Kindle Edition
Amazon
Category:
Religion
Publisher: SET APART Press
ISBN-10: 0692712526
Type: Fiction
Pages: 396
Copyright: October 5, 2012
ISBN-13: 9780692712528
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
A major flood has wiped out half the nation of Colombia. Nine Christian college students, shepherded by mild-mannered Pastor Jeff, traipse off to Colombia to rebuild La Vida Nueva Mission Center.
It’s hot, the work is hard, and the students are getting on each other’s nerves. But that’s the least of their problems.
Simmering in the background is a plot by the notorious Black Eagles, a paramilitant drug trafficking ring, to take over the mission center for their own evil purposes.
What started out as a simple mission trip for the students becomes a dangerous ordeal that tests their faith to the limit.
When the college students signed up for the mission trip to flood-ravaged Colombia, they knew it wouldn't be easy. No electricity, no running water, skimpy rations, hard labor in the blistering sun – the young missionaries were prepared for all that. But threats from paramilitant drug traffickers?
Daniel Wescott and his friends must make choices they never expected to face. Should they stay and continue the work of rebuilding in spite of the danger? When disaster strikes, is it worth risking their lives to help their Colombian hosts? And how important is it to get the Word of God to the Colombian people?
The Christian students are about to find out how strong their convictions really are!
Like A Flood is a compelling novel with a lively cast of characters and an unequivocal reminder of God's sovereignty even in the most difficult circumstances.
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
SUCRE, COLOMBIA
The Bayliner sliced silently through the water, hugging the shoreline.
Every light on board had been extinguished, rendering the vessel almost invisible in the darkness. A sharp whistle, like the cry of a bird, came from the boat.
Immediately, from the dark line of trees, there came an answering whistle with a small but significant variation.
The whistle from the boat was repeated, slightly altered. Again the whistle was returned.
This time the boat eased itself into a crude natural docking area. Several armed men dressed in dark clothing leapt from it.
An equal number of armed men in military fatigues materialized from the jungle, and the two small armies faced each other in silence.
A short, stout man disembarked and stood in the center of his men, his single gold earring reflecting the moonlight. He was bald, and his thick lips turned down at the corners of his wide face, giving him a frog-like appearance. He gave a signal and two of his men approached the black Dodge Ram 2500 truck that was hidden in the darkness.
The camouflage clad men stepped aside but kept their rifles at the ready as the others climbed into the back of the Dodge Ram. They threw off a heavy canvas tarp that had been strapped over the cargo and chose a crate at random from the many stacked in the bed of the truck. The men laid it at their leader’s feet, prying it open for him. It was filled with ziploc bags containing a gritty white substance.
The bald man pushed aside the bags on top and dragged one out from the middle. He placed the bag on a small scale one of his men had produced, nodded in satisfaction, then slit the bag open with a knife. He pushed a fat finger into the slit, pulling out some of the contents.
Another of his men held out a vial to him and he dropped a pinch of the white powder into the clear liquid. After shaking the vial, the frog man examined it in the light from a powerful flashlight held by the first man. The process was repeated with three more bags chosen at random, a fresh vial produced for each sample. Finally, the frog man nodded again.
Not a word had been spoken the whole time. Now a small man with a trim mustache emerged from the shadows and spoke calmly in Spanish. “I trust the quality meets your exacting standards as always.”
The bald man gave a smile without warmth. “Captain Ortega, my friend. I was afraid you would not be able to keep our appointment.”
“Have I ever missed an appointment?” countered Rafael Ortega.
His slight stature and charismatic smile belied a ruthless, calculating nature that had earned him the nickname El Tiburon, or The Shark.
“Never,” the other man conceded. “But reports say that travel is almost impossible since the recent flooding, and that many roads are still under water.”
“Money is a great motivator, Mauricio. My men and I have endured great hardship to make it to our meeting point on time.”
Mauricio narrowed his eyes. “I hope this is not your way of asking for more than the price we agreed on.”
“Not at all,” Ortega assured him smoothly. “I merely wish to emphasize to you that when you do business with Las Águilas Negras, you will not be disappointed.”
“Your reassurance is touching. However, I fear that due to the damage to the farmlands, you may not be able to meet the demands of the buyers.”
“On the contrary,” Ortega said with confidence. “The situation is ideal for us to expand our territory. People will be desperate to cooperate with us now rather than to starve to death waiting for the government to bring help to them. We will soon be able to increase production to exceed your buyers’ demands.”
