Soul Harvest: The World Takes Sides

by Tim LaHaye

  “I told them to come by sometime for free donuts. They said they just might do that and asked where Joe’s Bakery was located. I told them to head west to the only establishment on Route 50 still standing. I said God must like donuts, and they laughed. When I left, I waved at them, but soon enough they began to follow. I knew you would know where to look for me if I was not where I was supposed to be. But I worried that if you stayed in the hotels much longer, they would overtake me. God was watching over us, as usual.”

  “You are acquainted with Dr. Rosenzweig, I’m sure,” Fortunato said.

  “I am indeed, Commander,” Rayford said, shaking Chaim’s hand.

  Rosenzweig was his usual enthusiastic self, an elflike septuagenarian with broad features, a deeply lined face, and wisps of curly white hair independent of his control.

  “Captain Steele!” he said, “It is such an honor to see you again. I came to ask after your son-in-law, Cameron.”

  “I spoke with him this morning, and he’s fine.” Rayford looked directly into Rosenzweig’s eyes, hoping to communicate the importance of confidentiality. “Everyone is fine, Doctor,” he said.

  “And Dr. Ben-Judah?” Rosenzweig said.

  Rayford felt Fortunato’s eyes all over him. “Doctor Ben-Judah?” he said.

  “Surely you know him. An old protégé of mine. Cameron helped him escape zealots in Israel, with the help of Poten—, I mean Excellency Carpathia.”

  Leon appeared pleased that Rosenzweig had used the proper title. He said, “You know how much His Excellency thinks of you, Doctor. We promised to do all we could.”

  “And so where did Cameron take him?” Rosenzweig asked. “And why has he not reported to the Global Community?”

  Rayford fought for composure. “If what you say is true, Dr. Rosenzweig, it was done independent of my involvement. I followed the news of the rabbi’s misfortune and escape, but I was here.”

  “Surely your own son-in-law would tell you—”

  “As I say, Doctor, I have no firsthand knowledge of the operation. I was unaware the Global Community was involved.”

  “So he didn’t bring Tsion back to the States?”

  “I am unaware of the rabbi’s whereabouts. My son-in-law is in the States, but whether he is with Dr. Ben-Judah, I could not say.”

  Rosenzweig slumped and crossed his arms. “Oh, this is awful! I had so hoped to learn that he is safe. The Global Community could offer tremendous assistance in protecting him. Cameron was not sure of Excellency Carpathia’s concern for Tsion, but surely he proved himself by helping to find Tsion and get him out of the country!”

  What had Fortunato and Carpathia fed Dr. Rosenzweig?

  Fortunato spoke up. “As I told you, Doctor, we provided manpower and equipment that escorted Mr. Williams and Rabbi Ben-Judah as far as the Israeli-Egyptian border. Past that, they fled, apparently by plane, out of Al Arish on the Mediterranean. Naturally we hoped to be brought up to speed, if for no other reason than that we expected some modicum of gratitude. If Mr. Williams feels Dr. Ben-Judah is safe, wherever he has hidden him, that’s fine with us. We simply want to be of assistance until you feel it is no longer necessary.”

  Rosenzweig leaned forward and gestured broadly. “That is the point! I hate to leave it in Cameron’s hands. He is a busy man, important to the Global Community. I know that when His Excellency pledges support, he follows through. And with the personal story you just told me, Commander Fortunato, well, there is clearly much, much more to my young friend Nicolae—pardon the familiar reference—than meets the eye!”

  It was after midnight in the Midwest. Buck had brought Tsion up to speed on Chloe. Now he was on the phone to the Arthur Young Memorial Hospital in Palatine. “I understand that,” Buck said. “Tell him it’s his old friend, Buck.”

  “Sir, the patient is stable but sleeping. I will not be telling him anything tonight.”

  “It’s urgent that I talk to him.”

  “You’ve said that, sir. Please try again tomorrow.”

  “Just listen—”

  Click.

  Buck hardly noticed road construction ahead. He skidded to a stop. A traffic director approached. “Sorry, sir, but I’m gonna hold you here for a minute. We’re filling in a fissure.”

