The Election (30 page)

Ron looked in the opposite direction.

“I've got them!” Jerry pointed at the exit leading to the rental-car lot.

“I see them too,” Ron responded, looking where Jerry indicated. “I'll follow them through the door. You see if you can get around in front of them.”

Ron took off, running through the crowded lobby in pursuit of Phelps and Claudia, knocking several passengers to the floor in the process. As he reached the sliding door leading to the rental-car lot, Ron reached beneath his suit coat and drew his 9mm pistol from the holster he wore under his left arm. The doors opened automatically, and he burst into the late October sunlight. He saw Phelps and Claudia thirty feet in front of him, walking across the asphalt-covered aisle between two rows of cars.

“Let her go!” Ron screamed, raising his pistol and aiming it at their backs.

Phelps turned toward the sound of Ron's voice and spun Claudia around in front of him. Moving his left hand from her shoulder, he slid it under her chin, clasping her throat in the bend of his elbow. It was a maneuver on which all agents were trained—to use someone's body to create a human shield.

When Phelps pointed his own gun at Ron, Claudia yanked at her assailant's arm with both hands in a vain attempt to free herself.

“Let her go, Phelps, and nobody gets hurt!” Ron screamed again, his voice even louder than before.

And then he heard Claudia plead with her captor, “Please let me go. Please let me go.” The words began to spill from her mouth as she implored Phelps for her freedom.

But the agent didn't respond. He continued to drag Claudia backward through the parking lot. Ron could see the fear in Claudia's eyes. He had seen it before. It was the fear of death.

“I said let her go!” he ordered Phelps.

“Go away, Boyd,” Phelps finally replied. “This doesn't concern you.”

Phelps fired a warning shot that ricocheted off the asphalt near Ron's feet. Ron lunged between two parked cars and peered over the hood of a blue Ford Taurus as Phelps continued dragging Claudia through the parking lot.

Claudia began to scream hysterically. A high-pitched scream. She thrashed her body uncontrollably, trying to free herself from her bondage. Her pleas for freedom grew louder and louder.

“Shut up and be still!” Phelps shouted at Claudia.

But Ron could tell from Claudia's movements that she wasn't going to comply. She was hysterical. Her thrashing and screaming intensified.

“I said, shut up!” Phelps yelled and raised his gun to Claudia's right temple.

“No!” shouted Ron from behind the blue Ford Taurus. He left the safety of his metal bunker and began to run toward Phelps and Claudia, with gun drawn. “No!” he shouted again.

Phelps lowered his gun from Claudia's head and pointed it at Ron. Ron knew he couldn't fire at Phelps for fear of striking Claudia. But he had to stop Phelps from harming his prisoner.

 

A gunshot sounded above Claudia's unrelenting screams.

Certain that her death was near, she began to scream more frantically.

Another gunshot came from a different direction.

Almost instantaneously Phelps's grip around her neck loosened. With her arms and hands covering her head, she crumbled to the asphalt.

Jackson-Madison County General Hospital, Jackson, Tennessee

“How do you feel?” Rachel asked Courtney.

Courtney's eyes were barely visible through the slits between her lashes. She forced her lids to open further until her precious blue eyes were fully visible. Jake knew that the sleep—even if drug induced—had been good and needed. She rolled from her side onto her back, and rubbed her eyes with two small fists.

“I feel OK,” came the delayed, groggy response. Courtney tugged at the corners of her lips and made a barely audible
smack
as she tried to lubricate the inside of her mouth. “I'm thirsty, Daddy.”

Jake poured water from a Styrofoam pitcher into a plastic cup and handed it to Courtney. “Here you go, honey.” Gently he brushed wisps of hair away from her forehead.

He was so thankful that Courtney hadn't been hurt any worse than she was. But thankful to whom? To God?
Did God take care of Courtney last night and protect her from greater harm? Does God really concern himself with every detail of every life of every person on earth?
Jake wondered.

All he knew for certain was that his little girl, although bruised and battered, was going to be OK. And for that he was thankful.

There was a light knock at the door.

“Come in,” Rachel invited.

The door opened slowly, and a well-dressed man entered the room. He was handsome. Midthirties. Dressed like a lawyer. But Jake knew all the lawyers in town and didn't recognize this man.
How did he get by the sheriff's deputy?

“Mr. Reed,” the man began, extending his hand toward Jake in greeting, “my name is Michael Hall. I'm a pastor here in Jackson. I hope I haven't come at a bad time.”

Jake shook the pastor's hand. “Not at all, Reverend. This is my wife, Rachel, and this is Courtney.” He motioned in Courtney's direction.

