In the Spotlight: The Face of God by Bill Myers
Title:The Face of GodAuthor: Bill Myers
Publisher: StoneHouse Ink
Paperback: 368 pages
ASIN: 098260789X
Genre: Christian Fiction
“THE TERRORIST has learned of supernatural stones used by the Old Testament High Priests to hear the audible voice of God. As the mastermind of a deadly plot that will soon kill millions, he has had a series of dreams instructing him to find the stones. Everything else is in place. The wrath of God is poised and ready to be unleashed. All that is stopping him is . . .
THE PASTOR. His wife has been murdered and his faith is crumbling before his very eyes. With his estranged son, he also searches for the stones in hopes they will rekindle his dying faith and love.
With the lives of millions hanging in the balance, these two men of opposing faiths collide in an unforgettable showdown. “The Face of God” is another thrilling and thought-provoking novel by a master of the heart and suspense, C.S. Lewis Honor Award winner, Bill Myers.”
EXCERPT:Steeling his resolve, Daniel turned and entered the darkened room. His son, Tyler, and the owner followed. But when Helen tried to enter, Nayra remained in front of the woman, her small frame blocking Helen’s larger one.
“You must wait here.”
“What?”
“Your presence is not welcome.”
“What do you—”
“You are a Jew; you are not welcome.”
The tension between them was palpable. And for a moment it seemed uncertain whether Helen would back down or not. Then reluctantly she agreed. But she would not leave the doorway. Apparently, she was going to stand right there and wait. Just she and the two dozen pair of eyes stealing peeks at her.
Inside, an old man greeted them. He sat on a rug and appeared even less conscious of dental hygiene than did the restaurant’s owner. His mouth worked the end of a plastic tube that led to a hookah water pipe. The air was full of pungent, sweet smoke. Not far away two or three younger men stood, slouched in the shadows behind him.
He turned and spoke to Nayra. She nodded and translated. “Please, sit.” She motioned Daniel toward the cushions in front of him.
“Tell him we will stand,” Daniel said.
Nayra spoke to the old man in Arabic. He shrugged, then said something else.
“He would like you to come closer,” Nayra said. “His eyes are no longer good, and he would like to see your face.”
Daniel turned to Tyler, who nodded. He moved forward until he was directly under the light of a bare bulb that hung from the ceiling.
The man grinned broadly. “Shukran, shukran.” Then he spoke something else.
“He would like to see the stone,” Nayra said.
“Stone?”
“The Levi Stone.”
Daniel kept his eyes on the old man’s. Even in the shadows he could see the milky cataracts. “Tell him . . .”—he cleared his throat—“tell him it is in good hands.”
More Arabic was exchanged. “Your hands?” Nayra asked.
“Perhaps.”
The old man chuckled, then asked something else in Arabic. Nayra translated. “He wants to know if you have had any dreams?”
Daniel tried not to stiffen. “We all dream.”
The man grinned again, obviously enjoying the repartee. He answered and Nayra translated. “Yes, but how many of us dream of . . .”—she turned back to the old man to confirm what she’d heard, then returned to Daniel—“how many of us dream of the face of God?”
Daniel felt the blood drain from his cheeks. The old man saw it and cackled softly. Apparently, he had his answer. Turning to his companions, he gave a curt order. One of the young men obeyed, producing a small box of olive wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Holding it with great care, he approached the old man. It was only then that Daniel noticed the rifle dangling from the boy’s shoulder. As he stepped into the light, his two associates moved forward, making it clear that everything was being carefully observed and carefully protected.
The old man took the box into his knotted, arthritic hands. He spoke again and Nayra translated. “I too have had dreams, Pastor. The dream of a face. But unlike your dream, mine is the face of a—”
The explosion shook the room with such force that Daniel nearly lost his balance. He heard the old man cry out but his voice was lost in another explosion. And another.
“Rockets!” the owner’s voice shouted. “Helicopter gunships!”
Adrenaline surged through Daniel as another explosion pounded the room, knocking him to his knees. The light was gone but he could hear the plaster and concrete falling around him, felt smaller chunks bouncing off his shoulders and head. Dust filled the room, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
“Outside!” the owner shouted and coughed. A back door was suddenly kicked open and blinding light stabbed Daniel’s eyes. “Everybody outside!”
He staggered to his feet. To his left he saw the boy with the rifle helping the old man do the same. More explosions shattered the room. Pounding, deafening, throwing Daniel into Tyler. Somehow they kept their balance and stumbled toward the light. Coughing and gagging, they emerged into a narrow street, one end already blocked by smoke.