Mauricio laughed. “Very resourceful of you, Captain. I wish you luck on your endeavors.”
“Enough small talk. Let us finish our business.” Ortega's words were tinged with impatience.
“Of course, of course.” Mauricio's face tightened at Ortega’s tone. He snapped his fingers and one of his men brought a briefcase forward.
As the man held the briefcase open, one of Ortega’s men began counting the stacks of money under the watchful eyes of both Ortega and Mauricio.
CHAPTER ONE
HOUSTON, TEXAS, USA
“You realize the recent flooding in northern Colombia has changed everything,” Pastor Jeff Harding announced. He adjusted his glasses and looked out over a sea of eager young faces, a conglomeration of college students from three different churches who had gathered for a missions-themed rally. Over his head, a huge banner stapled to the wall displayed Jesus’ directive from Mark 16:15: “Go Into All The World and Preach the Gospel to All Creation.”
To wrap up their final session, Jeff was offering the students the opportunity to put what they’d learned into practice. “This isn’t going to be the typical mission trip we had originally planned, where we stay with a nice host family and pray and sing songs and play with kids at the orphanage. Because of what’s happened there, this trip will involve major inconvenience, hardship, and grueling work, with no time off for fun and games.”
“Sounds like one of your Ancient Greek and Hebrew classes,” piped up Jeremy, a skinny, curly headed kid on the back row. Several others, the ones who knew Pastor Jeff from the Christian college he taught at, snickered.
Kevin, a dark-skinned guy with a head full of twists, reached over and the two did a peculiar version of a high five.
Jeff allowed a small smile to cross his face. His boyish appearance and laid back personality made him a favorite among the college crowd.
At forty-five, Jeff refused to settle into the comfortable stodginess of middle age, which was one reason he served part time as the underpaid Youth and Young Adult Pastor of Cornerstone Christian Church in Houston. He supplemented his meager church income with a part time teaching position at Woodrow Christian University, which he also enjoyed immensely. The antics of the college students kept him on his toes and made him feel young.
Jeff’s experience with college aged kids had earned him the dubious task of shepherding this current group of over a hundred students, most of them from Pure Grace Fellowship, the megachurch hosting the event. Since attendance was strictly voluntary, he knew most of these students were serious about following Christ and ready to do something about it.
Even if they did make smart remarks now and then.
He responded to Jeremy’s wisecrack. “The difference is that here, after you leave your air conditioned classroom, you get to stroll down the hall and use indoor plumbing, and then head off to Taco Bell for lunch,” Jeff pointed out. “The area we’ll be visiting is normally pretty civilized, but back-to-back hurricanes in the Caribbean caused some major flooding. There are no little boy’s rooms, no air conditioning, no microwaves, and cell phones more than likely won’t work. And if you’re lucky, you might get some thin soup with rice a couple of times a day.”
There was a visible reaction in the college students’ faces as Jeff’s words registered. He could pretty much pick out the ones who had already dismissed the idea of volunteering for the mission trip. He also knew which ones were hooked.
Jeremy and Kevin were hooked, in spite of the inevitable sass he knew was coming.
“Pastor, you’d never make it as a used car salesman.” Kevin this time.
“You should know,” Jeff shot back with a smile. Kevin and Jeremy worked weekends at a used car dealership, albeit as mechanics, not as salesmen.
Jeff turned serious again. “The reason I tell you the hard stuff is because I want you to seriously consider what kind of commitment we’re asking for. We need people who are physically and emotionally strong enough to handle some pretty rough circumstances. Once you’re there, you’ll be committed for the full two weeks; you won’t be able to call mommy and daddy to come pick you up if you decide you don’t like it. That’s why your applications are going to be screened carefully, and not everyone who signs up will get to go.”
Some of the students had already tuned Jeff out, allowing their eyes to glaze over or discreetly pulling out cell phones to text their friends. Jeff addressed the rest of his comments to those who were still awake and considering the trip.
“Pastor Sergio Restrepo runs a mission center and a church in Cuenco Verde. His buildings were among the few left standing in the rural areas of Sucre, but there was still a great deal of damage. The entire area has been evacuated, but Pastor Restrepo got permission from the government for himself and a few workers to stay there and repair his mission center. The plan is that when the repairs are completed, they’ll temporarily house volunteers from a charitable organization along with local labor who will start rebuilding some of the homes that were destroyed in Cuenco Verde so people can return to the area.
