Once in his clothes, now jeans, hiking boots and a pastel cotton short-sleeved shirt, he returned to the car where Molly waited. She leaned close to the rear-view mirror, examining her hair.
"Hi, gorgeous." He squeezed himself into the passenger seat. "What's the matter? Going bald?"
"Oh, some of my gray is returning and I didn't bring my hair coloring. I must have forgotten it in the church. It's a pity. I do so enjoy looking . . . younger."
Bill took her hand. "Hey, listen. You're beautiful. The external things are nice, but you've got the real beauty, the kind that makes you a special person. You're the most beautiful lady I ever met."
"Really? Including your mother? I'm about her age."
"You know what my mother was like. I've never met anyone like you."
Molly started the car. "Let's go before this turns into a script for daytime television."
As she followed the signs back to the motorway, Bill said, "Look. I didn't mean to embarrass you. It's just that--"
"Yes?"
"Well, we don't know how much time we have or what's going to happen. And I want you to know how special you are."
Molly made a right onto the big freeway toward Lyons. "Thank you, Bill. It does seem that people spend all their lives caring for someone and yet never expressing it. Get our pass ready. There's a checkpoint just ahead."
Bill found the paper on the dashboard. "Got it right here."
Molly pulled the car up to the little red and white checkered booth. A guard, invisible to her except for his belt and a huge gun, spoke in French. Molly answered, "Lyons."
Another belt and gun stepped to Bill's window and said something in French. Bill scrunched down to try to see the man's face and said, "Can you take that again in English?"
"Oui, Monsieur. Your destination?"
"Like the lady said, Lyons." He pronounced it "lions."
"Your purpose in Lyons, Monsieur?"
"We're tourists. Maybe this will answer your questions." He held up the conduct pass.
The guard took it and pored over it. "Where did you get this, Monsieur Hall?"
Bill's neck hurt from craning it to see the man's ugly, pock-marked face. "From the committee, of course. Where else?"
"Several passes were stolen recently. What was the name of the person who examined you?"
Bill's right hand drifted toward the lower edge of his bucket seat, toward the pistol that waited underneath. "I couldn't pronounce it if my life depended on it."
The guard squatted, much to Bill's relief. "Your lives may indeed depend on it. Please to step out of the car. Both of you."
Bill shrugged to Molly. "Paris used to be such a nice place to visit." They both climbed out of the car. The guard made them stand by the open doors. The engine hummed softly.
The first guard, whose face Bill still hadn't seen, ducked into the booth. Bill's guard said, "Have you ever seen this man before?"
Molly's guard reappeared with Boaz. Molly caught her breath, but tried not to show recognition. Bill showed surprise, then covered it by saying, "If you mean did I do that to him, no. I don't know him."
Boaz stood bare from the waist up. His face had large red welts all over it, many of them bleeding. His torso was a maze of red lines. He slumped a bit, but his eyes didn't betray any sign of cognizance. He spoke in French.
"He says he does not know you. But, of course, he would say that. Christians tend to try to protect each other, no?"
Bill looked the guard in the eye. "You seem to think I know the answer to that. Why?"
"I think you are Christians, Monsieur."
"Think again."
"You have sworn allegiance to the State and renounced any and all religious affiliations, then?"
"Isn't that what the pass says?"
The guard's hand moved to the top of his holster. "You refuse to answer my questions directly, Monsieur Hall. I must detain you. Step away from the car."
Bill caught Molly's eye. She nodded slightly. Bill took a half-step toward the back of the car, then wheeled and smacked the guard on the jaw with the back of his right fist. Molly stomped with all her might on her guard's foot. He screamed and doubled over, but recovered before she could act. He caught her by the arms and slammed her back against the booth.
Bill squatted and reached under the seat of the car. As he came out with the gun in his hand he noticed that his guard was unconscious. To his fist he said, "Hey, not bad." He worked the slide as Molly's guard turned toward him. The guard found himself staring down the barrel. He gently lifted his hands to the top of his head and stepped back.
"Get him in the car. Quick!" Molly pushed Boaz toward the open door. He moved like a zombie.
With the muzzle still trained on the guard, Bill bent over to pick up the pass where his guard had dropped it. When he looked down to pick it up, Molly's guard dropped to his knees and drew his own gun. Bill straightened up into a standoff.
