Fall On Your Knees Read online

  Fall On Your Knees

  by

  Mary C. Findley

  A Christmas Romantic Suspense Novella

  Copyright 2015 Findley Family Video Publications

  Fall On your Knees

  copyright 2015 Findley Family Video Publications

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. Exception is made for short excerpts used in reviews.

  Findley Family Video

  "Speaking the truth in love."

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is coincidental

  Scripture references are from The Holy Bible: The King James Version, public domain.

  One

  "Package for Ex Libris." Murali Nanda had typed those words so often over the last eight years. But today, they excited him more than they ever had, because today, he hoped, he was typing them for the last time. He liked to imagine that he could sit in this library, even though it was on Cyprus thousands of miles from the reference librarian he was messaging, and feel closer to Karin Arthur. He couldn’t wait to close that distance and actually meet her for the first time in person. But will she agree?

  "Sir, the library will be closing in fifteen minutes," an attendant whispered to him in Greek as she approached the privacy screen surrounding Murali’s computer.

  He bit back an oath when he realized it was an early closing day. Libraries all over the world depended on volunteer staff, and tended to keep irregular hours. How long had it been since he last knew what day it was?

  "Efharisto. Thank you. I’ll just be another moment," Murali replied in the same language, rubbing his hand over his dark beard, and then giving his probably red-rimmed brown eyes a rub as well. When did I sleep last? Oh, well. No matter. Just one last official message to Karin Arthur, including the one confirming his official retirement.

  Growing up, Murali had never dreamed of being a secret agent – a spy. Instead, he had concentrated on surviving from the time when he was nine and his university professor father was murdered for his work in secret house churches.

  After he and his mother fled to her home country of America, Murali had grown up seeing the ignorance and blindness of people who claimed to live in a Christian country but knew nothing about the real faith his father had been martyred for. Murali wanted to study and share God’s Word and the writings of those who had protected and taught about it through persecutions and trials. He hoped to make the best manuscripts and most edifying works available to teachers and leaders, especially in restricted locations. He had focused all his efforts to make that dream a reality.

  The agency had tapped him his senior year undergraduate, just after his mother passed away from cancer, and it had, at the time, been an answer to his prayers about his devastated finances and a burning desire to travel to study primary source manuscripts firsthand. Travel he had, and study he did, but not for the original goals and plans he had so carefully laid out.

  All his own work had been swept aside in the crush of operational needs, and especially the last ten years had seen him plow his goals and dreams deeper under an avalanche of agency assignments. His career had been distinguished and satisfying, aside from the whisper that he had no time to do what was most important to him. At thirty-five, he had more than enough commendations and successes that he could, of course, never tell anyone about. Now, all he wanted to do was stop, and he wanted his stopping place to begin with a new life and a woman he had never met. But will she want to meet me?

  "Good to hear from you, Madhumeha," Karin’s reply came back. "Started to worry. It’s been awhile."

  In his mind’s eye Murali pictured blond and blue-eyed Karin turning to the laptop that would have beeped from its spot on the rack to the right of her reference desk at the Community College Library. She would have glanced at the message header, Madhumeha, and would have drawn a quick breath.

  Murali knew this from the dispassionate but thorough e-mail briefings by the sometimes insufferable Gerald Owens, a special agent assigned to stand guard over the laptop and its user since it had been installed in the reference librarian’s office nearly eight years earlier. Karin apparently had at first thought her college had finally answered her pleas to upgrade the whole antiquated computer system of the library.

  "Sorry. It’s been a crazy lot of traveling with this assignment," he typed back. "Bad, bad internet connections everywhere." He could console himself with the knowledge that this was partly true. This had also been an op that had required more "radio silence" than most. That was one thing that had strengthened Murali’s resolve to retire. Being cut off from everyone he worked with was bad enough. Being cut off from Karin … it is no longer an option for me. This is the end.

  The agency had agreed that this was his last assignment, and he intended to hold them to it now that the op was complete. All he had to do was send his report and it would be time to stop running around trying to save the world. Time to finally try to meet Karin Arthur face-to-face, as an ordinary civilian.

  "I hope the research helped speed up your return to civilized parts," Karin typed.

  "As usual, I couldn’t have escaped the desolate wilderness without you." Murali knew Karin had a talent nearly supernatural for research and made sure information about any conceivable subject was at her fingertips. And her insights – the way she enhanced projects with ideas he hadn’t thought of – different ways of looking at things. This was what had brought her to the attention of the agency. The laptop from the agency gave Karin access to some resources no other reference librarian could boast, for which she was deeply appreciative.

  "Glad I could help."

  Murali knew Karin must have wondered why she had to keep the laptop locked in a safe on the floor beside her desk whenever she left the office, no exceptions. He was sure the intricate and frequently-changing passwords frustrated her. But her suspicions that it had a deeper purpose seemed never to have been awakened.