“Our job will be to help finish the repairs on La Vida Nueva Mission Center, so if you go, you’ll be doing some important work that will affect a lot of lives. But it does come with a price.” Jeff began counting off on his fingers. “Two weeks without running water, two weeks without microwaves, cell phones, and laptops, and two weeks without pizza. Two weeks of hard physical labor with no relief from the heat, doing whatever Pastor Restrepo needs us to do.”
He waited for the kids to settle down again, then rested his gaze on a handsome, serious-looking fellow sitting with Jeremy and Kevin. “Daniel Wescott went with our missionary team last year for a similar trip after the hurricane in Honduras. To help you make up your mind, I’ve asked him to tell you a little bit about it.”
Jeremy and Kevin whistled and stomped, slapping their friend on the back. Daniel, looking very uncomfortable, loped to the podium accompanied by rowdy applause from his classmates.
As Daniel bent his head to pick up the microphone, his sandy hair fell forward, and he flipped his head back to get it out of his eyes. This led to more raucous whooping from the audience. Flustered, he fumbled with the mike. Finally, he cleared his throat and looked at the audience.
“Uh, hi,” he began awkwardly. “I’m Daniel.”
“Hi, Daniel,” a flirtatious female voice called from the back corner. More whistling and catcalls came as Daniel flushed a painful red.
Visibly rattled by their teasing, he cleared his throat again to stall, then tried again. “Uh, yeah, like Pastor Jeff just said, I went with the missions team last year to Honduras. And it was just like he said, a lot of hard work, no electricity, no running water, and the food was, well, kinda....not too good.” He scrunched up his nose at the memory. “But at least there wasn’t much of it.”
The kids laughed at his comment, and Daniel's posture relaxed a little.
He explained some of the work they’d done, how they’d rebuilt tiny houses in an isolated village that had been devastated by the storm. His face lit up with passion as he described the Honduran people. “The cool thing was, even in the middle of that crisis, the people there never lost their faith in God. And they were so good to us, and so grateful for what we were doing. They didn’t have much, but they tried to give us whatever they had. They treated us like we were special, almost like we were sent from God or something, and we had to be careful not to let it go to our heads, you know, kind of like Barnabas and Paul had to tell those people in, uh... was it Lycaonia?”
Panicked, Daniel glanced at Pastor Jeff, who smiled and mouthed the word, “Lystra.”
“Uh, yeah, Lystra.” Daniel looked blank for a moment, like he'd totally lost his train of thought. Forgetting whatever he was going to say about Lystra, he stumbled on gamely. “Anyway, seeing the way these people live, and seeing how much they love God anyway, it made me really appreciate how much we have here in America. I mean, here we have all these big, fancy air conditioned church buildings, and worship bands with all the latest songs, and Bibles in decorator colors, and we still can’t wait for church to be over just so we can head to Denny’s.
“But believe me, even if you don’t like Denny’s, if you go to Colombia, after the first two or three days of going without real food, you’ll be wishing there was one close by.” He grinned then, letting them know the food issue wasn't that big a deal. “But it’s worth it, because you know you’re doing God’s work, and you know you made a difference in somebody’s life.”
Deciding that was a good stopping point, Jeff stood up. “Thank you, Daniel.”
He stepped beside the lanky young man, who topped Jeff’s 5’10” by four inches. Daniel looked only too relieved to leave the podium.
Jeff stifled a sigh as he watched Daniel slink back to his seat to the exaggerated applause of the other students. Kind, intelligent, and respected by his peers, Daniel was a natural leader, but he preferred to stay in the background. Jeff hoped this trip would give Daniel a chance to develop more confidence.
He brought his focus back to the audience. “Now remember, folks, that last trip Daniel told you about was only one week. We’ll be gone twice as long this time, but we’ll get you back in time to do your Christmas shopping.”
Jeff noticed people glancing at their watches, so he decided to wrap things up. “The trip is limited to ten people, and naturally, I’m one of them. That means only three of you from each church represented here will be going, so make sure you sign up tonight if you’re interested. And if your applications are in order, you still have to pass a physical and a psychological evaluation.”
Jeff made a face, trying to remember all the prerequisites. “And make sure your vaccinations are up to date and your passports are in order. And come up with your portion of the airline fare. Have I left anything out, Pastor Meyer?”
Jeff directed his question to Evan Meyer, the pastor of the host church, who was seated on the front row.
