Paul was in shock. He had been accused of blasphemy for affirming that God is just and the blasphemy law unjust. It was unbelievable.

The two men led him down a hall and then into a small cell. Paul shuddered as they slammed and locked the door. They probably held prisoners here before trial, Paul thought, before transporting them to prison. My God! They're actually going to put me in prison! Fear gripped him, and he began to shake all over. He got up, tensed his muscles, and then began to pace around the room. It was no more than six feet by four feet, with a single chair. There were no windows and the door was heavily secured. A single light bulb in the middle of the ceiling dimly lit the room, and the light was shielded by a heavy wire mesh. Who would want to break the light bulb in here? Paul thought. He noticed that there was no switch on the inside of the room. They could turn the light off from the outside and just leave him in the dark!

Paul began to pace in circles. He had to get control of his mind. If he were actually charged with blasphemy, they would have to give him a trial. That would take quite a while. It would be highly publicized, so they would have to be careful about his treatment. Javed and Blake would see to it that international attention is focused on the case. Perhaps this is actually a break for us! Maybe the government has made a stupid mistake.

Paul sat back down on the chair. Yes. It may be that my arrest will get us over the hump. The fear had subsided now, and he could feel the adrenaline pouring into his blood. He smiled. They've gone too far. They've made a big tactical error.

He heard the sound of the bolt on the door sliding, and then the door opened. The same two security men were standing in the hall, but they were accompanied by a smaller man dressed in a suit rather than a uniform. "Fr. Paul, please come with us." The man's voice was thin and soft but not warm. He spoke as if he was used to giving orders and being instantly obeyed.

"Where are you taking me?" Paul asked.

"To Haratz prison where you'll spend the night. Tomorrow there will be a formal hearing on the charges against you." Paul watched the man's eyes. They were staring at him as though he didn't exist. The corners of his mouth were slightly turned up, giving his face the look of a cat that had just cornered a mouse.

"I want to see my lawyer before I leave the courthouse," Paul replied. His own voice sounded thick to him, and he felt his throat tightening up. He coughed to cover his nervousness.

The man continued to smile at him. "I'm afraid that's not possible. You don't yet have an attorney, because your case has not formally been registered with the court."

"I want to see Mr. Javed," Paul said with as much determination as he could muster. "I'm not leaving until I talk with him." He was beginning to be afraid again. If they took him away before he could tell anyone where he was being taken, then no one would know how to find him.

"Fr. Paul, these gentlemen can easily force you to come with me. Why don't you cooperate and save them the trouble."

"May I know your name, please?" Paul asked. He figured that if he had the name, at least he could try later to hold someone responsible for this kind of treatment.

The corners of the man's mouth curled upwards ever so slightly before he answered, "Khan." Then he motioned to the two security men who entered the cell, took Fr. Paul by the arms and walked him into the hall.

As he was led into the hall, Paul realized that the door was almost the full width of the room. Obviously, it was designed to allow security personnel to enter the cell in order to escort its occupant out. There was nothing to grab onto, no way to resist. Not that resistance would be effective anyway.

Khan led the way down the hall. They went through two security doors and then down a stairway until they reached a door to the outside. A uniformed policeman was waiting here. He opened the door for them, and they stepped through into an underground garage. Paul was led to an unmarked van parked a few feet from the door. One of the men opened the back door and pushed him into it, then both men followed. There were no windows in the van, except for the small window at the front covered by heavy bars that allowed him to see into the cab. The security men locked the back doors of the van as Khan got into the front seat and said something to the driver.

Paul was watching intently through the small window, hoping to see where the van exited the garage and to get an idea of where they were going when he felt something drop over his head. He immediately raised his hands and pulled at it, but strong hands were gripping his wrists and forcing his hands behind his back. He felt the cold and hard handcuffs press into his wrists and heard two clicks. The bag that had been dropped over his head was quickly gathered up around his neck and tied in some way. The men then pushed him back onto the bench that ran along the side of the van.

