by Tim LaHaye
Mac stared ahead, as if concentrating on flying. He was suddenly less animated. He spoke more deliberately. Rayford didn’t know what to make of it. “What does it mean to confess with your mouth?” Mac said.
“Just what it sounds like. You’ve got to say it. You’ve got to tell somebody. In fact, you’re supposed to tell lots of people.”
“You think Nicolae Carpathia is the Antichrist. Is there anything in the Bible about telling him?”
Rayford shook his head. “Not that I know of. Not too many people have to make that choice. Carpathia knows where I stand because he has ears everywhere. He knows my son-in-law is a believer, but Buck never told him. He thought it best to keep that to himself so he could be more effective.” Rayford was either persuading Mac or burying himself, he wasn’t sure which.
Mac was silent several minutes. Finally he sighed. “So how does it work? How did you know when you’d done whatever it was God wanted you to do?”
“Pastor Billings walked the viewers of that DVD through a prayer. We were to tell God we knew we were sinners and that we needed his forgiveness. We were to tell him we believed Jesus died for our sins and God raised him from the dead. Then we were to accept his gift of salvation and thank him for it.”
“Seems too easy.”
“Believe me, it might have been easier if I had done it before. But this isn’t what I call easy.”
For another long stretch, Mac said nothing. Every time that happened, Rayford felt gloomier. Was he handing himself to the enemy? “Mac, this is something you can do on your own, or I could pray with you, or—”
“No. This is definitely something a person should do on his own. You were alone, weren’t you?”
“I was,” Rayford said.
Mac seemed nervous. Distracted. He didn’t look at Rayford. Rayford didn’t want to push, and yet he hadn’t decided yet whether Mac was a live prospect or just playing him. If the former was true, he didn’t want to let Mac off the hook by being too polite.
“So what do you think, Mac? What are you gonna do about this?”
Rayford’s heart sank when Mac not only did not respond, but also looked the other way. Rayford wished he was clairvoyant. He would have liked to know whether he had come on too strong or had exposed Mac for the phony he was.
Mac took a deep breath and held it. Finally he exhaled and shook his head. “Ray, I appreciate your telling me this. It’s quite a story. Very impressive. I’m moved. I can see why you believe, and no doubt it works for you.”
So that was it, Rayford thought. Mac was going to blow it off by using the glad-it-works-for-you routine.
“But it’s personal and private, isn’t it?” Mac continued. “I want to be careful not to pretend or rush into it in an emotional moment.”
“I understand,” Rayford said, desperately wishing he knew Mac’s heart.
“So you won’t take it personally if I sleep on this?”
“Not at all,” Rayford said. “I hope there’s no aftershock or attack that might get you killed before you are assured of heaven, but—”
“I have to think God knows how close I am and wouldn’t allow that.”
“I don’t claim to know the mind of God,” Rayford said. “Just let me say I wouldn’t push my luck.”
“Are you pressuring me?”
“Sorry. You’re right. No one can be badgered into it.”
Rayford feared he had offended Mac. That or Mac’s attitude was a stalling technique. On the other hand, if Mac was a subversive, he wouldn’t be above faking a salvation experience to ingratiate himself to Rayford. He wondered when he would ever be sure of Mac’s credibility.
When Buck finally reached the furniture store, he found jerry-built construction. No semblance of streets or roads existed, so emergency vehicles staked out their spots with no thought to conserving space or leaving paths open to the doors. Global Community peacekeeping emergency forces traipsed in and out with supplies as well as new patients.
Buck got in only because of the security clearance level on his Global Community identification tag. He asked for Mrs. Cavenaugh and was pointed to a row of a dozen wood-and-canvas cots lining a wall in one corner. They were so close no one could walk between them.
Buck smelled freshly cut wood and was surprised to see new two-by-fours nailed together for railings throughout. The rear of the building had sunk about three feet, causing the concrete floor to split in the middle. When he got to the crack, he had to hang on to the two-by-fours because the pitch was so steep. Wood blocks anchored to the floor kept the cots from sliding. Emergency personnel took tiny steps, shoulders back, to keep from tumbling forward.
