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  Who knew when we started this process four months earlier that this was where we would end up? It was clear that something much bigger than us had made this all possible. A powerful God had intervened in the affairs of humans to demonstrate how very much his people mattered to him.

  As our families queued up, one of the managers in charge of the counter started pummeling me with questions. “Who are these people? Why are they traveling? Where are they going? Why are Americans helping them? Are these people refugees? Are you sure they plan to return to Iraq?”

  I kept answering his questions, doing my best to alleviate his concerns and ingratiate myself with him and the other airline employees.

  “These are religious travelers from the church taking some holiday in Slovakia,” I explained. “We have been asked to facilitate this travel and to ensure they have a good holiday. No, they are not refugees.”

  He kept returning to the same question: “Are you absolutely certain these people are not refugees?”

  “Nope! Not refugees,” I answered confidently with a smile.

  I felt like I was back in the CIA again, working hard to keep authorities from becoming too curious. I knew that I had to stay on my toes and apply my best interpersonal skills to ensure that the manager did not call in more senior officials to question me. I was also hoping he wouldn’t engage the passengers. If he started asking them a thousand questions, things could unravel quickly, given how nervous and unsure of themselves our group members were.

  The last thing I wanted was for the manager to decide that he didn’t like us or to become suspicious of our travelers. As long as he remained focused on me, we would be all right. So I smiled a lot. I made jokes, and I chatted away with him about all kinds of inconsequential things. And do you know what? It worked. He calmed down, and despite his intuition that these people weren’t your normal, everyday kind of travelers, he decided not to make an issue of it. An extensive background in counterterrorism is a wonderful thing, but it also never hurts to be polite.

  After the last passenger checked in, the manager muttered, “I have a feeling that this is the last time we are going to see these people in Iraq.” We did not respond. We just smiled and thanked him for his outstanding assistance.

  My next few texts were short, but they were packed with emotion.

  All checked in

  Going through final security [check] now

  It’s happening!!!

  Boarding.

  December 10, 8:35 p.m. / 12:35 p.m. EST

  [Image sent: Photo from inside the plane showing our group finding their seats and getting ready for takeoff]

  Boarded!

  December 10, 8:55 p.m. / 12:55 p.m. EST

  And then I sent the text that elicited grateful tears from people praying for us all over the world, the text I’d dreamed of sending all week long:

  Wheels-up!

  At approximately 9:15 p.m. local time, our aircraft lifted off the runway and into the air, and expressions of joy rang out as we ascended into the darkened sky. That was it. We were on our way to Košice, Slovakia, where we would be met by church officials, immigration officers, airport authorities, Ministry of Interior representatives, and the Slovak press corps.

  A little more than two hours later, I sent the final text of the evening:

  We arrived!!! We’re in Slovakia! They [the group] all clapped and cheered when we took off and when we just hit the ground

  December 10, 11:24 p.m. / 4:24 p.m. EST

  He did it. Despite all of the challenges, obstructions, delays, and cancellations, God made the evacuation happen after all. We had witnessed a miracle.

  How else can you explain an Egyptian immigrant, a former homecoming queen, a British television producer, an Iraqi priest, and others coming together to help liberate hundreds of persecuted Christians from the hands of ISIS?

  Had I not experienced it firsthand, I don’t know that even I would have believed it. But our mission is proof positive that God not only moves in strange and remarkable ways, but he can—and will—move heaven and earth to help his people. And he will pull anyone he needs into the equation as he goes, weaving what look like unrelated threads into sophisticated tapestries, demonstrating that the haphazard jungle of knots and loose ends that make up the apparently unorganized chaos of our lives is not so random after all.

  Until we can view it on the flip side, the complete picture is difficult to imagine. But when we see the final product, we can appreciate the virtuosity of his grand design.

  Looking back, there is so much I couldn’t see clearly—until now. From the very beginning, God had been guiding my every step, all with this end in mind. He instilled in me the gifts of empathy, intuition, and the ability to read human behavior that would be necessary not only to excel in counterterrorism, but more importantly, to discern the Hamads amidst a sea of Christian converts in Erbil. He introduced me to Joseph, who—in turn—introduced me to Egypt, the launching pad for my infatuation with the Middle East. It was God who brought me to the library that fateful day in 1999 to hear a team of recruiters describe an extraordinary, seemingly unattainable career in international espionage. And it was God who gave me the courage to reapply, even after I had already been rejected. For that matter, it was God who kept me from going into the wrong CIA directorate in the first place. He has been firmly in control all along—directing my footsteps and speaking his desires into my heart. All I had to do was listen and obey.

  Until quite recently, I thought that God’s grand design for me was all about joining the CIA to fight the war on terror. But now I realize that the CIA was not the end goal at all—it was just another step on the journey, one that God used to further refine me and the skills I would need to fight an even bigger war. Everything Joseph and I had done for the past fifteen years had been leading us to this moment, when 149 devoted followers of Christ were set free from an unholy terror that threatened everything they held dear, including their own lives. When I think about it today, it still gives me chills.

