Everybody's Daughter (30 page)

Special Agents Paul and Holligan lifted Jim Stewart off the ground, dragging him down the few steps to the front row. “Keep him here,” Paul said. The agent raced back up the stairway to the manger and looked behind the bright red curtain where several poinsettias stood. “Pastor, where did he go?”

In shock, Dennis clung to the animals in his hands, unable to move as an agent attended to him.

“Where did Mr. Stewart go?” Paul asked.

The pastor didn’t answer.

“Holligan, get an ambulance here as soon as possible and call for some more agents. Let’s tear this place apart. Keep all doors locked.”

Paul retreated behind the curtain where Michael was last seen.

Connie sat down next to her father, hugging him.

“Where did he go?” Jim asked her.

“To find Elizabeth.”

“Where?”

“If he told me the truth…to another century. A dangerous one. Oh, my God.” She wailed, realizing her brother’s story must be true.

“The FBI is going to eventually find him,” Jim said.

Connie shook her head so hard. “Nobody will ever find him.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because we won’t be able to find him,” she said. “Or Elizabeth.”

“That’s a bunch of nonsense,” said Jim, handing her a tissue. “They’ll both be back. Stop being so dramatic.”

She threw her hands in the air. “You don’t understand. He’s in a lot of danger.” She dabbed her eyes with the tissue and whispered, “I don’t want to lose my brother too.”

Jim crossed his arms. “He’ll come back.”

“We have a door that leads to some underground passageway behind the curtain,” said Paul. “Get Special Agent Brown to ask the local police about any information regarding tunnels and where they lead.”

Holligan approached Connie and Jim. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Connie said.

“I think you do.”

Jim held Connie’s hand and helped her stand. “Let’s go home.”

“No,” she said. “You need to get to the hospital.”

“We’ll make an appointment,” Jim said.

They left through a side entrance, avoiding the mesh of TV camera lights and onlookers. Another special agent waited in an unmarked car.

Paul kicked in the passageway door and waited for some equipment to help guide him through the tunnel. He returned to Dennis, now sitting up. “How are you?”

“I’ve had better days.”

“We’ll get you to a hospital as soon as possible. You’ve lost a little blood.”

“It really stings.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s just a scrape. Pastor, we can make this easy or I can bring you in later for helping a suspect escape. Which will it be? Tell me where he could have gone.”

Dennis shrugged. “I can venture a guess as to where he might have gone. But you wouldn’t take me to an FBI office or any office for that matter. You would take me to the nearest psychological evaluation center.”

“So you do know where he might have gone?”

“Yes. It’s a guess.”

“Where?”

“To find his daughter.”

“Where, Pastor? Where? I don’t have time to jerk around with you anymore.”

“He went back in time. Christ’s time.”

Paul frowned. “Play it your way.”

“I beg you don’t proceed in this fashion any further,” Dennis said. “Michael Stewart is innocent. He was taken against his own will and I think it was a way for him to find his daughter.”

“If he was so concerned about finding his daughter, wouldn’t he have organized search parties?” the special agent asked. “From what I saw, he didn’t act like a father who was burdened with the loss of his daughter.”

“Agent Paul, we all react in different ways to a tragedy. You have your way. A very admirable action you took, giving up all those millions to help others. Michael is different. He’s a loving man but doesn’t how to express it.”

“I did mourn,” Paul said. “I still do.”

“I know. The result was just not the same for you and him. Michael loves his daughter so much he would give up his life for her. Like you. And he might have to do that if he’s gone where I believe he may have gone.”

“Where is that? Tell me the truth and stop with the religious tales.”

“You can threaten me all you want,” Dennis said. “That won’t change the fact that nobody here can find him.”

The special agent glared, looking frustrated. “Well, that won’t be good enough for the law. You’re heading for trouble.”

“I know. But I am telling you the truth.”

With a pair of night goggles and a sturdy flashlight, Paul led three of his colleagues into the tunnel. “Special Agent Brown, did you find out from the locals where the tunnel goes?”

“They said there are many underground passageways. They couldn’t specifically say how many.”

“Let’s keep moving and find out where this tunnel leads us.”

He navigated his men through the hallway with relative ease, stopping when they found the first door. Paul knocked hard with his flashlight.

It opened and a bearded man’s grinning face greeted them. “Welcome, gentlemen. I’m Rabbi Stedman. Are you Jewish or do you wish to be?”