“This way!” one of the young men shouted, waving. “This way!”
Everyone turned and started to follow. Everyone but Daniel.
“Dad!” Tyler yelled over his shoulder. “Come on!”
“Where is he?” Daniel shouted, straining to see through the dust. “Where is the old man?”
“What?”
“The old man!”
Tyler spotted him at the door. “Right there, behind you!”
He spun around to see the old man emerge into the light, clutching the wooden box, leaning heavily upon his young assistant. Daniel heard the rocket coming but had no time to cover his face before the apartment next door exploded. The concussion threw him backward, pelting his skin with rock and concrete as he landed hard on the ground. But he only remained a moment. Even as the debris rained around him, he scrambled to his feet.
“Tyler!” he shouted. “Tyler!” He squinted through the billowing dust, choking, his throat on fire. “Tyler!”
“Here!” his son cried, coughing. “Over here!”
He turned to see Tyler staggering to his feet, helping Nayra to hers. The debris stopped falling and was replaced by the distant pop of automatic gunfire and panicked cries.
“He’s hurt!” Nayra shouted. She motioned to the old man, who lay under his young assistant. She raced toward them and Tyler followed. But it wasn’t the old man who was hurt. It was the aide. He did not move. And by the way his body was sprawled in the dirt, his neck grotesquely twisted, his eyes staring lifelessly, Daniel knew he would not move again.
The old man was struggling to crawl out from under him, shouting orders.
Nayra nodded and yelled to Tyler, “Get his gun! Get his gun!”
But Tyler had frozen. All he could do was stare at the young man. As far as Daniel knew, his son had never seen death before— except in movies or video games.
The gunfire grew closer.
Again the old man shouted and again Nayra translated. “Get the rifle!”
But Tyler could not move. With some effort Nayra pushed the aide aside and pulled the rifle off his shoulder. The movement shamed Tyler back into action. He reached for the old man and helped him to his feet.
“We must leave here!” Nayra shouted.
Tyler nodded and, allowing the old man to lean on him, started off in the only clear direction.
Daniel had just moved to join them when a soldier suddenly came into view. Another youngster. Younger than Tyler. He shouted something in Hebrew, an obvious order for them to stop.
Daniel slowed but Tyler did not. Instead he turned and began hobbling in the opposite direction.
“Tyler!” Daniel yelled.
Again the soldier shouted.
“Tyler, stop!”
The soldier raised his rifle.
“Tyler!” Gripped with fear, Daniel started toward the soldier, trying to explain, trying to draw his attention.
But the soldier ignored him and took aim.
“No!” Daniel twirled to Tyler. “Tyler, no!” Then back to the soldier. “No!” He started running at him. “No! No!”
The soldier fired.
Daniel spun around just in time to see the old man go limp in Tyler’s arms. But Tyler did not stop. In fear and panic he dragged the man faster.
“Tyler!”
The soldier aimed again.
Seeing no alternative, Daniel leaped between them, waving his arms, as a second shot was fired. Only it did not hit Tyler. Nor did it hit Daniel. Instead it was the young soldier who crumbled to the ground.
Confused, Daniel turned. He spotted Nayra lowering her rifle. She stared at it as if it were some strange creature as she tried to fathom what it had just done, what she had just done.
Three armed soldiers rounded the corner. They spotted their comrade, then Nayra, and immediately shouted, demanding that she drop the rifle. She held it at arm’s length, like a poisonous snake, and released it. It clattered onto the road. The soldiers started toward her.
Suddenly a white Mercedes slid around the corner, accelerating, barreling down on them. Having no time to take aim, the soldiers realized it would be smarter to leap for their lives. They weren’t wrong. The driver missed them by inches. The car fishtailed, avoiding the fallen soldier, then skidded to a stop directly beside Nayra.
“Get in!” a voice shouted.
Nayra stood paralyzed, still in shock.
The driver reached over and opened the passenger door. The sun’s reflection off the windshield made it impossible to recognize the face, but Daniel knew the voice.
“Get in!”
Woodenly, Nayra obeyed. She had barely entered before the tires spun furiously. The car slid to another stop between Daniel and Tyler.
“Hurry!” Helen shouted. “Get in! Get in!”
Daniel turned to help Tyler, who had kneeled down with the man. But the dark, widening circle in the old-timer’s back, and the ashen look on Tyler’s face, made it clear that his son had just witnessed his second death in as many minutes.
The soldiers behind them were scrambling to their feet, shouting, raising their rifles.