  As for God’s unusual request—the catalyst that led me away from the CIA and into the sanctuary at Mar Elia—I realize now that God wasn’t asking me to share my experiences as a counterterrorism specialist to distract me from the pain and confusion I was suffering at the time. He was asking me to tell my story so that people, myself included, could learn that God doesn’t require well-connected or influential people to do his work here on earth. Nor does he require impressive résumés, high IQs, brute strength, or superpowers. What he does need are men and women who are completely open to him, people who don’t put conditions on their commitment. He needs people who are willing to do what others will not . . . those who will go the extra mile, even when it costs them personally to do so . . . those willing to surge forward when they are exhausted and everyone else has folded . . . those who look pain in the eye and still muster the motivation to keep going . . . those who are willing to wrestle with a problem until it’s solved . . . those who allow failure and rejection to make them something better than they were before. God isn’t looking for perfection. He is seeking men and women with faith greater than fear.

  The course of my life was not wrought by my own design, but by the grace and leadership of a great God. Despite my having a host of flaws that included self-limiting ideas and behavior, he was patient and ensured I got where I needed to go. Though trepidation has haunted me every step of this journey, I have trusted a force that I cannot see.

  Have I feared? Almost always.

  Have I doubted? Yes, often.

  Have I worried that I was intellectually deficient and behind the curve? Every day of my life.

  Have I wandered off course? Several times.

  Have I failed? Terribly.

  Serving God isn’t easy. It is gut-wrenching, difficult work. It is not for the faint of heart. But if you listen for his voice, are open to his leading, and obey his will, you will experience adventures beyond your wildest imagination and climb mountains yo
u never dreamed possible. God had a grand design in mind when he created me, and he has a grand design for you as well. It’s not always easy to see. But it’s always there.

  And my prayer moving forward—for me and for you—is that we might always have the patience, the endurance, and the faith to allow him to weave the disparate pieces of our lives together in the service of his grand design.

  EPILOGUE

  As a child, I never dreamed of becoming a spy. I never dreamed of traveling abroad, of living in active war zones, of fighting terrorists, or of helping persecuted Christians escape Islamic extremists.

  Back when I was a little girl flipping through the pages of National Geographic, marveling at the vast array of strange and exotic cultures, I caught a glimpse of how radically different life could be for other little girls. But I never imagined how dark, how hard, how hopeless it could be.

  When Joseph and I were interviewing the families at Mar Elia, I met two young sisters, aged five and six. I’d met plenty of children by then, but something about those two little girls—maybe it was their sweet, shy smiles and quiet mannerisms—stirred my soul. The first time I saw them, they sat quietly on a bench, holding hands while their parents filled out application forms before getting in line to be interviewed by Joseph or me. They looked so much alike that they were hard to tell apart. That’s when it hit me: With their cute little curls and dimpled cheeks, Sara and Katherin were the spitting image of me and Julie at that age. They were likely unaware of the threats they faced and the herculean efforts their parents made to shield them from the turmoil.

  I felt such a connection to them that I was thrilled when I learned their family was among the 149 chosen for evacuation to Slovakia. Not only was the project a godsend for their parents, who were on an ISIS hit list because of their involvement in a Christian ministry, but Sara and Katherin would now grow up in a safe place where they would have to make no apologies for being ambitious young ladies or committed Christians.

  Once we landed in Slovakia, I wanted to scoop the sisters up in my arms, hug them tight, and say, “You have no idea what’s possible! Dream big, girls!”

  Since that historic arrival, the girls’ family has adjusted well. Of course, they struggled with enormous changes, but they are motivated to work hard to assimilate into Europe. They—and other families like them—are beyond grateful for the support they have received.

  Unfortunately, a few in the group did not fare as well. For them, the transition was too hard, and the support they received on the ground was insufficient. Learning a new language has been one of the most daunting tasks. Without a solid grasp of Slovak, everything—from meeting new neighbors to shopping for groceries to applying for and gaining employment—is more challenging. In addition, the Iraqis have had to adapt to new political systems, social programs, cultural expectations, living conditions, food, weather . . . the list is endless. Before leaving Mar Elia, we’d often remind the group that, no matter what they were running from (even ISIS), it would be incredibly difficult to start their lives from scratch in a new country.

  Faced with that reality, a few families have returned to Erbil. Despite not knowing how they would rebuild their lives, they preferred the difficult situation they knew and understood in Iraq to the unknowns of life in Slovakia, particularly when they were unable to find jobs to support their families there.

  Throughout Europe, governments continue to grapple with how best to manage the migrant crisis and assimilate those who have already made it to their shores. After the group of Iraqi IDPs arrived in Slovakia, the project was turned over to a Slovak NGO formed by the Slovak Catholic Church, which has served as the liaison between the group and government agencies and supports the families’ integration into their new country. The Slovakian government and the NGO have asked Joseph and me to provide cross-cultural advice and counsel to social workers who work directly with the Iraqis on integration issues. Slovakia has decided against taking additional IDPs and refugees until they feel confident that they can assimilate these newcomers into their society.

