Suddenly, there was a knock on Hamid’s window.
Terrified, both men opened their eyes, only to find the face of an old man staring back at them. The old man knocked again and motioned for Hamid to roll down his window.
“Don’t do it,” Bennett whispered, his hand reaching below his seat for a gun.
“Why not?” Hamid whispered back. “Maybe God sent him to help us.”
“Maybe Gogolov sent him to kill us.”
“Out here? In the middle of nowhere?”
Again the mysterious man pounded on Hamid’s window.
Something in the man’s eyes flashed with an intensity that sent chills through Bennett. Though he was covered in an old robe of some sort, the bearded, wizened man was clearly soaked to the bone and shivering with cold. But even at his age, which Bennett pegged at north of seventy, he appeared to be in remarkably good shape. And one push was all it would take to send them to their deaths.
With a nod, Bennett relented, and Hamid opened the window.
The man muttered something in some dialect neither understood. Hamid shook his head and tried Farsi. When that worked, Hamid translated the conversation.
“Did you bring them?” the man asked suddenly.
“What?”
“Did you bring them?”
“Bring what?” Hamid asked again. “What are you talking about?”
“The books.”
“What books?”
“The books about Jesus,” the man replied.
Hamid turned and stared wide-eyed at Bennett.
Bennett’s mind raced. Was it a trick? a setup? How could this man possibly know they were transporting Bibles? Bennett hadn’t even known himself until just the day before.
Hamid turned back and asked the man why he wanted to know. And the man began to tell them a story that made the hair on the backs of their necks stand on end.
“Do you see that village up on the mountain?” the old man asked, pointing into the night.
Bennett craned his neck and was surprised to see lights twinkling about a quarter of a mile ahead and at least a thousand feet up.
“A week ago,” the man continued, “my family and I were gathered to eat our evening meal. Suddenly a man appeared to us. His eyes were burning like fire. His feet glowed like molten lava. He said he was an angel of the Lord. He said that a man named Jesus was the way, the truth, and the life, and that no one could come to God except through Him. He said that this Jesus loved us with an everlasting love, and that now was the day of salvation. That night, my wife and my children and grandchildren and I bowed to the ground and wept as we worshiped Jesus and gave our hearts to Him.”
Bennett shuddered, but not in fear. He was in awe.
“But then, when the angel disappeared, we were suddenly afraid. We were no longer Muslims. We were afraid we would be found out and killed. But as we emerged from our house, we discovered that the angel had appeared to everyone in our village. All of us had become followers of Jesus. And we have been celebrating all week.
“Then, early this morning, another man appeared to me in a dream, dressed in white clothes that seemed to glow like the sun. He told me to climb down the mountain — alone — and wait by the side of this road. He said two men would come and give me books for my people that would tell us more about Jesus. So I ask you, did you bring the books?”
Bennett and Hamid were speechless. For a moment they just stared at the old man. Then suddenly, as if on cue, they both reached into the backseat to uncover four boxes, each holding twenty-five small Farsi New Testaments.
Hamid handed one copy through the window. Taking care not to let it get wet, the old man read the first page, and then he began to weep. He pulled from his pockets wads of Iranian rials and thrust them through the window.
Hamid refused to take them. He shook his head and pushed the money back into the man’s hands. “We are your brothers,” he said in Farsi. “We do not want your money. We ask only one thing.”
“Yes, yes, I will do anything.”
“You and your people must tell the other villages about Jesus. You must teach them everything Jesus says in this book. For He is coming back to get us very soon.”
“Yes, yes, we will do it. I have many sons. They are very strong. I will tell them, and they will listen.” And with that, he stuffed the New Testaments into a large sack, swung it over his shoulder, and began his journey back up the mountain.
Overcome with emotion, Bennett and Hamid just sat there for a few minutes, staring into the darkness and thanking God for His mercy.
Then Bennett suggested Hamid try the steering wheel again.
It worked. Very carefully, Hamid steered the car back onto the road and turned it around. In a few minutes they were driving again — more slowly this time — amazed at what the Lord had done but wondering if there was any way to get to Moscow in time.
57
MacPherson had time for one more gambit.
He called in Bob Corsetti and told him to get in touch with one of the wire-service correspondents. He wanted to float the idea of a presidential trip to Jerusalem for one last round of high-profile diplomacy. Kennedy had gotten Khrushchev to blink during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Maybe somehow he could do the same.
Nadia Mehrvash woke up in a cold sweat.
It was barely four o’clock in the morning.
Was she dreaming? Was she going into labor?
Maybe it was Hamid, she thought. Was he in danger? Did he need prayer?
Disoriented and feverish, she stumbled to the bathroom to get a glass of water. Suddenly the bedroom window shattered. Nadia screamed. Someone was trying to break in the front door. The room began to fill with smoke. Nadia started to choke. She raced back into the bedroom to get her cell phone. Through the shattered window she could see men in black hoods in the backyard. Men on the front porch shouted in Farsi, “Go, go, go.”
Nadia’s heart raced.
Who were these men? What did they want?
She fumbled in the darkness to power up the phone. She feared for herself and her baby. She had to get word to Hamid. They had no more Bibles in the house. Her own was hidden under a plank in the floor. There was nothing that could incriminate her. Still, she secretly wished for a weapon, for some way to defend herself.
She knew full well that Jesus commanded her to turn the other cheek. But did that really include the jihadists and the secret police?
Six men burst through the door.
Nadia turned, the phone in her hand.
Two shots rang out, and Nadia crashed to the floor.
The diplomatic world was soon abuzz with anticipation.
The U.N. secretary-general had agreed to take MacPherson’s suggestion for one last round of shuttle diplomacy under consideration, as had the Israelis.
The Kremlin signaled reluctance.
“We will, of course, review the suggestion of the American president,” Foreign Minister Zyuganov told reporters. “But we suspect this is another Israeli attempt to postpone the inevitable. A nuclear-free Middle East is the only goal. Nothing less will do.”