Read Online 02 Thunder of Heaven: A Joshua Jordan Novel by Tim Lahaye - Free Book Online
Authors: Tim Lahaye
Tags: Christian
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an accomplished and successful lawyer on Capitol Hill, but being a mother was different. It defined her — down to her soul.
She sat down and put her feet up on the rough-hewn log coffee table, leaning back, closing her eyes, and she did what she did whenever she felt confused — she prayed. There was never anything high church about it, just plain talk to her Heavenly Father. She hadn’t known her own father very well; she was ten when he died. But God was always there, even if she sometimes ached for the Lord to be there in the flesh.
As she prayed, she lost track of time. It must have been a half anhour later when she heard car tires crunching over gravel. She opened her eyes. Her son, Cal, was climbing out of his Jeep with his suitcase in his hand.
She strolled down the porch steps, gave him a long hug, and peppered him with kisses.
“How’d your art show go? I am so sorry Dad and I couldn’t make it, but you know how proud we are. Your father was fit to be tied when he learned our jet had developed a minor gauge problem. Not a big deal apparently but you know your father. Anyway, by then we couldn’t catch a commercial flight. ”
“Don’t worry about it mom. The show was … oh, interesting, I guess. Where’s Dad?”
“Had to fly to New York at the break of dawn. Finally got the gauge problem fixed. And some security upgrades. Anyway, I know he wanted to see you, but he’s got a real crisis on his hands.”
Cal’s voice was tinged with cynicism. “Dad handling some crisis? Yeah. That’d be something new.”
Abigail replied with a sly smile, “Hey, mister, he’s bailed you out of a crisis or two.”
Cal gave her a funny look. His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. I know. You have no idea how much I still think about that.”
She nodded and waited for more. When it didn’t come, she asked, “Can I fix you breakfast?”
“I’d love it. I’ve been driving straight for two days. I couldn’t wait to get here.”
As they walked inside, Cal seemed buried in his thoughts.
“What’s on your mind?” Abigail asked.
“A question.”
“What?”
“Oh, it can wait. At least ‘til I get some food in me.”
“Come on, don’t keep your mother waiting. If I feed your belly, you have to satisfy my curiosity.”
Cal stopped and set his suitcase down. “The subject’s kind of a
downer.”
“Try me.”
“I keep thinking about it. About almost getting killed.”
Abigail didn’t speak. She just waited, with a look that said she loved him no matter what.
“And it’s about …
him,”
said Cal. “I’ve been thinking about him lately. Don’t know why. We haven’t mentioned his name for a while. I guess we’ve been trying to forget it.”
“Which name?” she asked even though she already knew.
His face twisted a little and his mouth was pulled tight. “Atta Zimler.”
The name belonged to the psychopath who, for one short terrifying moment, had Cal in his grip. It was a name that the family had tried to forget as things returned to normal.
As she looked at her son, she saw the man in him, even though, considering what he had endured in that harrowing episode, her impulse was always to coddle him a bit, try to protect him. Abigail had been a tough, no-nonsense trial lawyer, but when it came to Cal, the risk was always that she would be too soft. She never worried about being too hard on him. She didn’t have to. Josh, with all his good intentions, always played that part well.
Cal kept talking. “I was just wondering. You know … whether Zimler is dead or not. I know the FBI told us he might have been killed, but I need to know …”
His jaw flexed and his face tightened, but Abigail could see that this was not fear. It was a new kind of resolve that used to belong only to his father.
He finished the thought, “… whether he’s still out there somewhere. I need to know that.”
FIFTEEN
Desert Palm Bank, in the Dubai World Trade Center, United Arab Emirates
“Mr. Jorgenson,
She sat down and put her feet up on the rough-hewn log coffee table, leaning back, closing her eyes, and she did what she did whenever she felt confused — she prayed. There was never anything high church about it, just plain talk to her Heavenly Father. She hadn’t known her own father very well; she was ten when he died. But God was always there, even if she sometimes ached for the Lord to be there in the flesh.
As she prayed, she lost track of time. It must have been a half anhour later when she heard car tires crunching over gravel. She opened her eyes. Her son, Cal, was climbing out of his Jeep with his suitcase in his hand.
She strolled down the porch steps, gave him a long hug, and peppered him with kisses.
“How’d your art show go? I am so sorry Dad and I couldn’t make it, but you know how proud we are. Your father was fit to be tied when he learned our jet had developed a minor gauge problem. Not a big deal apparently but you know your father. Anyway, by then we couldn’t catch a commercial flight. ”
“Don’t worry about it mom. The show was … oh, interesting, I guess. Where’s Dad?”
“Had to fly to New York at the break of dawn. Finally got the gauge problem fixed. And some security upgrades. Anyway, I know he wanted to see you, but he’s got a real crisis on his hands.”
Cal’s voice was tinged with cynicism. “Dad handling some crisis? Yeah. That’d be something new.”
Abigail replied with a sly smile, “Hey, mister, he’s bailed you out of a crisis or two.”
Cal gave her a funny look. His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. I know. You have no idea how much I still think about that.”
She nodded and waited for more. When it didn’t come, she asked, “Can I fix you breakfast?”
“I’d love it. I’ve been driving straight for two days. I couldn’t wait to get here.”
As they walked inside, Cal seemed buried in his thoughts.
“What’s on your mind?” Abigail asked.
“A question.”
“What?”
“Oh, it can wait. At least ‘til I get some food in me.”
“Come on, don’t keep your mother waiting. If I feed your belly, you have to satisfy my curiosity.”
Cal stopped and set his suitcase down. “The subject’s kind of a
downer.”
“Try me.”
“I keep thinking about it. About almost getting killed.”
Abigail didn’t speak. She just waited, with a look that said she loved him no matter what.
“And it’s about …
him,”
said Cal. “I’ve been thinking about him lately. Don’t know why. We haven’t mentioned his name for a while. I guess we’ve been trying to forget it.”
“Which name?” she asked even though she already knew.
His face twisted a little and his mouth was pulled tight. “Atta Zimler.”
The name belonged to the psychopath who, for one short terrifying moment, had Cal in his grip. It was a name that the family had tried to forget as things returned to normal.
As she looked at her son, she saw the man in him, even though, considering what he had endured in that harrowing episode, her impulse was always to coddle him a bit, try to protect him. Abigail had been a tough, no-nonsense trial lawyer, but when it came to Cal, the risk was always that she would be too soft. She never worried about being too hard on him. She didn’t have to. Josh, with all his good intentions, always played that part well.
Cal kept talking. “I was just wondering. You know … whether Zimler is dead or not. I know the FBI told us he might have been killed, but I need to know …”
His jaw flexed and his face tightened, but Abigail could see that this was not fear. It was a new kind of resolve that used to belong only to his father.
He finished the thought, “… whether he’s still out there somewhere. I need to know that.”
FIFTEEN
Desert Palm Bank, in the Dubai World Trade Center, United Arab Emirates
“Mr. Jorgenson,
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