by Tim LaHaye
“You’re supposed to reply with ‘He is risen indeed.’”
Rayford pantomimed sticking his finger down his throat. Albie shook his head. “Well, I sure believe that, tower,” he said, glancing at Rayford and pointing up.
“Business here?”
“Deputy Commander with confidential orders.”
“Name?”
“Marcus Elbaz.”
“One moment.”
“Low on fuel, tower.”
“Short on people here, Commander Elbaz. Give me a minute.”
“We’re putting down either way,” Albie told Rayford, who was busy pecking in the details that would orient Albie’s computer global-positioning hardware to a satellite that would link him directly with David’s computer.
“There you are, sir,” the tower said. “I see you on the system.”
“Roger.”
“Don’t have you assigned out this way, though. You been to Kankakee?”
“That’s where I came from.”
“And your business here?”
“Repeat, confidential orders.”
“Oh, yes, sorry. Anything we can help with?”
“Refueling and a ground vehicle should have been arranged.”
“As I say, sir, we don’t have your disposition here. We can refuel you, no problem, with the proper authorization code. Ground transportation is scarce.”
“I’ll trust you to figure something out.”
“We’re very shorthanded and—”
“You mentioned that.”
“—and frankly, sir, there’s no one here near your rank.”
“Then I expect whoever’s in command to obey my order for transportation.”
A long pause.
“I’ll, uh, pass that word along, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“And you’re cleared to land.”
David awoke in the palace hospital, his head throbbing so he could barely open his eyes. He shared a room with two sleeping patients. His clothes had been removed, and he lay there in a flimsy gown, an IV in his hand, his watch on a stand next to him. Holding it before his bleary eyes was almost more than he could bear. Twenty-one hundred hours. It couldn’t be!
He tried to sit up and was aware of bandages around his head and over his ears. He heard his own pulse and felt pain with every beat. It was dark outside, but a silent TV monitor showed pilgrims still in the courtyard, passing by, kneeling, bowing, worshiping, praying to the gigantic statue of Nicolae.
On David’s other side was the remote control. He didn’t want to wake the other patients, but the captioning system was in Arabic. He fiddled with it until it changed to English, and the captions merely represented songs piped into the courtyard as people slowly passed by the image. He stared as the camera pulled back to show the immense crowd, seemingly as big as for the funeral, snaking a mile outside the palace.
David panicked. He had been away from his phone and computer longer than he had been in months. He craned his neck looking for a phone, and the pain nearly drove him to his pillow again. He pulled a cord ostensibly connected to the nurses’ station, but no one came. He knew the ratio between nurses and patients was ridiculously low, but surely they knew he was a director. That should count for something.
However they were hydrating him was working, because he had to relieve himself in a bad way. No bedpan for him. He played with the controls on the side of the bed until one railing lowered. He grimaced as he swung his legs off the side, pausing to let the throbbing subside and catch his breath.
Finally he put both hands on the edge of the bed and eased himself to the floor. The marble was incongruously cold for such a hot part of the world, but it felt good. He stood, swaying, dizzy, waiting for his equilibrium to catch up. When he felt steadier he stepped toward the bathroom, reminded by a tug at his wrist that he was still hooked to the IV. He stepped back and wiggled the metal stand on rollers away from the wall and the end of the bed, but as he dragged it with him, it caught.
A monitor cord was plugged into the wall. He tried to remove it, but it wouldn’t budge from the connection or the stand. David knew there had to be some simple trick to it. Maybe it was screwed opposite of normal or you had to push to pull it, or something. All he knew was, he had to go. Painful as it might be, he yanked at the tape, which pulled hairs on his hand, then pulled the needle out with one motion. The sting brought tears to his eyes, and as the solution dripped on the floor, he made one feeble attempt to turn the stopper, then just tied the cord and headed for the bathroom.
Within seconds he heard the alarm informing the nurses’ station that an IV had come loose. He opened the closet on his way back, and though his clothes were there, his phone was not. His mind nearly went blank from pain and fear. Was this the end? Would someone dial back the numbers of Trib Force members who may have tried to reach him? He could have already been discovered. Should he just find Annie and get out of there? What if she was already dead? She would want him to escape and not risk his life in a vain attempt to be sure of her.
Not a chance. He would not leave without her or without knowing for sure whether she was dead.
“What are you doing out of bed?” It was not a nurse but a female orderly.
“Bathroom,” he said.
“Back to bed,” she said. “What have you done with your IV?”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“We have bedpans and—”
“I already went—now just—”
“Sir! Shh! I can hear you and so can everyone else on this floor. Your roommates are sleeping.”
“I just need—”
“Sir, do I need to get someone in here with restraints? Now quiet down!”
“I am being quiet! Now—” Suddenly David realized the bandages over his ears made him talk louder.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m Director Hassid. I need to find—”
“Oh! You’re the director. Are you a lightning victim?”
“Yeah, I took a bolt right through the top of my head, but here I stand.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Sorry. No, I just fainted in the heat, and I’m fine.”
“You had surgery.”
“Minor, now—”
“Sir, if you’re the director, I’m supposed to tell someone when you’re awake.”
