Trees and bushes lined the banks, and there was a small, wooden dock extending out over the water.
Once again, Hawley consulted his index card so he could enter the necessary numbers on a keypad at the entrance to the garage. He shook his head and said, “I really don’t know why Phillip thought the property needed all this extra security. I’ll have to ask him about that.”
I realized he thought Philip Ortega had requested the extra security—something Danny Jarrar had probably told him. So, what was going to happen when Ortega called Hawley to check on things at home, and Hawley questioned him about why he’d added all the extra protection on his property?
This potential disaster was of Danny’s own making.
Whenever we’d worked together, I’d noticed Danny had a propensity to spin a more elaborate story than was really necessary. While Danny was a great storyteller, this operational flaw had gotten him into trouble more than once, and he had a bullet hole in his right upper thigh attesting to that.
I decided I’d better clean up Danny’s mess—yet again.
“Actually, Eric, you must have misunderstood the installation guys. I was the person who called up the security company and requested all this extra stuff.”
He gave me an astonished look. “But, why? Our little city has to be one of the safest places on earth to live, and as far as I know, Phillip has never had a problem out here.”
I laughed, trying to sound embarrassed. “Well, Eric, I’ve never lived anywhere but a big city. Where I’m from, there’s a burglary happening every night.”
As we entered the house, he assured me, “You’ll find things are much different here.”
Hawley took me into every room of the house, turning on the lights, pointing out the different features and having me admire the beautiful furnishings. I agreed it was perfect for me, and that’s when he started asking me some personal questions.
“Your secretary said you were writing a book with someone from the University. If I remember correctly, it was about China.”
I wondered if April Snyder had made a rookie mistake and told him I was writing about the Far East. “No, the Middle East,” I said.
“Oh, the Middle East,” he said, nodding his head up and down as if he knew it well. “You mean Israel, the Palestinians, that sort of thing?”
“Yes, that sort of thing.”
“And you’re with a think tank in Washington?”
“Actually, we’re located in Maryland, but we do consulting work everywhere. Here,” I said, reaching inside my wallet for a business card, “let me give you one of my cards.”
He glanced at it and then dropped the personal questions.
He probably noticed I was a Senior Fellow.
“Let’s go out to the garage. I want to show you one last thing.”
I followed him through the breezeway and out to the three-bay garage.
Pointing down at his feet where a steel door was built into the garage floor, he said, “Since you’ve never lived in Oklahoma before, you’ve probably never seen one of these.”
I immediately thought I was seeing some sort of underground safe room.
“No, I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“It’s a storm shelter.”
“A storm shelter.”
“Here, let me show you.”
He unlatched the door and slid it open on its metal rollers. After he reached down and clicked on a light, I peered inside and saw a deep gray box with two padded benches positioned opposite each other. Maybe six skinny people could fit inside.
“Wow, that’s a tight fit,” I said.
“When tornado season hits in about two weeks, you’ll be happy Phillip decided to install it.”
“I’m happy already.”
* * * *
After Hawley left, I took the all-terrain vehicle from one of the garage bays and drove it up to the barn. Inside, I found Ortega’s tractor and riding lawnmower, along with a workshop with plenty of carpentry tools and gardening equipment.
Professor Ortega appeared to be an industrious kind of guy.
The security company had also wired the barn—which I didn’t think was necessary—so I drove around the perimeter of the property to make sure the rest of the security setup wasn’t a job of overkill. Pleased with my findings, I returned to the house and unloaded my belongings from the Range Rover.
I had to assume there had been a Mrs. Ortega in the house at one time because there were several feminine touches around the place. One of the guest rooms was even wallpapered in pink flowers.
After looking over the guest bedrooms, I deposited my duffel bag in the master suite. It was decorated with dark, heavy furnishings and dominated by a king-sized bed. Two well-used, black leather lounge chairs faced a large television screen on the west wall, and there was a bookcase with a good supply of paperback books—mostly westerns—located next to a mirrored dresser on the opposite wall.
Once I put away my few belongings, I went into the main living area of the house. The living room had a massive stone fireplace with a wide-screen television mounted over it. Two recliners, an armchair, and a dark brown, oversized leather sofa were positioned around a rectangular coffee table made of distressed wood. An archway from the living room led directly into the dining room, where a wide picture window afforded a picturesque view of Ortega’s lake. When I explored the kitchen, I found it was well stocked with everything I needed for cooking—except the food part.