Each cot had a strip of paper stapled to the foot end, with either a hand-printed or computer-generated name. When Buck walked through, most of the conscious patients rolled up on their elbows, as if to see if he was their loved one. They reclined again when they didn’t recognize him.
The paper on the third cot from the wall read “Cavenaugh, Helen.”
She was asleep. Men were on either side of her. One, who appeared homeless, sat with his back to the wall. He seemed to protect a paper bag full of clothes. He eyed Buck warily and pulled out a department store catalog, which he pretended to read with great interest.
On Helen Cavenaugh’s other side was a thin young man who appeared in his early twenties. His eyes darted and he ran his hands through his hair. “I need a smoke,” he said. “You got any cigarettes?”
Buck shook his head. The man rolled onto his side, pulled his knees up to his chest, and lay rocking. Buck would not have been surprised to find the man’s thumb in his mouth.
Time was of the essence, but who knew what trauma Mrs. Cavenaugh was sleeping off? She had very nearly been killed, and she had no doubt seen the remains of her house when she was carted away. Buck grabbed a plastic chair and sat at the foot of her cot. He wouldn’t wake her, but he would talk to her at the first sign of consciousness.
Rayford wondered when he had become such a pessimist. And why hadn’t it affected his bedrock belief that his wife was still alive? He didn’t believe Carpathia’s implication that she had been working for the Global Community. Or was that, too, just a story from Mac?
Since he had become a believer, Rayford had begun to look on the brighter side, in spite of the chaos. But now, a deep, dark sense of foreboding came over him as Mac landed, still silent. They secured the helicopter and completed postflight procedures. Before they passed security to enter the shelter, Mac said, “This is all complicated too, Captain, because you are my boss.”
That had not seemed to affect anything else that day. They had flown more as buddies than as boss and subordinate. Rayford would have no trouble maintaining decorum, but it sounded as if Mac might.
Rayford wanted to leave their conversation concrete, but he didn’t want to give Mac an ultimatum or tell him to report back. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
Mac nodded, but as they headed for their own quarters, a uniformed orderly approached. “Captain Steele and Officer McCullum? You are requested in the central command area.” He handed each a card.
Rayford read silently, “My office, ASAP. Leonardo Fortunato.” Since when had Leon begun using his entire first name?
“Wonder what Leon wants at this time of the night?”
Mac peeked at Rayford’s card. “Leon? I’ve got a meeting with Carpathia.” He showed Rayford his card.
Was that really a surprise to Mac, or was this all one big setup? He and Mac had not gotten into why Rayford and the rest of the Tribulation Force believed Carpathia fit the bill of the Antichrist. Still, Mac had enough information on Rayford to bury him. And, apparently, he had the right audience.
Buck was fidgety. Mrs. Cavenaugh looked healthy, but she lay so still he was hardly able to detect the rise and fall of her chest. He was tempted to cross his legs and kick her cot in the process, but who knew how an old woman would respond to that? It might push her over the edge. Antsy, Buck dialed Ts
ion. He finally got through, and Buck gushed that he had reason to believe Chloe was alive.
“Wonderful, Cameron! I am doing well here, too. I have been able to get on the Net, and I have more reason than ever to get back to Israel.”
“We’ll have to talk about that,” Buck said. “I still think it’s too dangerous, and I don’t know how we would get you there.”
“Cameron, there is news all over the Internet that one of Carpathia’s top priorities is rebuilding transportation networks.”
Buck spoke louder than he needed to, hoping to rouse Mrs. Cavenaugh. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, and I plan to have Chloe with me.”
“I will pray,” Tsion said.
Buck hit the speed dial for Rayford’s phone.
Rayford was amazed that Leon’s office was only slightly smaller and every bit as exquisitely appointed as Nicolae’s. Everything in the shelter was state-of-the-art, but the opulence began and ended in those two offices.