As Paul felt the van accelerate into traffic, he began to panic. He turned his face toward the corner and brought up his legs, to try to protect himself. They might hit him or kick him, he thought. Anything might happen. He tried to slow his breathing, because the cloth of the bag was tightly knit and that made it difficult to breathe. He struggled to control his fear. Remember, he told himself, when this all comes to light it will make them look very bad and bring international attention to their brutish behavior and unjust laws. In a few minutes his heart had slowed and his breathing was more normal. He took slow, deep breaths, counting to five as he inhaled and to seven as he exhaled. He had learned long ago in meditation that you could slow your breathing and your heartbeat by counting.

The men left him alone, so he tried to find a more comfortable position on the bench. He also began to concentrate on keeping his composure when they arrived at the prison. He didn't want them to see his fear. He would ask for his rights and protest any denial of them, but he wouldn't beg or cringe before them. He would be quiet and dignified.

He saw now that he had allowed Khan to take control of his emotions. When they took the bag off his head, he must be mentally prepared to assert himself. He would speak first to Khan, rather than wait to be told what to do. Taking the initiative would help him appear less fearful.

He figured they had been driving for ten minutes or so when the van slowed and made several turns over a short distance. Then it stopped. Probably a checkpoint, Paul thought. After a moment, the van moved slowly forward then turned right and right again, before stopping. Paul felt the hands of the security men on his arms, heard the doors of the van open, and was lifted out of the van. When his feet were on the ground, he stood up straight. The men guided him forward and then up a short flight of stairs. He heard a door open and then he was led into a room and the door closed behind them. He kept his composure as the tie around his neck was loosened and the bag was pulled off his head.

"Mr. Khan," he said in a level voice, as he looked slowly around him, "I'm not going to try to escape, so there is no need to keep me in handcuffs."

"I agree that escape is very unlikely, Fr. Paul." Khan motioned to the security men to unlock the handcuffs. "But we are simply following procedures. You have been accused of a capital offense. Persons accused of serious offenses are to be transported in handcuffs. I'm sure you can appreciate the reason for that procedure."

"I would like to contact Mr. Javed now, before I am taken to a cell. It would be more convenient than speaking by phone with him later. Surely, your procedures allow a prisoner a phone call."

Khan smiled slightly. "No, they do not. You will take all your clothes off here. If you have any personal items on you, these will be noted and kept safe for you. The guards will take you to your cell. You'll find on your bunk clean clothes that you will wear while you're in the prison. I'll talk with you later."

Paul noticed that there were two uniformed guards in the room and a single chair beside a small table. "I want formally to protest my treatment, Mr. Khan," he said. "I will cooperate fully, of course, but I want the record to show that I do not consent to being locked up without an opportunity to talk with Mr. Javed, my attorney."

Khan's smile never wavered. "There is no record of this conversation, Fr. Paul. But I have made a mental note of your objection."

As he left the room, Fr. Paul looked around at the four men, the two security men who had brought him and the two guards. "Get your clothes off, priest," one of the guards said harshly. Paul was sorry Khan had left, although he loathed undressing in front of him. It was bad enough undressing in front of these men. He struggled to maintain his composure and began to empty his pockets. He'd like to keep his pen, but that was too obvious. He stripped off his watch. If the cell was dark, he thought, he wouldn't be able to keep track of time.

"Come on, hurry it up," the other guard said, as he prodded Paul in the back with his club. Quickly Paul slipped off his shirt and trousers and stood still in his briefs. "Those too," the first guard said. "Let's see what you've got, priest." Paul slid his briefs off and stood straight, fighting to appear calm while the guards looked him over.