Reverend Hall walked to the side of Courtney's hospital bed and took her hand in his. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Courtney,” he said, directing his full attention to her. “Your schoolteacher goes to my church, and she asked me to visit you. How are you doing?”

“I'm doing fine,” Courtney replied bashfully.

“That's good. We've been praying for you, and I hope you get better.” Reverend Hall looked at Jake and Rachel. “Is there anything we can do for you or your family?”

“That's very kind of you,” Rachel responded. “But I think we're going to be OK.”

“Good,” Reverend Hall replied. “If you think of anything, let me know. We want to help in any way we can.”

“Thank you,” Jake replied politely. He knew Reverend Hall's offer was sincere, but what could the reverend and his church really do for Jake and his family? “We'll remember that.”

“I don't want to take up any more of your time. I know that Courtney needs her rest. But before I go, would you mind if I had a word of prayer with you?”

“Sure,” Rachel said before Jake had an opportunity to speak. She lowered her head and closed her eyes before Reverend Hall began his prayer. Courtney closed her eyes too.

Jake lowered his head as Reverend Hall began speaking, but he didn't close his eyes. He stared at the white, sterile floor under Courtney's bed. It had been quite some time since Jake had heard a prayer, much less said one himself. He was afraid to close his eyes. Afraid of what he might see as he looked inward.

“Dear Lord,” Reverend Hall prayed, “we thank you for this child and for her life. I pray that you will give the doctors and nurses the wisdom to treat her injuries. And Lord, we may not always understand why things happen in our lives, but we know one thing with certainty. We know that you are in control of every situation…”

There it is again!
The realization smacked Jake right between the eyes. Reverend Hall said the same thing as Naomi McClellan! “God is in control.” Hearing Reverend Hall's words stirred an emotion in Jake that he had never felt before. He couldn't explain it. He felt an urging to do something, but what?

He glanced at Reverend Hall, Rachel, and Courtney. They all looked peaceful with their eyes closed, praying. The feeling Jake had inside was anything but peaceful.

What is going on?
he asked himself.

“…and most of all we thank you for your Son, Jesus Christ, who died on the cross for our sins. In his name we pray, amen.”

Jake raised his head after Reverend Hall finished his prayer.

“Thank you for letting me visit with you and your daughter,” Reverend Hall said again as he shook hands with Jake. “And Courtney, you get well so you can return to school. I know your classmates and teacher miss you.”

Courtney smiled brightly at the attention.

“Thank you for coming by,” Rachel said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Jake mustered. He was still struggling with an understanding of Reverend Hall's prayer and the emotions the words had elicited inside him.

“Are you OK?” Rachel asked him after Reverend Hall left.

“I think so,” Jake replied. “It's just that Reverend Hall said the same thing that Ms. McClellan has been telling me. ‘God is in control.'” He hesitated as the words evaporated. “I still can't comprehend it.”

“That's easy, Daddy,” Courtney explained. “God knows everything. My schoolteacher told us one day that God even knows how many hairs we have on our head. If he knows that, then he has got to know everything else.”

“I guess so,” Jake said.

Maybe Courtney's psychological wounds will heal after all,
he thought with a flood of relief.

“Why don't you try to get some more rest?” He turned to Rachel. “I'm going to check on Jed.”

Jake exited Courtney's room and informed the sheriff's-deputy sentinel that he was going to the seventh floor to visit Jed.

“Just don't leave the hospital without telling me, Mr. Reed,” the deputy commanded.

“I won't,” Jake assured him as he headed toward the elevator. He had to find Naomi.

 

Memphis International Airport

Claudia continued to scream hysterically as the lifeless body of her assailant slumped to the asphalt behind her. The man who had been in pursuit was also down, but alive, lying in front of her. From the side, a third man ran toward the wounded man, his recently fired pistol still in his hand.

“Stay here!” he shouted as he passed Claudia. “I'm with the FBI!”

FBI?
she thought wildly.
That's what the men at the other airport said they were.

Who could she trust?

If he was FBI, was the wounded man lying on the asphalt thirty feet in front of her also FBI? His body writhed in pain as he clutched his bleeding left shoulder and the FBI agent attempted to stop the bleeding. Hearing him say “FBI” had terrified Claudia even more, if that were possible. With survival her only thought, she gathered her bag and rental-car keys and fled from the sickening scene of death and injury. Through her blurred vision she frantically tried to identify her assigned rental car—what she perceived as her only chance of escape.

“Stop! I said stop!” the uninjured man yelled at her. She fumbled with the keys but finally started the ignition of her rented Infiniti Q45. As she sped out of the parking lot, she could see the FBI agent in her rearview mirror, helplessly giving chase on foot.

