The Watchers (21 page)
She felt, or thought she did, a faint glow in a fleeting instant. Jesus' satisfaction at seeing her here, obedient despite the cost.
Picturing this, Abby smiled peacefully for the first time in days.
“Miss Abby? You awake?”
The piercing voice belonged to the colonel, who had turned around in the Humvee's front seat to face her.
“I'm sorry, Miss Abby, I know you don't feel well, but I must inform you of pressing matters.”
Something in the soldier's tone jerked her back from her reverie and planted her, now wide awake, in the present. She nodded for him to proceed.
“You see, we haven't had any real trouble at a Christian gathering in a couple of months. In the past, these large services practically invited attacks by everybody from jihadist murder squads out of the north to garden-variety kidnappers and murderers working for all the folks who fear the influence of the body of Christ.”
“Amen, my brother,” interjected Sister Abedago, who sat listening intently.
“However,” Shawkey continued, “the Gathering where we're headed has already been threatened. Because this is a strongly female assembly, and mainly led by women, it has attracted unusual criticism from local Imams. And the army's been tracking a large gang of trained insurgents who've assembled just two miles from the site. I'm afraid that was even before the news of your coming broke in the media. Regardless, the Army of Nigeria is going to do its level best to protect you, Miss Abby. But you have to know that your being here turns this gathering into a world media event, and Nigeria hasn't had such a thing beforeâbroadcast live over every news network on the planet. You're making a lot of people nervous, from the prime minister on down to the lowest oil-stealing billionaire. What I'm saying is, you have a lot of enemies here today. You can thank God I'm not one of them.”
Just then the Humvee took a sudden turn, which nearly pitched the colonel out of his seat. He turned angrily to the driver and glowered, then reconsidered.
“Now, when we arrive,” he said after righting himself, “they're going to escort you straight to the front platform. For all intents and purposes, you'll be beyond my protection. But I'll be off to the side, and my men will be deployed all around the perimeter, talking to each other. And if something happens, anything alarming such as a loud noise from the crowd or a strange cry, you take off running to me as fast as you can. I know you're not in sprinting form, but I'll be on my way to you, so we'll meet in the middle. All right?”
Abby nodded, the tightness in her stomach betraying the sobering effect of his warning.
The colonel reached out and laid a thick hand on hers. “If the prayers of the saints hold sway, there'll be no need for this, my dear. But I'm a military man, and contingencies are my life. Your being led to me represents the most important mission I may ever undertake. I know you're braving death in coming here, and I want you to know that I and my men are freely doing the same today.”
She glanced at the battle-hardened men surrounding her, their fingers tight around their trigger guards. She could hardly believe how dramatically her assessment of them had changed since that first, terrifying meeting outside the plane.
“Thank you, Colonel,” she replied at last. “You have no idea how grateful I am for you and your men. Please find a way to tell them that before this is all over, would you, sir?”
He smiled and looked ahead. “Hopefully, you'll have occasion to do so yourself, miss. We're almost there. And may I say, from the looks of you, not a moment too soon.”
The first and most obvious sign of their having arrived at the site of the Seventh Annual Believers Gathering was not massive crowds, as Abby had expected, but the hovering of more television choppers.
With a sinking sensation she remembered that arriving at the service would also mean giving up the convoy and its dizzying escape speeds. She would now be captive bait for the unrelenting media machine that had somehow tracked her all the way across the Atlantic.
The second sign was something only Abby saw. Looking ahead, she leaned forward and gripped the seat in front of her. Her eyes grew wide.
“What is it?” asked Sister Abedago. “What do you see?”
At first, Abby's only response was to recoil back into the seat and clasp the sister's hand. Then her voice returned and she spoke in a breathy, high-pitched tone. “I see angels. At least, I think I do. They must be angels, although I've never seen them anywhere this large before. They couldn't be the other, for they're shining and white and beautiful.”
“How large are they?”
