FORTY-SEVEN

Deputy Corby Colwin, Frank Treumeth, and John Gallagher stood in front of the security gate a quarter of a mile down the gravel road from the sign that read “Mountain Pass Machine Parts Co.” The electronic gate was locked.

Deputy Colwin scrunched up his face, as if he was about to be slapped. “Okay … this is a problem.”

Gallagher said, “We can’t afford to announce ourselves. I say we take a trek through the woods.”

Frank said, “Okay, but if those people really are in there, won’t they have sensors out in the woods too?”

“Yeah, but they might just attribute that to a false signal, some animal or something. Our options are limited here.”

“Okay, hear me out,” the deputy said. “I know you say this could be serious — ”

“Right,” Gallagher snapped. “Nuclear weapons … mass destruction … somewhat serious, I’d say, yeah …”

The deputy said, “And I don’t have a warrant.”

“You’ve got exigent circumstances.”

“Sorry, Mr. Gallagher. I’ve only got your word on this nuclear business.”

Frank said, “Corby, how about zoning? The sign said this is a light industrial shop here. But isn’t this all zoned A-1 agricultural?”

“I suppose you’re right. But only technically.”

“Great. Then you’ve got probable cause to enter their property. You’ve got Gallagher’s report and a possible violation of zoning restrictions. That’ll do, won’t it?”

Deputy Colwin was squinting and fidgeting.

“All we’re asking,” Frank said, almost pleading, “is that you take a walk with us onto their property and take a look-see. No big deal, right? I mean really, Corby, you’ve gone onto property to catch wildlife poachers for crying out loud. You think we just might have something here more serious than illegal shooting of coyotes?”

Five minutes later the three of them were stomping through the thick woodland brush outside the perimeter of the barn. They came to the edge of a clearing. It was a large metal barn with a few cars and a truck in front. But no signs of life. Colwin took out a pair of binoculars. They got down to kneeling positions as Colwin studied the scene.

“Nothing happening that I can see.”

Then a swarthy-skinned man exited the building and walked to the truck. He entered the cab, fished out some papers, and went back inside the barn.

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” Deputy Colwin said.

A few minutes later, two other men walked out of the barn, carrying automatic weapons.

“Okay,” the deputy said, “now that does tell me something …”

The three of them crawled backward until they could safely stand up without being seen. They made their way through the underbrush back to their cars.

Deputy Colwin said, “I’m willing to bet what we’re actually dealing with here is some heavy-duty drug trafficking.”

“Or a bomb,” Gallagher said stiffly, “something right out of your worst nightmares.”

Frank Treumeth was beginning to think that Gallagher might be on to something.

Just then, they heard a quick electronic screech. Gallagher pulled out his Allfone. It was dead. He pulled out the battery, booted it back up. Nothing. It was still dead. Frank and Deputy Colwin did the same, and their Allfones were also dead.

Colwin swiped his face with his hand. “I gotta get to the squad car, call for major backup. I need more deputies, state police, anything.” He sprinted to his cruiser and jumped in. He grabbed his police radio and tried to call dispatch. But it was dead too. “What’s going on here?”

“EMP?” Frank looked over at Gallagher.

Colwin opened his eyes wide. “What?”

Gallagher explained, “Electromagnetic pulse. Knocks out all electronics within a certain radius. The new generation EMPs can zero in on communications transmissions.”

“That kind of equipment,” Frank added, “is exactly what I’d expect from the kind of folks you’ve described, John. High-tech terrorists. Whoever’s planning this doesn’t hang out in caves. This is major technological apparatus.”

Gallagher bent down and looked into the squad car, right into Colwin’s eyes. “These guys look like they’re ready to take a ride. We’ve got to stop them. You know any deputies who live within a mile or two, anyone we can round up in a hurry?”

Colwin shook his head and thought hard. Then he looked up. His eyes lit up. “No deputies. But I’ve got another idea. Almost as good. Follow me.”

Joshua was bracing himself for the next wave of torture. “Any idea when they’re coming back?” he asked the prisoner in the next cell.