“Rabbi, my apologies,” Paul said. “I’m Special Agent Hewitt Paul. We’re looking for Michael Stewart. Do you know him?”

“Yes, I know the Christian chap. Why?”

“Did he come through here?” Paul asked.

“When?”

“In the past few minutes.”

“No.”

“Has he ever been here before?”

“A few days ago but not today.”

“Rabbi, do you know if there are more tunnels down here leading to other parts of the town?”

“Yes. If you go further, you’ll see another stairway.”

“Do you specifically know where they lead?”

“I don’t.”

“Good day, Rabbi.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to convert?”

“Not today, Rabbi.”

“A shame. Good day.”

“One second, Rabbi. Special Agent Bender, take a look inside the Temple to be sure. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all. Come in, Mr. Bender. Are you Jewish?”

“No sir.”

“Would you like to be?” the rabbi asked as he closed the door.

Paul and the special agents found another set of stairs about fifty yards further down the passageway. He climbed the steps, put his ear against the door and listened. Paul held his hand out, requesting silence. Then he tapped slowly with force. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Who is it?” a voice replied.

“This is Special Agent Hewitt Paul from the FBI.”

“What do you need?”

“Please open.”

The man unlocked the door. He wore a white garment and white cap and had a long beard which told Paul he had come upon a Mosque. “How may I help you, sir?”

He handed the man a photo of Michael. “Have you seen this man anytime today?”

“That’s the man on TV whose daughter is missing.”

“Yes. Have you seen him?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind if we take a look inside?”

“Not at all. Come this way.”

“Special Agent Smith. Go take a look.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Paul.

The man nodded and showed Special Agent Smith into the mosque. Paul leaned on the door. “What’s next? The Buddists?”

“Maybe he never came down here,” suggested another special agent.

Paul took out his cell phone and punched in Special Agent Brown’s number. “You find anything in the church?”

“Nothing except some pieces of concrete in the basement.”

“What about the shooter? What did she say?”

“She’s a local reporter, sir, believe it or not. She said Stewart told her he visited his dead wife so she wrote the story. The publisher fired her after it went to print because it embarrassed the paper. I guess the readers tore her apart online.”

“Visited his dead wife?”

“Yes sir.”

“We’ve stumbled upon wacko land.”

Special Agent Brown laughed. “There’s always a few in towns like this.”

Michael walked around in no particular direction. The baby was quiet as he held the boy’s face close to his chest, limiting any movement. The child continued to suck his thumb. The temperatures of the evening dipped more, chilling his body. He covered the baby’s feet with his sweatshirt. The desert wind picked up with force, sprinkling sand into his nose, eyes, and ears. He used his back as a shield, doing his best to deflect it from the boy. The terrain was rough in sporadic areas. Scattered rocks served as temporary markers, keeping him alert every step of the way.

Michael decided to wait until morning to proceed, unsure where he was in relation to the town of Bethlehem. He constantly checked the baby’s breathing. He claimed a big rock for some rest while some shrub provided camouflage. He relaxed his body, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Or at least he thought it was for a few minutes.

He awoke shivering and dehydrated, the baby resting in his arms. His fingers and toes tingled, his knees numb. “I’ve got to find somewhere I can get warm, little fella. I’m too cold.” He looked around. “Now what do we do? I can’t see anything for miles.”

Michael rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet, anxious to remove the pins and needles that pricked him. He removed his thumb from the baby’s mouth. “I’m sorry, little one. I need to get warm so I can take care of you.”

The wind picked up and sand pelted Michael’s face again, entering his mouth. He spit it out and gagged. After recovering, he used his frame as a protective tent for the baby.

His stomach turned as an odor goaded his nose.
Where is that awful smell coming from?
Panicked, he picked up the boy and stumbled a few steps, his legs stretching like rubber bands.

“Where are you traveling?” asked a deep voice.

Michael didn’t answer. He tripped over a small bank of rocks and fell, cradling the baby with both hands. The impact was minimal.
I’m sorry, little one. I didn’t mean to fall. I hope you’re okay.

He hugged and held him close to the top of his chest, trying to soothe his angst.

“Are you hurt?” asked the voice, the odor now more powerful.

Michael staggered to his feet, grabbed his back, and jogged away.

“Do you need help?” the voice shouted.

