Free Enemy of Gideon by Melissa McGovern Taylor Page A

monitored,” he says, “we have to use every precaution.”
    I give him my wrist, and he removes an unfamiliar device from his coat pocket. He appears to attach it to the bracelet for a moment.
    “It’s called a scrambler. Your wristband will think you’re in midtown somewhere, but it only works for an hour or so.”
    “What about curfew?” I ask.
    “You’ll be temporarily logged in the system with a curfew pass,” he says.
    “How is that—?”
    “You don’t survive as an enemy of Gideon without keeping a few tricks up your sleeve.”
    He releases his grasp on my wrist. I examine my wristband, puzzled.
    “My name really is Arkin,” he says, staring into the candlelight, “but I don’t have a last name. Believers don’t have last names. I’m Arkin of Philippi, my village in the outskirts. The people I’m living with here in Gideon are not my parents.”
    “You don’t look like them,” I say.
    “They’re believers from another village, Ephesus. My real parents and my younger sister live in Philippi.”
    “You left your family behind?” The weight of this possibility burdens me.
    “After believers turn fifteen, they can be sent on missions into Gideon. I last saw my parents before I started school here. I was told to bring you back home with me.”
    “By Petra?” I ask.
    “She wanted you to come to Philippi, to stay there permanently, but she wanted to bring more Gideonites, her friends, back with her. Then she got caught, and now …”
    I stare into the dancing flame of the nearest candle. “She’s going to die.”
    “That’s one reason why I needed to meet you,” he says. “We’re going to rescue her.”
    My heart nearly stops. I jump to my feet. “What?! How?”
    “We’re working now on a plan. There are believers in CE headquarters. It’s been years since anyone has escaped, but with your help, I believe we can do it.”
    I settle back down on the crate. “Tell me. I’ll do anything.”
    “You have to persuade Ogden’s father to let you back in to see Petra. You need to deliver a key to her for her escape.”
    “A key? That’s it?” I ask, not hiding my skepticism.
    As I listen to Arkin outline the details of the plan, my hope swells from a tiny ember within me into a roaring blaze. He answers every question I have with mounting confidence, even smiling when he finishes.
    “God is on our side,” he assures me.
    “But who is God? Where did He come from?” I ask.
    The candle closest to us flickers, tossing shadows across our faces.
    “I know you have many questions,” he says, “but we should pray before I answer them.”
    From my reading of the strange book, I discovered the meaning of the peculiar word. It means communicating with God.
    I nod in agreement, though I can’t hide my discomfort with the idea. He reaches out his hands.
    “I’ll show you how. Take my hands.”
    I follow his instructions, taking his hands, bowing my head, and closing my eyes. His warm hands make me aware of the chill in my own fingers. His rough palms make the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I tap the floor with my foot. Am I supposed to speak first? He answers my question, speaking as if to a sleeping infant. I hold my foot still.
    “Dear Lord, we thank You for bringing Raissa here safely. We thank You for her open mind and open heart. We pray You would grant me wisdom as I try to answer her questions about Your Word. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.” He clears his throat. “If you agree with what I’ve said, you say ‘amen’ too.”
    “Amen,” I whisper.
    He releases my hands from his own, reaching into his coat and pulling out a white book. I catch a glimpse of the gold lettering on the cover and recognize it immediately.
    He gestures at the list of questions in my hand. “May I see?”
    I hand it over, and he reads the page with a look of satisfaction.
    “You made it all the way to Leviticus? That’s impressive.”
    “I’ve been reading every night,” I say. “Do you