Thr3e Read online

  Praise for THR3E and

  Ted Dekker’s Previous Novels

  “Dekker delivers another page-turner . . . masterfully takes readers on a ride full of plot twists and turns . . . a compelling tale of cat and mouse . . . an almost perfect blend of suspense, mystery and horror.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Three is a rare suspense story that is truly suspenseful, and absolutely impossible to put down! Dekker outdoes the masters of the thriller genre with a plot so compelling, so effective, so full of twists and turns that readers are kept on the edge of their seats right to the last few pages.”

  —BOB LIPARULO

  New Man Magazine

  “Well, well, well, guess what I’ve found? A fiction writer with a rare knack for a compelling story, an expansive reservoir of clever ideas, and a unique wit that makes me laugh.”

  —FRANK PERETTI

  Best-selling author of This Present Darkness and The Oath

  “Ted Dekker is clearly one of the most gripping storytellers alive today. He creates plots that keep your heart pounding and palms sweating even after you’ve finished his books.”

  —JEREMY REYNALDS

  Syndicated columnist

  “Someone recently asked if I would be interested in reading the hottest new fiction writer on the market. I asked who that might that be, expecting a writer along the lines of John Grisham or Stephen King. Instead, I was introduced to Blink, the new novel by Ted Dekker. They were right. . . . Ted Dekker has caused me to miss some serious sleep the past three nights! Dekker is awesome. I will own everything he writes.”

  —TOM NEWMAN

  Film Producer and Founder of Impact Productions

  “Ted Dekker is the most exciting writer I’ve read in a very long time. Blink will expand his fan base tremendously. Wonderful reading . . . powerful insights. Bravo!”

  —TED BAEHR

  President, MOVIEGUIDE® Magazine

  “Cloaked in the mystery of Saudi Arabia, this tale woven by Dekker is compulsively readable. Written with an arresting hybrid of suspense and love, Blink casts a sweeping light on a surreal world where the future is buried by the past. Saudi Arabia was my home for twelve years. Dekker has an uncanny ability to capture the true essence of the world’s most mysterious land in this hauntingly beautiful story. You will be astonished.”

  —JEAN SASSON

  New York Times Best-selling Author of

  Princess: A True Story of Life Behind the Veil in Saudi Arabia

  “Ted is a great weaver of stories that are believable yet tinged with the mystery of the unseen.”

  —TIM WAY

  Senior Book Buyer, Family Christian Stores

  “Dekker is an emerging powerhouse among fiction writers. Blink is a thrilling tale that grabs your attention immediately and is near impossible to put down.”

  —LARRY J. LEECH II

  Christian Retailing

  “[Blessed Child is] superbly written and deeply captivating.”

  —CBA Marketplace

  “ . . . page-turning, action-packed suspense and adventure.”

  —Lifewise Magazine

  “[Thunder of Heaven is] a real page-turner . . . scenes read like the best of David Morrell . . . his description is upsettingly precise.”

  —Booklist

  THR3E

  TED DEKKER

  © 2003 Ted Dekker

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Scripture quotations used in this book are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version, © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Dekker, Ted, 1962–

  Three / by Ted Dekker.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-8499-4372-0 (HC)

  ISBN 0-8499-4449-X (IE)

  ISBN 1-5955-4137-3 (mass edition)

  ISBN 1-5955-4192-6 (SE)

  ISBN 978-0-8499-4512-0 (TP)

  I. Title.

  PS3554.E43T48 2003

  813'.6—dc21

  2003003818

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 11 12 13 14 RRD 26 25 24 23 22

  Contents

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  1

  Friday

  Noon

  THE OFFICE HAD NO WINDOWS, only electric lanterns to light the hundreds of spines standing in their cherry wood bookcases. A single lawyer’s lamp spread its yellow hue over the leather-topped desk. The room smelled of linseed oil and musty pages, but to Dr. John Francis it was the scent of knowledge.

  “Evil is beyond the reach of no man.”

  “But can a man remove himself beyond the reach of evil?” Kevin asked.

  The dean of academic affairs, Dr. John Francis, gazed over bifocals at the man who sat opposite him and allowed a small smile to nudge his lips. Those blue eyes hid a deep mystery, one that had eluded him since their first meeting three months earlier when Kevin Parson approached him after a philosophy lecture. They’d struck up a unique friendship that included numerous discussions such as this one.

  Kevin sat with his feet flat, hands on knees, eyes piercing and unmoving, hair ruffled despite a compulsive habit of running his fingers through his loose brown curls. Or because of it. The hair was an anomaly; in every other way the man groomed himself perfectly. Clean shaven, fashionably current, pleasantly scented—Old Spice, if the professor guessed right. Kevin’s ragged hair begged to differ in a bohemian sort of way. Others fiddled with pencils or twirled their fingers or shifted in their seats; Kevin ran his fingers through his hair and tapped his right foot. Not now and then or at appropriate breaks in the conversation, but regularly, to the beat of a hidden drum behind his blue eyes. Some might consider the idiosyncrasies annoying, but Dr. Francis saw them as nothing more than enigmatic clues to Kevin’s nature. The truth—rarely obvious and almost always found in subtleies. In the tapping of feet and the fiddling of fingers and the movement of eyes.

