by Tim LaHaye
Buck was exhausted. Only nervous energy and grief held in check kept him going. With every swing of the ax, his desire grew to find Chloe. He knew the odds were against him, but he believed he could face her loss if he knew anything for sure. He went from hoping and praying that he would find her alive to that he would simply find her in a state that proved she died relatively painlessly. It wouldn’t be long, he feared, before he would be praying that he find her regardless.
Tsion Ben-Judah was in good shape for his age. Up until he had gone into hiding, he had worked out every day. He had told Buck that though he had never been an athlete, he knew that the health of his scholar’s mind depended also on the health of his body. Tsion was keeping up his end of the task, whaling away at the door in various spots, testing for any weakness that would allow him to drive through it more quickly. He was panting and sweating, yet still he tried to talk while he worked.
“Cameron, you do not expect to find Chloe’s car in here anyway, do you?”
“No.”
“And if you do not, from that you will conclude that she somehow escaped?”
“That’s my hope.”
“So this is a process of elimination?”
“That’s right.”
“As soon as we have established that her car is not here, Cameron, let us try to salvage whatever we can from the house.”
“Like what?”
“Foodstuffs. Your clothes. Did you say you had already cleared your bedroom area?”
“Yes, but I didn’t see the closet or its contents. It can’t be far.”
“And the chest of drawers? Surely you have clothes in there.”
“Good idea,” Buck said.
Between the two axes and their resounding thwacks against the garage door, Buck heard something else. He stopped swinging and held up a hand to stop Tsion. The older man leaned on his ax to catch his breath, and Buck recognized the thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades. It grew so loud and close that Buck assumed it was two or three choppers. But when he caught sight of the craft, he was astounded to see it was just one, big as a bus. The only other he’d seen like it was in the Holy Land during an air attack years before.
But this one, setting down just a hundred or so yards away, resembled those old gray-and-black Israeli transport choppers only in size. This was sparkling white and appeared to have just come off the assembly line. It carried the huge insignia of the Global Community.
“Do you believe this?” Buck asked.
“What do you make of it?” Tsion said.
“No idea. I just hope they’re not looking for you.”
“Frankly, Cameron, I think I have become a very low priority to the GC all of a sudden, don’t you?”
“We’ll find out soon enough. Come on.”
They dropped their axes and crept back to the upturned pavement that had served as Loretta’s street not that many hours before. Through a gouge in that fortress they saw the GC copter settle next to a toppled utility pole. A high-tension wire snapped and crackled on the ground while at least a dozen GC emergency workers piled out of the aircraft. The leader communicated on a walkie-talkie, and within seconds power was cut to the area and the sparking line fell dead. The leader directed a wire cutter to snip the other lines that led to the power pole.
Two uniformed officers carried a large circular metal framework from the helicopter, and technicians quickly jury-rigged a connection that fastened it to one end of the now bare pole. Meanwhile, others used a massive earth drill to dig a new hole for the pole. A water tank and fast-setting concrete mixer dumped a solution in the hole, and a portable pulley was anchored on four sides by two officers putting their entire weight on its metal feet at each corner. The rest maneuvered the quickly refashioned pole into position. It was drawn up to a forty-five degree angle, and three officers bent low to slide its bottom end into the hole. The pulley tightened and straightened the pole, which dropped fast and deep, sending the excess concrete solution shooting up the sides of the pole.
Within seconds, everything was reloaded into the helicopter and the GC team lifted off. In fewer than five minutes, a utility pole that had borne both electrical power and telephone lines had been transformed.
Buck turned to Tsion. “Do you realize what we just saw?”
“Unbelievable,” Tsion said. “It is now a cell tower, is it not?”
“It is. It’s lower than it should be, but it will do the trick. Somebody believes that keeping the cell areas functioning is more important than electricity or telephone wires.”
Buck pulled his phone from his pocket. It showed full power and full range, at least in the shadow of that new tower. “I wonder,” he said, “how long it will be before enough towers are up to allow us to call anywhere again.”
