Sanctuary (29 page)

Ivanov gave Melissa a look that said,
Lucky for you
. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew another piece of paper. “Transfer the money to this account,” he ordered the officer. “Others will disburse it from there.”

The man in uniform glanced at Ivanov’s paper and nodded.

The room fell silent except for the click of computer keys as the numbers were entered. A second bank officer opened the door and walked in. Ivanov whirled in his chair, a puzzled look on his face. “Gerald, I’m sorry to interrupt,” said the second employee. “Can you take a moment to sign something for me?”

The officer making the transfer for Ivanov kept his focus on the screen. “Later. I’m busy at the moment.”

Suddenly, six other men barged into the room, guns drawn. “FBI! Freeze, Ivanov! Don’t move!”

In the midst of the melee, Melissa dove off her chair just as someone wrestled Ivanov to the ground. Three men restrained him, removing his gun and cuffing his wrists.

Stunned, she saw that Ryan was also being seized by two men who pinned his arms, shoving one high behind his back. She turned away, unable to watch.

“Are you okay?” a woman agent asked. “Let’s get you out of here.” She pulled Melissa quickly to her feet, taking her arm and guiding her toward the door.

Once safely in the hallway, she looked over her shoulder. Ivanov, his eyes flaring with fury, was being led away toward the elevators by half a dozen FBI agents.

“Come with me,” the woman agent said, but Melissa resisted momentarily, watching as Ryan was also ushered away. For an excruciating moment, his eyes found hers, and a curious look of relief veiled his countenance. Then he was escorted down the hallway—the same direction that Ivanov had been taken.

“Are you ready?” the agent asked.

Tearfully, Melissa nodded, unable to speak. She submitted, turning her back on the sad scene.

The two agents flanking Ryan led him to a waiting vehicle. Ivanov, too, was being taken to a car, although a different one, parked directly in front of them.

At one point, Ivanov turned and glowered at his captors. “I’ll be out on the street by tonight. You have
nothing
.” But the agent shoved Ivanov into the backseat, cutting short his diatribe.

“Watch your head,” one of the agents told Ryan as he ducked and lowered himself into the car. The door closed firmly behind him, and two well-dressed men slid into the front seat.

They pulled out of the bank parking lot onto the main street, which by now was filled with hundreds of spectators observing the commotion. Ryan lowered his head as the car maneuvered through the narrow streets.

Choosing to shut out the thrill-seeking crowds, Ryan’s thoughts were of Melissa—and her alone. He recalled the pain in her eyes as she had been confronted with his betrayal. As long as he lived, he would never forget the look of disbelief on her face.

The car was void of all conversation as they drove past City Hall to Market Street, heading toward I-95. Several miles outside of Trenton, New Jersey, the driver pulled onto a side road and followed it for several miles to a deserted park. Veering right, they drove several more yards, stopping beside another dark sedan.

The driver turned and smiled at Ryan. “Tired of the cuffs?” The agent got out of the car and opened Ryan’s door. He fumbled with the key to the handcuffs and unlocked them. “Better?”

“Much.” Ryan got out of the car, rubbing his sore wrists.

The back door of the sedan opened. A man in a dark suit got out, adjusting his tie. Then the front passenger door opened, and another man stepped out into the sunshine.

It was McGuire.
FBI Special Agent in Charge
McGuire.

He walked over, extending his hand to Ryan. “I followed the whole thing on the radio. Excellent work.”

Ryan shook hands, but he didn’t share McGuire’s obvious triumph. McGuire introduced his passenger as Agent Walsh with Organized Crime. Walsh and Ryan exchanged nods.

“How’re you feeling? A little shaken up?” McGuire asked.

“How’s Melissa?” Ryan asked.

“She’s headed back to the Denlinger home. Want me to get her on the phone?”

Ryan considered this but did not relish the entire FBI force listening in. “I’ll talk to her later.”

McGuire shrugged. “She’ll be told everything—that you had no choice in being a part of the sting.”

“I betrayed my wife,” Ryan replied. “We never gave
her
a choice. She was terrified.”

Walsh spoke for the first time. “We needed her participation. You know yourself she wouldn’t have played the game willingly.”

“It was a judgment call for the good of the country
and
for her own personal safety,” McGuire chimed in. “Ivanov will never bother her again. Not only that, but because of you and Melissa, we caught the men on the other end of the wire transfer. The entire network is sunk. We recovered nearly half a billion dollars. Once we threaten Ivanov with extradition, he’ll turn on his Russian buddies in a heartbeat.”