After unpacking my telescope and putting it in the sunroom, I booted up my Agency computer to see if I had any new messages from Carlton in my inbox.
It was empty.
Around noon, I drove back into Norman. While drinking a glass of lemonade and devouring a chicken sandwich at a Chick-fil-A on Main Street, I noticed a large store in the shopping center across from the restaurant. The signage advertised it as a Mardel’s store and indicated it sold books, Bibles, and gifts. I decided to check out the store before running the rest of my errands.
I needed to buy a Bible.
At the Comfort Inn the night before, since I didn’t have a Bible of my own, I’d considered just slipping the hotel Bible inside my duffel bag and taking it with me. Thinking about this didn’t really surprise me because some of my assignments required taking things that didn’t belong to me. What surprised me was the sense of guilt I experienced when I contemplated stealing the Bible.
I could sense my world changing since that decision-making night in Tehran. It was as if I’d been dropped into an alternate universe, where using any means—moral or immoral—to achieve an objective no longer seemed as natural to me as it once was. Now, instead of doing what years of living in the shadows had taught me, I found myself looking at my actions with a different set of eyes. I was confused at times, and I wondered if I could operate effectively when I had to go back inside that shadowy world again.
* * * *
It never occurred to me buying a Bible could be intimidating, but as soon as I entered the Mardel store, I almost turned around and walked out.
On one side of the store were aisles crammed with buttons, mugs, calendars, everything from clothing to kitchenware, all with a Christian message. On the other side of the store were displays of Christian videos and worship music CD’s. The center aisle contained bookshelves overflowing with Christian devotional books and religious fiction.
A smiling, silver-haired lady asked if she could assist me, and when I mumbled something about a Bible, she led me off to an area the size of a racquetball court, where Bibles were stacked almost to the ceiling.
I wasn’t able to answer any of her questions about what kind of Bible I wanted. Instead, I thought of the tiny worn Bible hidden away in Javad’s living room, and I suddenly found myself wishing for one exactly like it.
Another customer drew the sales clerk away, and I was left alone to make my decision.
I muttered a quick prayer and asked for guidance.
As I continued looking at the choices, I noticed a young woman standing about six feet away from me with two opened Bibles. She had placed both on a shelf in front of her, and she looked as if she were reading from both of them at the same time.
I surprised myself by asking, “What are you doing?”
She looked up at me and laughed. “I guess I must look pretty strange,” she said. “I was comparing the size of the print and trying to decide which one of these would be easier for me to read if I were standing at a lectern.”
She pointed to the shelf where she’d placed the Bibles. “This is about the height of the lectern I teach from on Sunday morning.”
“I see.”
“Are you looking for a new Bible?”
“Yes, but I didn’t realize there would be so many choices.”
“You’ve never been to a Mardel’s store before? Are you new to Norman?”
She had an air of innocence about her I found both refreshing and disconcerting at the same time.
“I just moved here.”
“From where?”
“Maryland.”
“Well, welcome to Norman. I’m Kristi Stellars.”
“Titus Ray.”
“Titus is a wonderful New Testament name. Are you attending church somewhere here in Norman, Titus?”
“Uh . . . no.”
“We’d love to have you visit our church. It’s Bethel Church on Lindsey Street, across from the Hollywood Shopping Center.”
“Thanks, maybe I will.”
“If you’re looking for a Bible that is easy to read and understand, I’d recommend the English Standard Version.”
“Sounds exactly like what I need.”
She took one of the Bibles from the shelf and showed it to me. “I’ve decided to get this one,” she said. “It also has notes at the bottom of the page explaining the verses. The ladies I teach are always asking me things I don’t know, so I just glance down and read the study notes.”
“You teach the Bible?”
“I try, but I’m not so sure I do a very good job.” She took her new Bible and placed it back in its box. “It was nice talking to you. Come visit our church. It’s a real friendly place.”
With members like Kristi, I knew she couldn’t be exaggerating.
I grabbed a Bible exactly like the one Kristi was buying and followed her to the cash register.
Also, for the first time in my life, I considered attending a church.