Tsion had started back toward the garage. Buck caught up with him. “It cannot be long,” Tsion said. “Carpathia must have crews like this working around the clock all over the world.”
“We better get heading back soon,” Mac said.
“Oh sure,” Rayford said. “I’m going to let you take me back to Carpathia and his safe shelter before you tell me something about my own wife that I’ll hate worse than knowing she’s dead?”
“Ray, please don’t make me say any more. I said too much already. I can’t corroborate any of this stuff, and I don’t trust Carpathia.”
“Just tell me,” Rayford said.
“But if you respond the way I would, you won’t want to talk about what I want to talk about.”
Rayford had nearly forgotten. And Mac was right. The prospect of bad news about his wife had made him obsess over it to the exclusion of anything else important enough to talk about.
“Mac, I give you my word I’ll answer any question you have and talk about anything you want. But you must tell me anything you know about Amanda.”
Mac still seemed reluctant. “Well, for one thing, I do know that that Pan-Con heavy would not have had enough fuel to go looking for somewhere else to land. If the quake happened before they touched down and it became obvious to the pilot he couldn’t land at Baghdad, he wouldn’t have had a whole lot farther to go.”
“So that’s good news, Mac. Since I didn’t find the plane at Baghdad, it has to be somewhere relatively close by. I’ll keep looking. Meanwhile, tell me what you know.”
“All right, Ray. I don’t guess we’re at any point in history where it makes sense to play games. If this doesn’t convince you I’m not one of Carpathia’s spies, nothing will. If it gets back that I quoted him to you, I’m a dead man. So regardless of what you think of this or how you react to it or what you might want to say to him about it, you can’t ever let on. Understand?”
“Yes, yes! Now what?”
Mac took a breath but, maddeningly, said nothing. Rayford was about to explode. “I gotta get out of this cockpit,” Mac said finally, unbuckling himself. “Go on, Ray. Get out. Don’t make me climb over you.”
Mac was out of his seat and standing between his and Rayford’s, bent low to keep from knocking his head on the ceiling of the Plexiglas bubble. Rayford unstrapped himself and popped the door open, jumping down into the sand. He was through begging. He simply determined he would not let Mac back in that chopper until he told him whatever it was he needed to know.
Mac stood there, hands thrust deep into his pants pockets. Light from the full moon highlighted the reddish-blond hair, the craggy features, and the freckles on his weathered face. He looked like a man on his way to the gallows.
Mac suddenly stepped forward and put both palms on the side of the chopper. His head hung low. Finally, he raised it and turned to face Rayford. “All right, here it is. Don’t forget you made me tell you. . . . Carpathia talks about Amanda like he knows her.”
Rayford grimaced and held his hands out, palms up. He shrugged. “He does know her. So what?”
“No! I mean he talks about her as if he really knows her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? An affair? I know
better than that.”
“No, Ray! I’m saying he talks about her as if he’s known her since before she knew you.”
Rayford nearly dropped in the sand. “You’re not saying—”
“I’m telling you that behind closed doors, Carpathia makes comments about Amanda. She’s a team player, he says. She’s in the right place. She plays her role well. That kind of stuff. What am I supposed to make of that?”
Rayford could not speak. He didn’t believe it. No, of course not. But the very idea. The gall of that man to make such an implication about the character of a woman Rayford knew so well.
“I hardly know your wife, Ray. I have no idea if it’s possible. I’m just telling you what—”
“It’s not possible,” Rayford finally managed. “I know you don’t know her, but I do.”
“I didn’t expect you to believe it, Ray. I’m not even saying it makes me suspicious.”
“You don’t have to be suspicious. The man is a liar. He works for the father of lies. He would say anything about anybody to further his own agenda. I don’t know why he needs to besmirch her reputation, but—”
“Ray, I told you I’m not saying I think he’s right or anything. But you have to admit he’s getting information from somewhere.”
