Blessed Child (41 page)

A small buzz ran through Roberts's brain. They'd had a talk like this once before, when the fiasco in Colombia nearly blew up in their faces.

“We're entering new territory, Roberts. You know that, don't you?” He gripped his hand to a fist and gently bumped the wooden arm. “We're on the verge of taking power—real power—for the first time. Nothing can be permitted to stop that.” He paused.

Roberts sat still.

“This includes an abstract rumor about what might have happened a lifetime ago in Ethiopia. We may have made some mistakes in our past, but this cannot preclude us from running the board now. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“But if there is blame to lay, someone will have to take it.”

“I think you're overreacting,” Roberts said.

“Maybe. But in the event I'm not. If something were to come out of this nonsense that sounded ugly—something that could snatch this victory from our grasps at the last moment—then I would expect you to step forward.”

There it was. Roberts blinked. He wasn't sure how to take the directive. “If I can be candid, sir, I had very little to do with the plan.”

“With which plan, Roberts? This particular one? Colombia? How about Indonesia in '87?”

Roberts knew where Crandal was heading, but he wanted to make his point. “With the plan to pay off Colonel Ambozia's army to stir up border disputes with Ethiopia on the heels of their liberation from the Mengistu regime in 1991. That plan. The plan to divert over a billion dollars of arms to the EPLF in return for their invasion along the border, all in the name of some cockamamie treasure hunt.”

Crandal's face grew red. “And how does this plan differ from any other you were involved in? You break one law; you might as well break them all. And for the record, this second invasion
was
your plan.”

“And the first one was yours. The EPLF slaughtered over three thousand men, women, and children on your crusade. You want me to put my name on that?”

“Don't be a fool, man! This is no time to find morality. There's no need for both of us to take the fall. We've fought too hard for this moment.”

Roberts took a deep breath and crossed his legs. None of this changed the matters at hand. It was clearly understood that he would take a fall if anything ugly surfaced. Insulating Crandal might not be possible, but they would all swear to their graves that he had nothing to do with it. Still, Roberts wasn't the kind who would lay his neck on the guillotine for the big man without a good argument at the least.

Either way it was all moot.

“This is premature,” Roberts said. “The kid's as good as dead. We're talking abstractions that have no basis in reality.”

“I hope you're right. Like I said, for your sake.”

“I am right.”

Donna had never seen Father Nikolous as furious as he was in the wake of Jason's flight. Not that it wasn't a significant event; the media had swarmed like hornets themselves. But the Greek was presumably a religious man and his actions hardly came off as pontifical. She leaned back and watched him across his desk near midnight, and she wondered if Jason didn't know some things that she did not.

Caleb had failed twice before a national television audience now, although, as a dozen talking heads were quick to point out, this second episode could not be clearly seen as a failure, because he hadn't tried anything. He'd fainted before having the chance to perform.

The theories for this latest incident were clearly overshadowed by the general outrage that he'd been kidnapped. True enough, Jason and Leiah were not your typical criminal-looking types, and Donna had gone out of her way to ease the suspicion that surrounded them. But her role in this story was that of an impartial reporter, and Nikolous more than offset her voice of reason with his ranting and raving.

He looked at her with a set jaw. “They have no legal right to take the boy, and I promise you that I will see them behind bars for this.”

“I'm sure kidnapping is looked at very seriously by the law, but I hardly think you're dealing with a typical case here,” Donna returned.

“Of course not. We're dealing with something much worse. The world has an interest in this boy. And he's ill. Perhaps even bleeding. He belongs in a hospital, not in some fleabag motel or wherever—”

“Bleeding?” Donna jerked her head to him. “That wasn't in any report.”

“We found a few drops of blood where he collapsed. He may have bitten his tongue when he fell, but this is not for the media.”

The news intrigued her. She could not escape the gnawing notion that there was more to this story than met the eye.

“Both you and I know that Jason and Leiah couldn't hurt Caleb if they wanted to. Please, Father Nikolous, you must see that. If there were any real danger to the boy, they would have gotten him medical attention. For all we know he's in some vet's clinic right now, under medication and having his tongue sewed up.”

Nikolous frowned deeply, and Donna thought he looked like a clown she'd once seen. “I do not share your optimism,” he said. “They've willfully and knowingly violated the laws of the state. If they are capable of this, there's no telling what else they're capable of.”

“Or they have taken the boy out of a situation they see as dangerous to him, and they're willing to pay the consequences.”

The Father studied her for a few long moments, obviously taken aback by her insinuation. But she hadn't accused him of anything.

“I'm not sure many people would sympathize with such a rash statement,” he said.

“Maybe. But surely, you don't think that the world will just stand by and let the boy live under such restraint for long. At some point they will want him to just be a boy. Maybe Jason and Leiah just came to that realization faster than the rest of us.”

“You may not approve of restraint, Donna, but it is my restraint that maintains his innocence. And believe me, whether or not his power comes from God, only his innocence keeps him from becoming just another boy. If that were to happen, the world would scream for the Caleb I give them now.”

Donna smiled and nodded, not wanting to push him too far, but curious still. “I'm curious, Nikolous. Do you care for the boy?”

His eyebrow arched. “Care?”

“Yes. I mean do you find him appealing?”

“My dear, if you were to turn on the television right now, you would find a dozen stations featuring discussion on the boy's disappearance. The world is in an uproar tonight because of one boy. Why? Because I made him a boy worth caring for. Do you not see this? I made Caleb who he is. Tomorrow morning over three hundred law enforcement officers will go looking for the boy, and by nightfall I am sure we will have found him. And you ask if I care for him?”

“Okay. But you know I've had to ask myself that question these last few days because I'm not sure any longer whether I'm more interested in Caleb or the story Caleb has dropped in my lap.”