  Dr. Francis pushed his black leather chair back from the desk, stood slowly to his feet, and walked to a bookcase filled with the works of the ancient scholars. In many ways he identified with these men as much as he did with the modern man. Put a robe on him and he would look rather like a bearded Socrates, Kevin had once told him. He ran a finger over a bound copy of the Dead Sea Scrolls.

  “Indeed,” Dr. Francis said. “Can man step beyond evil’s reach? I think not. Not in this lifetime.”

  “Then all men are condemned to a life of evil,” Kevin said.

  Dr. Francis faced him. Kevin
watched, unmoving except for his right foot, tapping away. His round blue eyes held steady, stared with the innocence of a child’s, probing, magnetic, unabashed. These eyes attracted long stares from the secure and forced the less secure to avert their gaze. Kevin was twenty-eight, but he possessed a strange blend of brilliance and naiveté that Dr. Francis could not understand. The full-grown man thirsted for knowledge like a five-year-old. Something to do with a unique rearing in a bizarre home, but Kevin had never been forthcoming.

  “A lifetime struggle with evil, not a life of evil,” Dr. Francis clarified.

  “And does man simply choose evil, or does he create it?” Kevin asked, already many thoughts beyond his initial question. “Is evil a force that swims in human blood, struggling to find its way into the heart, or is it an external possibility wanting to be formed?”

  “I would say man chooses evil rather than creates it. Human nature’s saturated with evil as a result of the Fall. We are all evil.”

  “And we are all good,” Kevin said, tapping his foot. “The good, the bad, and the beautiful.”

  Dr. Francis nodded at the use of the phrase he’d coined, which referred to the man created in God’s nature, the beautiful man, struggling between the good and the bad. “The good, the bad, and the beautiful. Indeed.” He stepped for the door. “Walk with me, Kevin.”

  Kevin ran both hands past his temples and stood. Dr. Francis led him from the office and up a flight of steps to the world above, as Kevin liked to call it.

  “How is your paper on the natures progressing?” Dr. Francis asked.

  “Guaranteed to raise your eyebrows.” They stepped into the empty main hall. “I’m using a story to illustrate my conclusion. Not conventional, I know, but since Christ preferred to use fiction to communicate truth, I figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed from him.”

  “As long as it makes the point. I look forward to reading it.”

  Kevin walked with Dr. John Francis down the hall, thinking that he liked this man beside him. The sound of their shoes striking the hardwood floor echoed through the chamber steeped in tradition. The older man strolled casually, his ready smile hinting at wisdom far beyond his words. Kevin glanced up at the paintings of the divinity school’s founders along the wall to his right. Bold, gentle giants, Dr. Francis called them.

  “Speaking of evil, all men are capable of gossip, don’t you think?” Kevin asked.

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Even the bishop is capable of gossip.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you think the bishop does gossip? Sometimes?”

  The dean’s answer waited three steps. “We are all human.”

  They came to the large door that opened to the central campus and Dr. Francis pushed it open. Despite the ocean breezes, Long Beach could not escape periodic stretches of oppressive heat. Kevin stepped out into the bright midday sunlight, and for a moment their philosophical bantering felt trivial in light of the world before him. A dozen seminary students walked across the manicured park, heads bent in thought or tilted back with smiles. Two dozen poplars formed an avenue through the expansive lawn. The chapel’s steeple towered over the trees beyond the park. To his right, the Augustine Memorial Library glistened in the sun. The Divinity School of the Pacific, South, was at a glance statelier and more modern than its parent, the Episcopal seminary in Berkeley.

  Here was the real world, made up of normal people with sensible histories and ordinary families pursuing an admirable profession. He, on the other hand, was a twenty-eight-year-old convert who really had no business attending seminary at all, much less leading a flock one day. Not because he didn’t have honorable intent, but because of who he was. Because he was Kevin Parson, who had really only discovered his spiritual side for the first time three years ago. In spite of his wholehearted embrace of the church, he still felt no holier—and maybe less—than any drunk on the street might. Not even the dean knew his whole story, and Kevin wasn’t sure the man would be so supportive if he did.

  “You have a brilliant mind, Kevin,” the dean said, gazing out at the grounds. “I’ve seen a lot of people come and go, and few of them have your same tenacity for the truth. But believe me, the deepest questions can drive a man mad. The problem of evil is one of those questions. You’d be wise to court it slowly.”

  Kevin looked into the graying man’s eyes, and for a moment neither spoke. The dean winked and Kevin offered a slight smile. Kevin liked this man as much as he might like a father.

  “You’re a wise man, Dr. Francis. Thanks. I’ll see you in class next week.”

