Free The Witness by Josh McDowell

shut his eyes tightly and tried in vain to remain conscious.
    He wasn’t sure how long he had been lying there when he opened his eyes again. He could feel small, sharp rocks pressing themselves into his cheek, and there was grit on his tongue. Gathering up all his energy, he tried calling out, but his voice just came out a whisper. “Kadeen . . . Kadeen . . .”
    Tilting his head back, he could see a button embedded in the wall above his head. He reached his hand up, but the button was too high.
    Gripping the cool iron of the gate with his one good hand, he strained to pull himself up. Slowly he began to rise, using the strength of his left hand and the leverage of his damaged right shoulder. The pain was beyond anything he had ever felt before.
    He vomited, and the movement caused him to lose precious inches. Pull! Just keep pulling! Finally he was barely within reach of the button. Putting his full weight on his shoulder, he pressed his finger to the white plastic.
    He heard nothing.
    I’m going to die right here. Out in the road like a dog.
    Suddenly the door to the house opened, and Marwan heard a buzzing from inside. He realized he had never taken his finger off of the button.
    “What do you want? Don’t you know it’s midnight?”
    Marwan recognized the voice of his childhood friend. Again he tried calling out his name, but this time nothing came.
    A flashlight clicked on, and through his closed eyes, Marwan could see the glow of it playing across his face.
    “I said, what do you want? If you don’t leave immediately, I’ll call . . . Marwan?”
    Marwan could hear the scuff of slippers against stone and the rattle of a key in the gate. “Marwan, is that you?”
    Marwan tried to speak, but no words came. Then his feet refused to support his awkward posture any longer. He slumped to the ground, and everything went black.

Part Two

17
    Claudette Ramsey lounged by the pool in her bikini at a large villa in the mountains, sipping piña coladas and soaking in the rays of the sizzling São Paulo sun.
    But even as she acted the part of a woman enjoying her newfound freedom, with a cabana boy rubbing coconut oil on her shoulders and back, her stomach churned while she awaited word of the latest operation. No longer would she have to live with that insufferable tyrant—the Pharaoh, as she liked to call her husband behind his back. By now he was dead. But what of the private investigator? Was he dead too? And even if he was, who else knew what he must know? Who else had he told?
    Her satellite phone rang. She sat up and shooed the cabana boy away. Then, when she was absolutely sure she was alone, she flipped open the phone and asked, “Are you on a secure line?”
    “Of course,” said the voice at the other end. “You think I am a fool?”
    “I cannot afford to take any chances. You know how much is at stake.”
    “You are not the only one taking risks.”
    “Then is it done?”
    “Not quite.”
    “What does that mean?” she demanded.
    “They got your husband. But Marwan Accad got away.”
    “How is that possible? I paid for three teams.”
    “He is very good.”
    “I thought you were better.”
    “We will find him,” the voice assured her. “And we will kill him. But it will take more time and more money.”
    “Absolutely not,” she growled through clenched teeth. “I’m not paying you one cent more. You said you would get them both. That’s what I paid for. The rest is your problem.”
    “You’re forgetting one thing, Mrs. Ramsey.”
    “Don’t call me that,” she insisted. “You know I hate that name.”
    “Nevertheless,” the voice said, “I know where you are, and I know what you’ve done, and I have all the evidence I need to have you locked up for the rest of your life.”
    “Any evidence that implicates me implicates you as well,” she shot back.
    “Really? Well, we will just see about that, won’t we?”
    Claudette was now up and pacing about the pool, her face