"Now, Monsieur. You may put the gun down or we can both die. It matters not to me." He cocked the hammer on his enormous revolver.
Molly screamed, "No!" The guard's eyes flicked in her direction. in that instant Bill fired and ducked. The guard whirled to his right as if hit by a car. His gun flew out of his hands and vanished.
"In the car! Now!" Molly pushed Boaz into the back seat. She jumped behind the wheel as Bill nearly closed his own door on his foot. Pavement squealed and the car sped away. Bill looked back to see the guard trying to stand as he held his right shoulder. Bill's eyes met Boaz's. "Are you all right?"
Boaz breathed heavily. "I will mend. But my poor Genevieve . . . my baby Jean. . ."
"Do you want to try to go back and get them? We can double back."
Molly said, "We can??"
"You do not understand, friend Joseph. They are--dead."
Bill felt his stomach turn. "What--what happened?"
Boaz leaned his head back. "Last night the police apprehended them as they returned to our home. They took them hostage to draw a confession out of me. I was arrested early this morning. When they questioned me I told them nothing. So they murdered my baby before my eyes. . ."
"Oh, my God," Molly breathed.
"My wife--what they did to my beautiful Genevieve . . . death was a blessing for her. Still I told them nothing. Too many people I must protect, people like yourselves. They beat me, they shocked me, what else I do not remember. So they brought me out here to identify those I help. Yours is the second car this morning already."
"What happened to the first one?"
"You do not want to know. It is enough that I must live with these things."
Molly glanced back. "You mustn't blame yourself. From the look of you, their interrogation methods are rather. . . extreme - And they had made their minds up about us before they ever brought you out."
Boaz weaved in the seat. "Please stop someplace. I must--I must retch."
Molly pulled off at the next exit and found a bushy area with a few trees. She and Bill got out, then helped Boaz out. He staggered into the bushes.
"Let's walk around a little and leave the guy alone, huh?"
"Good idea."
They strolled along the road for a few minutes. When they came back to the car, Boaz was sitting on the ground beside it, leaning against the right front fender. He looked like a piece of tenderized round steak.
"We need to find water to bathe those wounds."
"You're right," Bill said. "But where?"
"With all this vegetation there ought to be a stream nearby."
" Let's go find it. Wait. Maybe one of us should stay here with him, just in case."
"I'll volunteer to go look for the stream."
"Okay. I'll see what I can do."
Molly made her way into the brush. Bill watched the receding form of her jeans and white t-shirt for a second, then went over and sat by Boaz. Boaz sat quietly with his head on his chest for a moment, then groaned and said, "He is a liar."
Bill shifted position onto his hip. "Who's a liar?"
"God. God is a liar."
"What do you mean?"
"I read much years ago. God promised to take His people away before these things took place. He has not done this. He lied. He lied to me, and now He has murdered my wife and child."
Bill scooted around in front of him so he could look him in the face. "Look. God didn't lie to you. Some people misunderstood some things in the Bible. I studied the same things, but the more I read the more I wondered if God really ever made a promise like that."
"No. No. I saw it. It was very clear to me. But He lied. I can never forgive Him for that."
"Listen to me. Years ago everybody thought it was clear that Hitler, or Mussolini, or Kissinger was the Antichrist. But they were wrong. But God never lied. Men put words in His mouth. That's what happened here. God didn't lie. Men made the Bible say what they wished would happen. Look. Do you remember Timothy's words last night? He said to persevere. That's all over the Bible. It says there'll always be tribulation, but we have to hang on and believe God will set it right in the end." Bill sighed. "I know that's not much consolation, but it's true. Somebody gave you a bum steer. But it wasn't God who did it. What we have to do now is go on from here and suvive."
"Perhaps God is not real at all. Perhaps this is just the logical course of things. I am not certain what to believe any more."
Bill's mind raced. "Look. Remember how that guy last night knew so much about us? God's there, man. And you can trust Him. You've got to. There's nothing else to hang on to."
Boaz stood with great difficulty. "I thank you for your attempt to restore my faith. But I am afraid I do not even have that to 'hang on to,' as you put it. May I be alone for a moment?"
Bill worked his way to his feet. "Sure." He ambled over by the bushes. Faintly he heard the car door open and assumed that the exhausted man was going to lie down. Then he heard the muffled shot and the gurgling cry that went with it. Oh, no. . . Bill couldn't look.