Pastor Meyer was a distinguished looking gentleman in his late fifties, with neatly groomed silver hair. He adjusted the expensive silk tie that complemented his tailored dark gray suit, then stood and strode confidently to the podium.
“I think you’ve covered everything, Pastor Jeff,” he said with practiced ease, effectively dismissing Pastor Jeff with his words. “Now let’s close our service by praying for the people of Colombia.”
CAMPO DULCE, SUCRE, COLOMBIA
“Pastor Alvarez does not care about the people of Colombia!” shouted the young militant standing at the front of the little adobe church.
Several armed men had barged into the sanctuary in the middle of a prayer service and now surrounded the terrified congregants under the approving supervision of El Tiburon. Some of the militants had not yet left their teenage years, but the rifles they bore were still deadly.
Sweat poured from Pastor Rudy Alvarez’s head as he stood near the crude wooden altar with a gun pressed against his temple, but his face showed no emotion.
The pastor's wife and teenaged daughter cried quietly on the front row, not allowed by the gunmen to move.
Lieutenant Rojas continued his tirade. “Alvarez is spreading lies to keep the Colombian people poor! He wants you to believe in a God who forbids the easiest way to prosper in our country.”
No one responded, and the lieutenant sneered at them. If he had his way, he would have blown away the whole bunch of stupid peasants already, but he knew The Black Eagles needed some of the locals to provide free labor to raise their crops of coca plants. Especially since many of the laborers they had previously coerced had either been killed by the flood or had fled the country.
Rojas stepped aside at once when Captain Ortega joined him at the front, allowing his superior to take over haranguing the people.
“We are not asking you to give up your land,” Ortega began in a conciliatory tone. “Only to stop growing worthless crops that fail when the weather does not cooperate and that do not bring enough money to sustain you even when the harvest comes. Your pitiful harvest has already been destroyed by the floodwaters. Instead of replanting your useless crops, you have a chance to grow something that will provide a future for your families. We are offering to give you the supplies needed to rebuild your homes. We are offering you a chance for a steady income. What does this pathetic church offer you?”
At Ortega’s question, Pastor Alvarez slid his eyes pointedly to the cross nailed to the front of the small sanctuary. Several pairs of eyes followed the direction of his gaze, and some of the people sat up straighter. They all continued to stare impassively at Ortega, and he became frustrated at their lack of response.
“We have given your pastor the opportunity to cooperate with us, but he has chosen to keep you in poverty. This is your last chance. You must choose today. Will you join with us in bringing this country to its rightful place as a prosperous nation? Or will you continue to follow a man who does not care if your children go hungry? If you want to build a future for your families, you must leave this place now!” His voice rose to a shrill screech. “You must choose now!”
At a gesture from Ortega, the gunmen readied their weapons, making it clear what the consequence would be for choosing to remain in the church.
Hanging his head, one man stood and led his family from the building. Slowly, several others got to their feet and trudged out, some with tears in their eyes as they sold their souls for a piece of bread.
Soon only Pastor Alvarez and his family remained, with three other men, two of them with wives and toddlers at their side. Disgusted, Ortega impatiently motioned for those who were still seated to join the pastor at the altar. The children stood wide eyed, clutched by their trembling mothers as they all clustered together under the wooden cross at the front of the church.
“Your followers have left you, Alvarez,” the captain taunted. “Do you still choose to die for the sake of a fairytale?”
“We have chosen life,” whispered Pastor Alvarez hoarsely. Those who had joined him at the altar stared with silent defiance at Ortega and his army. Ortega spat in disgust and signaled his gunmen.
The sound of the gunfire echoing from the church building would forever haunt those who had chosen to walk away.
HOUSTON, TEXAS, USA
“Come on, Pastor Jeff, you can’t let me down like this,” Jeremy wheedled, leaning his rail thin body forward in his chair in front of Jeff’s desk. His light brown curls bobbed up and down as he tried to convey the urgency of his request. “You gotta let me come.”
Jeff peered over his glasses at the earnest young man in front of him. Jeremy had been in Jeff’s office several times over the last month for some serious discussions, but he’d never seen him this intense.
“Jeremy, under the circumstances, there’s no way your application is going to be approved.”
“But you’re one of the ones who makes that decision,” Jeremy persisted. “You’re the one who’s going to go with the team to Colombia. Don’t you have any pull?”
“You know I can’t be partial in something like this. I can’t use my influence to persuade them to let you go when there may be someone else who meets all the requirements.”
