Sahara Crosswind Read online

  It seemed to him then that Jake had been waiting for this question, hoping for it on some level far below that of conscious thought.

  “So much happened back there,” Jake replied, “and still what I think about most is the silence. At the time, it felt like I was surrounded by noise almost constantly. But the desert’s quiet was sort of waiting, always there, whenever the noise stopped, and I could just enter into it.”

  His eyes searched beyond the church’s confines for the memories of treasured dawns, then he went on, “Even here, I find myself missing that special silence.”

  The priest asked gently, “Do you feel yourself called toward the contemplative life, Jake?”

  “I—” Jake struggled to search his heart. “No. I want the silence. I am learning here how important it’s become to me. But I don’t have the sense that this is where I belong.” He turned a troubled gaze toward the priest. “Still, the thought of leaving here and losing all touch with the silence really bothers me.”

  Father Ian rose from the pew. “Would you care to join me for a little walk? I find some problems can be better resolved when I am moving.”

  They left the church, walked across the square and down a narrow lane. Father Ian opened a stout iron-studded gate, which revealed a narrow tunnel through the city wall. “This was known as Death’s Gate and was once the way earlier inhabitants departed the city for the last time.”

  Beyond the ancient cemetery stretched a glorious vista of trees and flowers and rock and sea. From their position high on the hill, the entire world appeared ringed by endless blue. A refreshing sea breeze took the bite from the day’s heat.

  “You may find this surprising to hear coming from a priest who has felt called to a life upon this tiny island,” Father Ian told Jake as they walked. “But the Scriptures tell us clearly that true faith does not mean retreating from the world. True faith means confronting whatever the world offers us and seeking God in the midst of it. To do that, however, we must also find a way to move apart from the world, to know God in the quiet.

  “In the very first pages of the gospel of Mark, we are told that Jesus went away at dawn and went to a lonely place. We find such references throughout the Scriptures, where in the midst of movement and activity He sought out a time of stillness and silence. All those people would be seeking to hear Him and touch Him and be near Him, and He would withdraw to be alone with the Father.

  “In my own studies, I find that there is almost nothing predictable about Christ’s teachings. Seldom did He do what was expected. One predictable pattern of His ministry, however, was this regular retreat into solitude, the seeking of a quiet place.”

  He led Jake over to a bench set upon a rocky precipice. The cliff dropped down to orchards and a tiny village and the sea. Jake settled himself down beside Father Ian, looked out, and felt as though the entire world were there on display for him.

  “You as a Christian are called to be led by the Holy Spirit,” Father Ian went on. “But unless you make regular room for the quiet, it will not be God who leads you, but people. And pressure. And fears. And the world. Mind you, all these must be attended to. But they should not drive and motivate you.”

  “I’m not sure I’m strong enough to keep that balance,” Jake confessed.

  “Of course not,” Father Ian agreed. “No one is. Remember, Jake, it is through our weakness that the Lord’s power is fully revealed. Here, let me offer you one key that may help you. It is not important that the Lord release you from the events and the circumstances that are causing you all of these pressures. What is important is that you allow Him to release you from the pressure itself.”

  The priest set his hands on his knees and rocked back and forth. “One of the most difficult burdens I bear is the need to examine people who come to me declaring that they have felt called to a contemplative life. You see, Jake, most people come because they seek to run away from something. But a monk’s cell is no escape. Oh no. Far from it. The world can never be totally put aside. What is most troubling to all men is not what they find outside themselves, but rather what they confront within their own hearts and minds.”

  Butterflies and hummingbirds speckled the rocky promontory with their living rainbows of color, feeding off flowers that seemed to grow from the rock itself. Jake watched them dance lightly upon the wind and felt the priest’s words settle in deep. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

  “Build an island of quiet within yourself. Remember how, even during the intense pressure of Christ’s own life of ministry, He retreated to places of calm and knew moments of sweet release.”