“Get in!” Helen yelled.
Daniel obeyed. But not Tyler. Not before the boy spotted the box near the old man’s hand and tentatively reached for it.
“Get in!”
The first bullet sank into the Mercedes’ left rear fender with a sickening thud. The second missed the car, sending up a cloud of dust inches from Tyler’s feet. He did not have to be told again. He grabbed the box, leaped up, and raced to the car. More shots were fired as he tumbled into the backseat, as the Mercedes sped off, as he tried more than once to grab the back door until he finally slammed it shut.
“You must wait here.”
“What?”
“Your presence is not welcome.”
“What do you—”
“You are a Jew; you are not welcome.”
The tension between them was palpable. And for a moment it seemed uncertain whether Helen would back down or not. Then reluctantly she agreed. But she would not leave the doorway. Apparently, she was going to stand right there and wait. Just she and the two dozen pair of eyes stealing peeks at her.
Inside, an old man greeted them. He sat on a rug and appeared even less conscious of dental hygiene than did the restaurant’s owner. His mouth worked the end of a plastic tube that led to a hookah water pipe. The air was full of pungent, sweet smoke. Not far away two or three younger men stood, slouched in the shadows behind him.
He turned and spoke to Nayra. She nodded and translated. “Please, sit.” She motioned Daniel toward the cushions in front of him.
“Tell him we will stand,” Daniel said.
Nayra spoke to the old man in Arabic. He shrugged, then said something else.
“He would like you to come closer,” Nayra said. “His eyes are no longer good, and he would like to see your face.”
Daniel turned to Tyler, who nodded. He moved forward until he was directly under the light of a bare bulb that hung from the ceiling.
The man grinned broadly. “Shukran, shukran.” Then he spoke something else.
“He would like to see the stone,” Nayra said.
“Stone?”
“The Levi Stone.”
Daniel kept his eyes on the old man’s. Even in the shadows he could see the milky cataracts. “Tell him . . .”—he cleared his throat—“tell him it is in good hands.”
More Arabic was exchanged. “Your hands?” Nayra asked.
“Perhaps.”
The old man chuckled, then asked something else in Arabic. Nayra translated. “He wants to know if you have had any dreams?”
Daniel tried not to stiffen. “We all dream.”
The man grinned again, obviously enjoying the repartee. He answered and Nayra translated. “Yes, but how many of us dream of . . .”—she turned back to the old man to confirm what she’d heard, then returned to Daniel—“how many of us dream of the face of God?”
Daniel felt the blood drain from his cheeks. The old man saw it and cackled softly. Apparently, he had his answer. Turning to his companions, he gave a curt order. One of the young men obeyed, producing a small box of olive wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Holding it with great care, he approached the old man. It was only then that Daniel noticed the rifle dangling from the boy’s shoulder. As he stepped into the light, his two associates moved forward, making it clear that everything was being carefully observed and carefully protected.
The old man took the box into his knotted, arthritic hands. He spoke again and Nayra translated. “I too have had dreams, Pastor. The dream of a face. But unlike your dream, mine is the face of a—”
The explosion shook the room with such force that Daniel nearly lost his balance. He heard the old man cry out but his voice was lost in another explosion. And another.
“Rockets!” the owner’s voice shouted. “Helicopter gunships!”
Adrenaline surged through Daniel as another explosion pounded the room, knocking him to his knees. The light was gone but he could hear the plaster and concrete falling around him, felt smaller chunks bouncing off his shoulders and head. Dust filled the room, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
“Outside!” the owner shouted and coughed. A back door was suddenly kicked open and blinding light stabbed Daniel’s eyes. “Everybody outside!”
He staggered to his feet. To his left he saw the boy with the rifle helping the old man do the same. More explosions shattered the room. Pounding, deafening, throwing Daniel into Tyler. Somehow they kept their balance and stumbled toward the light. Coughing and gagging, they emerged into a narrow street, one end already blocked by smoke.
“This way!” one of the young men shouted, waving. “This way!”
Everyone turned and started to follow. Everyone but Daniel.
“Dad!” Tyler yelled over his shoulder. “Come on!”
“Where is he?” Daniel shouted, straining to see through the dust. “Where is the old man?”
“What?”
“The old man!”
Tyler spotted him at the door. “Right there, behind you!”
He spun around to see the old man emerge into the light, clutching the wooden box, leaning heavily upon his young assistant. Daniel heard the rocket coming but had no time to cover his face before the apartment next door exploded. The concussion threw him backward, pelting his skin with rock and concrete as he landed hard on the ground. But he only remained a moment. Even as the debris rained around him, he scrambled to his feet.