Fortunato had a glow. He shook Rayford’s hand, bowed at the waist, motioned to a chair, then sat behind his desk. Rayford had always found him curious, a dark, swarthy man, short and stocky with black hair and dark eyes. He didn’t unbutton his suit jacket when he sat, so it bowed comically at the chest, spoiling whatever formality he was trying to engender.
“Captain Steele,” Fortunato began, but before he could say anything, Rayford’s phone chirped. Fortunato raised a hand and let it fall, as if he couldn’t believe Rayford would take a call at a time like this.
“Excuse me, Leon, but this could be family.”
“You can’t take calls in here,” Leon said.
“Well, I’m going to,” Rayford said. “I have no information about my daughter and son-in-law.”
“I mean you’re technically not able to receive phone calls in here,” Leon said. All Rayford heard was static. “We’re way underground and surrounded by concrete. Think, man.”
Rayford knew the trunk lines from the center led to solar panels and satellite dishes on the surface. Of course his cell phone would not work here. Still, he was hopeful. Few people knew his number, and the ones who did he cared about most in the world.
“You have my full attention, Leon.”
“Not willingly, I surmise.” Rayford shrugged. “I have more than one reason for asking to see you,” Leon said. Rayford wondered when these people slept. “We have information on your family, at least part of it.”
“You do?” Rayford said, leaning forward. “What? Who? My daughter?”
“No, I’m sorry. Your daughter is unaccounted for. However, your son-in-law has been spotted in a Chicago suburb.”
“Unharmed?”
“To the best of our knowledge.”
“And what is the state of communications between here and there?”
Fortunato smiled condescendingly. “I believe those lines are open,” he said, “but of course not from down here, unless you use our equipment.”
Chalk one up for Fortunato, Rayford thought. “I’d like to call him as soon as possible to check on my daughter.”
“Of course. Just a few more items. Salvage teams are working around the clock in the compound where you lived. In the unlikely event they are able to find anything of value, you should submit a detailed inventory. Anything of value not preidentified will be confiscated.”
“That makes no sense,” Rayford said.
“Nevertheless . . . ,” Fortunato said dismissively.
“Anything else?” Rayford said, as if he wanted to leave.
“Yes,” Fortunato said slowly. Rayford had the idea Fortunato was stalling to make him squirm before calling Buck. “One of His Excellency’s most trusted international advisers has arrived from Israel. I’m sure you know of Dr. Chaim Rosenzweig.”
“Of course,” Rayford said. “But His Excellency? At first I thought you were referring to Mathews.”
“Captain Steele, I have been meaning to talk to you about protocol. You inappropriately refer to me by my first name. Sometimes you even refer to the potentate by his first name. We are aware that you do not sympathize with the beliefs of Pontifex Maximus Peter; however, it is most disrespectful for you to refer to him by only his last name.”
“And yet you are using a title that has for generations been limited to religious leaders and royalty for Carpath—uh, Nicolae Carpath—, Potentate Carpathia.”
“Yes, and I believe the time has come to refer to him in that manner. The potentate has contributed more to world unity than anyone who ever lived. He is beloved by citizens of every kingdom. And now that he has demonstrated supernatural power, Excellency is hardly too lofty a title.”
“Demonstrated these powers to whom?”
“He has asked me to share with you my own story.”
“I have heard the story.”
“From me?”
“From others.”
“Then I won’t bore you with the details, Captain Steele. Let me just say that regardless of the differences you and I have had, because of my experience I am eager to reconcile. When a man is literally brought back from death, his perspectives change. You will feel a new sense of respect from me, whether you deserve it or not. And it will be genuine.”
“I can’t wait. Now what was it about Rosen—?”
“Now, Captain Steele! That was sarcastic, and I was being sincere. And there you go again. It’s Dr. Rosenzweig to you. The man is one of the leading botanists in history.”
“OK, fine, Leon. I mean, Dr. Fortunato—”
“I am not a doctor! You should refer to me as Commander Fortunato.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to be able to do that,” Rayford said with a sigh. “When did you get that title?”
