Soul Harvest

by Tim LaHaye

  Ritz looked at his watch. “You’d better hurry. What time did you want to be in Minneapolis?”

  “Not much after three. My source says GC guys are coming from Glenview late this afternoon.”

  When Rayford and Mac finished in the Condor, Rayford said, “Let me leave first. You and I shouldn’t constantly be seen together. You need credibility with the brass.”

  Rayford was tired but eager to get the long trip behind him and get back for his scuba expedition. He prayed his hunch would be right and he would not find Amanda in that submerged plane. Then he would demand to know what Carpathia had done with her. As long as she was alive and he could get to her, he didn’t worry about the ridiculous claims of her being a plant.

  An officer greeted Rayford as he got to his quarters. “His Excellency would like to see you, sir.”

  Rayford thanked him and masked his disgust. He had enjoyed a day without Carpathia. His disappointment was doubled when he discovered Fortunato in Carpathia’s office as well. They apparently didn’t feel the need for their usual smarmy cordiality. Neither rose to greet him or shake his hand. Carpathia pointed to a chair and referred to a copy of Rayford’s itinerary.

  “I see you have scheduled a twenty-four-hour layover in North America.”

  “We need the downtime for the plane and the pilots.”

  “Will you be seeing your daughter and son-in-law?”

  “Why?”

  “I am not implying your personal time is my business,” Carpathia said. “But I need a favor.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It is the same matter we discussed before the earthquake.”

  “Hattie.”

  “Yes.”

  “You know where she is, then?” Rayford said.

  “No, but I assume you do.”

  “How would I, if you don’t?”

  Carpathia stood. “Is it time for the gloves to come off, Captain Steele? Do you really think I could run the international government and not have eyes and ears everywhere? I have sources you could not even imagine. You do not think I know that the last time you and Miss Durham flew to North America, you were on the same flight?”

  “I have not seen her since, sir.”

  “But she interacted with your people. Who knows what they might have filled her head with? She was supposed to have come back much earlier. You had your assignment. Whatever she was doing over there, she missed her original flight, and we know she was then traveling with your wife.”

  “That was my understanding too.”

  “She did not board that plane, Captain Steele. If she had, as you know, she would no longer be a problem.”

  “She’s a problem again?” Carpathia did not respond. Rayford continued. “I saw your broadcast. I was under the impression you were despairing over your fiancée.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “I did,” Fortunato said. “I was on my own there.”

  “Oh,” Rayford said. “That’s right. His Excellency had no idea you were going to confer divinity upon him and then overstate his turmoil over the missing fiancée.”

  “Do not be naive, Captain Steele,” Carpathia said. “All I want to know is that you will have the talk with Miss Durham.”

  “The talk in which I tell her she can keep the ring, live in New Babylon, and then, what was it about the baby?”

  “I’m going to assume she’s already made the right decision there, and you may assure her that I will cover all expenses.”

  “For the child throughout its life?”

  “That is not the decision I was referring to,” Carpathia said.

  “Just so I’m clear, then, you will pay for the murder of the child?”

  “Do not be maudlin, Rayford. It is a safe, simple procedure. Just pass along my message. She will understand.”

  “Believe it or not, I don’t know where she is. But if I do pass along your message, I can’t guarantee she’ll make the choice you want. What if she chooses to bear the child?”

  Carpathia shook his head. “I must end this relationship, but it will not go over well if there is a child.”

  “I understand,” Rayford said.

  “We agree then.”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I understood.”

  “You will talk to her then?”

  “I have no idea of her whereabouts or well-being.”

  “Could she have been lost in the earthquake?” Carpathia said, his eyes brightening.

  “Wouldn’t that be the best solution?” Rayford suggested with disgust.

  “Actually, yes,” Carpathia said. “But my contacts believe she is hiding.”

  “And you think I know where.”

  “She is not the only person in exile with whom you have a connection, Captain Steele. Such leverage is keeping you out of prison.”

