by Tim LaHaye
Hattie buried her face in her hands and cried. “I wasn’t going to do this,” she said. “I wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction.”
Rayford spoke as tenderly as he could. “Now you’re going to offend me,” he said. “If you take nothing else from this conversation, you must know that your tears give me no satisfaction. Every one of them is a dagger to me. I’m responsible. I was wrong.”
“Give me a minute,” she said, hurrying off.
Rayford dug out Irene’s Bible and quickly scanned some passages. He had decided not to sit talking to Hattie with the Bible open. He didn’t want to embarrass or intimidate her, despite his newfound courage and determination.
“You’re gonna find my dad’s theory of the disappearings very interesting,” Chloe said.
“Am I?” Buck said. She nodded and he noticed a dab of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. He said, “May I?” extending his hand. She raised her chin and he transferred the chocolate to his thumb. Now what should he do? Wipe it on a napkin? Impulsively he put his thumb to his lips.
“Gross!” she said. “How embarrassing! What if I have the creeping crud or something?”
“Then now we’ve both got it,” he said, and they laughed. Buck realized he was blushing, something he hadn’t done for years, and so he changed the subject. “You say your dad’s theory, as if maybe it’s not yours, too. Do you two disagree?”
“He thinks we do, because I argue with him and give him a hard time about it. I just don’t want to be too easy to convince, but if I had to be honest, I’d have to say we’re pretty close. See, he thinks that—”
Buck held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. I want to get it fresh from him, on the record.”
“Oh. Excuse me.”
“No, it’s OK. I didn’t mean to embarrass you, but that’s just how I like to work. I’d love to hear your theory, too. We’re going to get some college kids’ ideas, but it would be unlikely we would use two people from the same family. Of course, you just told me that you pretty much agree with your father, so I’d better wait and hear them both at the same time.”
She had fallen silent and looked serious. “I’m sorry, Chloe, I didn’t mean to imply I’m not interested in your theory.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “But you just kind of categorized me there.”
“Categorized you?”
“As a college kid.”
“Ooh, I did, didn’t I? My fault. I know better. Collegians aren’t kids. I don’t see you as a kid, although you are a lot younger than I am.”
“Collegians? I haven’t heard that term in a while.”
“I am showing my age, aren’t I?”
“How old are you, Buck?”
“Thirty and a half, going on thirty-one,” he said with a twinkle.
“I say, how old are you?” she shouted, as if talking to a deaf old man. Buck roared.
“I’d buy you another cookie, little girl, but I don’t want to spoil your appetite.”
“You’d better not. My dad loves good food, and he’s buying tonight. Save room.”
“I will, Chloe.”
“Can I tell you something, without you thinking I’m weird?” she said.
“Too late,” he said.
She frowned and punched him. “I was just going to say that I like the way you say my name.”
“I didn’t know there was any other way to say it,” he said.
“Oh, there is. Even my friends slip into making it one syllable, like Cloy.”
“Chloe,” he repeated.
“Yeah,” she said. “Like that. Two syllables, long O, long E.”
“I like your name.” He slipped into an old man’s husky voice. “It’s a young person’s name. How old are you, kid?”
“Twenty and a half, going on twenty-one.”
“Oh, my goodness,” he said, still in character, “I’m consortin’ with a minor!”
As they headed back toward the Pan-Con Club, Chloe said, “If you promise not to make a big deal of my youth, I won’t make a big deal of your age.”
“Deal,” he said, a smile playing at his lips. “You play a lot older.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, smiling self-consciously as if she wasn’t sure he was serious.
“Oh, do,” he said. “Few people your age are as well-read and articulate as you are.”
“That was definitely a compliment,” she said.
“You catch on quick.”
“Did you really interview Nicolae Carpathia?”
He nodded. “We’re almost buddies.”
“No kidding?”
“Well, not really. But we hit it off.”
“Tell me about him.”
And so Buck did.
Hattie returned slightly refreshed but still puffy-eyed and sat again as if ready for more punishment. Rayford reiterated that he was sincere about his apology, and she said, “Let’s just put that behind us, shall we?”
“I need to know you forgive me,” he said.
“You seem really hung up on that, Rayford. Would that let you off the hook, ease your conscience?”
“I guess maybe it would,” he said. “Mostly it would tell me you believe I’m sincere.”
“I believe it,” she said. “It doesn’t make it any more pleasant or easier to take, but if it makes you feel better, I do believe you mean it. And I don’t hold grudges, so I guess that’s forgiveness.”
“I’ll take what I can get,” he said. “Now I want to be very honest with you.”
“Uh-oh, there’s more? Or is this where you educate me about what happened last week?”
“Yeah, this is it, but I need to tell you that Chloe advised against getting into this right now.”
“In the same conversation as the, uh, other, you mean.”
“Right.”
“Smart girl,” she said. “We must understand each other.”
“Well, you’re not that far apart in age.”
“Wrong thing to say, Rayford. If you were going to use that you’re-young-enough-to-be-my-daughter approach, you should have brought it up earlier.”