“Truth be known, my title has recently changed to Supreme Commander. It was bestowed upon me by His Excellency.”
“This is all getting a little crazy,” Rayford said. “Wasn’t it more fun when you and I were just Rayford and Leon?”
Fortunato grimaced. “Apparently you are unable to take anything seriously.”
“Well, I’m serious about whatever it is you have to tell me about Rosenzweig. Um, Dr. Rosenzweig.”
CHAPTER 8
While he waited for Mrs. Cavenaugh, Buck thought about heading to the Range Rover so he could look up Ken Ritz’s number on his computer. If Ken could get him and Tsion to Israel, he was taking Chloe. He never wanted her out of his sight again.
He was about to step out when Mrs. Cavenaugh finally stirred. He didn’t want to startle her. He just watched her. When her eyes opened, he smiled. She looked puzzled, then sat up and pointed at him.
“You were gone, young man. Weren’t you?”
“Gone?”
“You and your wife. You lived with Loretta, didn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But you weren’t there yesterday morning.”
“No.”
“And your wife. I saw her! Is she all right?”
“That’s what I want to talk about, Mrs. Cavenaugh. Are you up to it?”
“Oh, I’m all right! I just have nowhere to stay. I got the dickens scared out of me, and I don’t care to see the remains of my house, but I’m all right.”
“Want to take a walk?”
“There’s nothing I’d like more, but I’m not going anywhere with a man unless I know his name.”
Buck apologized and introduced himself.
“I knew that,” she said. “I never met you, but I saw you around and Loretta told me about you. I met your wife. Corky?”
“Chloe.”
“Of course! I should remember because I liked that name so much. Well, come on, help me up.”
Thumbsucker hadn’t budged except to keep rocking. Homeless looked wary and held his bag tighter. Buck considered yanking one of their cots so he could get in and help Mrs. Cavenaugh off of hers. But he didn’t want a scene. He just stood at the end of her cot and reached for her. As she stepped off the end of the flimsy thing, the other end we
nt straight up. Buck saw it coming at him over her head. He blocked it with his hand and it slammed back down with such a thunderous resound that Homeless cried out and Thumbsucker jumped two feet. He split the canvas cot when he came back down. It slowly separated, and he dropped out of sight. Homeless lowered his face into his sack, and Buck couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying. Thumbsucker reappeared looking as if he thought Buck might have done that on purpose. Mrs. Cavenaugh, who missed it all, slipped her hand through Buck’s elbow, and they walked to where they could talk with more privacy.
“I already told this to one young man with disaster relief or some such, but anyway I thought all the racket was a tornado. Who ever heard of an earthquake in the Midwest? You hear about a little rattling and shaking downstate once in a while, but an honest to goodness earthquake that knocks over buildings and kills people? I thought I was smart, but I was a fool. I ran to the basement. Of course, ran is relative. It just means I didn’t go a step at a time, as usual. I went down those stairs like a little girl. The only pain now is in my knees.
“I went to the window to see if there was a funnel. It was bright and sunny, but the noise was getting louder and the house banged all around me, so I still figured I knew what it was. That’s when I saw your wife.”
“Where, exactly?”
“That window is too high for me to see out. All I could see was the sky and the trees. They were really moving. My late husband kept a stepladder down there. I climbed just high enough so I could see the ground. That’s when your wife, Chloe, came running out. She was carrying something. Whatever it was was more important than putting something on her feet. She was barefoot.”
“And she ran where?”
“To your car. It’s stupid, but I hollered at her. She was holding her stuff in one arm and trying to unlock the car with the other, and I was yelling, ‘You don’t want to be outside, girl!’ I was hoping she’d put that stuff down and get in the car quick enough to outrun the funnel, but she wasn’t even looking up. She finally got it open and started the car, and that’s when everything broke loose. I swear one of my basement walls actually moved. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. That car started to move, and the biggest tree in Loretta’s yard tore itself right from the ground, roots and all. It took half Loretta’s yard with it and sounded like a bomb dropping in the street, right in front of her car.