Free The Witness by Josh McDowell Page B

dubious-background, high-powered clients turned on him? Were the police after him?
    Whatever the situation, two things were certain: Marwan was in trouble, and Kadeen was the one he had come to for help.
    He scanned the kitchen, looking for the butcher’s block. I really need to spend more time in this room, he thought, getting frustrated. There it is!
    Once he had the scissors, he turned to run back to the living room and almost stumbled over his eight-year-old daughter.
    Glancing over her shoulder to make sure that the four-year-old wasn’t up too, he said, “Laila, what are you doing—”
    “Who’s the man in the living room, Abi ?”
    Kadeen squatted to look her in the eye. “He’s a friend of mine, my little simsimah . He’s hurt, and he’s come to us for help.”
    “Is he going to die?”
    Lord, please, no, he thought. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
    “Can I help you?”
    A feeling of pride swept over Kadeen. Laila hated to see anybody or anything hurting—a wonderful quality in a little girl when directed at people, a little more difficult to deal with when she brought home the occasional mangy street dog.
    “You certainly can. Go to Maryam’s room and quietly get into bed with her. Sleep with her tonight. She’s too little to see this, so please make sure she doesn’t come out.”
    “Should I pray while I’m in bed?”
    Kadeen cupped Laila’s cheek in his hand. “Of course, simsimah , pray. Now scoot.”
    Moments later, Kadeen was back in the living room. While he was gone, Rania had managed to tear open Marwan’s shirt. Kadeen dropped the scissors into the pocket of the jeans he had slipped into before he had answered the door and looked over Rania.
    Marwan’s shoulder was a nightmare.
    “Sorry I took so long,” he said. “Laila was in the kitchen.”
    “I know. She heard the vase. I sent her there after you. This is not good, Kadeen.”
    “That much seems obvious.”
    “He needs to get to a hospital. This is too much for me to handle.”
    “He can’t go to a hospital.”
    She stood and faced Kadeen. “What do you mean he can’t go? Either we get him to a hospital, or he is going to die tonight on our couch!”
    Gently taking her by the shoulders, Kadeen said, “Listen, habibti , there is a reason he came here instead of going to the hospital. He is obviously in some sort of major trouble.”
    “He’s in trouble if he stays here! Dying on our couch is pretty serious trouble!”
    Kadeen released his wife and turned away. “I know, I know. Just give me a minute to think.”
    Brushing past him, Rania left the room. Moments later, he heard pots rattling and water running.
    Turning around, he stared at his friend. It was hard to know for sure, but it appeared that the years had aged him well. After all this time, this is how you step back into my life. That is so like you—always a flair for the dramatic.
    Rania came back around him. In her hands she carried a pot of water with several rags floating in it.
    As she knelt and began cleaning the wound, Kadeen asked, “You don’t think this is something you can handle?”
    Without turning, she replied, “It’s a gunshot wound. The bullet has to be taken out. Then all the fibers from his clothing have to be removed. Finally, it’s already infected, so we need to get him on heavy doses of antibiotics—greater amounts than I have access to.”
    Kadeen nodded. Please, Lord, guide me.

19
    An airport security officer identified the stolen rental car just as the sun was coming up over Marseille. Fifteen minutes later, the area was surrounded by police, and by seven thirty, Inspector Jean-Claude Goddard’s cell phone was ringing in Monte Carlo.
    “Yes, yes, what is it?” he asked, startled out of a catnap in his office, where he had been all night. “You’re kidding. . . . Where? . . . Has the area been secured? . . . No, no, we’ll grab a chopper. . . . Have everything ready by the time we arrive. . . . Good