  Father Ian looked at him with the gentle knowledge of one who had learned the lesson for himself. “The desert gave you a time of quiet, of space, of limitless horizons. You must learn to recognize this as a constant need and seek to carry it with you. Wherever you are, whatever life confronts you with, maintain these moments of solitude. Create a desert within yourself. Hold in your heart this quiet place, where you may retreat and commune with the Father.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jake came to full alert without knowing exactly why.

  He reached for his watch and saw it was still a half hour to the breakfast bell. But something had altered. He felt some subtle shift of the atmosphere that registered on his war-honed senses.

  Which was why he was up and dressed when footsteps sounded in the hall outside his cell. Jake stepped to the door, hesitated, wondered what it was that left him feeling the air was as charged as before a thunderstorm.

  There was a gentle scratching at this door and a man’s voice whispered, “Jake?”

  “Frank?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Open up.”

  Jake pulled the door back to reveal Frank Towers grinning broadly. “Now if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes. Hope I didn’t disturb your beauty sleep.”

  “I was awake. What’s going on?”

  “A whole mess of stuff, that’s what.” He extended a flimsy yellow sheet. “This came for you a couple of hours ago.”

  Jake accepted the paper and read, TEAVES HERE. SORRY TO BE BEARER OF FURTHER BAD NEWS. SERVAIS BROTHERS DECLARED OUTLAWS BY FRENCH GOVERNMENT. REWARD ON THEIR HEADS. ALSO BUSY THROWING DIRT ON YOUR GOOD NAME, NEWS OF YOUR DEMISE NOTWITHSTANDING. BINGHAM PUBLICLY CRITICIZED FOR HARBORING FUGITIVES. BIG STINK. SOMEBODY MUST BE SWEATING. YOUR ARRIVAL IN PARIS MOST CRITICAL. TAKE GREAT CARE.

  Jake looked up and observed, “You’re incredibly cheerful for somebody out in the middle of the night with news like this.”

  If anything the grin broadened. “I’ve got my reasons.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “That’s all been worked out.” At the sound of footsteps tapping down the stone hallway, Towers chuckled. “But before we jump into that, I got somebody here you might like to give a big howdy.”

  Frank stepped back, drawing Jake with him. Jake looked down the corridor to where a smaller figure stood silhouetted by the dim light. Jake felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand upright.

  An achingly familiar voice said softly, “Hello, soldier.”

  His body was frozen to the spot. He whispered, “Sally?”

  Then she was running and flinging herself into his arms and holding him tight, so tight, so very tight, her face nestled against his chest and her arms squeezing him with a force that registered deep inside, down in the heart’s caverns that had remained empty since her departure. He raised numb arms, touched her back, her neck, her hair, lowered his face and drank in the incredibly special fragrance of her. Sally.

  The door behind him creaked open. Pierre gasped, then said softly, “Am I dreaming?”

  If I am, Jake thought, I don’t ever want to wake up, not ever. But the power of speech escaped him just then. He was holding her. She was there in his arms. Sally.

  “Stopped by to pay my respects to my fiancee. Her family lives above the shop where you sent the cable,” Towers offered, enjoying himself immensely. “And what do you know
, but there waiting for me was this lovely lady. Been waiting out there for a good part of the night, hoping somebody might be able to tell her where to find the fellow who sent that message.

  Pierre asked for him, “How is this possible?”

  “Before we start into all that,” Towers replied cheerfully, “maybe we better mosey on back upstairs. We stay here, somebody’s bound to come out and have themselves a surefire fit. Can’t be more than sixteen dozen rules we’re breaking, having y’all wrapped around each other down here.”

  With a trembling gasp Sally released her hold, grasped his hand, slipped her other arm through his own, leaned on his shoulder, and slowly shook her head back and forth, wiping her eyes over and over on his sleeve. Only then did he realize she was crying.

  Together they walked back through the caverns and up the stairs, never for an instant relinquishing their hold upon each other. They walked down the church and through the great portals and entered a world glorying in the splendor of an awakening dawn.