"All right, follow me," the first guard said, unlocking the inner door of the room. He led Paul into a narrow hall to a second door where there was another guard. When the door was opened, Paul walked into a larger hall that separated rows of cells on both sides. The doors to the cells had only small windows, so Paul couldn't see anyone in them. But he was acutely conscious of his own nakedness. He kept his eyes up, looking at the back of the head of the guard in front of him, aware that the other guard was following him. At about the fifth or sixth cell on the left, the guard unlocked the door and motioned for him to enter. At this point, he was glad to get inside the cell in order to hide from the stares of the guards and the other prisoners.

After the door slammed shut behind him, Paul quickly picked up the pants and shirt on the bed and dressed. The procedures of the prison were certainly effective at robbing a man of his basic dignity. His cell was about the same size as the holding cell at the courthouse but much dirtier. There were two buckets in the corner. One was half full of water, and the other smelled of excrement. The bed was made of wooden slats. There was no mattress or blanket. There was no sink. The room was lit by a single light that was recessed into the ceiling and protected by wire mesh. The floor felt gritty under his feet, and the corners of the cell were filled with cobwebs.

Paul sat on the bunk and listened to the sounds of the prison. The window to the hall was small but open. He heard the guards walking in the hall, their hard heels clicking on the concrete floor. Not far from him he heard someone rattling a cell door. Further down the hall a voice whispered hoarsely, "Water, water." But these sounds were soon forgotten when he began to hear faintly from some other part of the prison the screams of prisoners being tortured.

Paul felt his fear returning in waves. The sounds weren't loud, but they were unmistakable. He could well imagine what was happening. He tried not to think about it, but images of men being beaten and subjected to other sorts of horrible tortures crept into his mind.

He got down on his knees and crossed himself. "O God, be with me in this valley of the shadow of death. Keep me safe, and bring me to freedom once again." When he realized he was praying for himself while others were being tortured, he felt ashamed. "Father, forgive me for thinking only of myself, for letting fear overcome my faith, for not being concerned for others. I pray for all those who are in this prison and especially for those being tortured. Give them the strength to endure their suffering, bring them to freedom, and help them overcome the darkness that seeps into a man's heart in a place such as this."

He remained on his knees for a long time, praying for all those he knew, recalling their faces and the friendly words spoken to him. He gave thanks for their friendship, he prayed for their safety, and he asked that they might remember him in his time of testing. Finally, he prayed for his enemies. Jesus had commanded his disciples to do that, but it was so hard when you really had to face them. He prayed for the guards who had humiliated him, for the mullah who had accused him of blasphemy in the courtroom, for the prosecutor and the judges, and for Mr. Khan. He would call him "Mr. Khan," at least in his prayers. He prayed that these enemies might know God's forgiving love, so they might be freed of their malice and hard-heartedness.

But he had to ask God's forgiveness, as he knew he hadn't forgiven these men for humiliating him. He wanted to forgive them, because he knew that was right. But he couldn't let go of his resentment. Perhaps if he continued to pray for them, he might be able to overcome his desire to hurt them and see them punished. "Forgive me for my hardness of heart, Father," he prayed.

He was stiff when he slowly got up off his knees and sat on his bed. But when he stopped praying, he heard the screams again. How could men do that to other men! He fought to remain calm. Although it was not late, he felt a great weariness come over him. But he couldn't sleep listening to the screams of those who were being tortured. He lay down on his bunk and began to sing from the psalms. "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. The Lord makes me lie down in green pastures." This is certainly a long way from green pastures, he thought. "The Lord leads me to water where I may rest. The Lord revives my spirit." Revive my spirit, strengthen my soul, fill my heart with your love, Paul prayed. "The Lord leads me along the path of righteousness."

He was here because he was doing God's will. The blasphemy law was wrong. Suppression of free speech, intimidation and torture were wrong. He was following the path of righteousness. God would be with him. "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will not fear evil. For you are with me. Your rod and your staff comfort me." Paul remembered the picture in the Children's Bible he read as a child of the shepherd sitting with his sheep, his shepherd's crook across his lap.

He continued to sing softly. "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. My cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life . . .."