  “Don’t forget your paper.”

  “Never.”

  The dean dipped his head.

  Kevin took one step down to the concrete landing and turned back. “Just one last thought. In absolute terms, gossip isn’t so different from murder, right?”

  “Ultimately, no.”

  “Then the bishop is ultimately capable of murder, isn’t he?”

  The dean lifted his right eyebrow. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

  Kevin smiled. “Not really. Neither is more evil.”

  “You’ve made your point, Kevin. I’ll be sure to warn the bishop against any sudden urges to kill his fellowman.”

  Kevin chuckled. He turned and walked down the steps. Behind him the door closed with a soft thump. He turned back. The steps were empty.

  He was alone. A stranger in a strange world. How many grown men would stare at a flight of steps just vacated by a professor of philosophy and feel utterly alone? He scratched his head and ruffled his hair.

  Kevin headed for the parking lot. The sense of solitude left him before he reached his car, which was good. He was changing, wasn’t he? The hope of change was why he’d chosen to become a priest in the first place. He’d escaped the demons of his past and begun a new life as a new creature. He had put his old self in the grave and, despite the lingering memories, he was coming to life, like an aspen in the spring.

  So much change in so little time. God willing, the past would remain buried.

  He swung his beige Sable out of the lot and merged with the steady flow of traffic on Long Beach Boulevard. Evil. The problem of evil. Like traffic—never ending.

  On the other hand, grace and love weren’t exactly running scared, were they? He had more to be thankful for than he ever imagined possible. Grace, for starters. A fine school with fine teachers. His own home. He might not have a rack of friends to call on at his every whim, but he did have a few. One at least. Dr. John Francis liked him.

  He humphed. Okay, so he had a ways to go on the social front. Samantha had called him, though. They’d talked twice in the last two weeks. And Sam was no slouch. Now there was a friend. Maybe more than a—

  His cell phone chirped loudly from the cup holder. He’d gotten the thing a week ago and had used it once, placed a call to his home phone to see if it worked. It had, but only after he’d activated the voice mail, which had required a call to the salesman.

  The cell rang again and he picked it up. The thing was small enough to swallow if you got hungry enough. He pushed the red button and immediately knew it was the wrong one. Ignore “Send” above the green button. Green is go and red is stop, the salesman had said.

  Kevin lifted the phone to his ear, heard silence, and tossed it on the passenger seat, feeling foolish. It was probably the salesman, calling to see if he was enjoying his new phone. Then again, why would a salesman bother to check on a nineteen-dollar purchase?

  The phone chirped again. Behind him, a horn honked. A blue Mercedes crowded his bumper. Kevin punched the accelerator and picked up the phone. Red brake lights cut across all three lanes ahead. He slowed down—the Mercedes would have to chill. He pressed the green button.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Kevin.”

  Male voice. Low and breathy. Drawn out to accentuate each syllable.

  “Hello?”

  “How are you doing, my old friend? Quite well from wh
at I can gather. How nice.”

  The world around Kevin faded. He brought the car to a halt behind the sea of red taillights, felt the pressure of the brakes as a distant abstraction. His mind focused on this voice on the phone.

  “I . . . I’m sorry. I don’t think—”

  “It doesn’t matter if you know me.” Pause. “I know you. In fact, if you really think you’re cut out for this seminary foolishness, I must say I know you better than you know yourself.”

  “I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t have a clue what you’re talking—”

  “Don’t be stupid!” the voice yelled into his ear. The man took a deep, scratchy breath. He spoke calmly again. “Forgive me, I really don’t mean to yell, but you’re not listening to me. It’s time to quit pretending, Kevin. You think you have the whole world fooled, but you don’t have me fooled. It’s time to let the cat out of the bag. And I’m going to help you do it.”

  Kevin could hardly comprehend what he was hearing. Was this for real? It had to be a practical joke. Peter? Did Peter from Intro to Psych know him well enough to pull a stunt like this?

  “Who . . . who is this?”

  “You like games, don’t you, Kevin?”

  There was no way Peter could sound so condescending.

  “Okay,” Kevin said. “Enough. I don’t know what—”

  “Enough? Enough? No, I don’t think so. The game is just starting. Only this one is not like the games you play with everyone else, Kevin. This one’s for real. Will the real Kevin Parson please stand up? I thought about killing you, but I’ve decided this will be much better.” The man paused, made a soft sound that sounded like a moan. “This . . . this will destroy you.”

  Kevin stared ahead, dumbfounded.

  “You may call me Richard Slater. Ring any bells? Actually, I prefer Slater. And here’s the game Slater would like to play. I will give you exactly three minutes to call the newspaper and confess your sin, or I will blow that silly Sable you call a car sky-high.”

  “Sin? What are you talking about?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? I knew you’d forget, you stupid brick.” Another pause. “Do you like riddles? Here’s a riddle to jog your mind: What falls but never breaks? What breaks but never falls?”