  Buck put the Rover in park and rested his head against the back of the seat. “So, what do you think, Joe the Baker? Should we let Ritz test his wings to Minneapolis before we let him take us back to Israel?”

  Tsion smiled at the mention of Joe the Baker, but he suddenly sobered.

  “What is it?” Buck said.

  “Just a minute,” Tsion said.

  Up ahead a bulldozer turned, its lights shining through the Range Rover. “I did not notice you had injured your forehead, too,” Tsion said.

  Buck sat up quickly and looked in the rearview mirror. “I don’t see anything. You’re the second person tonight who said he saw something on my forehead.” He spread his hair. “Now where? What?”

  “Look at me,” Tsion said. He pointed to Buck’s forehead.

  Buck said, “Well, look at yourself! There’s something on yours, too.”

  Tsion pulled down the visor mirror. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Now you are teasing me.”

  “All right,” Buck said, frustrated. “Let me look again. OK, yours is still there. Is mine still there?”

  Tsion nodded.

  “Yours looks like some kind of a 3-D thing. What does mine look like?”

  “The same. Like a shadow or a bruise, or a, what do you call it? A relief?”

  “Yes,” Buck said. “Hey! This is like one of those puzzles that looks like a bunch of sticks until you sort of reverse it in your mind and see the background as the foreground and vice versa. That’s a cross on your forehead.”

  Tsion seemed to stare desperately at Buck. Suddenly he said, “Yes! Cameron! We have the seal, visible to only other believers.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The seventh chapter of Revelation tells of ‘the servants of our God’ being sealed on their foreheads. That has to be what this is!”

  Buck didn’t notice the flagman waving him through. The man approached the car. “What’s up with you two? Let’s go!”

  Buck and Tsion looked at each other, grinning stupidly. They laughed, and Buck drove on. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes.

  “What?” Tsion said.

  “I met another believer back there!”

  “Where?”

  “At the hospital! A black doctor in charge of the morgue had the same sign. He saw mine and I saw his, but neither of us knew what we were looking at. I’ve got to call him.”

  Tsion dug out the number. “He will be most encouraged, Cameron.”

  “If I can get through. I may have to drive back and find him.”

  “No! What if those GC men figured out who I was? Even if they think I am Joe the Baker, they are going to want to know why I ran away.”

  “It’s ringing!”

  “GC Hospital, Kenosha.”

  “Hello, yes. I need the doctor in charge of the morgue.”

  “He has his own cell phone, sir. Here’s that number.”

  Buck wrote it down and punched it in.

  “Morgue. This is Floyd Charles.”

  “Doctor Charles! Are you the one who let me into the morgue to look for my wife tonight?”

  “Yes, any luck?”

  “Yes, I think I know where she is, but—”

  “Wonderful. I’m happy for—”

  “But that’s not why I’m calling. Remember that mark on my forehead?”

  “Yes,” Doctor Charles said slowly.

  “That’s the sign of the sealed servants of God! You have one too, so I know you’re a believer. Right?”

  “Praise God!” the doctor said. “I am, but I don’t think I have the mark.”

  “We can’t see our own! Only others’.”

  “Wow! Oh, hey, listen! Your wife isn’t Mother Doe, is she?”


  Buck recoiled. “Yes, why?”

  “Then I know who you are, too. And so do they. You’re driving to Minneapolis. That gives them time to get your wife out of there.”

  “Why do they want to do that?”

  “Because you’ve got something or somebody they want. . . . Are you still there, sir?”

  “I’m here. Listen, brother to brother, tell me what you know. When will they move her and where would they take her?”

  “I don’t know. But I heard something about flying someone out of Glenview Naval Air Station—you know, the old shut-down base that—”

  “I know.”

  “Late tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “Let me give you my private number, Doctor. If you hear any more, please let me know. And if you ever, and I mean ever, need anything, you let me know.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Doe.”

  Rayford showed Mac McCullum the bugging device that connected the pilot’s headphone to the cabin. McCullum whistled through his teeth. “Ray, when they discover this and put you away for the rest of your life, I’m gonna deny any knowledge.”