“Oh, please, Pastor Jeff,” Jeremy scoffed. “It’s not like your other options are that great. Not that many people applied, and one of them was Lester Simmons. He only filled out the application to impress Sarah, but you know he’s afraid to step out of his house after dark. Darryl Henley smokes so much that birds drop dead from trees when he walks by. And Martha Ramirez looks like she could eat a rhinoceros for breakfast – she’d never survive on the rations in Colombia.”
Jeff tried not to smile at Jeremy’s unkind but accurate assessment of his peers. He was debating whether or not to reprimand him when Jeremy continued his impassioned appeal.
“You know I can afford my share of the cost, my grades are fine, my church attendance is great. Except for that one tiny little detail, you know I’m your best bet. Besides Daniel and Kevin, I mean, and I know they’re going.”
“Well, Daniel was an obvious choice because he’s been on mission trips like this before,” Jeff said, almost apologetically. “He also knows how to do this kind of work because he’s worked summers for his father’s construction company.”
Jeremy waved away the pastor’s explanations. “Yeah, yeah. Plus, he already has his passport. You don’t have to explain that to me, Pastor. I’d be mad if you didn’t choose Daniel. And I know Kevin’s qualified. So that leaves one slot open, and I’m your man.”
“Jeremy, I understand how much spending this time with your friends means to you, but...”
“It’s not just that, Pastor Jeff, I swear.” Jeremy looked away for a moment, twisting his face as if trying to decide whether or not to say more. Then he turned back to Jeff, his dark eyes fastened on the pastor’s. “I feel like I’m really supposed to go on this trip. I mean, like God wants me to go. Please?”
Jeff saw nothing but sincerity in Jeremy’s face, and he could feel himself caving in.
Apparently Jeremy could sense it, too, because a slight smile crooked one corner of his mouth. Then he got serious again and threw in one last plea.
“Come on, Pastor Jeff. This is my chance to do something with my life that will make a difference. I need to do something that matters.”
Jeff released a resigned sigh. He massaged his forehead in frustration, mussing his thick brown hair. He thought ruefully that the few strands of gray he’d noticed lately were probably Jeremy’s doing. Finally he said aloud what they both knew he was going to say.
“Okay, Jeremy, it’s against my better judgment, but I’ll see what I can do.”
CAMPO DULCE, SUCRE, COLOMBIA
Compared to the more northern areas of Colombia, the little village of Campo Dulce, fifty miles east of Sincelejo, had gotten off lightly from the flooding. While water had invaded most of the homes, ruined their crops of plantains and corn, and left the peasants without electricity, no lives had been lost and the homes remained standing.
Many people had left in search of help from the relief organizations that were rumored to be setting up shelters near the larger communities. The optimistic few who remained hoped to salvage some of their ruined crops and repair the damage to their homes; they were accustomed to a lack of adequate food supplies, and few of them had luxuries that required electricity anyway.
They were beginning to adjust to their lives without contact with the outside world, and the men were joining with each other to work on their neighbors’ homes.
Then a second torrent of terror flowed through the streets of Campo Dulce, in the form of an army of men clothed in dark green fatigues who stormed through the little village immediately following the assassination of Pastor Alvarez. The black bandanas covering the lower half of the militants' faces gave them an even more sinister appearance.
The peasants gathered their families together and cowered in their small adobe and straw homes, hoping the threat would pass them by. Those hopes were shattered as the soldiers invaded their once peaceful village.
At each home, a group of soldiers kicked down the door, an unnecessary action, since most of the farmers never locked their doors – they had nothing worth stealing. But the resulting noise and the splintering wood added to the peasants’ abject fear, which was the main purpose of the raid. And so they kicked down doors with fervor, aiming their weapons at wide-eyed families while they knocked over furniture and yanked out drawers, strewing the contents across the floor as they searched for anything useful.
If any man resisted, or even looked like he might, the militants dragged him out into the dirt street and gunned him down in front of his horrified loved ones. After a few such instances, none dared to stand up to the invading army.
The Black Eagles now owned Campo Dulce.
Since the farmers had little of monetary value, the Black Eagles satisfied themselves with acquiring another valuable resource: new recruits. If there was a teenager or young twenty-something in the family that looked strong and healthy, he or she would be forced at gunpoint to accompany the Black Eagles when they left the house. Parents and younger siblings wept as young people were swept away from their homes to become unwilling members of the paramilitant army.
At one home, however, such coercion was unnecessary.