“They'reâit's hard to compare using human measurements. But they must be taller than a house. Oh, they're so huge! And powerful!”
Sister Abedago's eyes gleamed with delight. She leaned in to Abby, still holding her hand. “You asked me about the word
Iya Agba
,” she said emphatically. “Do you really not know what the word means?”
“No,” she confessed. “I have no clue.”
“Iya Agba is
you
, my dear. The word means a special gifting, endowed to certain women who can see into the spirit world. It is a name they take when the gift manifests itself.”
“No. The word can't be all about me. I came here looking for its meaning!”
“Oh, but there are others,” Sister Abedago assured her. “Many others. And dozens are here tonight. I will make sure you meet one of them.”
They stopped talking as Colonel Shawkey, pressing an earpiece for an incoming radio command, held up his finger for silence. After several seconds, he nodded and grumbled, “Yes, sir. We will hold the line.”
Looking up, the colonel tapped the earpiece again and addressed his charges in the backseat. “Things have grown quite serious,” he said. “Our intelligence confirms the approach of a large force from the north, definitely headed our way. They are Islamic extremists, very dangerous and armed to the teeth. It is too late to evacuate the worship grounds, so we will have to keep everyone contained here and defend the perimeters. None of them know what is happening, and we must keep it that way as long as we can. It is the best we can do.”
“I'd like to fight with you, sir,” Lloyd offered in a grim voice. “I'm exâNavy Seal, and I have several good weapons with me.”
The colonel gave him his second appraising glance of the day, seemingly in search of a second opinion. His eyes passed over Lloyd's broad shoulders, fit frame, and level gaze. “All right. But you obey my orders. No freelancing, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about me?” Abby complained to Lloyd. “Aren't you here to guard and protect me?”
“You're not going to be anywhere near that stage,” Lloyd snapped. “I'm going to have you sequestered in a secure location.”
“No, you're not. I didn't come here to cower in some lockup. I came here to meet these people.”
“Did you come here to get killed?”
“I came here ready to die.”
Lloyd rolled his eyes and laughed. “I'm sorry, Abby. I admit, I was testing you,” he said. “I'd lock you away if I could, but I know how much good that would do.”
“That's right. You just
try
to keep me from these people.” Abby turned to Shawkey. “By the way, where are all of the worshipers?” she asked.
“We're coming in from the ministers' entrance!” Shawkey called back with a smirk on his face, as Abby had nearly strained her neck trying to spot the assembly grounds. “If we entered on the main route, we'd never arrive!”
Thinking of six hundred thousand attendees and all the vehicles they must have taken along, Abby realized that the man had a point.
But what Abby did not anticipate was the wall of photographers awaiting them. The trucks roared into a circular driveway adjoining a large tin-roofed building, braked hard and skidded to a stop. Like an ambush of waiting commandoes, the paparazzi unleashed a blinding volley of flashbulbs at Abby's Humvee. Almost by reflex, she grasped her jacket over her face. Then, reminding herself that she was no criminal and had nothing to hide, she remembered to trust the colonel's men and turned to face the exit ahead.
Shawkey's soldiers had lined up before her door and shoved away a narrow yet secure corridor between the vehicle and the building's front door. The reporters' shouts ignited into a roar. The flashes of lights aimed at her were so overwhelming, they seemed intent on searing her retinas.
Abby kept her seat and did not blink. For she was not looking at them. Her eyes were closed as she desperately begged God for the strength to make a mad dash. A few seconds passed. Finally, concluding that she would have to launch into the run to find out if God had answered her prayer, she opened her eyes. There hovered Sister Abedago's face, soft and filled with concern.
“Are you ready?” she asked Abby. “I hooked this Mr. Lloyd to prevent him from leaving without you.”
Abby turned. The cameraman jumped out and instantly blended with the mob, just one more of the media horde. Lloyd sat perched half in and half out of the Hummer's seat, machine gun in hand, one eye on the surrounding chaos and another on Abby. He flashed her a smile and jerked his head to encourage her along.
