Take A Stand: The Challenge Trilogy, #1

By Nancy Bandusky

Sean Atkins, a former marine, has deciphered documents from a secret organization bent on eradicating Christianity from the United States. When the goal of this organization is discovered, underground house churches are formed. As attacks against the hidden Christians mount, Sean leads a small group desiring to worship God. The arrests and deaths of fellow Christians push Sean closer to a decision he must make. Will he risk it all to speak the truth?
This is the first book in the Challenge trilogy set in the present day United States. A romance sub-story line weaves throughout.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancy Bandusky
• Release date: Jan 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465936479

Book preview

Prologue

- 1947 -

Holding the phone away from his ear, the man waited for the boss to stop shouting. He knew he’d blown it. He’d been too late. Finally, he got his chance. I told you it isn’t here. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. I looked … I already looked everywhere!

The man surveyed the once orderly room. He’d sliced up the mattress, dumped the desk’s contents on the floor, and broken the desk. The few items from the closet lay torn on the bed. Wanting to make sure there weren’t any hiding places, he’d even turned the empty table upside down.

Leaning against the wall, the man said, No, it’s not here. I already did that. It literally scared him to death. He studied the body on the floor. Maybe a heart attack … Don’t worry, I’ll find it. At least we’ve taken care of the contact in the States, right?

The man, with an eerie calmness, wiped off the phone before returning it to the cradle. Standing over Yael Moshe’s body, he lifted Yael’s head by his hair. He slapped his face, letting it fall to the floor. Kicking at the ribs, he yelled, Who did you give it to?

Draping his dark overcoat over his arm, the man turned to leave. He glanced out the window. You had a good room. Nice view of the Dome of the Rock.

* * * *

Steven Wheeler greeted his wife with a big hug. Although he was tired from the long overseas flight, he knew from past experience Beverly would want to hear all the details. Only then could he collapse in bed.

The two walked down the hall to the master bedroom. Did you have a good flight? Beverly asked.

It was all right. Always glad to get home.

Beverly started unpacking the suitcase while Steven emptied his briefcase. He stood for a moment, holding an overstuffed legal envelope. What’s that? Beverly asked.

I don’t know. That friend of William’s asked me to bring it back for him. Sure made the briefcase heavy.

Why didn’t you just check it through?

Yael Moshe, that’s William’s friend, asked me to carry it on. It seemed very important to him that William have this.

Oh. Beverly’s face paled.

What’s wrong?

Weeping, Beverly sat on the edge of the bed. I wanted to wait and tell you in the morning, but … William was killed in a car accident yesterday. He was on his way to work and someone ran a red light. The funeral will be at church on Friday.

Letting the envelope slip to the floor, Steven sat next to Beverly. He put his arms around her. Just yesterday, Yael and I were talking about him. William was right. Yael was a great host. I rang him up as soon as I was done with business. He took me out and showed me the sights. It was wonderful walking through the Garden of Gethsemane. We talked about William and how he wanted to come but couldn’t because of that project. That’s when he asked me to bring the envelope back for him.

Steven pulled a business card from his wallet and reached for the phone. I should call and tell him about William.

Honey, it’s late.

Not over there.

Steven dialed the number and waited. No one there. I’ll have to try tomorrow. I need to know what he wants me to do with it.

- 1994 -

The frigid air whipped around the man. He pulled his dark overcoat tighter. His hard face barely cracked a smile. It was The Windy City. He glanced at his watch. The boss was late. He wouldn’t say anything, but he was getting too old to stand out here in the cold. It was time to retire.

A black limousine pulled up. The man opened the door and stepped in. Settling back on the seat, he busied himself with removing newspaper articles from his briefcase. He’d learned over the years not to make eye contact.

They headed toward Lake Shore Drive. The man cleared his throat. Powers has real potential. He’s got a natural ability. I think he’ll be the one to take over here.

The cold silence unnerved him.

I know I never found it. But look, it doesn’t matter. You’ve accomplished the goals with little resistance. Flipping through the papers, the man’s hands shook. Headlines proclaimed prayer’s removal from school, free love, abortion legalized, no fault divorce. It went on and on.

One paper fell. The man snatched it back. His hands stopped shaking. This was the boss’ proudest achievement. The acceptance of evolution. He took a deep breath. Maybe now he should mention his retirement.