  On the church’s front steps Jake reveled in another long embrace, then repeated Pierre’s question. “How did you get here?”

  She breathed deep and sniffled hard and gathered herself as much as she was able. “Flying in wasn’t a problem,” she said, her voice still shaky. “Getting you out will be another thing entirely.”

  “Whole island is buzzing,” Towers confirmed brightly. “I’ve been back less than three hours, and already I’ve had two people come up and offer to share the reward if I can help them find a pair of renegades recently imported from Morocco.”

  “Renegades,” Jake repeated, and handed Pierre the cable he was still holding.

  “Reward,” Pierre murmured, reading and shaking his head.

  “From what my daddy-in-law-to-be told me,” Towers went on, “they got spies and smugglers and all kindsa slimy critters crawling outta the woodwork, all looking for you two. Local police are having themselves a field day, trying to figure out what’s going on.”

  Jake looked down at Sally. “But why, I mean, how—”

  “I got tired of writing up reports in triplicate when all I could think of was a certain colonel back in Germany,” Sally replied. “I pleaded a case of the never-get-overs, and the general let me go. But when I arrived in Karlsruhe, I heard all kinds of tales about lost brothers and traitors and chases halfway around the world. Were they true?”

  “Probably. Some of them, anyway,” Jake replied dumbly. Sally. He looked down at the hand still gripped by both of hers. It really was her.

  “They were true,” Pierre replied for him. “All of them and more. Your Jake is a hero.”

  “That’s not what they were calling you in Paris,” she replied, but her gaze was deep and full and only for him.

  “Paris,” he echoed.

  “That’s where General Clark sent me. He was the one who filled me in, at least as much as he could. It seems a mysterious letter from Morocco popped up at our Paris embassy.”

  “Jasmyn’s letter?” Jake exclaimed. “Her letter got through?”

  Sally nodded. “The embassy heard through Clark’s staff that I was back in Germany and got me on the phone and read as much of it to me as I would let them, then I traveled to France and read the rest of it myself. Jasmyn never did manage to explain how she happened to be along on this adventure.”

  “Long story,” Jake said. Her smoky gray eyes were even more beautiful than he remembered.

  “Jasmyn is my fiancee,” Pierre explained.

  “That’s what she said.” Sally’s gaze remained fastened upon Jake. “She called you a hero, too, Jake.”

  “True,” Pierre repeated. “All true.”

  Down at the base of the stairs someone cleared his throat. Sally glanced behind them, but Jake could not tear his gaze away from her. She turned back, and a look of yearning tenderness filled her eyes and her face. She clung to him once again, with a fierceness that warmed his very bones. “Oh, Jake,” she whispered. “When Clark told me the rumors about . . . I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me.”

  “Miss Anders, ma’am,” murmured a voice behind them.

  Reluctantly she released Jake and stepped back. “I’m afraid we’ve got company.”

  A pair of clear-eyed, blank-faced young men climbed lightly up the church stairs. Their stances were so rigid that even in their civilian garb they looked like picture-book officers. And tough. With one glance Jake knew the pair were as hard as they came.

  The first one said, “I’m Lieutenant Akers, sir. This is Lieutenant Slade.”

  “Gentlemen.”

  “We’re sort of assigned as watchdogs to you and Major Servais, sir.”

  Pierre demanded, “Do we need watching?”

  “Call us guides if you’d rather, sir. Or escorts. We really don’t care. Titles don’t mean a whole lot in this business.”

  “I see,” Jake said, confused. “And what business are you in?”

  “That’s not for us to say, sir. I suggest you hold those questions for when we get to Paris.”

  “If we get there,” Pierre muttered.

  “When, sir,” Akers corrected. “Our job is to make sure it’s when and not if.”

  Sally explained, “They need you back there, Jake, and fast. Things have become very serious.”

  Akers asked, “Major Servais, I am to inform you that your brother was recovered successfully from Colombe-Bechar and is now settled into the garrison hospital on Gibraltar. They got him out just in time, from the looks of things. Big stink about that one, too. Seems Commander Teaves forgot to inform anybody about the little flight he made down to Africa along with a squad of Royal Marines.”