“Let's go, shall we?” he said with forced good nature.
She leaned forward and felt the two friends' hands bear her up. Clumsily, they climbed out of the Humvee and started for the minis- ters' door. The clamor from the reporters tripled in volume. She heard callously shouted questions.
“Why are you here, Miss Sherman?”
“Do you believe in faith healing?”
“Why abandon your family now?”
“Are you in fact dying?”
Thankfully the two hands under her arms bore her down the gauntlet. From somewhere that felt far away, she heard Lloyd shout dire warnings to everyone near if she was hurt. She smiled, although it did seem like her protector had slipped into a surly mood of sorts. The bombardment of flashbulbs, shouts, and helicopter noise reached another crescendo, and for a second she felt more like a criminal than a free person on her way to a worship service.
Then, finally, she was through. A door opened and she entered a hushed, well-lit hallway, lined with wonderfully dressed Nigerians staring at her. Strangely they seemed to Abby as though they were spinning slightly. And then sliding sideways.
After a moment of shocked inertia, the observers converged on her and a dozen arms stopped her fall. In Abby's ears, the photographers' raucous shouts were now replaced with cries and shrieks of encouragement, along with rapid-fire bursts of prayer language from every side.
Luckily, Sister Abedago was beside her to restore order.
“You all stand back and just pray, you hear?” she shouted, more confident here than she had ever sounded in the Humvee. “We need a healing service for this young sister, and now! Is there a woman with the gift, an
Iya Agba
, anywhere on the platform? What about Sister Okoye? Is she here?”
Just hearing Sister Abedago speak those words shot a thrill of hope straight into Abby's veins. She felt herself recover and stood up at last.
“I . . .” she began haltingly, “I don't want to interrupt anything. I just want to speak with this Sister Okoye in private, and then perhaps watch some of the Gathering. That's all.”
“But this is a blessing to all of us,” cried a nearby woman, a young beauty with stunning ebony skin and a lilting, almost melodious voice. “Maybe you don't realize, but we've known of your arrival since five minutes after you landed. Ever since then, we have prayed for God not only to spare you and your group, but that He would lead you to us. You see, we had no idea where you'd be headed. And now to see you here! Will you not let this body of believers minister to you?”
The passion in the young woman's plea clearly melted Abby's resistance, for her eyes softened and she turned to the group with an amiably defeated look.
A cheer engulfed the hallway.
NEW YORK CITY, CENTRAL PARK
Only one participant in the tense conversation was even physically present. The Scythian Elder who inhabited the palatial Central Park penthouse now stood with his hands planted on his hips, facing a large plasma television in a vast room a real-estate prospectus had once christened
The Parlor
.
The other party to the exchange, glad that he was absent in the flesh, tried his best to diplomatically admonish his boss over a remote speaker.
“With all due respect, sir,” said the disembodied voice, “you're mistaken. Not only are we
not
losing control, but everything is actually in place and moving rapidly toward our complete victory. I assure you, Brother. The pieces are exactly where we want them.”
“Where is the girl?”
“She is inside for the moment, but she's about to be brought to the podium for some kind of healing nonsense. She won't live two minutes once she hits that stage. Our Islamic friends will strike the moment she walks out. And if they should happen to miss her, Dylan will finish the job. And then it will be a cakewalk. A massacre, to be candid.”
“I'm in the mood for a massacre, to be honest with you. This operation has sorely tried my nerves. It has required far too much scrambling and improvisation for my taste. Far too much of what the French would call
débrouillage
âthe art of untangling oneself from one's mistakes.”
“I understand. But given the fluidity and chaotic nature of this whole situation, couldn't we view that as a compliment to our man in the field, rather than a failure?”
“We'll see, Shadow Leader. The coming hour will determine the fate of many, many souls, will it not, my friend?”
LAGOS-BENINCITY HIGHWAY, NIGERIA