Blessed Child by Ted Dekker

Matthew claimed that some guilt-ridden commander confessed to killing the boy’s supposed American mother doesn’t mean she actually was an American. She could’ve been Canadian, for that matter. Or European. Point is, it’ll take time. In the meantime the court will grant guardianship to a legal party. That’s the first step, sometime in the next few days. For most refugees, guardianship is given to a relative within the United States, but with an orphan like Caleb, World Relief appointed Sunnyside Orphanage. The judge would normally rubber-stamp the appointment and turn full custody over to Sunnyside.”
    â€œUnless there are problems with the case.”
    â€œUnless we can convince the judge at the guardianship hearing that Nikolous and his outfit are unfit to care for this particular boy.”
    Leiah placed her hand on his forearm. “Then we do whatever we can in our power to make that happen, Jason. I’m telling you, they will destroy him.”
    He glanced at her hand. He could just see her skin, wrinkled at her wrist. He nodded. “I think you’re right. And where would he stay?”
    â€œWith me.”
    â€œIn Canada? They’ll never go for that.”
    â€œNo, here. I don’t know. I’ll find someplace. I am with the Red Cross; I’m sure something can be worked out.”
    â€œMaybe. We’ll see. First we have to stop the Greek.”
    They arrived at the Greek Orthodox church and pulled into the same visitor’s spot they’d parked in a day earlier. The large lot was vacant except for a half-dozen cars near the building’s west wing. A tall, skinny man with a very short nose that made Jason think of a stuck-up butler led them through the offices to a back door. They entered a grassy courtyard surrounded by three identical long gray buildings. Dormitories. The layout looked like what you might find on a college campus. Or a prison camp. A pale yellow swing set sat idly on the lawn. The setting was as drab as wet concrete.
    Lighten up, Jason. This is a fine facility . The tall man led them down covered walkways to the far-right building. They left the courtyard and rounded the structure. The outer walls facing the main street were constructed of cedar and lined with flower boxes full of blue carnations. A high fence encircled the perimeter of the property fifty feet off, between the dormitories and the street—to keep the unwanted out, no doubt.
    Nikolous had told them yesterday that they housed five to ten children at any given time. There wasn’t any sign of them here; perhaps they were at lunch now.
    Butler-man opened a door and showed them into the building and then left. The room they entered looked like a large waiting room, with gray sofas on the side closest to the door and a Formica-topped dining table on the far side. Black-and-white-checkered tile covered the floor, and the white ceilings stood a good twelve feet above their heads. Long warehouse fluorescents hung from white chains, lifeless now.
    Nikolous stood by a window near the dining table. He glanced at them, walked over to the entrance of a hallway that ran farther into the building, and pushed a small red button on an intercom. “Bring him, Martha.”
    The Greek could have passed for a trader on Wall Street in the black suit he wore—a far cry from the robes of yesterday. He approached them with his hands behind his back.
    â€œGood morning,” Jason said.
    â€œWe should make this quick,” the Greek said. “I have a meeting at one o’clock and I haven’t had lunch.” His hair was slicked back with grease, a stark look that seemed to exaggerate the dark bags under his eyes.
    â€œI’m not sure what you expect us to do, Nikolous, but I can promise you it won’t be quick.”
    The man grinned. “Father Nikolous, if you please. And I expect you to help this child understand that you are no longer his guardian. He