  Rayford was amused. Carpathia had overestimated him. If Rayford had thought harboring Hattie and Tsion would give him the upper hand, he might have done it on purpose. But Hattie was on her own. And Tsion was Buck’s doing.

  Nonetheless, he left Carpathia’s office that night with a temporary advantage, according to the enemy himself.

  Buck was sweaty and exhausted when he finally strapped himself in next to Ken Ritz. The plane sat at the south end of the golf course, which itself had been snapped and rolled by the earthquake. Before them lay a long stretch of rolling, grassy turf. “We really ought to walk that and see if it’s as solid as it looks,” Ken said. “But we don’t have time.”

  Against his better judgment, Buck did not protest. Still, Ken sat there staring. “I don’t like it,” he said finally. “It looks long enough, and we’ll know right away if it’s solid. The question is, can I gain enough speed to get airborne?”

  “Can you abort if you don’t?”

  “I can try.”

  Ken Ritz trying was better than anyone else promising. Buck said, “Let’s do it.”

  Ritz throttled up and gradually increased the speed. Buck felt his pulse race as they roller-coastered the hills of the fairway, engines screaming. Ken hit the flat stretch and throttled up all the way. The force pressed Buck to his seat, but as he braced for liftoff, Ritz throttled back.

  Ritz shook his head. “We’ve got to be at top speed by the flats. I was only at about three-quarters.” He turned around and took the plane back. “Just have to start faster,” he said. “It’s like popping the clutch. If you spin, you don’t accelerate fast. If you feather it for the right purchase, you’ve got a chance.”

  The rolling start was slow again, but this time Ken throttled up as quickly as possible. They nearly left the ground as they skimmed dips and skipped mounds. They reached the flat area at what seemed twice the speed as before. Ken shouted over the din, “Now we’re talkin’, baby!”

  The Learjet took off like a shot, and Ken maneuvered it so it felt as if they were going straight up. Buck was plastered against the back of his seat, unable to move. He could barely catch his breath, but when he did he let out a yelp and Ritz laughed. “If I don’t die of this headache, I’m gonna get you to the church on time!”

  Buck’s phone was chirping. He had to will his hand to pull it out, so strong were the g-forces. “This is Buck!” he hollered.

  It was Tsion. “You are still on the plane?” he said.

  “Just took off. But we’re going to make good time.”

  Buck told Tsion about Ken’s injury and getting him out of the hospital.

  “He is amazing,” Tsion said. “Listen, Cameron, I just received an e-mail from Rayford. He and his copilot have discovered that one of the Jewish witnesses works right there at the shelter. A young man. I will be e-mailing him personally. I have just put out onto a central bulletin board the result of several days of study and writing. Check it when you get a chance. I call it ‘The Coming Soul Harvest,’ and it concerns the 144,000 witnesses, their winning many millions to Christ, the visible seal, and what we can expect in the way of judgments over the next year or so.” />
  “What can we expect?”

  “Read it on the Net when you get back. And please talk to Ken about getting us to Israel.”

  “That seems impossible now,” Buck said. “Didn’t Rayford tell you Carpathia’s people are claiming to have helped you escape so they can be reunited with you?”

  “Cameron! God will not let anything happen to me for a while. I feel a huge responsibility to the rest of the witnesses. Get me to Israel and leave my safety in the Lord’s hands!”

  “You have more faith than I do, Tsion,” Buck said.

  “Then start working on yours, my brother!”

  “Pray for Chloe!” Buck said.

  “Constantly,” Tsion said. “For all of you.”

  Less than an hour later, Ritz radioed Minneapolis for landing instructions and asked to be put through to a rental car agency. With the shortage of staff and vehicles, prices had been doubled. However, cars were available, and he was given directions to the Global Community hospital.

