Green: The Beginning and the End by Ted Dekker

forward. “Thomas . . . Thomas, you have to take me!”
    “No. Your mind isn’t clear on this matter.”
    “How can you say that? I . . . I’m your wife! I’ve vowed my life—”
    “You are the daughter of Qurong.” Then, with only a little more tenderness: “Please. Don’t question my judgment on this matter.”
    “Then I should go, Father,” Marie said.
    “Samuel, Mikil, Jamous.” He turned from them. “No more. Chelise, bring me my younger son. Bring me Jake.”
    Then Thomas of Hunter turned and walked into the night, leaving the three thousand alone by the fire.

5
    JANAE DE RAISON stepped out of her mother’s office and eased the door closed behind her, satisfied by the soft click of the latch when it engaged. Williston stood near his white desk in the atrium.
    “Sit down, Williston,” she said. “The answer is no, I won’t be needing anything else. Maybe a sandwich, but I would rather fetch that myself if you don’t mind.”
    He dipped his head.
    She walked across the travertine floor, cool on her bare feet thanks to the conditioned air. Living in Southeast Asia could be a humid affair without the hum of electricity to suck water and heat from the atmosphere.
    “You don’t mind me robbing you of that pleasure, do you, Will? I know how much you enjoy it, but I would like to do it.” She glided up to him and let her eyes wander over his tie, his black jacket. A handsome man with dark hair, graying at the edges. How many times as a child had she fantasized about having a passionate affair with their butler? Too many to remember.
    She put her hand on his cheek and withdrew it slowly, allowing her fingernails to graze his skin. “Is that okay, dear Will? Just this once?”
    “Of course, madam. Whatever pleases you.” He smiled. It was a game they played often and both managed to take some enjoyment from it, she in tempting, he in pretending to be tempted, though they both knew that he wasn’t always pretending.
    She drew her hand down his tie, pulled it away from his shirt, then let it fall back into place as she turned away. “Where is he?”
    “Where is who, madam?”
    “Our fascinating little visitor?”
    “In the guest quarters where I left him, I assume.” He sounded as if he wanted to say more, so at the twelve-foot arched entry to the hall, she turned back.
    “You’d like to add something else?”
    “No.”
    “You don’t trust our guest?”
    He hesitated. “He is a bit unnerving, madam.”
    “Hmm. Then perhaps he and I will get along just fine.”
    Again he dipped his head. “Yes, madam.”
    Janae made her way to the kitchen, ignoring the servants, who moved like ghosts through the twenty-thousand-square-foot mansion that doubled as the world headquarters for Raison Pharmaceutical. Dusting, always dusting the crystal chandeliers and candle holders, the period paintings, the marble tables, anything that had a smooth surface. They were mostly Filipinos who spoke perfect English, and a few Malaysians. Janae had grown up trilingual, fluent by age eight in French, English, and Thai, but she’d also picked up enough Tagalog and Malay to get by.
    She walked through the dining room toward the kitchen, mind on the visitor, on this Billy Rediger who’d waltzed into their home and sent both Monique and Kara into a tailspin, although they would never admit it.
    “I’m making a couple sandwiches, Betty,” she said, stopping the cook across the kitchen. “Could you get me a tray and two glasses of very cold milk?”
    “Yes, madam.”
    She pulled out a white ceramic plate and made two peanut-butter and strawberry-jam sandwiches, each with a healthy side of Russian caviar.
    With each wipe of her knife and dip of her spoon into the caviar jar, her mind went to the man. To Billy. Her mother had been unmistakably direct in her instructions to Janae. Kara had been even more forceful.
    “Of course there’s no blood!” Kara said, dismissing the whole business with a sweep of her hand. She