Samuel directed the taxi to Korangi 1, his colony. He was sitting in the front seat, and Paul was in the back. Joseph hadn't gotten into the taxi with them, and Paul was sure he had stayed behind to help the others trapped in the hotel.

Paul and Samuel rode in silence for a few moments. Then Samuel shifted so he could look over his right shoulder at Paul. Very calmly, but with a deep sadness in his voice, he said, "It's a shame. The meeting was going very well."

Paul nodded. "I thought we had security at the hotel."

"They must have been overpowered," Samuel said. "I hope no one was killed."

Paul knew as well as Samuel that many people would have been injured. Samuel turned back toward the front, and they rode in silence until they reached the intersection where Samuel could walk to his home.

Paul got out and took Samuel's hand. "Your speech this afternoon was wonderful. I hope it is covered in the papers."

Samuel smiled as they shook hands, and Paul was surprised by the strength of his grip. "I'm afraid that there will be no coverage at all," Samuel replied, "or there will be stories of the riot that took place. It will depend on what the government wants."

After Samuel walked away, Paul slid into the front seat of the taxi and directed the driver to take him to Korangi 2. On the way he couldn't stop thinking about the people trapped in the hotel by the thugs who had beaten anyone they could reach. He shuddered to think of all the injuries. When the taxi arrived at the main intersection on the edge of the colony, Paul got out, paid the driver, and began to walk in toward the mission. He was wondering who he might call to talk about the news coverage of the seminar, when he heard a shout.

Turning quickly, he saw two men moving toward him from an alley to his left. The shout had come from one of the street addicts Paul knew, who had also seen the men. Paul started running as fast as he could up the street. When he heard a gunshot, he began to dodge to the left and then to the right. He turned into the first alley to the right and followed it to an intersection, then went left for another block. He still hadn't lost the men, because he could hear the noise of their footsteps behind him. They took another shot at him, as he turned right once more. Paul desperately tried to think of where to hide. They would know to look for him in the mission. But he didn't want to go to the home of friends, because that might get them in trouble.

He dodged down another alley that took him beyond the mission, then squeezed between two buildings and stopped, trying to catch his breath. He heard the men rush past in the alley. He'd lost them, at least for now. Paul waited quietly, until he was breathing evenly. Surely they would figure out before long that he'd hidden somewhere and would double back. He couldn't stay where he was, because anyone who looked between the two buildings would see him.

He slipped forward to the alley and peeked out. It looked clear. But where was he to go? He turned right and at the next alley went left, away from the direction the men had taken. Instead of running, he now walked quickly, keeping to the side of the alley or the street, as he circled around to the other side of the colony. He wanted to approach the mission from the opposite side. He also wanted to wait until it was a little darker.

He knew the colony well, so it was easy to move through the alleys. Finally, he came to the other side of the narrow alley that ran behind the mission and the church. It was dark now. He didn't think he'd been seen. He passed the mission and, at the back of the church, he knocked quietly on the door. "Martha, it's me, Paul." When the door opened, he slipped quickly inside.

He put his first finger to his lips to signal to Martha to be quiet, quickly lit a candle, and turned off the light. Then he bolted the back door. "Is the front door locked?" he whispered.

Martha nodded, her eyes wide with concern. Paul stood still for several minutes listening to the sounds outside. He couldn't hear any footsteps or shouts. He motioned to Martha to help him move a shelf away from the wall. The bookshelf covered a small closet where he had stashed a few bottles of water. It seemed the emergency they had planned for had arrived.

He let Martha pass in front of him into the closet, then stepped in and pulled the bookshelf carefully back over the entrance. There were air holes in the back of the bookshelf to allow fresh air into the closet. These holes also permitted whoever was in the closet to look out. He put his finger through a couple of the holes and arranged the books to permit better circulation. The sacristy was completely dark, and he couldn't hear any sound from the alley.

There was barely enough room in the closet for the two of them. Paul motioned with his hand to show Martha that he would sit closest to the entrance, and he pointed to the floor at the back. Carefully, Martha sat down on the pillow that was on the floor, crossed her legs and arranged her skirt. Then Paul handed her the candle and sat down slowly next to her, with his knees up. There wasn't room for both of them to sit with their legs crossed. He had never imagined they would both be here. He had thought that Martha could hide here, if anyone ever broke into the church or if there was a riot in the colony.

He dripped a little wax from the candle onto the floor in front of Martha's legs and then set the candle carefully on the wax, holding it until the wax hardened and the candle stood upright. We'll have to be careful not to set ourselves on fire, he thought. But soon we'll need to put the candle out, as we don't want it to burn down completely until we know how long we might have to stay here.

He listened again, but didn't hear anything. He leaned toward Martha and whispered in her ear. "We were attacked at the hotel during the public seminar. Samuel and I escaped by taxi, but when I arrived in the colony two men began to chase me. I think I lost them, but they may come looking for me here."

She nodded that she understood. Paul felt his body trembling. His legs were cramped from the sudden running and, as the beating of his heart slowed, the fear that he felt at the hotel began to creep into his stomach again. He tightened all his muscles and held his breath, then relaxed and exhaled slowly to try to stop shaking. It was embarrassing to be so obviously frightened in front of Martha, and they were sitting so close that he couldn't conceal his trembling. Paul was glad when Martha spread the blanket over his legs and put her arm around his shoulder. As he felt the warmth of her body next to his, the shaking began to subside. Soon he was breathing more easily and the cramps in his legs had eased.

He had almost begun to feel drowsy, when he heard the footsteps in the alley. He put his thumb and first finger in his mouth, then reached out and pinched the candlewick. The candle flickered out, and they were plunged into darkness.

