Unable to look away, unable to bear the sight of those sorrowful kids, Wolf’s stomach clenched. It was one thing for the men and women of the U.S. military to put themselves in harm’s way. That was their job, what they’d signed up to do in the recruitment office.
But the Iraqi children couldn’t choose for themselves. They had no control. And IEDs didn’t discriminate.
Wolf shifted in his seat.
Why did the missionaries have to show all those blown-up kids, he wondered?
Oh, yeah, right. He knew why.
This was propaganda. At its finest.
Even still, it was impossible to remain unmoved. Wolf swallowed a lump in his throat the size of a cannonball and proceeded to drum his fingers on his thigh. Faster. Harder. His foot joined the erratic routine.
Those kids. There’s too many to protect. It’s an impossible task.
The music hit a crescendo and Wolf glanced over at Hailey.
She was wiping at her eyes and sniffling. Her conviction was palpable, her passion for the wounded kids evident in the slump of her shoulders when one of their pictures hit the screen.
His job just got harder.
As though sensing his eyes on her, she glanced over at him. Helpless despair was etched on her face.
Wolf knew the feeling.
She gave him a wobbly smile. He smiled back, but he was pretty sure the gesture made him look less than enthusiastic.
Sighing, she reached out and covered his hand with hers, squeezed gently then let go. The light contact, though short, had a soothing effect on him—enough to make him relax against the back of his chair and focus once more on the missionaries’ testimony.
All right, he admitted it. The Mulligans might speak in Christian clichés, but their hearts seemed to be in the right place. Wolf still wasn’t comfortable with their presentation. It wasn’t what they were saying that bothered him so much. It was what they weren’t saying.
Not once did they mention the dangers that came with their posting in an “undisclosed location” of the Middle East. And didn’t that say it all?
They didn’t speak of insurgents or the bounties on Christian ministers’ heads. They didn’t allude to IEDs, except in the subtext—obviously the blown-up children got that way somehow. Bottom line, the Mulligans were giving only one side of the story.
Confused, Wolf searched out J.T. He spotted the pastor lounging against the door frame in the back of the room. His gaze was glued to the screen, his attention completely engaged.
What was wrong with the guy? Surely he saw the flaws in the Mulligans’ presentation.
The missionaries made it sound as if living in the Middle East was some sort of fun-filled adventure, with the added benefit of helping people along the way. Oh, sure, the wife spoke of her loneliness and missing her church friends, but she said nothing—not one word—about burkas or the deep-rooted hatred for Americans.
And nobody in the room but Wolf seemed to notice the glaring omissions.
Lambs to the slaughter.
He couldn’t take it any longer. “I have to get out of here.”
Hailey’s eyes widened. “But you promised,” she murmured. “You said you would stay and listen to the whole presentation.”
“I’ll be back. I just need a moment. I need…” Air.
“I—” She cut herself off and then gave him a short nod. “Okay.”
The woman was certainly playing nice. Wolf appreciated that, until she gave him “the look.” The one people sent him in airports and other public places. That insulting mix of hero worship, horror and sympathy.
Wolf hadn’t expected that from Hailey.
Oddly disappointed, he rose and stalked toward the back of the room. He had a bead on that bright red exit sign and nothing was going to stop him from leaving.
He stepped out of the room without incident. Unfortunately, he was able to enjoy only three minutes of freedom before J.T. had the bad manners to join him.
Well, all right. Good. Wolf had a few things he wanted to say to the pastor.
“What’s up, Wolf?”
Straight to the point. This was Wolf’s kind of conversation. “Those people in there. They aren’t telling the whole story.”
“What are they missing?” J.T. sounded clearly confused.
“Don’t tell me you really send people onto the mission field that unprepared.” Talk about blind faith. Even Joshua had dispatched spies into the Holy Land before engaging in battle.
“What do you mean by unprepared, exactly?”
All right. Maybe Wolf was wrong. Maybe he’d jumped to conclusions. Maybe the real presentation happened later. “What sort of training do you give your missionaries before they leave the country?”
“Training? Oh, you mean preparation.” J.T. nodded in understanding. “Not to worry, Wolf. We don’t send anyone into a foreign country without putting them through an extensive application process.”
Application process? Sounded sketchy to him. “What does that involve, exactly?”
Clearly unhappy with Wolf’s sarcasm, J.T.’s lips flattened. “The usual stuff.”
Right. “Let’s pretend I don’t know what that is.”
J.T. spoke slowly, patiently, as if he were talking to an imbecile. Which they both knew Wolf was not. “We make sure they have a heart for God and a love of His Word. That they understand their job is to plant seeds through relationships. You know, that sort of stuff.”
Now Wolf was insulted. “What about general knowledge of the region, the terrain, the culture? What about basic survival skills?”
J.T. looked at him oddly. “We have classes. They learn how to speak to the unchurched and how to build relationships through common ground.” He was so cool, so in control.
So full of it.
“What about when things go wrong? Are they prepared for that?” Wolf frowned. “I know all about the random kidnappings and ransoms and…worse.”
“There are always safety issues,” J.T. admitted. “But we aren’t naive or stupid. We don’t send our people into the field alone. There’s always a seasoned missionary from that region who guides them along the way, a person who knows the terrain and the culture and, yes.” He held up a hand to stave off Wolf’s argument. “That includes teaching them which areas are safe and which ones to avoid.”
“What do you mean by ‘seasoned’? As in a former soldier, or a cop or even someone who knows how to defend himself properly, someone who hasn’t spent his entire life in country clubs?”
“Ah, I get it now.” J.T. nodded sagely. “You’re worried about Hailey going to the Middle East.”
“Ya think?” Wolf wiped a hand across his mouth, determined to keep his temper in check. “The question is, why aren’t you more concerned? I know you’re former military, so don’t bother denying it.”
“Hadn’t planned on it.”
“Were you ever in Iraq?”
“I was there.” J.T.’s voice came out flat, unemotional. Hard. “Three times. Afghanistan, six.”
Nine deployments to the Middle East? Not possible. For regular Army, anyway. Which meant only one thing. J.T. had been Special Forces.
Now the guy’s behavior really confused Wolf. “If you’ve