Bored with life in the village and fed up with the poverty that seemed to follow his humble, plantain farming family, Adolfo Mendoza had heard of Las Águilas Negras, led by the fearless captain known as El Tiburon.
Adolfo had long admired their exploits, imagining them to be brave revolutionaries saving Colombia from itself. He had sought for a chance to join The Black Eagles but had been unsuccessful in finding a way to contact them.
Now, thanks to the flood, the opportunity had fallen into his lap.
When he heard the commotion down the road, instead of cringing in the back room with the rest of his family, Adolfo went out the front door to investigate. It didn’t take him long to figure out what was happening, and he quickly grabbed a small handful of belongings. Ignoring his mother’s cries, Adolfo stood in front of his house waiting.
When the small army approached, Adolfo met the leader’s eyes without flinching. After a tense moment, Captain Ortega smiled and jerked his head toward his army. Adolfo gave a quick nod and fell into step with them, swelling with pride that he was now a part of something bigger than anything his family had to offer.
HOUSTON, TEXAS, USA
“Mosquito repellant, check. Sunscreen, check. Flashlight, check.” Jeremy was perched on the rail surrounding the airport waiting area, happily ticking items off the list Pastor Jeff had given to each of them.
He stuffed the list back in his pocket, then wriggled out of his jacket. “They sure do keep it hot in here.”
Daniel, leaning casually on the rail beside him, pointed up. “You’re right under a heat vent.”
He grinned as Jeremy squinted up at the heat vent and gave it a look of mock horror. Daniel continued, “You might as well get used to the heat anyway. Remember Pastor Jeff told us that it’s going to be really hot in Colombia.”
Kevin adjusted one of the twists on his head and laughed. “I think he was pullin’ our leg.”
“It’s true. I looked it up on the internet,” Daniel told them. “They’re right on the equator. Our winter is their summer.”
“Hope you didn’t bring all winter clothes,” Jeremy quipped to Kevin. He shoved his jacket into his huge backpack and pulled a granola bar out of one of the side pockets. He scooted out from under the stream of hot air and munched contentedly on his granola bar, his second one since they’d arrived.
“You keep scarfing those granola bars like that and you’ll run out before we even get to Colombia,” Daniel warned.
“Not gonna happen, dude,” Jeremy assured him. He held up the battered Mickey Mouse backpack, his only piece of luggage. “My whole bag here is full of granola bars, protein bars, and the occasional package of Skittles.”
Daniel laughed and shook his head at his friend’s bizarre habits, causing a few strands of his blond hair to fall across his eyes. He brushed them back with an impatient swipe. He probably should have gotten a trim before the trip.
Kevin snickered and asked Jeremy, “So where’d you pack your clothes, man?”
Jeremy polished off his bar and slam dunked the wrapper into the nearest trash can. “Who needs extra clothes? Pastor Restrepo won’t care how we look as long as we get the work done. I doubt there’ll be any pretty girls to impress out there in the mud, so I tossed out the designer jeans to make room for my goodies.”
Kevin gave a low whistle. “You might wanna rethink that granola bar thing, man. Check out what just showed up.”
A tall, African American youth with a flat top hair cut had entered the area with two girls in tow. The girl who had caught Kevin’s attention had silky, shoulder length auburn hair framing an exceptionally pretty face dominated by huge, smoky gray eyes. Her ankle length jeans and pastel button-down sweater accented her cute figure while still giving her a wholesome appearance.
The other one, a petite girl with smooth skin the color of cocoa, had her hair cropped extremely short. She wore baggy cargo pants, a cream colored tank top that showed off the wiry muscles in her arms, and impossibly huge earrings. A heavy camouflage shirt was slung over her shoulder.
Jeremy jumped to his feet and waved them over. “Hi, you guys part of the team?”
The young man stuck out a hand for Jeremy to shake. “How ya doing? I’m Terrell, and I’m the only one of my group that actually deserves to go.”
The beautiful girl with red hair giggled at his comment, but a fierce scowl marred the Black girl’s heart-shaped face.
Her annoyance only egged Terrell on. He pointed to the redhead first. “Mindy here is just along because she’s the pastor’s daughter, and he let this other one come because he was afraid she’d beat him up if he didn’t.”
The Black girl curled her lip in disgust at Terrell’s remark.
“You jerk,” she snapped. “I don’t hit pastors.”
The expression on her face hinted that she could gladly thrash Terrell with no compunction, however. Then she turned to the three friends with a dazzling smile that nearly blinded them. “I’m Resha.”