The footsteps stopped at the back door of the church and then went down the alley to the mission. There was a moment of silence before he heard the sound of splitting wood as the door to the mission was battered and forced open. Through the wall that separated the mission from the church he could hear the sounds of dishes breaking and furniture being destroyed. After a few minutes, there was silence and then in the alley footsteps that stopped outside the back door to the church.

Paul experienced a moment of regret for not installing a stronger door and lock. The silence seemed to last forever before there was the sound of pounding on the door and the splintering of wood, as the dead bolt ripped out of the door jam. Two men entered the sacristy and switched on the lights. The men were out of the line of his vision, but he could hear their voices.

"I don't think he's here. This is too obvious. He must be hiding at a friend's house." The men walked through the sacristy, entered the sanctuary, and turned on the lights. "Nothing here," one of them said. There was nothing in the sanctuary to break, but after the men returned to the sacristy they began to throw stuff on the floor. Paul could see them now. One of the men had a scar from his left ear to his jaw. The other was older and better dressed. Both were wearing caps that covered their hair. The older one was giving the orders.

"We'll get him. Maybe not tonight, but we'll get him."

Paul didn't recognize either voice, but he hadn't expected that he would. The men were paid thugs. They knocked the chalice off the top shelf, and Paul cringed as it crashed on the floor. Luckily it was brass. Now they were dumping the books off the shelves. Suddenly, Paul panicked. If they pulled all the books off, the shelves would be light and might easily be tipped over, which would expose them! He slipped his fingers through a couple of the air holes and tried to stabilize the bookshelf, hoping that the men wouldn't notice his fingers.

"Shall we burn these books?" the younger man said.

"Nah. We don't want to anger the whole neighborhood. Then they'll feel so sorry for him and mad at us that they'll try to protect him. We just want this priest to know that we can get him when we want." The second man had a harsh voice and spoke with a country accent. Who's after me? Paul thought to himself. Who's paying them?

He heard sounds he couldn't distinguish at first, but then saw that the men were pissing on his books that lay scattered in front of the bookshelf. They laughed, as they finished, and then stepped through the broken door into the alley.

Paul and Martha sat still, while the sounds of the footsteps faded away. Paul felt flushed and angry. He wanted to get a gun and shoot the two men who had pissed on his books and ransacked his home and church. But he was too frightened to move. The men had left the light on in the sacristy. If he and Martha came out from behind the bookshelf, they might be seen. And perhaps the men had staked out the mission and the church. They could come back.

It felt terrible to be so helpless. The light in the room was streaming through the air holes in the back of the bookshelf, so he could see Martha's face. Tears were flowing down her cheeks. Paul suddenly felt embarrassed that he was worrying only about himself and his own feelings. He had put Martha's life in danger. Imagine how she felt! "Martha, Martha," he whispered. "I'm so sorry that I've brought this trouble into your life."

She took a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her face. Then she put her finger on his lips to silence him and put her head on his shoulder. She knew that they couldn't leave the closet until dawn. She was far more accepting than he was. Paul relaxed and leaned his head against hers. He wanted to talk with Martha, to tell her about his life. He wanted to know more about her life before she had come to work with him at the mission. He wanted to know why she hadn't married, why she had become a nun, and why she was so strong emotionally.

He felt her body relax and realized that she was falling asleep. My God, he thought. What an amazing woman.

It was cool in the sacristy, especially with the door open to the alley, but Paul was warmed by the heat of Martha's body. He went over in his mind what had happened at the hotel. He couldn't call anyone now. It would be too late. How had the thugs gotten past their security? Someone must have helped them. Were the managers of the hotel in on it? Not likely, as the mob had caused a lot of damage. It must have been the police. They probably arrested the men on security, and then the crowd was free simply to enter the hotel. But if the police had done that, then someone in the government had given the order.

Paul hoped Hassan would be able to find out. He thought Hassan had escaped out the back door with the other speakers, although he didn't remember seeing him. Paul wondered if Joseph was all right. He should have come back to the mission but hadn't. He was probably injured and perhaps in the hospital. That would be better than being in jail. Paul began to pray for those who were at the seminar. He closed his eyes and brought faces into focus in his mind. Then he asked God to bless them and care for them in their time of trouble. There was Joseph. Timothy. Peter. Hassan. Had David been there? Paul prayed that he hadn't been arrested. What about Michael?

Joseph continued praying for all the persons he could remember seeing at the seminar. Oh, yes, Khalida Ali. She had been up front, but he hadn't seen her escape through the door at the rear of the platform. He hoped she was all right.

How would she react to what had happened? Would her editor allow her to write an article describing both the encouraging sentiments articulated by Samuel and then the violence of the crowd that broke up the meeting? Would the violence change her mind about what they were doing? Perhaps she would be convinced that they were right to challenge the blasphemy law and to hold public seminars on minority rights. He visualized her face and prayed for her safety. Her eyes were especially striking. They flashed with energy and intelligence.

Then he prayed for Martha. She was such a wonderful woman, so compassionate, so courageous. He felt her breathing against his body. Her heart was beating far slower than his own. How could she sleep so easily after such a fright? Why wasn't her mind racing like his? He moved his cramped legs and crossed them. His right knee now rested on top of Martha's left knee. As his weight shifted onto hers, she leaned more heavily against him. Paul could feel her breast pressed against his rib cage. He fought to keep his mind from thinking about her body.

He began to pray again. He prayed that Samuel was safe. He hadn't even thought about him! Perhaps he had also been attacked. He prayed for Javed. He would know by now what had happened. Would he pull out of the lawsuit? Had thugs come to his home? He prayed also for those who had attacked them. He remembered the New Testament account in the Book of Acts of the Apostles of how Stephen had prayed for the people stoning him to death in Jerusalem, after he had witnessed to his faith before them. "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," he whispered, as he felt his head sag and his eyes begin to close. "Forgive them, . . . forgive . . .."