“Just like that?” Ryan struggled to comprehend.

McGuire smiled wryly. “These boys aren’t the Italian Mafia—brotherhood, honor, loyalty, all that good stuff. Believe me, at this point, Ivanov will say or do anything to avoid going back to Russia. Even betraying his friends and family.”

“Any evidence of … compromised agents?” Ryan asked.

McGuire laughed. “Like I said before, Ivanov was bluffing. Sure, we’re investigating, but keep in mind, it’s almost impossible to bribe an FBI agent.”

“And my parents—?”

“Safe and sound. Another one of Ivanov’s bluffs.”

“What about Bernie?”

McGuire’s expression changed. “We picked him up this afternoon. No resistance. He was resigned to his fate. If he sings a pretty tune, I’ll recommend leniency.”

“Just take me home,” Ryan said.

“Whatever you say, partner.” McGuire patted him on the shoulder as the three of them headed back to their cars.

Ryan’s assigned driver, Special Agent Carlson, turned off the main highway, heading into Lord’s Point. The car slowed as the road curved around toward the shoreline, then pulled into the driveway of the waterfront property. He gazed at the beautiful house and surrounding acreage. No longer did any of it belong to him.

In exchange for agreeing to testify in court, the government promised not to prosecute him for his complicity in money laundering and insider-trading crimes. Part of the deal included the forfeiture of his house and bank accounts—everything except for a few personal belongings.

All in exchange for his freedom. But freedom in itself held little appeal. Money and the possessions it afforded had long since ceased to interest him. Life without Melissa was hardly worth living.

By now she would know the truth about him, that he’d turned a blind eye to the shady dealings of his company. That he had
not
been an informant for years, as he’d told her on the phone. He’d merely made a quick deal to save his own skin. On top of everything, he had tricked her into participating in a dangerous sting.

“No matter what happens, it’s over between us.”
Her words echoed in his mind, spoken in the motel parking lot in Lancaster County in the midst of his “betrayal.”

Agent Carlson parked the car, and Ryan led the way into the house. Tonight he was scheduled to sleep at a city hotel, where the FBI could keep an eye on him. Tomorrow a moving van would haul away the remainder of his personal effects. Presumably, Melissa would have the same opportunity to sort out her belongings.

Where he would ultimately reside, he had no clue. The FBI was calling the shots now. They would select his next home and his new identity, until he was to be called to trial. While most informants were held in jail awaiting trial, Ryan was an exception. As the government’s star witness, he was to be held under house guard. Once the trial was over, he would be given the freedom to resume a normal life again.

As usual, Daisy was waiting just inside the front door. Carlson bent down to pet the golden retriever. “Good-looking dog.”

Ryan said nothing, relieved that Daisy would be shipped out to his parents.

“How long will you be?” Carlson asked.

“A few minutes.” He looked around the room, seeing only distant memories. How quickly things had changed in the space of a week. He regarded the wilting lavender roses he’d purchased for his wife and considered throwing them away. Dismissing the thought, he left them on the counter.

Hurrying upstairs, he packed a large suitcase full of clothes and a smaller one for toiletry items. When he was finished, he wandered down the hall to the guest room, noting the empty space on the wall where Mellie’s painting for Denny had hung.
The Cross painting
, as Denny had so aptly termed it. The vacant wall space seemed forsaken.

He glanced at the bedside table, noticing the book
Mere
Christianity
. Denny’s doing. He reached for the book, deciding to pack it, as well.
I’m going to have plenty of time on my hands
, he thought, returning to the bedroom. Picking up his suitcases, he lugged them downstairs, where Agent Carlson stood as if guarding the front door.

  
Chapter Thirty-Four
  

CLIMBING THE STAIRS at Lela’s for one last time, Melissa felt both emancipated and miserable all wrapped up in one confusing emotion. Her FBI escort, now waiting on the front porch, had assured her that Ivanov was behind bars. She was safe at last. At some point she would be free to live her own life. After the trial—whenever that might be.

She looked forward, with all eagerness, to flying to Colorado, where she hoped to renew her bonds with dear Mrs. Browning. Yet feelings of depression swept over her each time she thought of Ryan. Or recalled how he’d tricked her.
Betrayed
her.