Daniel recovered from her megawatt assault first. He blinked a few times, then stammered, “Uh, I’m Daniel. These two guys are Jeremy and Kevin.”
Jeremy and Kevin each waved weakly in turn. The pretty redhead giggled again, her full, pink lips parting to reveal perfect teeth, and offered her hand to each of them. She spoke in a breathy, little girl voice. “Pleased to meet you all. My name’s Mindy.”
Is this girl for real? Daniel wondered if she’d already forgotten that Terrell had just told them her name, but he decided the airhead bit had to be just an act. She wouldn’t have been approved for this trip if she was that dumb, pastor’s daughter or not.
From the lovesick way Jeremy and Kevin gawked at the girl, it wouldn’t have mattered to them if she had the IQ of a doodlebug.
Daniel grinned and looked at Terrell, who was nearly as tall as he was but not quite as thin.
Smiling back, Terrell shrugged and rolled his eyes. “That's the reaction Mindy usually gets.”
The last group to arrive included a stocky Hispanic boy named Manny and his older sister Selena, a tall, thin, dark-haired beauty with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Her skintight jeans and pointed cowboy boots didn't seem like the best choice for construction work — Daniel hoped she’d brought something more practical in the bulging suitcase she was dragging.
A short, ebony skinned Nigerian named Samuel with a perpetually sour expression rounded out the third team. He barely acknowledged their introductions.
Manny was friendly enough, though, even if he looked like he already had jet lag. Selena and Mindy immediately began discussing how the work in Colombia would affect their manicures.
Resha looked bored by it all, but her watchful eyes continually swept the waiting area. She studied Samuel with a suspicious frown when he sidled away from the group and sat in the far corner.
CAMPO DULCE, SUCRE, COLOMBIA
It was with great anticipation that Adolfo finally laid his hands on the AR-18 rifle. He felt a rush of pride remembering how he and El Tiburon had made eye contact when the Black Eagles had stormed his village, as if Ortega recognized that Adolfo was different from the rest.
Adolfo’s goal was to become a part of Ortega’s elite team. He didn’t understand the reluctance of some of the others who had been recruited that day. The Black Eagles had treated them well, feeding them and providing them with a decent place to sleep.
Unlike their homes in the village, the Black Eagles had running water and electricity provided by huge generators at the warehouse they had seized. It was also promised that the recruits would soon be able to send some of their profits to the kinfolk they had left behind so they could rebuild their pathetic village.
Adolfo doubted they would really be allowed to contact their families, but it didn’t matter to him. Any money that was forthcoming would go into his own pockets, not to the relatives who had wept when he was tapped by the Black Eagles. How dare his pitiful family resent him this chance to better himself?
He hefted the weapon in his hands, enjoying the feeling of power it gave him as he stood in formation with the other new recruits. With his sturdy build and impressive height, he looked older than his eighteen years. The jagged scar that ran from his temple to his cheekbone, caused by a run-in with a farming implement, added to his mystique. Adolfo knew he made a frightening picture, and he intended to use his intimidating appearance to his advantage.
Today, they were learning how to clean and load the firearms, and Adolfo practiced with enthusiasm. Captain Ortega had promised that tomorrow they would begin training exercises with the rifles, and soon they would be an active part of his army.
Adolfo could hardly wait.
Beside Adolfo was a recruit a couple of years younger, and a lot less eager. Ramiro Vasquez had never visited Pastor Rudy Alvarez’s church, but he had met the man a few times in the village. He had been shocked when he learned of what had happened to the pastor and his family, and even more shocked that he was expected to join the group that had done such a terrible deed.
It seemed Ramiro had no choice in the matter, however, so he dutifully tried to make the best of it, loading the rifle with ammo and awkwardly hoisting the heavy weapon onto his shoulder the way they showed him. Soon he no longer felt like just an inept clod.
He felt like an inept clod with a gun.
HOUSTON, TEXAS, USA
As Pastor Jeff made his way to the waiting area, he could see that the college students had already assembled there.
Watching them, Jeff felt a rush of pride. He knew he’d been given an exceptional team. These young people had been chosen from dozens of applicants based on their grades, attitudes, and physical acumen.