Glancing out the window at the crashing waves, he realized this was the first time he’d been in the limousine and hadn’t been offered a drink. That wasn’t a good sign. His mind became preoccupied with the significance of it. He broke his rule. He made eye contact.

Wait! the man cried out. I’ve always been loyal to the agency.

The man’s last thought was he’d made a fatal mistake.

Chapter 1

- Present Day -

Leaning back in his chair, Sean Atkins tossed the completed Sudoku puzzle in the trash. He yawned. What a waste of a Saturday. It had been boring, like everyday for the past six months. He wanted to do something useful after being selected Senator Tony Scardine’s aide. So far nothing. It didn’t matter if they were here in Naperville, Illinois or in Washington, D.C. Tony was working on something, but he was keeping it to himself.

Sean hoped the senator would leave soon and he could get to his real work. He needed to get in the senator’s office and check his computer. Hearing the click of the doorknob, he muttered, Finally.

Tony ambled out of his office, heading for the main door without a word. His briefcase in his hand.

Leaving, Senator? Sean asked.

Smiling his camera-ready smile, Tony replied, Been a busy day, lots done, more to do Monday. Oh, by the way, thanks for coming in. The door shut behind him.

After waiting fifteen minutes, Sean hurried to the desk computer in the senator’s private office. He turned it on and within another minute was accessing the ghost program he had installed his first day. Confident the senator would not be returning, Sean prepared to view the program. It recorded everything the senator did.

Sean swore. In the six hours he had been here today, Tony had done only two things on the computer. One was an e-mail to his wife about not wanting to have dinner with the in-laws. The other was checking the service time of a nearby church. Sean paused. His eyes narrowed. Now that was interesting. Sean deleted the ghost file. The program was ready to run again. He doubted it would matter. Obviously, Senator Scardine wasn’t using this computer for whatever he was working on. Sean turned off the computer, hit the light switch, locked the inner and outer doors and left.

* * * *

Zivah Solomon looked out the window of her tiny New York City apartment. It stood in the shadow of taller buildings. Her day at the agency had been long. She was tired … and scared. Looking at the picture of her beloved Malachi, she said, Oh, if you were only here. I know I failed you before. I should’ve done exactly what you told me, but I was scared back then. I still am.

She sighed. If only I’d told him the disks were from you. If only I’d told him something. A single tear slid down her cheek. She reached for a letter well worn from many readings. Maybe he could have helped you. Maybe he could have gotten you out. Do you know they have me trapped now too? Pacing around the room, she said, But I did it! Just like you. I found the communications. If only he can help …

Opening the letter, she read, Dear Zivah, I am sorry for the delay in writing to you. Your letter informing me of Malachi’s death took some time to reach me since I am no longer in the service. One of my life’s regrets is that I lost touch with Malachi after our paths went in different directions.

At the sound of a siren, she glanced out the window. Yes, you told me about that argument. That fight. You told me he was against you working for the agency … I wonder if it pained him as much as it did you to lose that friendship. She took a breath and picked up the picture frame. It didn’t take you long to figure out the agency was up to no good. But it was too late. Once in, in for life.

Zivah returned to the letter. I am happy to find out he had a wife and daughter. However, I am sorry we’ve never met. If you are ever in the States, please give me a call. At present, I move around a lot. It would be best to use the number at the bottom or I often stay with Jake Paterson in Big Rock, Illinois. His phone and address are also below. She stopped reading and confirmed she had Jake’s number memorized.

Again, Zivah, I am sorry to hear of the loss of Malachi. The only comfort I can offer is the knowledge that one day we shall see him again. Yeshua offers that gift. I pray you have received it. In Christ’s love, Sean Atkins.

Zivah folded the letter and put it inside a book. That was the hiding place she used since receiving it eight months ago when she’d been in Israel preparing for the move. Clutching the picture frame, she said, It can’t be a fake. It isn’t a trap. You told me he always spoke of Jesus as Yeshua to you, his Israeli friend.

Now, listen to me, she told the picture while pulling her graying hair into a clip. This is how it’s going to work. I’ll take the flash drive and call Jake Paterson. I’ll say I have something for Sean to work on. Something like the disks. That should make him curious enough to come. I’m sorry, but I can’t call Sean. Darling, he’d recognize me from before. You told me one of his faults is he doesn’t see gray, only black and white. He wouldn’t let me go. I can’t risk it, my darling, for they still hold Hanah back home. How I wish I could hold her in my arms right now. She allowed herself one quiet sob.