“Not unless I fathered you when I was fifteen,” Rayford said. “Anyway, Chloe is convinced you’re not going to be in the mood for this just now.”
“Why? Does this require some reaction? Do I have to buy into your idea or something?”
“That’s my hope, but no. If it’s something you can’t handle right now, I’ll understand. But I think you’ll see the urgency of it.”
Rayford felt much like Bruce Barnes had sounded the day they met. He was full of passion and persuasion, and he felt his prayers for courage and coherence were answered as he spoke. He told Hattie of his history with God, having been raised in a churchgoing home and how he and Irene had attended various churches throughout their marriage. He even told her that Irene’s preoccupation with end-time events had been one thing that made him consider looking elsewhere for companionship.
Rayford could tell by Hattie’s look that she knew where he was going, that he had now come to agree with Irene and had bought the whole package. Hattie sat motionless as he told the story of knowing what he would find at home that morning after they had landed at O’Hare.
He told her of calling the church, meeting Bruce, Bruce’s story, the DVD, their studies, the prophecies from the Bible, the preachers in Israel that clearly paralleled the two witnesses spoken of in Revelation.
Rayford told her how he had prayed the prayer with the pastor as the DVD played and how he now felt so responsible for Chloe and wanted her to find God, too. Hattie stared at him. Nothing in her body language or expression encouraged him, but he kept going. He didn’t ask her to pray with him. He simply told her he would no longer apologize for what he believed.
“You can see, at least, how if a person truly accepts this, he must tell other people. He would be no friend if he didn’t.” Hattie wouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of a nod to concede that point.
After nearly half an hour, he exhausted his new knowledge, and he concluded, “Hattie, I want you to think about it, consider it, watch the DVD, talk to Bruce if you want to. I can’t make you believe. All I can do is make you aware of what I have come to accept as the truth. I care about you and wouldn’t want you to miss out simply because no one ever told you.”
Finally, Hattie sat back and sighed. “Well, that’s sweet, Rayford. It really is. I appreciate your telling me all that. It hits me real strange and different, because I never knew that stuff was in the Bible. My family went to church when I was a kid, mostly on holidays or if we got invited, but I never heard anything like that. I will think about it. I sort of have to. Once you hear something like this, it’s hard to put it out of your mind for a while. Is this what you’re going to tell Buck Williams at dinner?”
“Word for word.”
She chuckled. “Wonder if any of it will find its way into his magazine.”
“Probably along with space aliens, germ gas, and death rays,” Rayford said.
CHAPTER 21
When Buck and Chloe reconnected with Hattie and Chloe’s father, it was clear Hattie had been crying. Buck didn’t feel close enough to ask what was wrong, and she never offered.
Buck was glad for the opportunity to interview Rayford Steele, but his emotions were mixed. The reactions of the captain who had piloted the plane on which he had been a passenger when the disappearances occurred would add drama to his story. But even more, he wanted to spend time with Chloe. Buck would run back to the office, then home to change, and meet them later at the Carlisle. At the office he took a call from Stanton Bailey, asking how soon he could go to Chicago to get Lucinda Washington replaced. “Soon, but I don’t want to miss developments at the U.N.”
“Everything happening there tomorrow morning you already know about from Plank,” Bailey said. “Word I get is it’s already starting to come down. Plank assumes his new position in the morning, denies Carpathia’s interest, reiterates what it would take, and we all wait and see if anybody bites. I don’t think they will.”
“I wish they would,” Buck said, still hoping he could trust Carpathia and eager to see what the man would do about Stonagal and Todd-Cothran.
“I do, too,” Bailey said, “but what are the odds? He’s a man for this time, but his global disarmament and his reorganization plans are too ambitious. It’ll never happen.”
“I know, but if you were deciding, wouldn’t you go along with it?”
“Yeah,” Bailey said, sighing. “I probably would. I’m so tired of war and violence. I’d probably even go for moving the place to this New Babylon.”
“Maybe the U.N. delegates will be smart enough to know the world is ready for Carpathia,” Buck said.
“Wouldn’t that be too good to be true?” Bailey said. “Don’t bet the farm or hold your breath or whatever it is you’re not supposed to do when the odds are against you.”
Buck told his new boss he would fly to Chicago the next morning and get back to New York by Sunday night. “I’ll get the lay of the land, find out who’s solid in Chicago and whether we need to look at outside applicants.”
“I’d prefer staying inside,” Bailey said. “But it’s my style to let you make those decisions.”
Buck phoned Pan-Con Airlines, knowing Rayford Steele’s flight left at eight the next morning. He told the reservation clerk his traveling companion was Chloe Steele. “Yes,” she said, “Ms. Steele is flying complimentary in first class. There is a seat open next to her. Will you be a guest of the crew as well?”
“No.”
He booked a cheap seat and charged it to the magazine, then upgraded to the seat next to Chloe. He would say nothing that night about going to Chicago.
