“And may I say, m’lady, it’s a brave thing you’re doing,” Saul said as he reached for his cup and took another sip. “Even here, in ‘God’s country,’ not many are willing to answer the call. Oh, sure, they’ll all tell you it’s the drone strikes that scare them—‘I can do more good by working my job and sending money!’—as if the Lord asked Abraham to sacrifice a bag of gold in His name.”

Saul kept talking, but Sasha’s attention drifted. The spot on her head where the deck had been itched, all of a sudden. She scratched it, and for the second time she found herself truly missing the gadget. If she had her deck she could call Alexander and find out what was going on. But instead she just squirmed a little in her chair and hoped the men didn’t notice how uncomfortable she’d become.

“Miss Marion, you alright?” Jonah had noticed. Of course he had. Sasha cursed herself and then cursed herself again for cursing.

“Yes, sorry. I’m kind of tired, even with the coffee. And I’m, um, worried about my friend in the Kingdom.” She definitely stressed the word “friend” too much. “Do you think I’ll be able to find a deck once I’m there? I’ve heard a lot of different th–”

“Ma’am,” that was Saul, and his voice had no more feigned mirth. “You’re about to be smuggled illegally across a heavily fortified border. There are all sorts of worldly goods in the Heavenly Kingdom. We’re not paupers or savages. But as to whether you’ll get a deck, well, that rather depends on what our Lord wants for you.”

Sasha lowered her head a little in submission. This wasn’t the time to press further. Maybe that time would never come. You knew there’d be sacrifices, she reminded herself.

“How are you going to smuggle me across the border?” She asked.

Saul finished his coffee and set his mug down on the makeshift table. “I’ll show you,” he said.

He led her past the living room and into a spacious and much cooler garage. There, a trio of workers with face masks were busy sealing up large crates of unfinished wood. She couldn’t quite make out the words stamped on the sides, but the blocky font looked military.

“There was a time when it was easy enough to sneak the faithful across on foot,” Saul explained, “but international concerns have forced the government to take a rather hard line. I’m afraid this is the best way to get anyone across the border.”

“Wait,” Sasha’s gut went sour. She felt the acid in her stomach churn in a greasy boil, “Are you trying to tell me I’m going to be nailed inside a crate?”