Free Blink of an Eye by Ted Dekker Page B

with the people of California; basic toiletries; the Koran; one jewelry box filled with her most expensive jewels, well over a million dollars’ worth; and an iPod. The rest of the space would be occupied by the money. With money she could buy whatever she needed in the United States.
    She had talked scandalously with Sita and Sultana about one day embracing Western ways, and now that day was here. Jeans might not be acceptable in Saudi Arabia, but Miriam could hardly wait to don them at the earliest possible opportunity. She would distance herself from the abaaya and arranged marriages and smother herself in the symbols of freedom. In the United States she would be anything but Saudi. She would eat and walk and talk like an American. She’d done it before for a summer in California, and she would do it again—this time permanently. Her accent might not be English, but her heart would be American.
    The evening crept by like a slug making its way across a pincushion. Her brother, Faisal, came home, his normal obnoxious self. The meal was inconsequential and she excused herself early.
    â€œI’m going to bed. After my shopping trip today, I’ve decided the merchants of Riyadh are too conservative for my tastes. Sultana is taking me to Jidda in the morning. Just for the day. And if Jidda doesn’t have what I want, I’ll just have to go to Spain, won’t I?”
    Haya smiled. “Maybe I should come with you.”
    â€œWonderful idea. Although I’m not sure Salman would approve without his permission.”
    Haya’s smile softened.
    â€œYou won’t tell him that I’ve gone, will you? We’re flying in one of her husband’s jets in the morning and will be back late afternoon.”
    â€œGo ahead, spend my husband’s money. Someone has to.”
    Miriam hurried off, heart firmly planted in her throat.
    It was one a.m. before Miriam slipped through the darkened villa and entered Salman’s office carrying her small suitcase. His forbidding oak desk flown in from Spain cast shadows under the moonlight. It had taken her nearly a month to find the combination to the floor safe hidden beneath it. Haya knew the combination, of course. Someone besides Salman had to know how to access the valuables. He had entrusted his young bride with the code, knowing she would never abuse his trust. And in her youth, Haya certainly did not suspect that she was violating that trust by bragging about the combination to Miriam late one night. Coaxing the numbers from Haya had not been an easy task, but when Miriam slipped into the office later that same night and opened the safe, she did not mind the trouble.
    Except for her own breathing, the house was silent. She walked across the thick carpet, pushed aside his chair, and knelt, trying to still her heart. Using a flashlight, she dialed the numbers in the order she’d burned into her mind. But her fingers trembled and she overshot on the first try. The second produced a soft click, and she pulled the door open.
    She played the flashlight’s beam over the contents, positioned exactly as they had been two years earlier: the passports and traveling certificates on a small shelf and wads of cash on the safe floor. Like many Saudi men in his position, Salman kept a healthy stash of money in the event that a political emergency might force him to flee. There were several stacks—euros, francs, and American dollars. Miriam was interested only in the dollars.
    She paused long enough to satisfy herself that the house was still asleep. Working quickly, she shuffled through the documents and withdrew her own passport and a blank traveling document. She would have time to execute the document with Salman’s forged signature, giving herself permission to travel to the United States. Miriam only hoped her attempt would stand up to scrutiny.
    She pulled out twenty bundles of one-hundred-dollar bills, each an inch thick, and placed