“Don’t even suggest—”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just saying—”
“Mac, I can’t say I’ve known Amanda long in the larger scheme of things. I can’t say she bore me children like my first wife did. I can’t say we’ve been together twenty years like I was with Irene. I can say, though, that we are not just husband and wife. We are brother and sister in Christ. If I had shared Irene’s faith, she and I would have been true soul mates too, but that was my fault. Amanda and I met after we had both become believers, and so we shared an almost instantaneous bond. It is a bond no one could break. That woman is no more a liar or a betrayer or a subversive or a turncoat than anyone. No one could be that good. No one could share my bed and hold my gaze and pledge her love and loyalty to me that earnestly and be a liar without my suspecting. No way.”
“That’s good enough for me, Cap,” Mac said.
Rayford was furious with Carpathia. If he had not pledged to maintain Mac’s confidentiality, it would have been difficult to stop himself from jumping on the radio right then and demanding to talk directly to Nicolae. He wondered how he would face the man. What would he say or do when he saw him later?
“Why should I expect any different from a man like him?” Rayford said.
“Good question,” Mac said. “Now we’d better get back, don’t you think?”
Rayford wanted to tell Mac he was still willing to talk about the questions he had raised, but he really didn’t feel like talking anymore. If Mac raised it again, Rayford would follow through. But if Mac let him off the hook, he’d be grateful to wait for a better time.
“Mac,” he said as they strapped themselves into the chopper, “since we’re supposed to be on a rescue mission anyway, would you mind doing a twenty-five-mile circle search?”
“It’d sure be a lot easier during daylight,” Mac said. “You want me to bring you back tomorrow?”
“Yeah, but let’s do a cursory look right now anyway. If that plane went down anywhere near Baghdad, the only hope of finding survivors is to find them quick.”
Rayford saw sympathy on Mac’s face.
“I know,” Rayford said. “I’m dreaming. But I can’t run back to Carpathia and take advantage of shelter and supplies if I don’t exhaust every effort to find Amanda.”
“I was just wondering,” Mac said. “If there was anything to Carpathia’s claims—”
“There’s not, Mac, and I mean it. Now get off of that.”
“I’m just saying, if there is, do you think there might be a chance that he would have had her on another plane? Kept her safe somehow?”
“Oh, I get it!” Rayford said. “The upside of my wife working for the enemy is that she might still be alive?”
“I wasn’t looking at it that way,” Mac said.
“What’s the point then?”
“No point. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”
“We sure don’t.”
But as Mac took the chopper in wider and wider concentric circles from the Baghdad terminal, all Rayford saw on the ground was shifting and sinking sand. Now he wanted to find Amanda, not just for himself, but also to prove that she was who he knew her to be.
By the time they gave up the search and Mac promised the dispatcher they were finally on their way in, a sliver of doubt had crept into Rayford’s mind. He felt guilty for entertaining it at all, but he could not shake it. He feared the damage that sliver could do to his love and reverence for this woman who had completed his life, and he was determined to eradicate it from his mind.
His problem was that despite how romantic she had made him, and how emotional he had waxed since his conversion (and his exposure to more tragedy than anyone should ever endure), he still possessed the practical, analytical, scientific mind that made him the airman he was. He hated that he couldn’t simply dismiss a doubt because it didn’t fit what he felt in his heart. He would have to exonerate Amanda by somehow proving her loyalty and the genuineness of her faith—with her help if she was alive, and without it if she was dead.
It was midafternoon when Buck and Tsion finally ripped a big enough hole in one of the garage doors to allow Tsion to crawl through.
Tsion’s voice was so hoarse and faint that Buck had to turn his ear toward the opening. “Cameron, Chloe’s car is here. I can get the door open just far enough to put the inside light on. It is empty except for her phone and computer.”
“I’ll meet you at the back of the house!” Buck shouted. “Hurry, Tsion! If her car’s still here, she’s still here!”