Claudia sobbed and swiped tears from her eyes as she tried to clear her vision enough so she could see the road. It wasn't long before she merged onto the I-240 loop around Memphis and then onto I-40 east toward Jackson.

The events of the last few days seemed almost unreal. They were so confusing. And worse, the closer she got to the truth, the more dangerous everything became. At least two people were now dead, and she'd almost been the third. Someone didn't want her to make it to Jackson, Tennessee. But who? And why?

Claudia wanted to turn the car around and drive as fast as she could in the opposite direction. That was the safer course.

Take the easy way out,
she told herself.
Give up before you end up like Hudson.

But something inside her wouldn't let her quit. She could feel it. It was larger than her fear and larger than whatever evil force was trying to prevent her from discovering the truth. As she drove, she repeatedly glanced in her mirror to see if anyone was following her. Satisfied with her escape, she noticed the green sign on the side of the interstate indicating that Jackson was sixty miles away. She would be there within the hour.

 

Jackson-Madison County General Hospital, Jackson, Tennessee

Jake knocked softly on the outside of the door leading to Jed's hospital room and waited for an invitation from Naomi or Ruth before entering. He found each woman in her customary position on opposite sides of Jed's bed. Jake knew that neither woman had slept much in the last several days. Their faces were lined with exhaustion but also with determination.

“How's he doing?” he asked in a low tone, as if the sound of his voice might awaken Jed. He shook his head inwardly at the irony. That would be the one thing for which everyone had been praying—for Jed to awaken.

“No change,” Ruth said. “But we ain't givin' up. How's your daughter?”

“She's going to be fine. Thanks for asking. We'll probably go home tomorrow.”

“That's good to hear,” Naomi stated. “I wish we could say the same thing. But it'll happen one day soon.”

Jake hated to pull Naomi from Jed's bedside, but the emotions he felt during Reverend Hall's prayer wouldn't go away. The only person he knew he could discuss it with was Naomi.

“Ms. McClellan, may I talk with you for a few minutes?” Jake inquired.

“Sure,” she replied. “You want to talk in here?”

“Perhaps we can go for a walk. It won't take long.”

Naomi didn't hesitate. “All right, Jake. I'll be back in a few minutes,” she told Ruth as they left Jed's room.

“What is it, Jake?” Naomi asked as they passed the nurses' station and headed toward the elevator.

“I've been thinking about something I've heard you say, and I want to ask you about it.” The doors to the elevator opened, and Naomi and Jake boarded.

“Is it what I told you about Jesse Thompson in your office that day?”

“It has something to do with that, but not exactly. You told me that God was in control of every situation.”

“That's right. He is.”

The doors to the elevator opened at the first-floor lobby area, and Naomi and Jake exited into a group of people waiting on the next available car. They began walking down a long, sterile corridor in the direction of the hospital cafeteria.

“Ms. McClellan, I understand what you're saying, but it doesn't make sense to me. A pastor came to visit my daughter today. A nice gentleman. Apparently Courtney's schoolteacher goes to his church, and she asked him to visit. He prayed for Courtney, and in his prayer he said the same thing I've heard you say: ‘God is in control.'”

“Jake, you've gotta stop thinkin' like a lawyer. It's faith, Jake. Faith.”

He still didn't get it. What was he missing?

“Let's step in here,” Naomi suggested.

Jake noticed that they were standing in front of the small hospital chapel. He entered the room at Naomi's suggestion. The chapel was void of other occupants. Jake saw that a stained-glass window covered much of the rear wall and depicted Jesus Christ on the cross. Two abbreviated church pews provided sitting space, and Naomi motioned for Jake to sit down.

“Let me ask you somethin', Jake. Are you a Christian?” Her brown eyes focused intently on him.

Jake stiffened. “That's a strange question. Of course I'm a Christian,” he said, slightly defensive.

“How do you know?”

“I just do. I'm a good person. A good father and husband.”

“When did you become a Christian?”

“I've been one all my life,” he retorted. “Why are you asking me these questions? All I wanted to know was what you meant when you said God is in control. That's all.”

“And I'm tryin' to tell you. It's the faith that comes with bein' a Christian. Do you see that image?” she said, pointing at the stained glass. “Bein' a Christian means you believe that Jesus Christ died to save you from your sins and that you have given your heart and soul to him. Until you do that, you'll never understand what I'm talkin' about. Without him you'll die and go to hell.”

Jake looked at Naomi, and their eyes met. Was she right? Turmoil raged in Jake's soul.

“If you died right now, Jake, do you know for certain that you'd go to heaven?”