“No,” Dr. Abdu replied. “Haven’t heard anything. They usually beat me on alternate days … today is my day off.”

Joshua hadn’t seen Dr. Abdu yet; he only knew him by his voice, but there was a kind of lightness to the tone in Dr. Abdu’s conversation that Joshua found remarkable, a calmness when he spoke of his beatings. Of course, Joshua still wondered whether his prison mate was telling him the truth. Joshua knew there were other prisoners too. He could hear them speaking in Farsi on his floor, though he couldn’t remember enough of the language to figure out what they were saying. Just a few words and phrases, mostly complaints about the food and thoughts about the safety of their friends and family.

“Pssst,” Abdu whispered. “Colonel Jordan. Can you stand up?”

Joshua moved his arms a little. No, his shoulders were not dislocated, though still incredibly painful. Maybe the rotator cuffs were torn though. He sat up. His legs felt wobbly, and the bottoms of his feet were beaten black and blue, but he figured he could stand for a few seconds.

Dr. Abdu said, “Poke your head out the food window.”

Joshua looked up at the square window in the solid metal door to his cell. A little wooden door on hinges swung open from the outside, just large enough to pass one’s head through.

Joshua struggled to his feet. His knees buckled because of the pain in his feet, but he clamped his jaw down tight in a wild grimace and took two excruciating steps to the door. He hung on to the doorframe.

He pushed his head through the opening. Looking to the left, he saw the head of Dr. Hermoz Abdu hanging out of the opening in his cell door. Abdu was wearing a kind of bandit’s bandana, which hid his face between his eyes and chin. His right ear had been cut off.

“Oh, yes, I forget,” Abdu said, almost apologetically. Then he reached his fingers into the space left in the door window and yanked on the bandana. Now Joshua could see. Dr. Hermoz Abdu’s nose had been cut off as well. Joshua was starting to understand.

“I used to prize my looks,” Abdu said with a laugh. “I had many lady friends. They used to say how handsome I was. I enjoyed that. I was what you call a playboy. But everything has changed. That’s okay, you know. Tell me, what do you prize, Colonel Jordan?”

Joshua was feeling queasy, sick to his stomach from the roller coaster of pain he was feeling. But he held on. “Wife. Family. My country.”

“Ah, yes. Is there anything else, Colonel Jordan?”

Gripping the doorframe with shaking fists, Joshua was astonished how quickly the answer flashed into his brain. Pain had not obscured it. Fears about his own death had not diminished it. “Yes, there is something else.”

Dr. Abdu fell silent.

Joshua said, “My freedom.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My control … of my life … important …”

“Interesting,” Abdu said.

Joshua stared back at this man who had been thrust into his life. He studied the horribly disfigured face that was looking back at him, the slashed, ugly orifice that used to be a nose. But there was a smile on Dr. Abdu’s face.

Then Abdu added, “Interesting how some men in the outside world, powerful, rich, independent, are still prisoners, while other men, confined in prison cells, laying in their own urine, are the ones who are truly free.”

Joshua said, “The other men in this prison, what did they do?”

“Different things. Some wrote against the ruling imams, against the tyrants who run the government. Others formed political groups.”

“And you?”

“I did something even more revolutionary. I left Islam and became a Christian. I follow Jesus now. I’m a preacher of the Gospel.”

“That’s why they cut you up?”

“First they cut off my ear, and they said it was to teach me not to listen to the words of the Christian infidels on the radio and TV. But I kept listening. I embraced the Savior, and my eyes were opened. I began speaking out, teaching others. I obtained a Bible and started reading it and memorizing it. I started a small underground church.”

“And they caught you?”

“Yes. Then they cut off my nose. They said that I should keep my nose out of the business of Islam. No more teaching other Muslims about the love of Jesus Christ. But you see that’s what drew me, like the powerful tide of the sea, the amazing love of Christ, his love for me. How could I be silent about that?”

Now the pain was too much. Joshua could stand no longer. He collapsed at the foot of the cell door.

Dr. Abdu said, “We need to talk, you and I, about how you can escape your prison.”