Zivah reached for a large package. The boss wants me to hand deliver this to someone in Chicago. I can pass on the computer files before I return. I will miss you. Kissing the picture, she placed it on the table.

* * * *

Jeremy Powers leaned back in the plastic seat at the boarding gate. He still had an hour until boarding time for the Chicago flight. The work there shouldn’t take long. Then he would be back here, back in Vegas. He liked Vegas. There was plenty to keep him entertained.

Powers cursed when his neighbor’s elbow bumped him again. The middle-aged man said, Sorry about that. Sure is crowded here tonight. Everyone must be wanting to get out of Sin City. I know I am. When Powers only gave a brief nod and returned to staring out the window, the man went back to his magazine.

Twenty minutes later, the man stood. Well, that’s my plane. The man held the magazine out to Powers. Here. If you want something to read, I’ve finished this.

Taking it, Powers glanced at the title, The Voice of the Martyrs. The man continued, It will make you glad we live in the United States of America. Forty-two Christians were just killed in Nigeria. Glad nothing like that can happen here.

The man walked off, not hearing Powers’ gruff reply, Wanta bet? Powers got up and tossed the magazine in a trashcan. He was ready to get to work.

* * * *

After Sean unlocked the door to his second floor, sparsely furnished apartment, he didn’t bother to click on the light. Carrying his briefcase, he proceeded, in the growing dusk, through the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom, bypassing the living room completely. He’d been in it once. The first day. It had a large sliding glass door that opened to a balcony. He’d never been on it. The broken blinds had been removed shortly after he moved in and had yet to be replaced.

In the dark bedroom, he switched to sweatpants and a T-shirt. Opening his briefcase, he removed his nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson. Returning to the kitchen, he laid the pistol on the table. He poured himself a glass of milk and made a sandwich. He ate standing.

Clicking on the radio, Sean listened to Moody’s program about salvation. He gathered supplies from the lower cabinet and then took apart his gun. He cleaned it, though it wasn’t necessary. When he was ready to put it back together, he closed his eyes. The semi-darkness was more of a distraction.

The news came on while he was finishing. There’d been another bombing in Jerusalem. Sean paused, listening. There was no more information. Great. Now as long as he knew she was in Israel, he would worry. He wished she would contact him again. He had written long enough ago that she could have replied by now. Maybe her informing him of Malachi’s death was just that. Notice. Not reaching out. Not wanting to talk about him. With a sigh, he bowed his head, asking for forgiveness again for walking away from a friend.

Sean remembered it like it was yesterday instead of the year after he graduated from law school. He had enjoyed his vacation in Israel with Malachi showing him around, until … Malachi told him he was joining the Natas Agency. Sean blew up. He didn’t even listen. He told him to refuse, to walk away, to return to the States. Malachi talked about what could be accomplished. Sean looked at his imploring face, turned and stormed out. Never hearing from him again. Never knowing until his widow sent the letter.

Sean clicked off the radio and walked back to the bedroom. He lay down on the bed, holding his pistol. After dry firing it a few times, he loaded it. Placing the gun on the nightstand, he clicked on a light and reached for his Bible. He read the Psalms until the painful memories drifted away. Turning off the light, he stretched out on top of the bedspread and went to sleep.

Chapter 2

Maneuvering out of the crowded worship center, Emma Simms wondered why she kept attending when the sermons were just fluff and nonsense. Hi, sweetie, a voice said.

Emma looked up into the ruggedly handsome face of Gerald McGrainy. Hi yourself, Uncle, she said, smiling a real smile for the first time that day. Where’s Aunt Ginny?

Oh, you know Ginny, she’s chit chatting with everyone now. What do you think of this music? Myself, I can’t understand why they call this the traditional service if they’re going to play that loud crap, continued Gerald with the final word only a whisper in her ear. Emma laughed. She loved Gerald and Virginia McGrainy. They were old enough to be her grandparents and, although they weren’t related, she called them Aunt and Uncle.