“Why?” And why had she asked about the lightning? Was Annie a victim, and did they somehow connect him with her? He didn’t want his mind to run away with him.
“I don’t know, sir. I just do what I’m told. Six nurses and two aides are handling this whole floor, and some floors have fewer staff than that, so—”
“I need to know where my phone is. I carry it with me, and it’s not in my uniform. I know you’re going to tell me to stay away from my uniform anyway, but—”
“On the contrary, sir. You were sponge bathed when you were brought here, and if you’re ambulatory, I think you’re supposed to get dressed.”
“You think?” This couldn’t be right. Something was wrong. David had been sure he’d have to sneak out, but now he was being given the bum’s rush?
“I’ll get my supervisor, but you might as well start getting dressed. Can you do it yourself?”
“Of course, but—”
“Get started then. I’ll be right back. Or she will.”
David had overestimated his strength. He pulled his stuff from the closet and sat in a chair to dress, but he was soon short of breath and dizzier than ever. His whole head felt afire, and it seemed his wound was oozing over both ears, but when he felt under the bandaging, he felt nothing. He didn’t want to think about the first time that dressing came off.
With his uniform on and only socks and shoes to go, David opened the door wider to get light from the hall. He peered into the mirror and shuddered. Still in his mid-twenties with smooth, clear, dark skin and nearly black hair and eyes, he had often been mistaken for a teenager. Never again. When had he aged so?
His face looked thin and drawn and, yes, his color lighter. He lowered his head and peeked atop it where the bandaging evidenced blood and ooze. The outer wrapping extended over his ears and beneath his chin, reminding him of dental patients from old movies. David’s head seemed to push against the tight wrapping, and when he gingerly put on his uniform cap, he knew it was more than his imagination. He couldn’t be sure how thick the bandages were, but between that and the swelling of his head, his cap rode atop him as if several sizes too small. Any thought of covering the effects of his stitching to avoid attention was hopeless. Maybe he could find a bigger—much bigger—cap, but there was no way to hide the wrap that extended under his chin anyway.
The supervising nurse knocked gently and stepped in as David was pulling on his socks. She was a bottle blonde, tall and thin, about twice his age. He had to straighten up to breathe and let the pain subside every few seconds.
“Let me help you,” she said, clearly Scandinavian, kneeling and putting on his socks and shoes and tying them. David was so overwhelmed he nearly wept. Could she be a Christian? He wanted to ask. Anyone with a servant spirit like that was either a believer or a candidate.
“Ma’am,” he said, trying to remember to talk softly. She looked up at him and he studied her forehead, searching, hoping for the mark of the believer. None. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said quickly. “Happy to help and wish I could help more. If I had my way, you would be with us a couple more days at least, maybe more.”
“I’d just as soon leave. I—”
“Oh, I’m sure you would. No one wants to stay, and who can blame them? All the excitement, the resurrection, and all. But the potentate has called a meeting of directors and above, his office, at 2200 hours. You are expected.”
“I am?”
“When his office was told you had succumbed to the heat and had been injured and operated on, we were informed that if you were alive and ambulatory, you were to be there.”
“I see.”
“I’m glad someone does. You, sir, should be a patient. I wouldn’t be running around so soon—”
“I was told this was superficial, minor surgery.”
“Minor surgery is an operation on someone else. You’ve heard that, I’m sure. You know a nurse did the procedure, and good as she was, she was pressed into duty—”
“Do you know who that was? I’m pretty sure she was Native—”
“Hannah Palemoon,” she said.
“I wonder if she’s got my phone. It was in my—”
“I doubt it, Director. You’ll find your wallet and keys and ID unmolested. We know better than to confiscate things from someone at your level.”
“I appreciate that, but—”
“No one took your phone, sir. Could you have dropped it where you fell, left it in your vehicle?”
David cocked his head. Possible, but unlikely. He had not been talking on the phone when he fell, best he could remember, so it would have been in his pocket. “Where would I find Nurse Palem—”
“I told you, Director. She would not have your phone, and I’m not going to tell you where she is. We’re working twenty-four on and twenty-four off here, and she’s off. If she’s like me, she sleeps the first twelve of those twenty-four hours off, and she ought to be allowed to.”
David nodded, but he couldn’t wait to get back to his computer and look her up in the personnel directory. “Ma’am, I have to find an employee I’m worried about. Name’s Annie Christopher. Cargo chief of the Phoenix but assigned crowd control at sector 53 today.”
“That’s not good.”
“So I’ve heard. Lightning there?”
“Bad. Several deaths and injuries. I can check to see if she’s in our system. You might check the morgue.”
David flinched. “I’d appreciate it if you’d check your system.”
“I will, sir. Then you had better get to your quarters and relax before your meeting. You know as well as I do you’re in no condition to be sitting at a table, thrilling as it may be to meet with a man who was dead this morning and is alive tonight. Follow me.” She led him to the nurses’ station, where she searched the computer. “No Christopher,” she said, “but our entries have been hopelessly delayed.”
“She would have had an employee badge,” David said.
“And it should have been swiped by a wand.”
“So the morgue?” he said, again trying to cover his emotion.
