by Tim LaHaye
Vasile seemed to fade from red to gray. "So, what, I announce I will not run for reelection, and you think that paves the way for Carpathia?"
"Oh no, it's not quite that simple."
"Why did I not assume so?"
"You must resign within one week and engineer Carpathia's succession."
"Without an election? Impossible. There is the matter of protocol and many in place behind me--"
"That is why this must come from you."
"No one would buy it! No, Carpathia and I have not been bitter rivals, but everyone knows we disagree on something so fundamental as arms. Who would ever believe that I am stepping aside so a peacenik can assume the presidency?"
"I do not know, Mr. President. But that is your task. Your chore. Your price."
Yasmine Ababneh, the delicate and fair and soon-to-be-divorcee of Abdullah, left a message for him at the air base. She wanted a face-to-face, but she needed his
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pledge of civility. He called her immediately. "You have my solemn promise," he said.
Abdullah showered and shaved and dressed in his recently laundered uniform, topped with a clean turban. He was as nervous as a schoolboy on his first date. For all his bitterness and hatred--even considering murder-- he wanted Yasmine back so badly that he was willing to concede almost anything. How he wished she would bring the children. His son and daughter would soften the meeting, make them all realize what they missed by not being a family.
But she arrived alone, as she had said she would. And Yasmine was so lovely Abdullah could barely breathe. He moved to embrace her, but she did not respond. "I love you," he said. "I miss you, and I'll forgive you if you will forgive me."
"For what are we forgiving each other, Abdullah?"
"You are forgiving me for being unkind. I am forgiving you for causing that by your religious infidelity."
"And your unkindness," she said, exhibiting a maddening sense of self, of purpose, of independence. "Are you confessing what that entailed, speaking of infidelity?"
"Yes, I have sinned. I was unfaithful to you. I took to drink. I became slothful. But Allah has forgiven me and I am on the path to spirituality now, praying at the prescribed times and remaining pure."
Yasmine's countenance seemed to soften, and Abdullah was encouraged. "Thank you for being honest and forthright with me, Abdullah. And if what you say is true, I am encouraged. Because though I believe you will stay
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entrapped should you remain loyal to Islam, seeing you try to live morally makes me feel better about allowing the children to see you occasionally."
"Occasionally? Why can we not reunite, Wife?"
"They are doing well. They miss you, naturally, but they miss the father they knew--the disciplined, decorated pilot. Not the man who has wasted his days."
"I told you! I am a new man. I am newly devout. We must restore our marriage. Why do you ignore my pleas?"
Yasmine sat back and crossed her legs, smoothing the flowing colorful thob that covered both her elbows and knees and yet favored her dark skin. "Because you have offered to forgive me of something for which I am not prepared to repent."
Abdullah stood quickly and paced. "You remain resolutely an infidel to god?"
"Not to my God," she said. "Abdullah, I could no more turn my back on the Christ than I could abandon my children."
"Our children! And you are abandoning me! You are turning your back on Islam and on Allah."
She leaned forward. "I do not mean to be unkind. And of course you are free to choose whom you will serve. But as for me and the children, we will serve the one true God and His Son, Jesus."
Abdullah covered his face and rubbed his eyes, shuddering. "And you do not fear the wrath of Allah."
"I fear nothing and no one, Abdullah. Not even you. If God be for me, who can be against me?"
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Abdullah turned his back to her and stared out onto the empty tarmac, still shimmering in the late-afternoon heat. He lowered his voice and tried to sound reasonable, though he chose harsh, threatening words. "You know there is still enough Islamic influence in our government that I could likely regain custody." He heard her rise behind him, but he did not turn.
"Oh, Abdullah, listen to yourself. The world has passed you by. We live in an age of tolerance. Yes, we Christian believers remain in the minority here, and yes, I will be vilified by many. But there has not been official religious persecution here for more than a decade. And you do not want to force me to rehearse your own weaknesses in such a tribunal, even if one were to be staged."
Now he whirled to face her. "No! I don't! And the truth is I am hardly more devout today than I was a month ago. There is nothing for me in religion, mine or yours! I pray! I pray Allah will return my children to me, will soften your heart, change your mind, make you see your error. But he does not listen."
"Do me this favor," Yasmine said softly, and he was impressed that indeed she did not seem to fear approaching him. "While you are pondering all this, reread my letters. Consider my God. And in the meantime, maintain your personal discipline for your own sake, even when God seems far from you."
Abdullah was speechless. How could he argue with this woman? She made him so angry! He waved her off with the back of his hand.
"What?" she said. "You are dismissing me?"
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He scowled at her and snapped off another wave, as if he could not stand the sight of her another second.