“Well, he's brought all of us a little something. Which is another reason we have to find him. Hiding him away like Jason would choose is an immensely selfish approach.”

It was his own use of the word
selfish
that pushed Donna to her next question. “A little something? How much money have you made off him, Father Nikolous?”

He squinted and stared at her. “Money is not the point. The point is that Caleb has done more good than we can possibly measure with a few dollar signs. And unless we find him, it may be lost.
Even
if we find him, it may be lost.”

She nodded. No need to push the point at this late hour. In a perverted way his reasoning made some sense even to her. And yet she knew by simple calculation that he had made in excess of ten million dollars off the boy already. If Caleb were to lose his power, no one would pay as dearly as Nikolous.

Donna sat up and stood to leave. “With the effort under way I'm sure they'll be picked up before long. They've got every cruiser this side of Las Vegas looking for the Bronco.” She chuckled. “I always knew Jason was a character, but I never would have expected him to go this far. You might want to lighten up on him, Father. He's got a good heart, and when this is all over, people are going to see that. If you sound off too much, it could come down awkwardly for you later, if you catch my drift.”

He just stared at her, wearing that great frown of his.

“I'll see you tomorrow. We have an interview at ten, remember? And don't worry, I promise I won't pry. Just the basics. We can't let our fans down, you know.”

She smiled and left him, still frowning.

32

Day 36

J
ASON AND LEIAH SAT WITH THEIR BACKS TO THE CABIN
, staring out at the night in the wee hours. Inside, Leiah had dressed Caleb's gunshot wound with antibiotic ointment and fresh bandages. His bleeding had stopped, and under the bright flashlight she determined that the bullet had entered at his belly but exited harmlessly out his side. A nasty wound, but only his skin and exterior muscle had been harmed. She'd cared for him tenderly and covered him with the blanket.

“I think we should assume it was the same people who destroyed the monastery,” Jason said.

Leiah looked at him and then laid her head back on the wood without responding.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Should I be okay?”

“No, I guess not.”

She lifted her head. “I mean here we are nursing a sick boy who belongs in a hospital, stranded in the middle of the forest, and you think it's all courtesy of the same maniac who chased us across the seas. How would you expect me to feel?”

“Afraid?”

“Yes.”

She sighed and leaned back again. “It could have been the antichrist group. They've lost no love on Caleb.”

“The antichrist group wasn't in Ethiopia, taking potshots at us,” he said.

“Neither was the NSA.”

“No, but the NSA was behind the attempt to deport Caleb, we know that. I'm not saying it was the NSA, but I am saying we should assume it is unless we learn differently. And I say that because I really do think Crandal is somehow behind this. Caleb's practically implicated him, for goodness' sakes. Can you think of anyone else who would want to kill Caleb?”

“Not besides the antichrist group.”

“If it is Crandal and his NSA connections, believe me, they won't stop now.”

“So why did we run? If they'll come after us anyway?”

“Because back there we didn't stand a chance. At least this way we have the chance to think things through. If we have to we can surrender ourselves up tomorrow.”

She shook her head. “Listen to us, Jason. You're talking like we're Bonnie and Clyde. When I said whatever is necessary, I'm not sure I had this in mind.”

“No, you suggested I take a two-by-four to Nikolous's head.”

Leiah chuckled, more from stress than from the humor of it, he guessed. She laid her head against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. “Dear Father, help us,” she prayed aloud.

They sat in the cool night for a few minutes and Jason couldn't help thinking how insane this was all turning out. Five weeks ago he'd dragged an angry woman and a boy from a besieged monastery and fled the EPLF. They'd narrowly escaped and then taken the boy to safety as promised. Who would have guessed that he would still be on the run with that same boy, now dying, and holding that same angry woman in his arms?

“Jason?”

“Hmm?”

“What will happen to us when this is all over?”

Her question shortened his breath. He'd wondered the same a dozen times. “I don't know,” he said. “What would you like to do?”

She shrugged. “You have a unique reason to love me now, right? But when all this is past and I'm just an ordinary girl who isn't bossing you around about Caleb—then when you see only me, how do you know what you'll feel?”

Heat washed over his skull. He'd asked the very question of himself earlier. He answered her the way he'd answered himself. “I love you as you are.” He sat up and turned her shoulders with both hands. “Look at me. I fell in love with a beautiful woman from Canada with the backbone of a tiger and the wit of a scholar. She has blue eyes and black hair and her body is scarred from head to toe. This is who I fell in love with. Are you telling me that you're going to suddenly change?”

Leiah smiled in the moonlight. It was the truth too, he realized. It was exactly how he felt.

She lifted a finger and ran it over his lips. “And I fell in love with a man with a heart the size of Africa and skin so soft you could polish silver with it. Will you change?”

“Never,” he said.

She leaned forward slowly and kissed him on the lips. “Never let me go, Jason,” she whispered into his ear. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said, and a lump filled his throat. “I swear it with my life.”

It was barely light when Caleb awoke.

He stared at a wooden wall and blinked. Images of a prophet with a long white beard holding his arms over a valley strung through his mind. It was Moses. He'd dreamed of Moses.

Caleb turned his head and was rewarded by a sharp pain through his temples. He groaned.

Slowly the room came into dim focus. This wasn't his room. He'd never been here before. And why was his stomach hurting so . . .

It came to him then: he was ill. He had collapsed at the theater. He had failed again! A pang of sorrow shot through his chest.

“Oh, Father, what have I done?!”

Caleb pushed himself up, wincing at the pain in his body. He swung his feet to the floor and sat still for a long time, trying to orientate himself to the spinning room. He felt his stomach and was surprised to find no shirt. A bandage was wrapped around his bare side. It was white and blotched with some red spots. He'd been hurt! He had fallen or something. Or maybe someone had cut him.