The sand continued its assault, prompting him to hold up a portion of the sweatshirt so it wouldn’t penetrate the baby’s face. Michael slowed down, exhausted and famished. He waited to see who or what was behind the voice.

A large animal appeared, unlike any he had ever seen. Its head was huge, two lumps pitched high from its body and the legs were long and narrow. He cleared his eyes and took a closer look – a camel. On the camel’s side were a small donkey and a man holding onto a thick string, leading them. “Where are you going?” the man asked.

“I’m lost.”

“Where are you trying to go?”

“Somewhere warm.”

He laughed. “No wonder you are cold. What is that you are wearing? I have never seen such garments.”

Michael looked at his T-shirt, sweats, and sneakers. “These are hand-me-downs.”

“What are hand-me-downs?”

“My sister gave them to me a long time ago,” he lied.

“Your sister?”

“I have a baby. I need to keep him warm.”

The man faced him a few feet away. He extended his hand and Michael shook it. “My name is Amun. You look tired,” he said, pulling his donkey to him. “Sit, rest with your baby.”

“Thank you.”

Amun removed a blanket from a satchel he hung over his camel and wrapped it around Michael. “There are many more steps to go before we see the next town and it is colder there because it is by the water.”

“What is the name of the town?”

“Yapu.”

“Do they have a motel...I mean an inn?”

Amun looked baffled. “I believe so. I plan to sleep there.”

I gave most of my money to the Roman soldier but I still have Susan’s money.
He moved the coins around in his pocket a few times to reassure himself.
I just have to get to a warm place and figure out what I should do next.

Amun was a talkative man, chattering about his recent business deals in Nazareth and Bethlehem. He possessed several trinkets and silver cups in another bag that clanged together as they strolled in the pitch dark. “We will be able to eat for many sunsets,” he said. “I have three boys now. They keep me busy with this. They are growing and their mouths seem to need more and more food.” He laughed, finding his own thoughts amusing. “How old is your child?”

“Can’t be more than a few months old.”

“Months?”

“Sunsets, not many at all.”

“What is the child’s name?”

“I haven’t named him yet.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy.”

“He’s quiet. Is he sick?”

“He’s been crying a lot. He’s cold and probably hungry.” Michael pulled back the top of the sweatshirt to see. “He’s fine now. I have a daughter. She was a little tougher to handle when she was a baby.”

“Where is your daughter?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to find her.”

“She is lost?”

“Yes.”

“My. This is terrible news. Do you believe she can be found along this way?”

“I’m going to try.”

“Where is your wife?”

“I don’t know.”

Amun came over to the donkey where Michael was seated. “Was she killed up in the fields by the soldiers?”

Michael hesitated.
How long do I have to keep making things up? But I want to be safe and fit in right now.
“I’m not sure. I’ll try to get back home later to see if she is there. I wanted to make sure the boy was safe.”

“Well, you need to get warm and rest, get out of this misery.” Amun kept up the chatter. “I hope you don’t mind but it helps me on the long trips to speak what is in my heart out loud. Sometimes I allow my mind to wander. I even talk to myself. And that can be enjoyable.”

His laugh was comforting, much like an uncle at a big holiday party. It was better than listening to the brisk wind circulating its colder temperatures. “Michael,” he yelled.

Startled, Michael opened his eyes and realized he had slumped forward and dozed off for a few seconds. “What’s wrong?”

“You were falling asleep with your son. Be careful. You don’t want the boy to fall.”

“No, of course not.”

Amun regained his previous pace, head lowered at times to fend off the occasional spurts of sand gusting in his face, yet he still talked. He was obviously a skilled traveler. There wasn’t much to see in the darkness of the desert, except for a bush blowing in the wind.

Michael listened to tales of Amun’s travels to various cities. When he finished discussing the ports and big trades he made, Amun spoke eloquently about the cast of characters he’d met.

The one encounter that seemed to excite him the most was one in which he ran into a group of three men on camels and donkeys, possessing bags of riches such as gold, frankincense and myrrh. “Their camels were big, carrying many bags of gifts,” he said so clearly now that the wind was still. “I tried to persuade them to an exchange. But they weren’t interested. They were determined to find their friend’s house. They said they were looking for a big star over the house.”

“What were their names?”

“I don’t know. They left so quickly.”

“Maybe they were looking for a baby boy in a manger,” Michael said with excitement.