  “It’s a deal. But in case anything happens to me before they find out, you know where it is.”

  “No I don’t,” Mac said, smiling.

  “Invent something to get us outside. I need to talk to Buck on my own phone.”

  “I could use some help with the skyhooks on that chopper,” Mac said.

  “With the what?”

  “The skyhooks. The ones I attach to the sky that let me pull the helicopter off the ground and work underneath it.”

  “Oh, those skyhooks! Yes, let’s check on those.”

  It was well after midnight when Buck and Tsion dragged themselves into the house. “I don’t know what I’m going to run into in Minneapolis,” Buck said, “but I have to go there in better shape than I’m in right now. Pray that Ken Ritz is up to this. I don’t know if I should even hope for that.”

  “We don’t hope,” Tsion said. “We pray.”

  “Then pray for this: One, that Ritz is healthy enough. Two, that he’s got a plane that works. Three, that it’s at an airport he can take off from.”

  Buck was at the top of the stairs when his phone rang. “Rayford!”

  Rayford quickly filled Buck in on the fiasco with Rosenzweig.

  “I love that old buzzard,” Buck said, “but he sure is naive. I told him and told him not to trust Carpathia. He loves the guy.”

  “He more than loves him, Buck. He believes he’s divine.”

  “Oh, no.”

  Rayford and Buck debriefed each other on everything that had happened that day. “I can’t wait to meet Mac,” Buck said.

  “If you’re in as much trouble as it appears, Buck, you may never meet him.”

  “Well, maybe not this side of heaven.”

  Rayford brought up Amanda. “Would you believe Carpathia tried to make Mac think she was working for him?”

  Buck didn’t know what to say. “Working for Carpathia?” he said lamely.

  “Think of it! I know her like I know myself, and I’ll tell you something else. I’m convinced she’s alive. I’m praying you can get to Chloe before the GC does. You pray I find Amanda.”

  “She wasn’t on the plane that went down?”

  “That’s all I can believe,” Rayford said. “If she was on it, she’s gone. But I’m gonna check that out too.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll tell you later. I don’t want to know where Tsion is, but just tell me, you’re not taking him to Minnesota, are you? If something goes wrong, there’s no way you want to be forced to trade him for Chloe.”

  “Of course not. He thinks he’s going, but he’ll understand. I don’t think anybody knows where we are, and there is that shelter I told you about.”

  “Perfect.”

  Wednesday morning Buck had to talk Tsion out of coming with him even to Palatine. The rabbi understood the danger of going to Minnesota, but he insisted he could help Buck get Ken Ritz out of the hospital. “If you need a distraction, I could be Joe the Baker again.”

  “Much as I would enjoy seeing that, Tsion, we just don’t know who’s onto us. I don’t even know whether anyone ever found out it was Ken who flew me to Israel and you and me back. Who knows whether they’ve got that hospital staked out? Ken might not even be there. It could all be a setup.”

  “Cameron! Don’t we have enough real worries without you inventing more?”

  Tsion reluctantly stayed. Buck urged him to prepare the shelter in the event things went haywire in Minneapolis and Global Community forces began to track him in earnest. Tsion would be broadcasting his teachings and encouragement to the 144,000 witnesses and any other clandestine believers all over the world via the Internet. That would irritate Carpathia, not to mention Peter Mathews, and no one knew whether they were engaged in tracing such messages.

  The normally short jaunt from Mt. Prospect to Palatine was now an arduous two-hour journey. Arthur Young Memorial Hospital had somehow escaped serious damage, though with only a few exceptions, the rest of Palatine had been wasted. It looked nearly as bad as Mt. Prospect. Buck parked near fallen trees about fifty yards from the entrance. Seeing nothing suspicious, he walked straight in. The hospital was full and busy, and with auxiliary power and the fact that the place was not just a retrofitted hotel like the ones the night before, it seemed to run much more efficiently.

  “I’m here to see Ken Ritz,” he said.

  “And you are?” a candy striper said.

  Buck hesitated. “Herb Katz,” he said, using an alias Ken Ritz would recognize.

  “May I see some identification?”

