Gift of Revelation (8 page)

It took me about twenty minutes to arrive back at my place. Twenty minutes! I left enough time for any kind of search of the premises. I knew what I would find. My room was in shambles. Possibly someone from the Sudan's National Intelligence and Security Service trashed my room, searched through everything, every nook and cranny. I wondered what they were looking for.

Word came some time later that day that a man from Carter would take us to a nearby airport, where we would board a cargo plane that would carry us south. Elsa delighted in the fact that we were leaving Khartoum, because she was concerned that the protests might consume her time in Sudan and she wanted to get out of the city to cover the front lines of the conflict. Addie avoided me until it was time to go. As Elsa's guest, Nawara, the young Egyptian woman, would be along for the dangerous ride. She had been acting very mysterious, sometimes keeping company with government officials during the day, worshipping with the radicals at the mosque, and dragging Elsa to various secret clubs and dives in the city's underground.

Before I took the next step in my Sudan adventure, I got a call from the editor, Hasseem, who warned me not to think badly of his country based on what I was about to witness in the south. He also told me that he doubted that I, a man of God, would be able to reconcile the violence and bloodlust of the territories of the Christians with the good words of the holy scriptures.

“Believe me, I was the government's friend and ally,” Hasseem said. “I defended them and their barbaric actions when no newspaper would come out to stand for them. I called for closer economic ties with the Jews in the newspaper and on TV. What did I get for my trouble?”

“I don't know,” I answered. “What?”

The editor snorted angrily before beginning his tirade. “A gang of thugs, all in masks, crashed into my office and beat up my staff yesterday. Slapped the receptionists. Then they punched and kicked me, tossed me on the floor, and whipped me with their pistols. I didn't deserve this.”

“Some government men have been following me since my arrival,” I replied. “I'll be glad to get out of this blasted place.”

A cough followed my fearful statement. “Also, security forces confiscated our newspapers from the plant, and officials told us to suspend production, unless we could follow their lead,” Hasseem said. “They said the government did not want to discipline us further or impose security restrictions on the press. I got their message.”

“Are you closing down?” I asked.

“I'll lose so much money that I won't be able to publish,” he said. “Three of my reporters have been arrested. They're being held somewhere without charge. We've not been able to locate them.”

We both paused to let the warning he'd received sink in my head. If they would step on the neck of a longtime friend, what would they do to me? It would be very easy for them to make me disappear. They could kill me, and nobody would ever know.

“The government knows all your plans,” Hasseem said with amusement. “They know everything. I told you this before. I was talking to someone at the
Times
in London, and he advises you not to go to Darfur, the Abyei region, the Blue Nile state, Southern Kordofan, or any area near the White Nile south of the Kosti–El Obeid–En Nahud road. There is so much rebel activity there. You can be killed.”

It was my time to swallow from fear. “Attacks from the various militias happen all the time,” I said. “I know this, but I want to see firsthand the humanitarian crisis that is there.”

The editor laughed rudely. “Another nosy American. Remember the places I just told you. They kill foreigners there. Stay away from there.”

“Nothing will deter me from going out there,” I said boldly.

I could see in my mind's eye Hasseem shaking his head before saying that this fact-finding journey would change me forever. And then he chuckled and hung up.

It was a rush job. Everything was supposedly hush-hush, but Sudanese intelligence knew the whole deal, from top to bottom. Hasseem had warned me that we couldn't pull the wool over their eyes. I tried to remain cool, but my mind was full of doubt and worry. Addie played the strong heroine, walking with her head held high, even though I knew she was having second thoughts about coming to Sudan.

“What's up?” I greeted as Elsa walked past me in the hallway outside my hotel room. We were headed to the lobby, as we would soon be on our way to the airport.

She wore the tightest pants I'd seen since I left the States. No panties. She pranced down the hallway, carrying her BOAC shoulder bag and a couple of cameras. She ignored me. That was all right with me.

We barely had time to get everything together before our departure, since Carter whisked us out to the van. Elsa had cautioned me about Carter and his urgent attitude. Everything was hurried with him, and if you couldn't keep up, you got left behind. Finally, we were all in the van and heading, with utmost haste, to the remote airport. I noticed that the car containing the Sudanese security guys was not around. Addie realized that too and wondered aloud whether the officials had called them off because we were leaving and we would be someone else's headache.

Carter drove like a maniac, running red lights and blazing down side streets. Everybody was nervous. But nobody said anything. Elsa finally told him that he was going to draw attention to us and that we'd get stopped by the police.

“Go. Go faster,” said Nigel, his sidekick. It seemed he was a reckless man and did not care about the consequences of his actions.