“I do not think so. They never mentioned a manger. Then they told me their gifts were not for sale, rather for the family they were visiting.”

“Oh.”

Michael thought to himself, puzzled, yet still curious.
No manger. No star above it.
“Did they tell you what town they were traveling to?”

“No. They said their trip was their own and no one needed to know about it. Even a King wouldn’t know.”

“How long ago did you see them?”

“Not many sunsets ago.”

I wonder if this is the path the holy family took to Egypt?
“Amun, how far away are we from Egypt?”

“A couple of sunsets. Is this where you are going?”

“Yes, I am going home.”

Amun gave a stoic look. “What about your wife?”

He dodged the question. “Amun, let me do that for a while. You sit and hold the baby.”

He stopped. “I thought you would never ask,” he said, handing him the string that pulled the camel and donkey along. He coddled the baby at first and opened the sweatshirt slightly to see the boy’s face. “Michael?”

“Is everything all right. How is the baby?”

Amun stared at Michael, not holding the baby to his chest.

“Watch it, Amun, make sure the boy is protected from the wind and sand.”

“If you say so.”

“He is a beautiful baby,” Michael said, gaining some momentum with his steps.

Amun didn’t answer.

“He might be the most important baby in the world.”

Amun still didn’t respond.

Michael didn’t expand any further that the boy could be the Christ child for fear it might scare off Amun and a chance to find a warm place to stay. Energized with purpose and now a direction, he welcomed the challenge of the gusting wind and pelting sand. It hit him hard with several bursts. When it died down, he heard Amun snoring.

“Amun,” Michael shouted. “The boy! He’s falling.”

He assured Michael he was safe. “He’s fine.”

“What do you want your boys to be when they grow up?” he asked Amun.

“I do not know. They are young.”

“I have a feeling this boy will become a carpenter.”

“If you say so. Are you a prophet?” Amun asked.

“I’m a writer.”

“You have a strange accent, one I have never heard before.”

“It’s how the people in my village speak. Have you ever taken your boys on a trip?”

“My boys will join me on my journeys someday. I will have someone to talk to, argue with, and discuss the world.” There were a few minutes of silence as both men absorbed their opinions. “I think the boys will be salesmen. Yes, just like their father.”

“Maybe someday the boy you’re holding will sell you a chair or a table.”

Amun changed the subject. “What is your wife like?”

“She had such beautiful eyes, a big heart. She strengthened me when I was weak, made me happy when I was sad, held me when I was cold, and hugged me when I felt alone.”

An eerie wave crested over Michael. He wasn’t sure who he was talking about. Was it Vicki? Leah? Susan? Maybe it was all three. Perhaps each of them reached his heart in some special, unique way. And it was fine to appreciate each of them.

“You talk as if she is no longer with you.”

“In a way, she is not.”

Amun shook his head, removing the cloth on the baby and taking a glance. “Did she die in the fields?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

“What is her name?”

Michael lowered his head, stalling for time to come up with something as he didn’t want to give out Vicki’s name. He was about to say something when he saw the first sign of the town silhouetted in the distance. “There, Amun. What town is it?”

“Yapu. It must be Yapu.”

“Will there be a place to sleep?”

“There is. Let’s hope there is a room.”

“Let me take the animals for the rest of the trip. Thank you. Now it is your turn to get some rest, my friend. You have been through a lot.”

Amun gave him the baby and took the string. He quickened the tempo, like it was urgent to get to the town as soon as possible. The pace irritated the camel, who sat down. “Get up!”

“Can I help?”

“No, Michael. He is a stubborn animal. Sometimes he is bothered when I go too quickly. Get up, you stupid animal.”

The camel turned its head, ignoring the plea. Amun laughed. “He never listens to me.”

“Hold on,” Michael said, getting off the donkey. “I can walk the rest of the way.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I will come back for the camel later.”

He tied the animal to a small tree. Then Michael walked beside him, enjoying another reprieve from the wind as he talked about his life on Long Island. He didn’t care whether Amun gave him weird looks. He just needed to unload some stress of the day and night. And his friend was a willing listener. They moved off the straight path and slanted to the left with their walk. “Why are we heading this way?”

“We need to head to the sea to get to Yapu. Keep the blankets on you. It will get colder.”

“What about the baby? Do you have another blanket?”

“Yes. Will it make you feel better?”

“Of course.”

Amun gave him a sorrowful look as he handed him a blanket.