Page 62 of Ford
“They were nothing compared to my father. He was a firefighter, a bull rider, a rancher, and a range cop. He grew straight out of the land, tough, gnarled, and didn’t let anything beat him. Once he and my brother Reuben got in a plane accident, and despite having a broken ankle, he dragged himself back home to get help. He was tough as leather and expected us to be too.”
“Sounds like a hard man.”
“Yeah. He taught us to handle ourselves, but he was also a man of faith. He believed that you needed to trust God but also take hold of what He’s given you.”
“God helps those who help themselves.”
Ford lifted a shoulder.
“You know that’s not actually in the Bible, right? Ben Franklin said that, and it’s about opposite to what God wants. We always think of God as our reinforcement…but He’s our breacher. He’s the first one through the door. Consider the Israelites as they were fleeing the Egyptians. They run up to a massive sea, and what does Moses do? Tells them to stand still. To cool their jets—the Lord would fight for them. And then God breaches the Red Sea. Parts it and they walk through on dry land. Dry. Land. Seriously.”
Ford considered him. Ham didn’t look like an overly religious man. He wore a tattoo on his upper arm, peeking out the sleeve—what looked like tribal marks. He carried himself with confidence, still had the build of a man who spent time in the gym.
Ford, too, had done his homework. Ham had served twelve years on Team Three, four tours in Afghanistan, and had even been involved in an insurgency in Chechnya ten years ago, when a group of separatist guerrillas overran an aid hospital and refugee camp. Ford had dug up a story that was circulating about Ham and a handful of other SEALs who had rescued an aid worker taken hostage.
Not a coward. Not a guy to stand in the shadows and let others fight his battles.
In a way, Ham sounded a little like Orrin Marshall. “I grew up on stories from the Old Testament,” Ford said. “Joshua and Caleb, warlords who brought the Israelites into the Promised Land. The crazy battle of Jericho. Samson. David and his fighting men.”
“’Trust in the Lord—he is our help and shield.’ Psalm 115. David knew that the only way to victory was to let God lead him into battle and watch his flank and shield him when he was in over his head. Which is why God gives you a team, Ford. To watch your back, your flank, and drag you out of the drink when you’re drowning.”
He considered Ford a moment. “This isn’t about rescuing your sister. It’s about proving to yourself that you’re not that scared kid anymore. Too afraid to move.”
What? “I’mnothim.”
“Clearly. Keep taking on terrorists by yourself and jumping off cliffs and you might just convince yourself of that.”
The door unlatched, and Scarlett drew it back. Ham turned back to the window.
Ford wasn’t a scared kid anymore. But he conceded he might be in over his head, especially as Scarlett sat down next to him.
Whatever happens, I will show up for you, Red. Whatever happens.He heard his own arrogant, passionate, desperate words.
Please, Lord, help me not let her down.
She set a fresh cup of coffee on the table. “Kiev looks a lot like Poland. Big cement buildings, statues of military leaders.”
“Communist rule. The Russians came in and put their stamp on everything. They rebuilt war-damaged buildings by putting up cement structures and reminders of who was in charge,” Ham said. “The Kiev station is less organized than the one in Warsaw. We’ll need to get tickets at the gate.” He looked at Ford. “I’ll place a call to my contact when we’re aboard and make sure RJ is staying put.”
Ford still wasn’t sure they shouldn’t have gotten on a plane.
The train pulled into the station, a cement platform in an open yard of other trains, both short and long haul. Travelers congested the area with suitcases, pull bags, and duffel bags, waiting to get on various trains, mixing with the disembarkers. Ford pulled his backpack close as he got off.
“Keep your pack close to you,” he said to Scarlett. “Put your cell phone in your front pocket.”
The air smelled of diesel fuel and oil, the sky overhead rose gold, turning to blue with the rising sun. Food vendors hawked breakfast in the form of peroshke and chebureki. His stomach writhed, passing them.
They descended into a corridor filled with kiosks of souvenir vendors, newspaper stands, and the occasional travel supplies. Ford refrained from holding Scarlett’s hand but kept glancing back to see that she was keeping up.
Ham was leading, stalking through the tunnels as if he knew the way. They pressed through crowds, up stairs, and emerged into the central terminal, a magnificent arched building reminiscent of a cathedral, with hanging chandeliers, columns, and ornate windows.
Ham stopped in front of a window withObmin-Valootiwritten over the top.
Ford didn’t have to read Cyrillic to understand: Tickets.
Scarlett wandered over to a kiosk selling T-shirts and pointed to a yellow-and-blue fútbol jersey—the Ukrainian soccer team.
Ford debated, then headed over to Scarlett.