  The rest of the computers in the library had remained antiquated for a long time. Some of the money to upgrade them had come from Murali’s personal funds, unbeknownst to Karin. He had come to understand this woman’s needs and desires for her library, and had done his best to meet them. He had felt her gratitude and, he hoped, had sensed more than that in the increasing warmth in their online conversations. Time will tell how much warmth.

  "Preparing to send the package now." Murali input the coded sequence that would encapsulate his intel and his official resignation and transfer it to Karin’s computer.

  "Good. Gerald’s as antsy as if the message was for him," Karin replied.

  Gerald’s (and Murali’s) cover story was that the laptop was an anonymous gift from a private donor who had been made aware of Karen’s unusual gift for research. Karin had been told that this laptop was linked to a graduate student study resource center on the campus of a faraway thinktank.

  "Package enroute," Murali typed as his encryption finished and the data began to attach to his message.

  "So happy for you, that you can finally submit your thesis," Karin replied. "But I will certainly miss helping you with your research. You had some fascinating topics that kept me on my toes."

  Murali had posed as one among many special graduate students, since he was not the only operative who accessed Karin’s computer, all professing international employment or internships, as diplomatic attaches, multinational corporation executives, and the like. His hopes grew when he seemed to be the only one, according to Gerald, anyway, who produced that charming-to-imagine little intake
of breath.

  "I couldn’t have come this far without your help." This was not a lie, and salved his conscience about the cover for the transfer of the information for this last operation.

  "Almost finished," Murali said to the library employee as she approached again. It was taking too long to make the transfer. Had something gone wrong? Was it being intercepted – rerouted –? "Ex Libris, please confirm you are receiving my package." When Karin didn’t respond right away his panic started to build. No matter how many times he had done this, he couldn’t swallow the choking knot in his throat, the fear of theft, and of discovery, especially if it occurred on Karin’s end.

  Murali knew that Karin needed to manually enable the transmission through her laptop and that she could have gotten distracted. In spite of his impatience to hear back from her Murali smiled when he recalled the time she had confided to him that she thought her "assistant" Gerald was extraordinarily dedicated. Murali knew Gerald Owens was indeed rigorously punctual, but hardly sociable. It disturbed Gerald greatly, but Murali only a little, that she had begun to refer to Gerald as more of a watchdog than an assistant. Murali had to reassure him repeatedly that Karin had no suspicion of their real purpose.

  "Receiving the package. You must not have come far enough out of the wilderness. Uploading very slowly," Karin finally said.

  Murali made himself swallow and breathe again. He even chuckled at the thought that Gerald would be mistaken for a library assistant. But, per the orders that went with his assignment, Gerald was at the library door when Karin arrived in the morning and he stayed as long as she stayed, even if it was long after the library closed.

  Karin frequently became engaged in a project, usually related to the laptop, until late at night, but Gerald, of course, doggedly remained. Others guarded the laptop and library when Gerald left, but he was the only one Karin knew about. Murali wished the agency had a security detail on Karin, but he could not convince them of the potential danger to her. He could not even pay a private firm to protect her without arousing suspicions. In the end, he just prayed for her, and did it fervently and frequently.

  Murali had not been able to avoid one admission to Karin. She had to be made to understand that Gerald was connected to the laptop and not the library. She had known almost immediately that the community college did not pay Gerald an hourly salary and occasional overtime for the hours he spent gazing fixedly at the wall behind the laptop or shooing away patrons when she was engaged on it.

  Karin had been upset at first when Gerald shooed away people with questions. She had tried to put aside the laptop and go to the aid of her helpless patrons but Murali knew Gerald wouldn’t have any of that. Karin had let slip a complaint to Madhumeha a fervent wish that she could send Gerald packing.

  Murali soothed Karin’s ruffled feelings and distracted her by saying that he had the ear of the university he supposedly attended because he claimed to be their highest-contributing student by virtue of how many years he had paid them tuition. He claimed he had specifically chosen Gerald because he was the most dedicated watchdog, and Karin would learn to tolerate him. She had, and Murali dared to hope it was at least in part because she grew to love working with him online and enjoyed his compliments and witticisms.

  Murali forced himself to stop daydreaming and take note that his packet of information had completed uploading. Karin would innocently relay what she thought was his master’s thesis to the "think tank." One of the reasons he had taught Karin to tolerate Gerald Owens was his bulldog tenacity and ferocity that would protect Karin if this arrangement ever became known to those who would not hesitate to force her to help them break into this laptop.

  She would very suddenly and unpleasantly learn that it was a portal between deep cover covert ops agents and their headquarters. The information that could be at risk should the laptop or Karin be put at risk … Murali stopped brooding over those thoughts because he was no long sure which he feared most – the danger to the international intelligence community, or the danger to Karin Arthur.

  "Transfer completed," Karin reported, meaning her internet was vastly superior to what he had here in Cyprus. She had already sent his package on and he had no further pretext upon which to linger at the already-closed library. One more thing. Might as well just come out and say it.