Reaching for Emma’s arm, Gerald placed it over his own while they walked. See, he whispered in her ear, they don’t even call it a sanctuary anymore. It has to be a worship center. Emma smiled. They moved to the fellowship area for doughnuts and juice.

You didn’t answer my question about the music, stated Gerald. They both were munching on mini donuts.

You know I don’t care for this type of music. I prefer to sing the old hymns, but it seems more people like this. I guess I’m older than I really am, answered Emma.

Well, everyone I talk to wants the hymns too. These youngsters growing up don’t even know the classics like ‘The Old Rugged Cross.’ But as Ginny likes to say, that isn’t the point of church, said Gerald, running his right hand through his gray military style hair. Don’t you think the young ones need to understand and appreciate the past too?

Emma was spared from answering because Ginny arrived. Gerald, are you complaining about the music again? You remember what I said before, don’t you? You can choose to complain or you can be thankful. I’m thankful I have ears to hear people praising God, Ginny said.

I’m thankful I’m losing my hearing … then I won’t hear it anymore, Gerald muttered. Leaning forward, he gave his wife a peck on the cheek. Ginny was a slightly plump woman of average height, with short gray hair framing her face.

Hello, Emma dear. Are you coming over for lunch? asked Ginny, giving Emma a motherly hug.

Sure. About noon. I need to give Sugar her walk and then I’ll be over.

Now dear, just bring Sugar. She gets along with the cats. You and I can take a stroll after lunch, said Ginny.

Don’t you remember we need to do the baking for tonight? asked Emma. She hugged Gerald and Ginny goodbye.

Skipping the long line to shake Reverend Clint Baines’ hand, Emma left through the side door. He never remembered her name despite her volunteering in the office during the summer. She wouldn’t do that next summer. She’d do something fun instead.

At home, Emma quickly changed into jeans and a sweater. Sugar wagged her tail furiously while Emma slipped the leash on. They started on their walk.

Emma enjoyed her Sunday lunches with Gerald and Ginny. It was fun to discuss church, the Bible, life, just everything. While Ginny just wanted everyone to be happy, Emma thought more like Gerald. She knew she wanted to find a man like him, but she feared his kind wasn’t made anymore.

* * * *

Shortly before noon, Emma pulled her green Explorer in Ginny’s driveway. She loved their place. It was a small old-fashioned home built in the forties. With arched doorways and a wonderful walk up attic, Emma had loved to play here as a child. The best part was the large lot the house sat on. Ginny had a large garden and Gerald cared for several fruit trees.

Emma let herself in the back door with the key they had given her years ago. She called out hello, but there wasn’t an answer. Nothing was cooking on the stove. Calling again, she moved from the kitchen to the living room. The two cats jumped off the couch, but there was no other activity.

Walking back to the detached garage, Emma heard a car horn. She turned around and saw Gerald’s sedan pull in the driveway behind her car. Driving on the grass, he stopped in front of the garage and let Ginny out.

Sorry we’re late, said Ginny. We got to talking and didn’t realize the time. Suddenly the horn honked again. Ginny and Emma jumped.

Oh, oops, Ginny said. She hurried to the garage door and poked the buttons. We need to put batteries in the remote and we keep forgetting.

Gerald parked in the garage and got out. Giving Emma a smile, he said to Ginny, I’m starving, woman. You just keep gabbing and gabbing. The three headed to the house.

Would you like me to start lunch while you change? asked Emma.

Oh, you are such a dear. I thought we’d have sandwiches and then a pie I made for dessert. Find what you can. We’ll be out in a flash, replied Ginny, leaving the kitchen with Gerald.

Emma found the bread and started toasting it. She got the lunchmeat out of the fridge. Immediately, the cats were around her feet. Emma tossed each cat a piece of turkey and then got busy making sandwiches. Ginny was out within minutes to help while Gerald went to check the answering machine. Emma could hear the machine talking but couldn’t make out what was said.

Who was it, dear? Ginny asked Gerald when he came in the kitchen.

Sean. He said he can stop by about three this afternoon.

That will work. Have you met him, Emma? asked Ginny.

Who?

Sean Atkins. We met him at our small group Bible study a few months ago. Very nice young man, said Ginny.

He goes to your small group? I thought your group was for the ancient, as Gerald likes to say, replied Emma.