“Tyler!” he shouted. “Tyler!” He squinted through the billowing dust, choking, his throat on fire. “Tyler!”
“Here!” his son cried, coughing. “Over here!”
He turned to see Tyler staggering to his feet, helping Nayra to hers. The debris stopped falling and was replaced by the distant pop of automatic gunfire and panicked cries.
“He’s hurt!” Nayra shouted. She motioned to the old man, who lay under his young assistant. She raced toward them and Tyler followed. But it wasn’t the old man who was hurt. It was the aide. He did not move. And by the way his body was sprawled in the dirt, his neck grotesquely twisted, his eyes staring lifelessly, Daniel knew he would not move again.
The old man was struggling to crawl out from under him, shouting orders.
Nayra nodded and yelled to Tyler, “Get his gun! Get his gun!”
But Tyler had frozen. All he could do was stare at the young man. As far as Daniel knew, his son had never seen death before— except in movies or video games.
The gunfire grew closer.
Again the old man shouted and again Nayra translated. “Get the rifle!”
But Tyler could not move. With some effort Nayra pushed the aide aside and pulled the rifle off his shoulder. The movement shamed Tyler back into action. He reached for the old man and helped him to his feet.
“We must leave here!” Nayra shouted.
Tyler nodded and, allowing the old man to lean on him, started off in the only clear direction.
Daniel had just moved to join them when a soldier suddenly came into view. Another youngster. Younger than Tyler. He shouted something in Hebrew, an obvious order for them to stop.
Daniel slowed but Tyler did not. Instead he turned and began hobbling in the opposite direction.
“Tyler!” Daniel yelled.
Again the soldier shouted.
“Tyler, stop!”
The soldier raised his rifle.
“Tyler!” Gripped with fear, Daniel started toward the soldier, trying to explain, trying to draw his attention.
But the soldier ignored him and took aim.
“No!” Daniel twirled to Tyler. “Tyler, no!” Then back to the soldier. “No!” He started running at him. “No! No!”
The soldier fired.
Daniel spun around just in time to see the old man go limp in Tyler’s arms. But Tyler did not stop. In fear and panic he dragged the man faster.
“Tyler!”
The soldier aimed again.
Seeing no alternative, Daniel leaped between them, waving his arms, as a second shot was fired. Only it did not hit Tyler. Nor did it hit Daniel. Instead it was the young soldier who crumbled to the ground.
Confused, Daniel turned. He spotted Nayra lowering her rifle. She stared at it as if it were some strange creature as she tried to fathom what it had just done, what she had just done.
Three armed soldiers rounded the corner. They spotted their comrade, then Nayra, and immediately shouted, demanding that she drop the rifle. She held it at arm’s length, like a poisonous snake, and released it. It clattered onto the road. The soldiers started toward her.
Suddenly a white Mercedes slid around the corner, accelerating, barreling down on them. Having no time to take aim, the soldiers realized it would be smarter to leap for their lives. They weren’t wrong. The driver missed them by inches. The car fishtailed, avoiding the fallen soldier, then skidded to a stop directly beside Nayra.
“Get in!” a voice shouted.
Nayra stood paralyzed, still in shock.
The driver reached over and opened the passenger door. The sun’s reflection off the windshield made it impossible to recognize the face, but Daniel knew the voice.
“Get in!”
Woodenly, Nayra obeyed. She had barely entered before the tires spun furiously. The car slid to another stop between Daniel and Tyler.
“Hurry!” Helen shouted. “Get in! Get in!”
Daniel turned to help Tyler, who had kneeled down with the man. But the dark, widening circle in the old-timer’s back, and the ashen look on Tyler’s face, made it clear that his son had just witnessed his second death in as many minutes.
The soldiers behind them were scrambling to their feet, shouting, raising their rifles.
“Get in!” Helen yelled.
Daniel obeyed. But not Tyler. Not before the boy spotted the box near the old man’s hand and tentatively reached for it.
“Get in!”
The first bullet sank into the Mercedes’ left rear fender with a sickening thud. The second missed the car, sending up a cloud of dust inches from Tyler’s feet. He did not have to be told again. He grabbed the box, leaped up, and raced to the car. More shots were fired as he tumbled into the backseat, as the Mercedes sped off, as he tried more than once to grab the back door until he finally slammed it shut.
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This book sounds so fascinating. I wished I had time to read it for the tour, but alas, my TBR pile is a mountain right now.
ReplyDeleteHope the book does well.