  Buck had no idea what he might encounter there. He couldn’t imagine easy access or the ability to get Chloe out. GC officials weren’t expected to take custody of her until late that afternoon, but surely she was already under guard. He wished he had some clue to her health. Was it wise to move her? Should he kidnap her even if he could?

  “Ken, if you’re up to it, I might use you and your crazy head wound as a distraction. They might be looking for me, hopefully not this soon, but I don’t think anyone’s ever put you together with us anyway.”

  “I hope you’re serious, Buck,” Ken said, “because I love to act. Plus, you’re one of the good guys. Somebody’s watching out for you and your friends.”

  Just outside Minneapolis, Ritz was informed that air traffic was heavier than expected and he would be in a landing pattern for another ten minutes. “Roger that,” he said. “I do have a bit of an emergency here. It’s not life or death, but one passenger on this plane has a serious head wound.”

  “Roger, Lear. We’ll see if we can move you up a couple of slots. Let us know if your situation changes.”

  “Pretty crafty,” Buck said.

  When Ritz was finally cleared to bring in the Learjet, he banked and swooped over the terminal, apparently the target of major quake damage. Rebuilding had begun, but the entire operation, from ticket counters to rental car agencies, was now housed in mobile units. Buck was stunned at the amount of activity at an airport where only two runways functioned.

  The harried ground control manager apologized for having nowhere to hangar the Learjet. He accepted Ken’s pledge that he would not leave the plane longer than twenty-four hours. “I hope not,” Buck whispered.

  Ritz taxied near one of the old runways where heavy equipment was moving massive amounts of earth. He parked the Lear in line with everything from single engine Piper Cubs to Boeing 727s. They couldn’t have stopped farther from the car rental agencies and still been on airport property.

  Ken, wincing, gasping, and moving slowly, urged Buck to hurry ahead, but Buck was afraid Ken might collapse.

  “Don’t go into your wounded old coot act yet,” Buck teased. “At least wait until we get to the hospital.”

  “If you know me,” Ritz said, “you know this is no act.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Buck said, when they finally reached the car rental area and found themselves at the end of a long line. “Looks like they’re sending people to the other side of the parking lot for cars.”

  Ken, several inches taller than Buck, stood on tiptoes and peered into the distance. “You’re right,” he said. “And you may have to get the car and come get me. I’m not up to walking any more now.”

  As they neared the head of the line, Buck told Ritz to rent the car on his credit card and Buck would reimburse him. “I don’t want my name all over the state, in case the GC thinks to check around.”

  Ritz slapped his card on the counter. A young woman studied it. “We’re down to subcompacts. Will that be acceptable?”

  “What if I say no, honey?” he said.

  She made a face. “That’s all we have.”

  “Then what difference does it make whether it’s acceptable?”

  “You want it then?”

  “I don’t have any choice. Just how subcompact is this rig?”

  She slid a glossy card across the counter and pointed to the smallest car pictured. “My word,” Ritz said, “there’s barely room in there for me, let alone my son here.”

  Buck fought a smile. The young woman, already clearly weary of Ritz and his banter, began filling out the paperwork.

  “That thing even have a backseat?”

  “Not really. There’s a little space behind the seats, though. You put your luggage there.”

  Ritz looked at Buck, and Buck knew what he was thinking. The two of them were going to get to know each other better than they cared to in that car. Adding a grown woman in fragile condition took more imagination than Buck possessed.

  “Do you have a color preference?” the girl asked.

  “I get to choose?” Ritz said. “You’ve got only one model left, but it comes in different colors?”

  “Usually,” she said. “We’re down to just the red ones now.”

  “But I get to choose?”

  “If you choose red.”

  “OK, then. Give me a second. You know what I think I’d like? You got any red ones?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll take a red one. Wait a minute. Son, red OK with you?”

  Buck just closed his eyes and shook his head. As soon as he had the keys he ran for the car. He tossed his and Ritz’s bags behind the seats, pushed both seats back as far as they would go, jammed himself behind the wheel, and raced back to the exit road where Ritz waited. Buck had been gone only a few minutes, but apparently standing there had become too much for Ken. He sat with his knees pulled up, hands clasped in front of him.