  “How is he?”

  “Not good, I’m afraid. Too weak to talk much. Which is why we need to get you back to Paris with the evidence. You’re the only one who’s got the information to set things straight. But the doctors say they think the infection was caught in time and that he has a good chance of making it intact.”

  Pierre showed his concern only with a deepening of the creases of his face. “And the woman with him?”

  “Yessir. She’s okay.” Akers permitted himself a small smile. “Miss Coltrane is some classy dame, sir.”

  “They sent me along to make sure you were really who you said you were,” Sally explained. “After I twisted their arms a little.”

  Jake smiled at her and asked, “When are we supposed to move out?”

  “Now, sir. If you’re ready.”

  “Now?” Visions of a lingering reunion faded swiftly.

  “Time for all that later,” Sally said softly, understanding him perfectly. “I promise.”

  “We were going to try and bring in a transport tomorrow, find some way to sneak you on board,” Akers said. “But Captain Towers here has agreed to fly us out this morning, soon as we can stop by Valletta and get off a coded message to Paris.”

  “Spies and traitors and pretty ladies and sunrise rendezvous,” Towers said, and laughed out loud. “I wouldn’t have missed this for all the tea in China.”

  Jake asked, “So what’s the plan?”

  Towers swung his grin toward Jake. “Believe me, you don’t want to know a second sooner than you have to.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Towers promised.

  “But—”

  “I’m telling you,” Towers insisted. “Don’t ask.”

  “Time to be moving out, sir,” Akers pressed. “Now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  They stopped once for refueling at the U.S. military base on Sardinia. They evidently were expected, as they were directed to a quiet corner of the airfield and left utterly alone, save for the fuel truck and a jeep of military police parked beneath the plane’s nose.

  Jake peered through the pilot’s window at the white-helmeted MPs studiously ignoring the plane and asked no one in particular, “What gives?”

  “You are strictly persona non grata
, sir,” Akers replied.

  “Monsieur le Ministre Clairmont has panicked,” Pierre surmised.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir,” Akers said. “They just told me to get, and we got.”

  “You’re bound to know something,” Jake pressed.

  “Not really, sir. Only whatever it is, it’s big.”

  The habitually silent Lieutenant Slade added, “Never seen the like of the comings and goings here. Haven’t spotted so much brass in one place since we left Washington.”

  “What were you doing in Washington?” Jake demanded.

  “Long story, sir,” Slade replied, his features returning to poker-faced blankness.

  “All we know,” Akers went on, changing the subject, “is that we have to get you back to Paris without talking to any official. No police, no customs, no military, not even a postman.”

  “But why?” Jake asked.

  “Sir, if you don’t know, then I don’t guess anybody on this plane does. All I can say is that you and the major here are a pair of walking powder kegs.”

  “And just how,” Pierre wanted to know, “do you intend on bringing us into Paris without some form of clearance?”

  “You’re headed back into that ‘don’t ask’ territory I was telling you about,” Towers warned. “Okay, folks, the fuel truck’s done and those Happy Harrys in the jeep are giving us the go sign. Not a moment too soon, either. So just get back to your places and settle down for the ride.”

  * * *

  They flew on through the sunset and into the night. Pierre gathered with Towers and Akers and Slade in the cockpit, granting Jake and Sally a semblance of privacy back in the cavernous hold.

  Their seats were formed from dusty burlap sacking and canvas straps. The hold was drafty and smelled of oil and dirt and previous cargoes. The ancient plane creaked and groaned and bucked and roared.

  Jake had never felt happier or more comfortable in his entire life.

  It was far too noisy for conversation, save the occasional few words spoken loudly and directly into the other’s ear. Words about loving and missing and wanting. The hold was dark save for a single dimly glowing lamp that granted just enough light for them to see each other’s eyes if they drew up close, which was how they remained. All else was said with looks and embraces and lips.