Ginny laughed. You’re right. It is for the ‘young at heart,’ but Sean wanted to come. He said we were studying something that interested him.

What are you studying? Emma asked.

Evolution and the Bible, said Gerald. It’s been interesting. Sean’s had some good points.

I think he’s a bit argumentative, said Ginny. But most lawyers are.

Oh, he’s a lawyer?

Yes, but he works for Senator Scardine. I think he’s interested in a political career.

The three moved to the table to eat. The conversation switched to Emma’s teaching at the local Christian school.

* * * *

Emma heard the doorbell at exactly three o’clock. She smiled when Ginny scurried to the front door. A few moments later, she heard voices approaching the kitchen. Busily removing a pan of cookies from the oven, Emma had her back to the doorway. When she turned around, she was surprised to see a good-looking man in his mid-thirties watching her.

Hi, Emma said, flustered. When he reached to shake her hand, she looked him over. She guessed he was slightly over six feet tall with short, almost black, hair. It took her an extra second to decide his eyes were a gray blue. She couldn’t help noticing he didn’t look like he sat behind a desk all day.

After introductions were made, Emma explained they were making cookies for the sing-along at church that evening. Gerald entered the kitchen and greeted Sean. So, Sean, what did you think of today’s sermon? Will it inspire you, teach you, and get you through the new week? he asked.

Now, now, let’s not start this again. I thought the sermon was just fine. It was on love and loving each other and not judging each other and … and I think that’s just fine, said Ginny.

Gerald continued, I was asking Sean his thoughts.

I think it lacked substance. I mean telling everyone to love each other is nice and wanting to make the world a better place is also nice. But if we aren’t sharing the gospel too, then aren’t we just making the world a better place to go to hell from? replied Sean.

What? He didn’t talk about hell, said Ginny.

I know and I think he should, but I’m not sure he even believes in hell anymore, if he ever did, continued Sean.

Putting another pan of cookies in the oven, Emma said, My problem with the sermon was that he said we should not judge anything because who are we to judge.

That’s right, dear. We aren’t supposed to judge, said Ginny.

Sean said, Now that isn’t exactly correct, Mrs. McGrainy.

Call me Ginny, honey

Okay, ma’am. Ginny. But it still isn’t correct. We are to judge. We’re warned to avoid things that are bad or wrong. How can we decide if something is wrong without judging? I don’t want to start a debate, but I think his sermons are more about loving the world and letting the world do what it wants … And not much about getting people saved.

But why can’t we make the world a better place? Ginny asked.

Sean said, "We can try, but you do realize the world is never going to be a better place. The world has been dying since the curse. Which is another point to bring up at the Bible study on Wednesday. We can spend a lot of time fixing things, but it won’t last. We can pray for peace, but God’s peace, not the world’s view of peace. All you have to do is read Revelation and know there isn’t going to be a lasting peace until Christ returns.

Now I’m not saying it isn’t good to do kind things. But take tonight’s sing-along and bake sale. If I understand correctly, the money will go to purchase Christmas presents for the poor. That’s real charitable, but … is anyone taking the time to tell them about Jesus and how they can be saved? That’s what I’m talking about. We make people happy by giving them a present. But they are still going to hell because no one is sharing the best present, the gospel.

Well, on that interesting note, I better be going, Emma said, smiling at Sean. I’ll see you two tonight, she added, looking at Ginny and Gerald. She gave them each a hug and then shook hands with Sean. She liked his handshake. It was strong but not crushing.

Smiling an apology, Sean said, Hope it wasn’t anything I said.

Oh, no. Not at all. I need to get some papers graded before tonight. Are you coming? asked Emma, surprised at herself for asking.

I might see you there … and I might buy some of your cookies. Sean gave her a smile.

* * * *

After Emma left, Sean said, I hope I didn’t make her leave.

Ginny replied, No, from what you say, I think her views are the same as yours. She has trouble forgiving people. A drunk driver killed her parents seven years ago. She’s a big advocate for tougher drunk driving laws and penalties.

Honey, said Gerald. I fail to see how that means she has trouble forgiving people. Just because she wants stricter punishments doesn’t mean she doesn’t forgive. People have to pay the price for their actions. I think what Sean means is that Clint is saying we are not to judge people’s actions. Not even to tell them what they’re doing is wrong because who are we to say they are wrong. But people, in Emma’s view, need to be told drunk driving is wrong and they need to be judged when they do it. Remember, dear, we are to hate the sin but love the sinner.