It had been ages since Buck had worn a tie, but this was, after all, the Carlisle Hotel dining room. He wouldn’t have gotten in without one. Fortunately they were directed to a private table in a little alcove where he could stash his bag without appearing gauche. His tablemates assumed he needed the bag for his equipment, not aware he had packed a change of clothes, too.
Chloe was radiant, looking five years older in a classy evening dress. It was clear she and Hattie had spent the late afternoon in a beauty salon.
Rayford thought his daughter looked stunning that evening, and he wondered what the magazine writer thought of her. Clearly this Williams guy was too old for her.
Rayford had spent his free hours before dinner napping and then praying that he would have the same courage and clarity he’d had with Hattie. He had no idea what she thought except that he was “sweet” for telling her everything. He wasn’t sure whether that was sarcasm or condescension. He could only hope he had gotten through. That she had spent time alone with Chloe might have been good. Rayford hoped Chloe wasn’t so antagonistic and closed minded that she had become an ally against him with Hattie.
At the restaurant Williams seemed to gaze at Chloe and ignore Hattie. Rayford considered this insensitive, but it didn’t seem to bother Hattie. Maybe Hattie was matchmaking behind his back. Rayford himself had said nothing about Hattie’s new look for the evening, but that was by design. She was striking and always had been, but he was not going down that path again.
During dinner Rayford kept the conversation light. Buck said to let him know when he was ready to be interviewed. After dessert Rayford spoke to the waiter privately. “We’d like to spend another hour or so here, if it’s all right.”
“Sir, we do have an extensive reservation list—”
“I wouldn’t want this table to be less than profitable for you,” Rayford said, pressing a large bill into the waiter’s palm, “so boot us out whenever it becomes necessary.”
The waiter peeked at the bill and slipped it into his pocket. “I’m sure you will not be disturbed,” he said. And the water glasses were always full.
Rayford enjoyed answering Williams’s initial questions about his job, his training, his background and upbringing, but he was eager to get on with his new mission in life. And finally the question came.
Buck tried to concentrate on the captain’s answers but felt himself trying to impress Chloe, too. Everyone in the business knew he was one of the best in the world at interviewing. That and his ability to quickly sift through the stuff and make a readable, engaging article of it had made him who he was.
Buck had breezed through the preliminaries, and he liked this guy. Steele seemed honest and sincere, smart and articulate. He realized he had seen a lot of Rayford in Chloe. “I’m ready,” he said, “to ask your idea of what happened on that fateful flight to London. Do you have a theory?”
The captain hesitated and smiled as if gathering himself. “I have more than a theory,” he said. “You may think this sounds crazy coming from a technically minded person like me, but I believe I have found the truth and know exactly what happened.”
Buck knew this would play well in the magazine. “Gotta appreciate a man who knows his mind,” he said. “Here’s your chance to tell the world.”
Chloe chose that moment to gently touch Buck’s arm and ask if he minded if she excused herself for a moment.
“I’ll join you,” Hattie said.
Buck smiled, watching them go. “What was that?” he said. “A conspiracy? Were they supposed to leave me alone with you, or have they heard this before and don’t want to rehash it?”
Rayford was privately frustrated, almost to the point of anger. That was the second time in a few hours that Chloe had somehow been spirited away at a crucial time. “I assure you that is not the case,” he said, forcing himself to smile. He couldn’t slow down and wait for their return. The question had been asked, he felt ready, and so he stepped off the edge of a social cliff, saying things he knew could get him categorized as a kook. As he had done with Hattie, he outlined his own spotty spiritual history and brought Williams up to the present in a little over half an hour, covering every detail he felt was relevant. At some point the women returned.
“That’s interesting,” he said. “Have you heard the latest?” Buck told him what he had seen on CNN during his few brief minutes at his apartment. “Apparently thousands are making some sort of a pilgrimage to the Wailing Wall. They’re lined up for miles, trying to get in and hear the preaching. Many are converting and going out themselves to preach. The authorities seem powerless to keep them out, despite the opposition of the Orthodox Jews. Anyone who comes against the preachers is struck dumb or paralyzed, and many of the old orthodox guard are joining forces with the preachers.”
“Amazing,” the pilot responded. “But even more amazing, it was all predicted in the Bible.”
Buck was desperate to maintain his composure. He wasn’t sure what he was hearing, but Steele was impressive. Maybe the man was reaching to link Bible prophecy with what was happening in Israel, but no one else had an explanation. What Steele had read to Buck from Revelation appeared clear. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was mumbo jumbo. But it was the only theory that tied the incidents so closely to any sort of explanation. What else would give Buck this constant case of the chills?
Buck focused on Captain Steele, his pulse racing, looking neither right nor left. He could not move. He was certain the women could hear his crashing heart. Was all this possible? Could it be true? Had he been exposed to a clear work of God in the destruction of the Russian air corps just to set him up for a moment like this? Could he shake his head and make it all go away? Could he sleep on it and come to his senses in the morning? Would a conversation with Bailey or Plank set him straight, snap him out of this silliness?