  Joseph and I continue to do whatever we can, on an individual and personal basis, to see that Middle Eastern Christians can thrive in their ancestral homelands or, when that is impossible, find safe havens elsewhere. Professionally, we continue to work as international security consultants for government leaders and multinational corporations, and we offer training on personal security, terror threats, and the acquisition, vetting, and validation of intelligence. Although we still travel a lot and shuttle between the Middle East, Florida, and Washington, DC, the difference from our decade with the CIA is that we now have the freedom to choose our assignments and to make our family a top priority.

  Such personal freedom remains elusive in Iraq. Since late 2016, Iraqi and other international forces have been battling to liberate Mosul and villages across northern Iraq from ISIS. Whether or not they will be able to push out the extremists and hold this area is a key question, as ISIS continues to operate out of Syria, where it holds significant territory. Unfortunately, the push into Mosul has increased the number of IDPs, though most now are Sunni Muslims desperate to escape the ISIS forces, which have no qualms about using them as human shields. While a handful of families have returned to Qaraqosh, it is unclear when it will be safe enough for residents of the cities and villages in northern Iraq to return to their homes and rebuild their lives. ISIS rendered much of the territory uninhabitable by destroying homes, businesses, and other infrastructure and setting up explosive booby traps.

  In mid-2016, Father Douglas al-Bazi accepted an assignment to New Zealand, where he is the priest of St. Addai Chaldean Catholic Church. Shortly before that, he went on a speaking tour throughout the United States, which included a stop at the United Nations. Everywhere he goes, he reminds people of Christianity’s deep roots in Iraq and urges them to recognize the continuing genocide in his country.

  Most of all, Father Douglas doesn’t want us to forget his people. When he learned that American Christians were praying for their fellow believers in Iraq, he was overwhelmed with gratitude. “This makes us realize that we are not alone. We know that we have not been forgotten.”[15] Somehow prayer unites our hearts with theirs, and in some inexplicable way, God works through our petitions to bring about change.

  We can also support Christians throughout the Middle East by validating their suffering. They have spent much of their lives being treated differently for their faith; at the same time, their own leaders, as well as those in Europe and the United States, often promote a narrative that largely ignores their experience of inequality and suffering in Muslim-majority countries.

  Finally, we can help refugees (of all backgrounds) who come to the West. We should listen to their stories, determine their needs, and find ways to help newcomers rebuild their lives and assimilate into our great, multicultural society.

  We hear so often about how divided our country has become, and social media certainly feeds into those fears. We are bombarded with warnings of economic difficulties, political challenges, religious and ethnic conflicts, acts of terrorism, and environmental disasters.

  But rather than being fearful, this is the moment when we need to kick it into high gear. Instead of seeking isolation, let’s seek powerful engagement. It takes no special training to welcome a stranger with a smile, to help furnish a refugee family’s apartment, or to pray for the Iraqis in Erbil who still live in church courtyards as they wait to see if they’ll ever be able to return to their homes in nearby villages.

  If the evacuation taught me anything, it’s that my thinking has been too small, too limited. Far from being powerless, we have been given everything we need to positively impact our families, communities, and the nations. If you are passionate about refugees, consider partnering with a local church or community organization that supports new immigrants. If you are passionate about education, partner with a community group that provides mentorship opportunities and scholarships. If you are passionat
e about protecting animals or the environment, then reach out to an NGO dedicated to improving a cause close to your heart and see what you can do to help.

  Because God’s “power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9), the key is not to focus on ourselves or the problems, but to focus on him. The answers will come, and they will come in unexpected ways and from unexpected sources.

  Never forget: You’ve got this!

  Right before this manuscript went to print, Joseph and I learned that a close friend and former colleague passed away in the line of duty. We were the same age and had similar backgrounds in terms of faith, education, and passion. Our hearts are broken, but full of gratitude for his willingness to risk everything to make this a better world. In May 2017, a star was added to the CIA’s Memorial Wall in his honor.

  Much that happened in this book would not have been possible without him.

  Enjoy heaven, brother.

  [15] Kathryn Jean Lopez, “Iraqi Priest Embodies Love in the Face of Hate,” Crux, May 4, 2016, https://cruxnow.com/church/2016/05/04/iraqi-priest-embodies-love-in-the-face-of-hate/.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First, I must thank Joseph, without whom none of this great adventure would have occurred. The night we met in Tavares, I was smitten and knew that I wanted to marry somebody “just like you.” You are the most generous, capable, and courageous person I know. Your eagerness to help others is a beautiful testimony to the legacy of your parents. They would be proud of who you are and all you have accomplished. Your unparalleled operational expertise and incredible grasp of international affairs have taught me more than any books or degrees. Your love and encouragement empowered me to do things I never thought possible. Now that rockets, bunkers, and war zones are behind us, I can’t wait to see what happens next!