Sean spoke up. But Reverend Baines is preaching we are to love the sinner and who’s to say what’s sin. What one person thinks is wrong, another might not view as wrong.

Now wait a minute. You two are putting words in his mouth, replied Ginny. I’m sure he would agree that drunk driving is wrong.

Gerald replied, Yes, I think he would because it’s socially acceptable to think that. But are you sure about his views on homosexuals, abortion, or right-to-life issues?

Shaking his head, Sean said, He’d never preach on those topics. He wouldn’t want to offend anyone, either on the right or the left.

Oh, you two are so annoying at times, said Ginny, stuffing a cookie in each of their mouths.

After chewing the cookie, Sean asked, How long have you known Emma?

Oh, forever. We were friends of her parents. They lived here when they were killed. She was away at college, finals week her senior year, when it happened. She took some time to clean out their house and then moved to a condo in town. We were always close before she went away. We sort of lost touch during her college years, you know, we’d just see her at church when she came home. We took her under our wing after it happened, said Ginny.

Gerald interrupted, She’s been going to this church since she was a little girl, but she’s questioning Clint’s sermons a lot. She has a good mind. Pausing, he reached for another cookie. Now, let me show you that computer. I appreciate your stopping by. The men moved to Gerald’s study.

* * * *

Emma took Sugar for a long walk and then settled down on her couch to grade papers. Moments later her phone rang. Wanting to finish her work, she let it go to voice mail.

When she listened to the message forty minutes later, she was glad she hadn’t picked up. Hi. It’s Tamara. I’m going to the singing thing. I guess. I was hoping to see Dave there, but I don’t know if he’s going. Who cares. We might find other cute guys. And don’t tell me you’re not looking. Girlfriend, every single girl is looking for a man. I’ll see you there. We can sit together.

Groaning, Emma knew she needed to work on her attitude. She should try to be a friend to Tamara. Besides working at the same school, they attended the same church. However, since Tamara went to the later, more contemporary service, they rarely saw each other. This didn’t bother Emma at all.

Emma just didn’t click with Tamara. Tamara played the field and enjoyed partying. Despite Emma’s constant declining, Tamara was always pestering her to do things she didn’t want to do or go places she didn’t want to go.

Deleting the message, Emma went to her closet. She’d planned to just wear what she had on. Looking in the mirror, she thought, I look fine. Okay, I look okay. I could pick something a little dressier.

* * * *

The bank clock indicated it was sixteen, thirty when Sean rode past on his black Harley Sportster. He gave himself a mental kick; it was four thirty. He had to quit thinking in military time.

It hadn’t taken long with Gerald. They were decent folks and he enjoyed their Bible study. The idea of inviting Emma came to him. Now why had he thought that? Yes, he admitted he did enjoy meeting her. She seemed different from most women he had met lately, although he couldn’t figure out exactly how she was different.

He had liked what he saw when he walked in Ginny’s kitchen. The sun coming in the window had caught Emma’s long brown hair and showed off the natural auburn highlights. The few wisps that had fallen out of her ponytail had framed her pretty face. Her green eyes had sparkled when she joined the discussion.

Sean stopped thinking about her long legs when he suddenly realized a black sedan was following him. Or at least it appeared he was being followed. He made an unnecessary left turn followed by a quick right. Yup, the sedan was still there. He recognized the plates, government plates. What do they want, he wondered, pulling over to the side of the road.

No one exited the sedan. All the windows were tinted; Sean couldn’t see inside. He walked back to the car. When the front door opened, a voice said, Get in. Sean slid into the passenger seat, letting his hand graze his lower right leg. Yes, his knife was in place. He kept his right leg out of the car and thus the door open. In the driver’s seat was a man wearing black sweats. Despite the loose clothing, it was evident he was muscular. His brown hair was graying. Although there was nothing distinguishing about him, he looked familiar. Sean’s mind raced to place him.

Do I know you? asked Sean.

You know who I work for, replied the man.

Do you work for Scardine?

No, Scardine works for who I work for, the man answered with a sneer.

Annoyed with the clandestine conversation, Sean turned to leave. The man reached out his hand, placing it on Sean’s