“Look on the bright side,” she said. “Maybe she wasn’t a victim at all.”
That would almost be worse, David decided. Why could he not reach her, and why would she not have tried to reach him? Well, maybe she had. He had to find his phone before the meeting.
“Nothing,” Rayford said. “David hasn’t accessed his computer for hours, and I’m getting no answer on his phone. Now it’s not even letting me leave a message, as if he’s turned it off.”
“Strange,” Albie said. “So Pueblo doesn’t even know we’re coming.”
“And we’re not going if we don’t know where it is.”
“We’ll find out.”
“You’re a resourceful guy, Albie, but—”
“I love the impossible. But you’re the boss. I need your permission.”
“What’s your plan?”
“To find out if your new look and ID work.”
“Oh, boy.”
“C’mon, man. Confidence.”
“The plan, Albie.”
“I’ll be the ranking officer down there. I blame the computer delay on all the excitement or the incompetence in New Babylon. Who can argue that? You’re with me. If they demand ID, you’ve got it. You’re no longer just a civilian helping out, though. You’re a recruit, a trainee.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Not only do I insist on a car, but I’ll get out of them the location of the bunker.”
“This I’ve got to see.”
“I love showing off.”
Rayford slapped Albie’s computer shut. “Tell me about it.”
Kenny Bruce tried to tug Buck toward the barrier, as if knowing his dad could get him past it. But Buck was anchored to the bed. He felt as if he’d survived a plane crash. Or hadn’t. It was as if his spine were compacted, every muscle, bone, joint, and tendon tender. He sat there trying to muster the strength to rise and stretch and make his way to his wife and the others.
Kenny, apparently resigned to patience, climbed onto his father’s lap and put a hand on each side of his face. He looked into Buck’s eyes and said, “Mama?”
“We’ll see Mama in a minute, hon,” Buck said. Kenny traced Buck’s deep facial scars with his stubby fingers. “They don’t bother you, do they, bud.”
“Da-da,” Kenny said. “Mama.”
Presently Buck rose, lifting Kenny as he went. The boy spread his legs and settled in over Buck’s hip, his arms around him, head on Buck’s chest. “Wish I could take you with me everywhere I go,” Buck said, limping, stiff legged, and gimpy.
“Mama, Da-da.”
“Yep. We’re goin’, bud.”
Buck prepared himself for the always embarrassing welcome saved for the last person to rise, but when he came into view of everyone else in the safe house, he was virtually ignored. Leah sat bundled in a robe, leaning back against a wall, dozing, her bleached-blonde hair with red roots wrapped in a towel. Chaim stared at the tabletop before him, his head in his hands, a straw in his coffee cup. Tsion stood beside a window, out of view from the outside just in case, head bowed, softly praying.
Chloe paced, phone pressed to her ear, tears streaming. She looked directly into Buck’s eyes as if to let him know she was aware he was there, and when Kenny tried to wriggle down to get to her, Buck whispered, “Stay with Daddy a minute, hmm?”
Chloe was saying, “I understand, Zeke. . . . I know, sweetie, I know. God knows. . . . It’ll be all right. We’ll come get you, don’t you worry. . . . Zeke, God knows. . . . It’ll be after dark, but you stay
strong, hear?”
She finally rang off, and everyone looked to her. “Big Zeke was busted,” she said.
“Zeke Sr.?” Tsion asked. Zeke Jr. was much bigger than his father, but still they were known as Big Zeke and Little Zeke.
She nodded. “GC goons got him this morning, cuffed him, charged him with subversion, took him away.”
“How’d they miss Zeke Jr.?” Buck asked, finally letting Kenny down.
“Zeke!” Kenny said, giggling.
Chloe shrugged. “Their underground was better hidden than ours, and I don’t think Little Zeke ever showed his face outside.”
“Zeke!” Kenny said.
“Little Zeke coming here?” Leah said.
“Where else would he go? He says GC is staking out the place, picking up people who stop for gas.”
“How’s he know?”
“He’s got some kind of a monitor rigged up that he used to keep track of his dad. That’s how he knew Big Zeke had been arrested. He knows his dad won’t give him up, but he also knows he can’t stay there. He’s packing.”
“Yeah,” Buck said, “all he’d need is for the GC to find all his files and document-making paraphernalia.”
“It will be good to have him here,” Tsion said. “He will be safe and can do so much for so many. Cameron, how are you feeling?”
“Better than Chaim, apparently.”
The old man lifted his head and tried to smile. “I’ll be OK,” he mouthed through his clenched jaw. “No capers for me. Eager to study and learn.”
Tsion moved away from the window. “And me with a student who cannot talk. You must listen and read. You will be an expert about our own people before you know it. God’s chosen people. What a thrill to teach it. I will use the same material in my cyberlesson, wherein I expose Carpathia as the Antichrist.”
“Coming right out with it, are you?” Buck said.
“Absolutely,” the rabbi said. “The gloves are off, as you Americans so like to say. There is no longer any question about him, nor should there be. I am persuaded that Leon is his false prophet, and I will say that too. Those who have ears will not be deceived. It will not be long before the Satan-indwelt beast will take out his rage against the Jews.”