Mission of Honor

Chapter Forty-five

Father Bradbury had not bothered to turn on the lantern when the soldiers returned him to the room. The priest knelt by the foot of the cot and prayed. When he was done, he sat on the edge of the cot. He peered into the darkness. He let his mind move through the rich past and the uncertain future. Whichever way he looked, however, he came to the same place.

Life was about choices.

Years before, Father Bradbury had decided that the most dangerous thing in the world was to have a choice. When he was an altar boy, thirteen-year-old Powys Bradbury had found himself in a rectory fire. A spark had jumped from the fireplace while he was stoking it. An open Bible caught fire, a burning page fell on the rug, and within seconds, the room was ablaze. The youth looked around. There was no time for guilt or selfreproach. He tried to decide what Father Sleep would want saved.

Photographs? Books? Earthenware that had been dug up from Bethlehem? Black smoke began to cloud around the boy. Young Bradbury's throat began to thicken. After a few strained breaths, it was nearly impossible to inhale. His eyes teared, and he could not see. That was when he found it easy to prioritize. Bradbury needed to get out.

Forty-nine years ago, Powys Bradbury had a choice whether to risk his life or not. Now he did not have that luxury. Yet there were still choices to make. In a way, they were more important than deciding what to take from a burning rectory.

These choices were not about whether to escape. They were about how to accept his fate.

Neither Dhamballa nor the European had indicated that Bradbury's life was in jeopardy, but the soldiers and their leaders were breaking camp. The priest had already seen people rushing about. Now they were shouting and hurrying about. The departure was going to be hasty.

He was excess baggage.

The shadows around Father Bradbury seemed especially deep. At a time when he should be contemplating spiritual matters, he found himself thinking about physical things. He would have all eternity to contemplate the spiritual. This was the time to savor the shell that God had given to him, to enjoy the wonder of the senses: the simple act of breathing, a gift passed from the nostrils of God Himself through Adam; the beauty of the heart working at its steady, dependable pace; all of it functioning in miraculous unison. It was, on reflection, a masterpiece of the Creator's art. One that no man had the right to destroy.

Yet men kill and torture each other every day, he thought. That was why people such as Father Bradbury were needed. Only the peace of God could stop violence.

The priest began to pity the cultists who might be ordered to kill him. They were indirectly causing the suffering of others the priest might have saved. Father Bradbury also forgave the soldiers. The men would not understand what they were doing. And not understanding, they could never sincerely repent. They could not be saved.

The priest moved from reflection to the world around him. As he contemplated what might be his last minutes, Father Bradbury had no trouble admitting that he did not want to die. He drank in the beauty of even these dismal surroundings and the wisdom God demonstrated by letting men grow old. God had designed humans so that their senses and bodies dimmed over time. The world became more and more selectively available to them. Aging, people could only savor what their dimming senses could see, hear, taste, smell, or feel. God made the choice for them. He showed people how to enjoy, even cherish the things close to them. But God did not intend for life to end all at once. That was why He had put in His cornmandments that it was wrong to murder. Father Bradbury wanted to experience God's choices over time.

The door of the hut flew open. The two soldiers had returned. He could only see their silhouettes framed by distant lantern light. Their posture was different than before. Their knees were bent slightly. Their shoulders were hunched. They were more aggressive.

They were holding their handguns.

One of the men came in. He released the priest's ankle from its metal cuff. Then he poked Father Bradbury in the side with his gun. That was the only order the soldier gave.

The priest rose. His legs were unsteady, due to exhaustion and fear. He fell on the shoulder of the soldier. The man did not pull away.

"Thank you," the priest said.

It took a moment for Father Bradbury to regain his footing. His knees were trembling, and his thighs felt weak, but he remained standing.

Choices, he thought. He could not think about the future. He thought about the moment. His heart was racing. The back of his neck was clammy. And his legs were like harp strings. But he was suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of God's gift to humankind. As he walked from the hut, the soldier put a hand on his shoulder. He forced the priest to his knees. He stepped behind him.

Father Bradbury felt cold. He was aware of nothing else but his heart hammering high in his chest and the sudden flow of tears. He looked up at the early evening stars. He was grateful for his life, thankful for all life. If it were possible to have an out-of-body experience without leaving his body, the priest was experiencing one now. He felt entirely at peace. Perhaps this was God's way of easing men into death.

"No!"

The shout broke the moment. Father Bradbury looked across the small island. Dhamballa was striding toward tljem. He had to have found out about the phone.

Or had something else happened? Something to distract him? His stride was quick, but it did not seem hostile.

"Put your weapon down," the leader commanded. "The priest is coming with us."

The soldier behind Father Bradbury backed away. The priest felt his heart drop from his throat. Blood began to subside from his temples and extremities. He stopped counting what was left of his life in breaths.

Dhamballa stopped beside Father Bradbury. "Why were you doing this?" he demanded.

"We were following instructions," the soldier replied.

"Instructions from whom?" Dhamballa asked.

"Leon Seronga," the soldier told him.

"Seronga?"

"Yes," the soldier said.

"Is he here?" Dhamballa asked.

"No," the soldier replied. "He called on the radio set five minutes ago."

"He had the code word?" Dhamballa asked.

"Yes," the soldier said.

"And he ordered you to execute the prisoner?" Dhamballa went on.

"He told me to do it personally, before we left," the soldier said.

"Did he say why?" Dhamballa asked.

"No, houngan," the man told him.

Even in the dark, the priest could see that Dhamballa was surprised. It was in his stiff posture, the way he stood still and silent for a long moment.

"But you did not think to check with me," Dhamballa said.

"You are our religious leader," the soldier said. "He is our military commander." There was a hint of defiance in his voice.

"You did not question the order?" Dhamballa pressed.

"I asked him to repeat it, that is all," the soldier said.

Dhamballa moved closer to the man. "Do you know what happened today in Maun?"

"Yes, houngan," said the soldier. "Another Catholic holy man was killed."

"He was shot in the back of the head, as you would have done," Dhamballa said. "That changes things for us. When we move into Orapa, we must show the world that we are not murderers. This man must be with us."

"I understand," the soldier replied.

"You will see to it, then?" Dhamballa asked. "You will see that he arrives safely?"

"Yes, houngan."

"If Seronga contacts you again, let me know," Dhamballa added. "We leave within the hour."

Dhamballa left, and the soldiers helped Father Bradbury to his feet.

As they walked toward the shore, the priest found it strange to be back in his body. He felt tired and hot again. Thirst and hunger returned. But whether it was to make him brave or more pious, Father Bradbury knew one thing.

God had showed him the edge of eternity for a reason.