Saint by Ted Dekker

world.
    â€œThere is an evil stirring, Robert,” David said behind him. “I realize you would prefer some evidence, but nothing I can tell you would satisfy your demand for plain facts. I came here to tell you and the secretary that you must not, under any circumstances, yield to Feroz.”
    â€œWhat do you suggest I do?”
    â€œI suggest you pray, Robert. You do still pray, don’t you? For your son?”
    â€œMore than you know.”
    â€œThen pray more. And know that Assim Feroz is your enemy.” He turned and faced the president. “Have you ever heard of a man named Laszlo Kalman?”
    â€œDoesn’t ring a bell, no.”
    â€œThe X Group, then?”
    Robert frowned and shook his head. “No. Should I?”
    â€œYes, I think you should. But not from me. You should talk to the CIA.”
    â€œWhat does this have to do with the initiative?”
    David hesitated. “I believe they’re connected. I can’t prove it any more than I can prove any of this has anything to do with Project Showdown, but I have a very strong feeling, Robert. A feeling I haven’t had in twelve years.”
    â€œSo you said.”
    A soft knock interrupted them. He knew that knock—two raps. It was his son, Jamie, who had carte blanche permission to join him in any unclassified meeting he wished during these last few months of his life. The doctors had given him two, but they all knew he would outlast any doctor’s prognosis. He had lived eighteen years with a very mild case of Down’s syndrome complicated by a congenital thyroid dysfunction that was supposed to have killed him before he turned four. Other than being short for his age, he showed no physical clue of his illness, unusual for those with Down’s.
    His mind was a different matter. Although Jamie was eighteen, he had the mind of a twelve-year-old.
    There was nothing that Robert and Wendy, his wife, loved more about their son.
    â€œIt’s Jamie,” he said.
    David nodded once. Smiled. He had his own affection for children, didn’t he? It’s why he and Jamie have struck up such a friendship, Robert thought.
    â€œCome in.”
    The door swung open. A short boy, blond and sweet, stared at them with wide brown eyes. “Can I come in?”
    â€œOf course. I’ve been expecting you.”
    Jamie walked in and shut the door. His one love in life was politics. He lived and breathed the business of government, which in his simple world primarily meant scanning the news channels, listening to a good three hours of talk radio each day, and sitting in on whatever meeting his father would allow him to. It didn’t matter that half of it flew over his head; Jamie had a way with politics. His outlook on life gave him a unique insight into the public psyche. If Robert wanted to know how the American public felt about a certain initiative, nine times out of ten Jamie’s perspective would tell him.
    In ways his staff would never truly appreciate, Robert credited Jamie for his ascent from Arizona governor to president. At his son’s suggestion, he’d revamped his entire campaign during the primaries, bought himself a Harley, and become the people’s man from Arizona. And that was only the beginning. His wife, Wendy, had once teased him that he’d won the presidency by thinking like a twelve-year-old.
    The very least he could do for his son was to allow him unfettered access to a political life that most could only dream about. He took Jamie anywhere and everywhere that he could.
    Jamie looked sheepishly from his father back to David. “Heavy discussion?”
    â€œDavid thinks that Assim Feroz isn’t who he says he is,” Robert said. “What do you think?”
    â€œI think Feroz is a bad goat,” the boy said. “I think he’s lying and won’t disarm anyone but Israel.”
    â€œReally?” Robert lifted a brow and smiled. “What