Elsa informed us that Carter and Nigel had a running joke about the long arm of the security forces. “Bumbling Keystone Cops,” they called them. Still, the pair worked their plan to perfection, getting us and their men in a dead run onto the tarmac and then onto the plane, which lifted off before the control tower could be alerted and then, after an hour and a half, settled down on a makeshift airstrip, where it was met by a trio of trucks packed with desperately needed supplies and more armed men. The supplies were loaded onto the plane after it landed and the armed men filed in.

Once we were airborne again, our group laughed and joked, feeling smug in the plane, while the mercenaries smoked quietly and watched us with bemusement.

“Pray for us, Reverend,” said one pasty-faced man in combat fatigues while he took his weapon apart systematically.

Glancing at the gunmen sitting on the far side of the plane, I joked and gave them the symbol of the cross, like a pope, but when that gesture fell flat, I knelt and folded my hands in prayer. Some of Carter's men followed suit, but not Elsa, Nawara, and the group of burly thugs who had just got on the plane.

“Are you Catholic?” another mercenary asked, pulling a glowing cigarette to his mouth in the dimly lit cabin. “They told me you were Baptist. Right?”

I nodded.

His superior was tired of this boring spiritual banter and asked if the arms, ammo, and supplies had been loaded. “Affirmative,” two guys answered at once. To make the flight go smoothly, the necessary government officials had been slipped bribes to silence them.

I glanced over at Addie. She looked pale. “What's wrong?” I asked her.

“Nothing, Clint,” she replied hastily, then asked for a cigarette from one of the gunmen. He lit one for her, flirting with her, making seductive eye contact with the country gal, then handed it over.

I noticed that few of the gunmen pretended to smile at me.
A meek lamb thrown in among wolves.
The taut expressions on their pale faces told me that I made them extremely uneasy. They were worried that I'd just get in the way. It was up to me to make myself scarce.

“What are you going to do down there, Minister?” their superior quizzed me with veiled eyes.

“Offer a hand and possibly some hope,” I replied, feeling their faces turned toward me.

They laughed as a group, mocking me. One man, who was quite large, shouted that they needed not prayers or hymns but blasted guns. If they had those guns, the militias would steer clear of them. The large man stood, adjusting his automatic and shaking his head. The entire team agreed with him. They believed that only force could trump force.

With the metallic hum of its mighty engines, the plane sailed over an endless stretch of reddish-brown sand, dotted occasionally by villages, which had probably been there for generations. I sat away from the window, breathing in the warrior sweat and the oil fumes. Wiping her forehead, Addie slumped against the wall. She looked sick.

“Can I get you something, honey?” Elsa asked her.

Addie, appearing about to faint, waved her off and said, “Just feeling fine.”

Elsa turned in her seat to face the commander. Then she asked him, “Are you fellows going down there with us?”

“Negative.” He was not risking his men or his arms on a lark.

“Can you send a couple of your men to accompany us to the camps?” she persisted.

“Negative,” the big man repeated.

“Please, please, please,” Elsa said prettily, battling her eyes like Gidget.

That softened him up a bit. “Okay. Two. Just until you people get to the camps. Then they get the first thing smoking out. No delays. You forget Carter has men under his command. They're very capable fighting men.”

The plane started to descend, circling, circling, circling, until it made its final approach. It bounced once, twice, on the landing. When it stopped on the hardened clay runway, crowds of people ran toward it, yelling and shouting. The mercenaries stood, checked their weapons, and marched off the plane to meet their audience. Carter motioned for us to remain on the plane until everything was secure and safe. The mercenaries unloaded some of the supplies, as per their agreement, onto the trucks waiting at the rear of the aircraft. Two sentries were posted on each side of the trucks, guns at the ready, watching the tall grass for intruders.

“Take care,” the commander instructed, as we got off the plane. “This is enemy territory. It'll be nightfall soon. You probably better make camp here and post guards. Then we'll press on to the Doctors Without Border camp before dawn tomorrow.”

The commander shook Carter's hands, then Nigel's, and then the big man gave Elsa a bear hug, which she enjoyed. With the supplies offloaded, the plane turned around, its engines revved up, and it sailed off into the golden sunset.

When some of the refugees who had gathered on the runway learned that I was a minister, they crowded around me, asking for my blessing and comfort. I realized my Lord had spared my life in Alabama so that I could reach this day and show these people that God had not abandoned them, that God saw them and had not forgotten them. With each hug and touch, I wanted to convince them that the power of God was at work even in this darkest of moments.