  "Please join me for a Christmas eve dinner to celebrate my thesis completion. I have to leave the library now. Take your time and let me know your decision. We will work out the details if you say yes," he typed. He immediately shut down the computer. "Signomi. Sorry," he said to the library employee who let him out the locked door with a disapproving frown.

  Murali strode rapidly away from the library and straight for the jewel-beautiful sea, never far from any location on Cyprus. Usually being near water soothed his soul. This time he stared outward in blind introspection and wondered if Karin would disapprove, too, of his curt, for now unanswerable message and his forwardness in sending it.

  Since he had been born near the sea, Murali liked to always be ready for a swim. His valuables and identification he had already locked up at the ferry launch before going to the library. Knowing he had two hours before the ferry departed, he dropped his small duffel containing clothes and a towel inside a changing tent. Murali shed his plain white tunic and trousers, left his sandals on the pile of clothes, and ran for the water in his swim trunks. Diving in, he swam underwater, staring into the bright blueness until his eyes were salt-achy and his lungs were ready to burst. Finally he shot to the surface and threw his head back, scattering drops and floating on his back.

  The invitation to Karin – it was my fleece. He would see if God would honor his desperate hopes the next time he could get online. He wished he knew when that would be. Christmas was only two weeks away, but he was duty-bound to disappear until he could get his official release from the agency and make his way by stealthy steps to the beginning of a normal life. With Karin?

  Two

  "Good night, Mr. Owens," Karin said as she locked the library doors and made her way cautiously down the icy sidewalk toward the parking lot. The man grunted – actually grunted– in reply while sprinkling salt from the bag they kept by the library door on the path in front of her. After that he just walked away.

  Surprised by his considerate act, Karin still did not bother to add "Merry Christmas!" for fear she would get a "Bah-humbug!" in reply. She did not want to do anything to spoil her current state of euphoria. After almost seven years of waiting for it, the request she had been dying to hear had come!

  This is nothing like a blind date or an internet romance, she reasoned as she got into her car and immediately started the engine and cranked up the heater. The blast of cold air from the vents was nothing compared to the cold water of doubts dashing over her elation. I know this man! I’ve talked to him a thousand times. We’ve laughed and commiserated and discussed everything that’s important to both of us!

  What’s his name? A nagging voice in her head demanded. You don’t know. Where is he from? What does he really do for a living? Is he just a professional student, a spoiled, rich, entitled kid? You don’t know anything about him!

  Tears started pouring down Karin’s cheeks as the warmth finally replaced the extra iciness from her premature blasting of the cold heater. She banged her fists on the steering wheel so hard they ached and sobbed until the windshield fog cleared up and she saw Gerald Owens staring in at her. Mortified, she scrubbed her face as he tapped on her window.

  "Everything all right?" he asked when she cracked it slightly.

  "Yes. Of course!" Karin choked. "Thank you. Everything’s fine."

  "Murali Nanda," he said through the crack in the window.

  "What?" Karin couldn’t process the foreign sounds Gerald made.

  "That’s his name – Murali Nanda. He’s an Indian-America dual national. You can google it. Have a good evening. See you in the morning."

  Gerald crunched away across the parking lot. Karin felt paralyze
d for a moment by the thought of Gerald Owens peeking over her shoulder and seeing the invitation. Her next, even more paralyzing thought, was of Gerald being an angel of consolation. He had given her back her soaring hope with just the mention of a name.

  Did he have a car? Karin stared at his retreating back and wondered for the first time. Was he going to walk to wherever he spent his nights? Where did he spend his nights? Should I go after him and offer him a ride?

  He was gone again. Karin tried to get her head out of this surreal world she had slipped into. Gerald Owens would be fine. Everything would be fine. And Karin would go straight home to google Murali Nanda.

  The roads were icier than the sidewalk, however, and she had to creep home. When she got there, she saw that her whole apartment building was in the dark. Power failure? Karin groaned. She got a flashlight out of the glovebox and made her way up to her apartment. Her teeth chattered and she knew she couldn’t spend the night there. Grabbing an overnight bag, she stuffed it with clothes and toiletries and headed back down to find a motel.

  Unfortunately, the power failure seemed to be widespread and Karin had to cautiously make her way twenty miles from town before she found a motel that had both power and a vacancy. They apologized profusely that their wifi was out due to the ice storm. By that time – Karin checked her watch and saw that it was two in the morning – no amount of anxiety and curiosity could make her seek another motel for the purpose of googling Murali Nanda. She knew she was a dinosaur for not having caved in and gotten a smartphone with its own internet. With a sigh, she got into the room and fell into bed.

  ***

  Pounding on the door awoke her and she grabbed her bathrobe and peeked through the tiny distorted peephole. Gerald Owens’ strawberry blond moustache, freckled face, and balding head stood framed in the fisheye lens.

  "What are you doing here?" She asked when she got the door open.