He'd known Daniel, Kevin, and Jeremy for years, and couldn’t have asked for a better group from his own church. He had watched Daniel and Jeremy grow up and develop into fine Christian young men, and he cared about both of them deeply. Kevin had joined ranks with them a couple of years ago, a convert of Daniel’s and Jeremy’s, and the three were now inseparable. Kevin, with his ready smile and clumsy but sincere efforts to change, had quickly found his way into Jeff’s heart as well.
Jeff had agonized over his decision about including Jeremy, and his senior pastor, Robert Davenport, had been no help. Because Jeff was better acquainted with the young people, and since he was the one who would accompany them to Colombia, Pastor Davenport had left the decision in Jeff's hands.
Wanting input from someone else, Jeff had enlisted Pastor Evan Meyer from Pure Grace Fellowship Church to go over the applications with him. They had agreed without question on Daniel and Kevin, but filling the third vacancy was more difficult.
Jeff had explained Jeremy’s situation to Pastor Meyer, and after considering a few minutes, Pastor Meyer told Jeff, “If the boy wants to go so badly, maybe God really did put it in his heart.”
Meyer held up the paltry stack of remaining applications with a rueful smile. “In light of your other prospects, I say we give Jeremy a chance and trust God to take care of him.”
And so Jeremy would be laboring in Colombia beside his two best friends.
Because Pure Grace Fellowship was such a large church, there were dozens of applicants from Pastor Meyer’s college group, and Pastor Meyer had requested Jeff’s help interviewing the top choices.
After joint interviews with several applicants from Meyer’s church, they had settled on Terrell Stevens, Resha Cummings, and the pastor’s daughter Mindy.
Pastor Jeff had been the one to recommend Mindy, thinking her first aid experience might come in handy. Pastor Meyer was reluctant. “Mindy is a very sensitive girl. I hate to expose her to such difficult circumstances.”
“Letting her experience hardship might toughen her up,” suggested Jeff. “Besides, she may already be stronger than you think.”
Terrell Stevens was a computer whiz, but that skill wouldn’t mean much in a country with no electricity, so his main qualification for this trip was his athletic ability. Active in several sports, Terrell would certainly have the strength and stamina needed for the difficult work ahead of them. Right now, Jeff saw that Terrell was fraternizing with the other three guys as if they were all old friends.
Resha Cummings had seated herself a couple of chairs away and was watching the rest of the group through eyes that were sharp and alert in an otherwise expressionless face. Pastor Meyer had told Jeff she was something of a loner, so he wasn’t surprised. But Meyer had also given her a sterling recommendation based on her integrity and willingness to grow as a Christian.
Before her interview, Evan Meyer had told Jeff, “Resha has done an excellent job of separating herself from her old, negative relationships. My concern is that she hasn’t developed any new relationships in the church to replace her old ties. Even though she seems to be doing well spiritually, she mostly keeps to herself. I’m hoping that spending time with people her own age who genuinely love the Lord will help her get past her trust issues.”
After interviewing the girl, Pastor Jeff had agreed the trip would be good for her, and her disciplined determination would be ideal for the task. Her fluency in Spanish was an added bonus.
In the waiting area, Pastor Meyer’s daughter Mindy chattered away to a girl that Jeff assumed was part of the team from Greater Truth Tabernacle, the third church that participated in the rally.
The team from Greater Truth was an unknown quantity as far as Jeff was concerned. Pastor Andrew Domingo had insisted on selecting a group without any input from the other two pastors involved. At least Domingo had faxed them copies of their applications, so Jeff knew the three members from Pastor Domingo’s church met all the qualifications, on paper at least.
Still, he would have felt better if their selection had been a joint effort like the others.
He studied the group from Greater Truth. The girl talking to Mindy must be Selena Gutierrez. She and her younger brother Manuel, who went by Manny, came from a well-to-do family in Kingwood, a ritzy area not far from Houston. They seemed to be blending in, talking and laughing with the others.
Samuel Adebayo, a Nigerian several years older than the rest of the group, had deliberately separated himself from everyone. Unlike Resha, who at least stayed near the group, Samuel had moved all the way across the room and turned his back to the rest of the team as he read a magazine.
That disturbed Jeff. They would be spending a lot of time together over the next two weeks, and he'd hoped they could all at least develop a friendly acceptance of each other.
Jeff’s enthusiasm from a few moments ago dimmed a bit as he considered the magnitude of the responsibility he’d undertaken. He decided he’d wasted enough time observing his charges. It was time to announce his presence and get them started on the long, difficult journey ahead of them.
He strolled into the waiting area, pretending a confidence he did not feel.
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