  “No, you may not.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “My identification was lost with my house in Mt. Prospect, which is now earthquake residue, OK?”

  “Mt. Prospect? I lost a sister and brother-in-law there. I understand it was the hardest hit.”

  “Palatine doesn’t look much better.”

  “We’re short-staffed, but several of us were lucky, knock on wood.”

  “So, how ’bout it? Can I see Ken?”

  “I’ll try. But my supervisor is tougher than me. She hasn’t let anyone in without ID. But I’ll tell her your situation.”

  The girl left the desk and poked her head through a door behind her. Buck was tempted to just head into the main hospital and find Ritz, especially when he overheard the conversation.

  “Absolutely not. You know the rules.”

  “But he lost his home and his ID and—”

  “If you can’t tell him no, I’ll have to.”

  The candy striper turned and shrugged apologetically. She sat as her supervisor, a striking, dark-haired woman in her late twenties, stepped into view. Buck saw the mark on her forehead and smiled, wondering if she was aware of it yet. She smiled shyly, quickly growing serious when the girl turned to look. “Who was it you wanted to see, sir?”

  “Ken Ritz.”

  “Tiffany, please show this gentleman to Ken Ritz’s room.” She held Buck’s gaze, then turned and went back into her office.

  Tiffany shook her head. “She’s always had a thing for blonds.” She walked Buck to the ward.

  “I have to make sure the patient wants visitors,” she said.

  Buck waited in the hall as Tiffany knocked and entered Ken’s room. “Mr. Ritz, are you up to a visitor?”

  “Not really,” came the gravelly but weak voice Buck recognized. “Who is it?”

  “A Herb Katz.”

  “Herb Katz, Herb Katz.” Ritz seemed to turn the name over in his mind. “Herb Katz! Send him in, and shut the door.”

  When they were alone, Ken winced as he sat up. He thrust out an entubed hand and shook Buck’s weakly. “Herb Katz, how in the world are ya?”

  “That’s what I was gonna ask you. You look terrible.”

  “Thanks for nothing. I got hurt in
the stupidest possible way, but please tell me you’ve got a job for me. I need to get out of this place and get busy. I’m going stir-crazy. I wanted to call you, but I lost all my phone numbers. Nobody knows how to get ahold of you.”

  “I’ve got a couple of jobs for you, Ken, but are you up to them?”

  “I’ll be good as new by tomorrow,” he said. “I just got banged on the head with one of my own little fixed-wingers.”

  “What?”

  “The danged earthquake hit while I was in the air. I circled and circled waitin’ for the thing to stop, almost crashed when the sun went out, and finally put down over here at Palwaukee. I didn’t see the crater. In fact, I don’t think it was there until after I hit the ground. Anyway, I was almost stopped, just rolling a couple miles an hour, and the plane fell right down into that thing. Worst of it is I was OK, but the plane wasn’t anchored like I thought it was. I jumped out, worrying about fuel and everything and wanting to see how my other aircraft were and how everybody else was, so I hopped up top and ran down the wing to jump out of the hole.

  “Just before I took my last step, my weight flipped that little Piper right over and the other wing conked me on the back of the head. I was hanging there on the edge of the hole, trying to get all the way up, and I knew I’d been sliced pretty deep. I reach back there with one hand and feel this big flap of scalp hanging down, and then I start getting dizzy. I lost my grip and slid down underneath that plane. I was scared I was gonna make it fall on me again, so I just stayed put till somebody pulled me out. Dang near bled to death.”

  “You look a little pale.”

  “Aren’t you full of encouragement today.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You want to see it?”

  “See it?”

  “My wound!”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  Ritz turned so Buck could see the back of his head. Buck grimaced. It was as ugly an injury as he had seen. The huge flap that had been stitched into place had been shaved, along with an extra one-inch border around the area.

  “No brain damage, they tell me, so I still got no excuse for bein’ crazy.”

  Buck filled him in on his dilemma and that he needed to get to Minneapolis before the GC did something stupid with Chloe. “I’m gonna need you to recommend somebody, Ken. I can’t wait till tomorrow.”