“I hope I can keep in touch with you,” she told Lela, paying up on the rent she owed, grateful once again for the comfort and serenity of the Mennonite cottage. Melissa knew now that the Lord had guided her steps, bringing her to the godly woman’s home. “And thank you, Lela, for the Bible. I will treasure it, truly.”

Lela nodded, touching her arm. “Rest assured, you’re in God’s safekeeping, Mellie. Remember that always.”

She clasped the woman’s hand. “Thank you for leading me to your God.”

Lela’s eyes were bright with tears. “He’s
yours
, too. You are a child of the Father, to be sure.”

She embraced the Plain woman quickly, then—“If for any reason you don’t hear from me for a while, don’t worry, all right?”

“You’re in good hands. I know that.”

With that, they said fond farewells, and Melissa joined the agent waiting patiently outside.

They stood gawking at the old shed in the dim light of early evening, wondering what on earth they’d do with an abandoned automobile. Beyond, in the two-story bank barn, one of the cows let out a low moan, weary of the day. Crickets burst forth with their timpani at dusk, mingling their sounds with the hum of katydids and other summer insects vying for solo time.

“I daresay we’re stuck with four wheels and nary a key to start it up,” Thaddeus said, taking his straw hat off and scratching the back of his head.

Elizabeth clucked a little. “Now why wouldja be thinkin’ thataway?” she asked. “You aren’t planning to take a little drive around the farm, now, are you?”

“Well, now, I think you oughta know your husband better’n that.” He pulled her close, planting a kiss on her lips.

Both laughing now, Elizabeth asked, “Why do you think Lela’s guest had to up and leave so awful fast, for goodness’ sake?”

“Says Lela, she had important business to be tendin’ to.”

“Must be mighty important.” She couldn’t imagine leaving behind something that must’ve cost a pretty penny. Not at all. “Maybe Paul Martin can teach Lela to drive it … someday,” she added.

“Could be that he will.” Thaddeus had a right nice smile on his face. “Might be just the thing to get ‘em close, you know. Teachin’ a lady to drive, well now, that just might be the best idea we’ve had in a gut long time.”

“I doubt Paul needs an excuse to get close to my sister,” Elizabeth replied. “He seems ready to pick up the pieces, right where he left them so long ago.”

Hurrying back to the house, she checked on her cabbage chowder.
Thank you, Lord, for this beautiful day, and for the folk who cross our paths
, she prayed silently as she and Mary Jane set the table.

Ryan tossed his bags onto the queen-sized bed of the motel room. Agent Carlson looked in momentarily through the open door. “If you need anything, I’m in the next room.”

Ryan nodded, then scanned the sparsely furnished room. There was a TV in the far corner, a small table and two chairs near the window, a large dresser opposite the bed. His home for the night, perhaps longer. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his weary eyes.

The phone rang and he reached for it cautiously. “Hello?”

It was McGuire calling to outline tomorrow’s schedule. “You have a decision to make,” he said. “You and the missus—are you going together or parting ways?”

Ryan didn’t know the answer to that.

“She’s not at the Denlinger home anymore,” McGuire replied. “I’ll have her call you. Let me know tomorrow what you two decide.”

Ryan hung up, closed his eyes tightly, and tried to calm his still-taut nerves. Disjointed images of the day played through his mind. Ivanov’s predatory eyes seemed to follow him everywhere—those little oval slits of evil, frenzied and desperate with the prospect of recovering “his” money.

Since the moment he’d seen Melissa again, Ryan had been deathly afraid that Ivanov would discover his duplicity and execute vengeance on both of them long before they reached the bank. The tension from that anxiety continued to reverberate. But most persistent was Melissa’s tortured expression of disbelief. From a legal standpoint, Ryan had finally done the right thing by turning informant. The network had been crushed in one fell swoop, the money confiscated. The sting would go down as one of the biggest busts in organized crime. Yet the knowledge of it offered him scant comfort. After three years of harboring a deep dark secret, Melissa had finally trusted him implicitly. And how had he rewarded her?

With deception and betrayal.

Feelings of despondency overtook him as he grabbed his luggage, unzipping the side pocket where he’d placed the book from Denny. Intending to simply pass a few hours, he paged to the first chapter:
The Law of Human Nature
—the theme of his last religious discussion with Denny.

It was after eleven o’clock when Ryan closed the book and dropped it on the mattress next to him. The room was poorly illuminated by a single lamp on the nightstand beside the too-silent phone.