“Oh, you're doing your Billy Graham thing,” Elsa joked as I walked among the hungry and raggedy survivors. “I'm watching you. You're very good at this. I like to see you pour it on.” I learned that some of the refugees had been walking for days and even weeks, avoiding the enemy forces, who were looting, killing, and destroying villages in their path. They'd known that their homes and villages were unsafe, for the enemy had sworn to wipe them out. As they'd fled into the bush, they'd heard agonizing screams for help, heard the gunshots, seen the smoke and fire that consumed their homes, and smelled the sickening odor of burning human flesh. They'd remained out of sight, hoping the invasion would end, waiting until the violence passed. But it hadn't passed, and so the refugees had fled, without food or water, into the unfriendly darkness to escape death. Nobody had wanted to die, and that was what the enemy had offered—convert to Islam or die. Renounce Jesus Christ, the religion of the oppressors. Come home to Islam. Or die. So here they were at the camp, under our protection, eating the food and drinking the water at an alarming rate because of the heat. This place, as one of the people told me, could get to 130 degrees at midday.

While we set up camp—five tents surrounded by sentries—Carter told us the enemy was out there, watching us from afar, moving around to get into position. He cautioned us to stay close to the camp. Knowing the enemy was so close gave me a creepy feeling. The refugees huddled inside the perimeter of the camp, dropping their weary bodies into any space that could accommodate them. The lucky ones needed medical attention for minor ailments, but the unlucky were in bad shape and nothing could be done for them. The women tried to make them comfortable.

“Do you know how to use a gun?” Carter asked me after we set up camp.

“Yes. My father took me hunting when I was little,” I replied.

“Well, if things get serious, we might have to call upon you for help,” he said. “The enemy will have no mercy, especially for you, a messenger of Jesus Christ. I hope we can call on you if it gets bad. I hope it does not.”

With a shrug, he put a .45 automatic pistol in my hands. I smiled weakly, knowing that I could not give in to any feelings of panic or anxiety. This was no time to be scared. When the night came, I drew strength from the quiet moments, from my observations of the women scurrying among the survivors, the staff bandaging cuts and scrapes, and the men patrolling the boundaries of the camp.

Addie was avoiding me. Every time I saw her, she wore a sour face. Also, she was smoking cigarettes, a new habit for her, and sitting with the fellows, drinking warm beer and laughing. She made sure that I noticed her. Her blouse was open provocatively, exposing more cleavage than usual. She was like a cat that had been let outside, an animal in heat.

Elsa saw this “cat on a hot tin roof” routine and commented that the country gal was on the prowl. “How does this make you feel?” she asked me as we watched Addie mingle with the fellows loading supplies on the trucks .

“Addie is a grown-up, and she can do whatever she wants,” I remarked smugly. “I hope she knows what she's doing. These boys play rough.”

“Maybe she just wants to make you jealous,” the reporter suggested, squatting next to me.

“I've done nothing to make her jealous,” I retorted.

“We know that, but she doesn't know anything,” she said, clearly enjoying the fact that Addie was looking this way.

I stretched out, crossing my legs. “What a day!”

She laughed knowingly. “The best is yet to come.”

There were only two fires in the camp, and they were kept low. Everything was pitch black, so I watched the shadows move through the area. A few minutes later Elsa got to her feet and started walking toward Nigel, who was holding out an aluminum pan to her. It contained beans and chunks of goat meat.

As she neared him, a single gunshot sounded from the darkness. Nigel fell forward into her arms, a horrible wound in his neck, and splattered blood all over her. Like many of those who were nearby, I rushed to them. Elsa watched Nigel's hopeless eyes, then opened up his collar to reveal an injury that was more serious than we had expected. A bright red spray of blood came from the wound.

Carter, his close friend and assistant, knelt beside him and checked his pulse. “He's gone. Elsa, can you get a blanket to cover him?”

I touched Carter's arm, my face showing pity and compassion. “Can I say a few words over him?”

Carter patted the head of his fallen friend and said that Nigel would like that. While the members of the camp, our refuge, bowed their heads in prayer, I spoke of a soul now departed from this life, awaiting the blessed redemption of the Master, and of the good deeds of the man, who had fought so that these people would have the right to worship.

Then two men carried Nigel's body into one of the tents. Elsa bent down and whispered reassuring words in Carter's ear. Her uniform still sported the crimson stains. Everybody went back to their places to wait for sunrise. No one was safe.

“The enemy has got his blood quota,” Carter said to me sadly. “He won't mess with us any more tonight. Tomorrow is another day, and time is on his side. He knows this. But God will not be denied.”