  Ritz struggled to his feet and appeared woozy, covering his eyes. Buck whipped open his door, but Ken said, “Stay there. I’m all right.”

  He squeezed himself in, knees pushing against the dashboard and his head pressing against the roof. He chuckled. “Buddy boy, I have to duck to see out.”

  “There’s not much to see,” Buck said. “Try to relax.”

  Ritz snorted. “You must’ve never been hit in the back of the head with an airplane.”

  “Can’t say I have,” Buck said, pulling onto the shoulder and passing several cars.

  “Relaxing isn’t the point. Surviving is. Why did you let me out of that hospital anyway? I needed another day or two of shut-eye.”

  “Don’t put that on me. I tried to talk you out of leaving.”

  “I know. Just help me find my dope, would ya? Where’s my bag?”

  The Twin Cities’ expressways were in relatively decent shape, compared to the Chicago area. By snaking between lane closures and detours, Buck moved at a steady pace. With his eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel, he reached behind Ken and grabbed his big leather bag. He strained, pulling it over the back of Ken’s seat, and in the process dragged it hard across the back of Ken’s head, causing him to screech.

  “Oh, Ken! I’m so sorry! Are you all right?”

  Ken sat with the bag in his lap. Tears streamed, and he grimaced so hard his teeth showed. “If I thought you did that on purpose,” he rasped, “I’d kill you.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Rayford Steele enjoyed a hunger for the Word of God from the day he had received Christ. He found, however, that as the world slowly began to get back to speed following the disappearances, he became busier than ever. It became increasingly difficult to spend the time he wanted to in the Bible.

  His first pastor, the late Bruce Barnes, had impressed upon the Tribulation Force how important it was that they “search the Scriptures daily.” Rayford tried to get himself in that groove, but for weeks he was frustrated. He tried getting up earlier but found himself involved in so many late night dis
cussions and activities that it wasn’t practical. He tried reading his Bible during breaks on his flights, but that caused tension between him and his various copilots and first officers.

  Finally he hit upon a solution. No matter where he was in the world, regardless of what he had done during the day or evening, sometime he would be going to bed. Regardless of the location or situation, before he turned out the light, he would get his daily Bible study in.

  Bruce had at first been skeptical, urging him to give God the first few minutes of the day rather than the last. “You have to get up in the morning too,” Bruce had said. “Wouldn’t you rather give God your freshest and most energetic moments?”

  Rayford saw the wisdom of that, but when it didn’t seem to work, he went back to his own plan. Yes, he had at times fallen asleep while reading or praying, but usually he was able to stay alert, and God always showed him something.

  Since losing his Bible in the earthquake, Rayford had been frustrated. Now, in the wee hours, he wanted to get online, download a Bible, and see if Tsion Ben-Judah had posted anything. Rayford was grateful he had kept his laptop in his flight bag. If only he had kept his Bible there, he would still have that too.

  In his undershirt, trousers, and socks, Rayford lugged his laptop to the communications center, found a hot spot, and sat where he could see his own door down the hall.

  As information began appearing on his screen, he was distracted by footsteps. He lowered the screen and stared down the hall. A young, dark-haired man stopped at Rayford’s door and knocked quietly. When there was no answer, he tried the knob. Rayford wondered if someone had been assigned to rob him or look for clues to the whereabouts of Hattie Durham or Tsion Ben-Judah.

  The young man knocked again, his shoulders slumped, and he turned away. Then it hit Rayford. Could it be Hassid? He gave a loud “Psst!”

  The young man stopped and looked toward the sound. Rayford was in the dark, so he raised his computer screen. The young man paused, clearly wondering if the figure at the computer was whom he wanted to see. Rayford imagined his concocting a story in case he encountered a superior officer.