He got up and stretched his legs, walking over to the window. The beige curtains were tainted by the faint smell of cigarette smoke. Outside, the motel parking lot was half filled with cars and trucks, families on vacation, businessmen eager to get home. A small breeze through the screened window fluttered the curtains, bringing in the scent of impending autumn.

In only a few hours he had managed to read more than half of
Mere Christianity
—enough to know he was on the brink of something new. He’d expected Lewis’s arguments on the subject to border on the ridiculous. Instead, the author presented flawless evidence for the truth of Christianity. The premise not only made sense but was intellectually compelling. But Ryan questioned his own judgement. After today’s emotional events he was obviously vulnerable.

Ryan turned from the window, leaning against the sill. He stared at the phone before picking it up and dialing the number he knew by memory. It was just after nine o’clock in Denver, Colorado.

Two rings, then: “Hello?”

“Hey, preacher man.”

Denny chuckled. “Well, howdy stranger. You finally called back.”

“Sorry, Den.”

“You okay, man?”

Ryan leaned back on the pillow and began to tell Denny all that had recently transpired. Denny listened, interrupting only to ask for clarification. When Ryan finished, Denny was initially silent, as if formulating his response.

“Melissa called me,” Denny finally said, his tone serious. “Couple days ago. She needed … some advice.”

Ryan considered Denny’s revelation, wishing Melissa might have called
him
. “I guess I really blew it with her.” Then changing the subject, he said, “I just read the book you left, most of it anyway.”

“Yeah, what’d you think?”

“It’s … actually convincing. But … considering everything, I’m obviously not thinking straight tonight. I need time to think things through.”

“Maybe you’re thinking clearly for the first time in your life.”

“C’mon, Denny, it’s a cliche:
Local man loses home, money, and wife. Gets religion.
Sound suspect?”

“Maybe. But then again, that could be a good place to start. Not to sound glib, but sometimes the bad things in our lives serve as catalysts to wake us up. After all, the atheist in the foxhole turns to God because his life has suddenly been reduced to the bare essentials.”

Ryan chuckled to himself. Same old Denny—
Preacher Man.
“Well, I wanted you to know you won’t be hearing from me for a while. Not until the trial’s over.”

“Bummer. So who’s gonna be the best man in my wedding?”

“You’re getting married?”

“You don’t have to act so surprised—”

“I didn’t say anything,” Ryan protested.

“I heard it in your
tone
.”

“You know … if you need someone to stand up with you, Daisy’s always available. You two got along pretty well. In fact, you both shared something very deep and meaningful.”

“Okay, this better be good. What deep and meaningful experience did I share with your dog?”

“Sausage and bacon, of course. Not to mention fried eggs.”

Denny chuckled. “You’re absolutely right. Greasy food
is
a deep and meaningful experience. Guaranteed to create bonds of friendship that last a lifetime. But I gotta tell you, Ryan, you don’t sound like an atheist in a foxhole, anymore. You sound kinda chipper, in fact.”

“Just needed a buddy-fix.”

They bantered another few minutes before Ryan said good-bye, promising to visit the newlyweds when he had a chance. But his buoyed spirits sank the moment he hung up and looked about the cramped and stale-smelling motel room. Sighing, he looked back at the phone. The message light was as dim as the room. Melissa still hadn’t called.

As the reality of the past few days set in again, a rush of silence seemed to inhabit the darkness of the room like a wind filling a vacuum. Accompanying the feeling of emptiness and isolation was the renewed sense of
struggle
. As if a war were being played out in his mind, tugging at the opposing sides of his reason, battling for control. Despite his apprehension concerning Melissa, he realized he had a decision to make.

“Maybe you’re thinking clearly for the first time …”
Denny had said.

Raking his hand through his hair, he recalled C. S. Lewis’s succinct explanation of the human condition. Earlier he and Denny had discussed the nature of evil as a mere philosophical theory. But coming face to face with evil incarnate—in the form of an evil man—was a whole new ball game.

If complete and utter evil could exist in the form of a human being like Ivanov, surely goodness, on a far greater level, could also exist—in the form of God. In light of Ryan’s recent experience, “depravity of man” was the only logical explanation for mankind’s suffering and misfortune, a bad-to-the-bone wickedness that is beyond the reach of sheer education or human enlightenment.