A man, dressed in all black, dropped silently from his hiding place. His landing didn't even make a sound. He slipped into the house, unseen. When he entered the living room a tall old man strolled up to him, and held out his hand. The smuggler slipped a small book, with a leather cover, into the old man's hand; And without a word slipped back outside. He moved to his next stop, and delivered a similar book. This went on for most the night. Then as the man pulled his black coat closer around himself he moved into the next old wrecked house, almost identical to the last dozen houses he delivered to. There was tension in the air, but not the normal tension of peasants scared of being caught by the secret police, it was a different kind of tension; almost anticipation of some sort of fun. The man continued with extreme caution. He entered the dark house, and the door slammed behind him. The lights burned on, the black man was surrounded by the secret police. All of them holding their rifles trained on his head.

"Your coat," A tall gruff man held out his hand. Ryan reluctantly pulled off his black coat, revealing a torn black sweat shirt, and handed the coat to the apparent leader of this police squad. The officer snatched Ryan's coat, and dumped its contents onto the floor.

"Bibles," The officer spat "shoot him." The police lined up, blocking the door, all guns aimed at Ryan. Seemingly enjoying themselves, the police men took aim. Ryan scanned the area and took in the scene in seconds. The escape plan played out in his head, he memorized every detail. Ryan loved how quick he was of a thinker, he had a plan and barely a second had passed. Ryan knew he would most likely be shot, but he had to try, or that would happen anyways. Ryan ran up the nearest wall, a move the police hadn't seen coming, so they all shot at the wrong place, anticipating a different move. Ryan fell towards the leader, and with a swift kick he launched himself one way, and threw the leader against a few police. Using his life-long training and, quick thinking, he flew through the old broken window of the house. Then Ryan ran, as fast as he could, but he could hear them hot on his tail. Finally getting exhausted, Ryan pulled himself into a tree. His sweat shirt didn't hide him as well as his taken coat, but it would have to do. Ryan could hear most of his pursuers split off. Three were coming this way though. Ryan stayed very still and quiet. He saw one of the men look up casually at the tree, and meet Ryan's eyes. The man raised his gun and started shouting something, but he was too late. Ryan couldn't afford to have the other squads to hear a yell or a gunshot, so he pounced. Ryan landed squarely on the man's chest, and used the butt of the man's rifle to knock him down. Before the other men could do, anything Ryan swiftly knocked one down with a well aimed uppercut. He then aimed a kick into the other man's stomach, and then a punch, that was dodged well. However this police man hadn't even close to the same amount of training that Ryan had, and was soon unconscious.

Ryan looked over the three police. One was just a boy, looked no older than seventeen. Ryan felt a wave of compassion rise up in his soul.

"Heavenly Father," Ryan started, he knew that another squad would come this way soon, but he stayed as long as he dared, and blessed the boy, "this boy, he's so young. He is lost in sin. Bless him Father, lead him to you. Help him to find you, and give him love. Make his path turn towards you, and fill it with joy, as you have given me." And with that Ryan turned and ran into the darkness of the woods.

"Our Father in *oof* heaven, hallowed *whoooa* be your *THUD* name, your *swish* kingdom come, your will *kick* be done *block* on earth as it is *ow* in heaven. Give us *hit!* today our daily *dodge* bread. Forgive us our *ow!* debts, as we also have *oof!* forgiven our *block* debtors. And lead us not into *auuuug!* temptation, *Thud, sigh*" Carson, the youngest member of The Dragons laid on the ground coughing a bit, and once he had stood and caught his breathe he finished the prayer, "but deliver us from the evil one."

"Good job Carson and Ruby," Nick nodded to the handsome, blond, teenage boy, and to the teenager's slightly older girlfriend. Noticing Ryan, Nick broke away from the pair and fell into step with Ryan. Nick waited patiently for a report.

"I lost three Bibles," Ryan sighed, Bibles were all too hard to smuggle into China, and each one was precious, "The Rucker's house was a trap, I should have been more careful."

"You lost three Bibles? That would mean you already delivered twelve, not too bad." Nick smiled, and patted Ryan on the shoulder, then went off to train.

James sat up, he couldn't sleep. And it wasn't just that large bruise on his chin, and all the swelling. That wasn't the hard part, James was tough, and he was used to that.

"It's that man," James thought, whispering in his mind as if other secret agents might try to hear, "he took me down, but what did he say?" James scrunched his forehead trying to remember the man in black's exact words,

"Something about me being lost in sin? What is sin, I know those Christians always talk about 'sin,' it's something wrong, right? Then he mentioned something about blessing, yeah 'Bless him Father' he blessed me, while he asked for me to be blessed. He wanted me to have joy even though I had thought of shooting him, for fun! He wants me to be one, but he doesn't want me to just join them for no reason. He wants me to find God? He wants me to have love? And how did he end, something about giving joy like he has been given. What's that about? He is hunted, shot at, and from the looks of him I'd guess he is poorly fed and over tired. And yet he has joy? I live with rich parents, my job might be dangerous, but it is very well paying. I've got at least a dozen different girlfriends, and yet I have little joy. If he, with his torn shirt and tired eyes, has joy in this God, how much more would I have joy?" James scolded himself for even thinking of this, it wasn't what he was taught, he wouldn't listen to Christians just because some dude talked to God as if he was a great guy, ready to listen.

Ryan struggled in the hands of his captors, but when a cold gun barrel was pressed against the back of his head he let himself be pulled along. He knew he probably couldn't escape this time. Ryan recognized a few of his captors, one was the boy, from weeks ago. The boy didn't seem to have been getting much sleep, and walked a reluctantly as if he too was being pushed towards his death. The boy would not meet Ryan's eyes.

Ryan was led to an old post, with many bullet holes and tears in it. The heavy metal cuffs connected to the pole were snapped onto Ryan's wrists, a little too tightly. The police men lined up, taking aim, ready to shoot. The first bullet zinged and scraped the edge of Ryan's shoulder, the next just missed his head. Many flew past, and a few managed to skim him. Through all the noise and dizziness Ryan looked up, past all the generals, past most the officers. His eyes landed directly on the boy.

James aimed and fired. The shot was almost perfect, hitting his target. James could hear the man groan as the bullet sunk into his belly. The shooting stopped, and many of the police complimented James on his shot. But he didn't hear them. He walked along with another man, to unchain Ryan from the post, and to drag his body off. The other man was chatting to James excitedly about something, probably the party last night, but James didn't pay any attention. James could only focus on the man. The man, his breathing laboured as his color began to drain. The man looked right up at James, James tried to look away, but he couldn't shift his gaze from the man's loving eyes. All the pain, and still love.

Even as James and his partner started to drag dying man, James could not shift his gaze.

"Father forgive them, they know not what they do." And with those words the man passed on.

That night James just kept pacing his room. Those words, he had heard them. He remembered the one time he had secretly opened an old Bible that he and some other men had taken from a Christian's body; he had turned to a bookmarked page. James couldn't remember the whole verse, but it included those same words "Father forgive them, they know not what they do." It had been when their leader, their king, had died. God's son asked for his persecutors to be forgiven, and so did this man.

That night James asked God into his heart. He later slipped off to study the Bible with some Christians. He remained in the police force, but just so he could help free Christian captives, who in return always helped add to his knowledge of the Bible. The next firing squad was his. It was painful, but James still had joy. He ended with the same words that the man in the black sweatshirt had spoken, and the same words The Lord had spoken: "Father forgive them, they know not what they do."