Buck scooped up as many of the tools as he could carry and raced to the back. This was the evidence he had hoped and prayed for. If Chloe was buried in that rubble, and there was one chance in a million she was still alive, he would not rest.
Buck attacked the wreckage with all his might, having to remind himself to breathe. Tsion appeared and picked up a shovel and an ax. “Should I start in at some other location?” he asked.
“No! We have to work together if we have any hope!”
CHAPTER 4
“So what happened to the dusty clothes?” Rayford whispered as he and Mac were escorted into the auxiliary entrance of Carpathia’s huge underground shelter. Far across the structure, past the Condor 216 and amongst many subordinates and assistants, Fortunato looked chipper in a fresh suit.
“Nicolae’s got him cleaned up already,” Mac muttered.
Rayford had eaten nothing for more than twelve hours but had not thought about hunger until now. The milling crowd of surprisingly upbeat Carpathia lackeys had been through a buffet line and sat balancing plates and cups on their knees.
Suddenly ravenous, Rayford noticed ham, chicken, and beef, as well as all sorts of Middle Eastern delicacies. Fortunato greeted him with a smile and a handshake. Rayford did not smile and barely gripped the man’s hand.
“Potentate Carpathia would like us to join him in his office in a few moments. But please, eat first.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Rayford said. Though an employee, he felt as if he was eating in the enemy’s camp. Yet it would be foolish to go hungry just to make a point. He needed strength.
As he and Mac made their way around the buffet, Mac whispered, “Maybe we shouldn’t look too buddy-buddy.”
“Yeah,” Rayford said. “Carpathia knows where I stand, but I assume he sees you as a loyalist.”
“I’m not, but there’s no future for those who admit that.”
“Like me?” Rayford said.
“A future for you? Not a long one. But what can I say? He likes you. Maybe he feels secure knowing you don’t hide anything from him.”
Rayford ate even as he ladled choices onto his plate. It might be the enemy�
��s food, he thought, but it does the job.
He felt well fed and suddenly logy when he and Mac were ushered into Carpathia’s office. Mac’s presence surprised Rayford. He had never before been in on a meeting with Carpathia.
As was often true during times of international crisis and terror, it seemed Nicolae could barely contain a grin. He too had changed into fresh clothes and appeared well rested. Rayford knew he himself looked terrible.
“Please,” Carpathia said expansively, “Captain Steele and Officer McCullum. Sit.”
“I prefer to stand, if you don’t mind,” Rayford said.
“There is no need. You look weary, and we have important items on the agenda.”
Rayford reluctantly settled into a chair. He did not understand these people. Here was a beautifully decorated office that rivaled Carpathia’s main digs, now in a pile less than half a mile away. How was it this man was prepared for every eventuality?
Leon Fortunato stood at a corner of Carpathia’s desk. Carpathia sat on the front edge, staring down at Rayford, who decided to beat him to the punch. “Sir, my wife. I—”
“Captain Steele, I have some bad news for you.”
“Oh, no.” Rayford’s mind immediately went on the defensive. It didn’t feel as if Amanda was dead, and so she wasn’t. He didn’t care what this liar said—the same man who dared call her his compatriot. If Carpathia said Amanda was dead, Rayford didn’t know if he could keep Mac’s confidence and refrain from attacking him and making him retract the slander.
“Your wife, God rest her soul, was—”
Rayford gripped the chair so tight he thought his fingertips might burst. He clenched his teeth. The Antichrist himself bestowing a God-rest-her-soul on his wife? Rayford trembled with rage. He prayed desperately that if it was true, if he had lost Amanda, that God would use him in the death of Nicolae Carpathia. That was not to come until three and a half years into the Tribulation, and the Bible foretold that Antichrist would then be resurrected and indwelt by Satan anyway. Still, Rayford pleaded with God for the privilege of killing this man. What satisfaction, what revenge he might exact from it, he did not know. It was all he could do to keep from executing the deed right then.