Boz sat on the edge of the bed looking at the rucksack he’d prepared, going over each and every detail, making sure he didn’t forget something. Forgetting something that needed to be in this bag could be the difference between life and death. For him and Jon. And he wasn’t about to make a mistake like that. He unzipped the bag, dumped its contents out on the bed, and started again. Just to make double sure.
When he was satisfied that he was as prepared as he needed to be, he walked downstairs and set the bag by the front door. He then moved past the living room and into the kitchen. He wasn’t terribly hungry, but the old soldier in him reminded him of the military’s rule number one: always eat and sleep when you can. You never knew when you would have the chance to do either again.
He took the sandwich and chips into his office, set them down, and grabbed his Bible, remembering Boz Hamilton’s rule number one: always feed on the Word of God every chance you get. You never knew when you would have the chance to again. He thumbed through the old, worn-out leather-bound pages until he came to one of his favorite passages. He said a quick prayer and grabbed the sandwich and began to read.
He’d just finished the last few chips and all of 1 Peter when the sat-phone on his desk rang. He swallowed down his last mouthful and clicked the button on the phone.
“This is Boz.”
“Hello, Mr. Hamilton.”
“I’ve been waiting for your call, Quinn. I’m ready to go. Just say when and where.” Then, “How is he?”
“Remarkably well. Which is good, because you two have another long road ahead of you.”
“I’ll take care of him.”
“Yes, I know you will.”
An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment, as if the Prophet wanted to say more but couldn’t.
“Is everything okay?” Boz felt that sinking feeling in his gut.
“Everything is fine. You’ll need to leave now to make it where we are by dark. You’ll need to move fast once you’re here. You’ll only have a few hours before daylight to get back across the mountains.” Then, “Are you armed?”
Boz was slightly taken aback. “Yes, of course.” Immediately, he sensed the Prophet was going to tell him God had directed that he go in there with just his bare hands. A slight panic coursed through his veins. Okay, God, he thought. If that’s how You want it…
“Good. You cannot allow yourselves to get captured again. At any cost. Do you understand, Mr. Hamilton?”
“Roger that,” Boz answered, allowing himself to slip back into the black ops persona. “What’s your location?”
“Just outside of Nashville. A small row of motel rooms. There’s a road here called Murfreesboro Road. Runs directly out from the city. About two and a half miles south is where you’ll find us. Pinkish stucco building sitting back from the south end of the road. Lots of unsavory characters out and about. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
“What’s the room number?”
“Twelve. All the way in the back.”
“Okay, so I guess I’ll see you sometime around dark, then.”
“Just Jon, Mr. Hamilton.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Just Jon. I’m afraid the two of you will be journeying without me. But don’t worry. If I’m needed, He’ll send me to you.”
Boz was immediately disheartened. He had thought about sitting down and having conversations with Quinn about the whole Prophet thing. He was so intrigued and in awe of how God had used Quinn. Boz just wanted to pick his brain. See how it all worked.
Boz sighed. “Okay, then. I guess we’ll just wait to see if we hear from you again.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Hamilton.”
“Good-bye. Oh, and Quinn?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Boz.”
“So it is. Good-bye, Boz.”
As soon as the line went dead, Boz punched in a new number. Jennings answered on the second ring.
“Quinn just called. I’m on.”
“Then go get our boy.”
“I’m walking out the door as we speak.”