"You have nothing more to say to me?" she said, not seeming disappointed for herself but as if perhaps she was pleasantly surprised.
Abdullah turned away and marched toward the door to the corridor that led to his quarters.
"Very well," he heard her whisper. "I shall pray for you."
That made him slam the door, but he also had the feeling that he had seen her for the last time. And when he reached his cot, he collapsed in tears.
Predictably, Rayford's altruistic errand--rounding up expensive toys for Raymie--took much longer than necessary. With the crowds, the forms to fill out, the upselling by each salesperson, and the time it took to load the stuff onto a borrowed trailer, by the time he returned home Raymie had long been asleep.
But these had been no-occasion gifts, Rayford's language of love. Surely Raymie would know how much Rayford cared for him when he saw the bounty in the garage in the morning. Unfortunately, Rayford would be gone before dawn, picking up Hattie Durham on the way to O'Hare. But maybe he would be able to reach Raymie by phone later in the day, and he could set a date for them to play like real men with the boy's new gear.
"Are you asleep, Irene?" he said, peeking into the dark master bedroom.
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"I was," she mumbled. "What's wrong? What took so long?"
"Oh, you know. Nothing's wrong. I'd just like someone to see what I bought."
She sighed loudly. "I've seen that stuff in the stores, Rafe."
"Fine, just forget it!"
But with his slamming around, Irene must have given up on rolling back into the syrupy river of sleep. "Oh, all right," she said. "Show me."
"No, it's okay."
"Seriously, Rayford, I want to see it. I know you're trying."
He tossed Irene her robe and led her down to the cold garage, flipping on the light.
"Wow," she said, and he could tell she wasn't faking it. "He's got to love those."
"You think?"
"Sure. But you know--"
"Yeah, I know. They're not going to make up for me not being around. Soon as I get back tomorrow night, we'll do something together."
"He'll be so glad."
"I hope."
"He will. And he would be even without all this. He just wants you."
"I know."
Rayford pulled away from the house before dawn, his BMW gliding into Hattie Durham's apartment-complex
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parking lot twenty minutes later. One thing he could say for her: she never made him wait. It wa
s all he could do to keep his eyes on the road--she looked so good. The first couple of times he had picked her up he had leaped out and opened the door for her.
But she insisted he not do that. "It's quaint and you're chivalrous, Captain," she said. "But really, it's a new day, and you make me feel conspicuous."
"You sure you won't resent me, see me as boorish if I don't?"
"Don't be silly."
Hattie was typically perky for an early morning too. That's what made her so good with the passengers. Rayford knew she had the same complications and disappointments in her life that most people did, but she seldom brought them onto the plane with her.
And while she gazed at him when she spoke and frequently touched his arm, he stared straight ahead and did not return her touch. On their way from the O'Hare parking garage to the airport, he maintained an appropriate distance. And while they exhibited a professional air in front of the other personnel, something would happen on the flight that day that would affect their ride home.
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CHAPTER SIX
When Leon Fortunato reported back to his boss regarding the meeting with Romanian president Gheorghe Vasile, Carpathia seemed so giddy it was as if he had been there himself.
"So he left in a huff, did he?" Nicolae said.
Fortunato nodded. "Insisted on forty-eight hours."
"What did you tell him?"
"I agreed. Should I not have?"
"I thought you were a better negotiator, Leon. I would have responded with silence to see if he voluntarily reduced that. And if he did not, I would have countered with twenty-four. In fact, perhaps you should call and tell him you ran into a roadblock on this end and that twenty-four hours is the best you can do. I assume you traded private phone numbers."
"We did."
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"Good. Do it."
Leon flinched. "Right here? Right now? In front of you?"
"What is the matter? Stage fright?"
"Well, I do better when I'm alone."
"Get over it. I am here and I want to be in on it."
"Should I put him on speakerphone?"
"No. He would be able to tell. I can listen in with my own earpiece. Go ahead. On one hand you are telling him that you are just my mouthpiece, but on the other you are exerting control. Okay?"
"As you wish."
Leon fished the tiny card with Vasile's pencil-scribbled private cell number from his pocket.
It was obvious the president knew who was calling. "Fortunato?"
"Yes, Mr. President. I'm afraid that--"
"Hold a moment so I can take this outside."
Carpathia raised his eyebrows and covered his mouth with his hand, obviously to keep from laughing.
A few seconds later Leon heard wind interfering with Vasile's transmission. "Now you listen here, sir. I'm not prepared to give my answer before forty-eight hours have passed, but I can tell you right now that I'm leaning toward exposing you and Carpathia and even Stonagal if need be. The people of Romania will not stand by and allow these strong-arm tactics. Now I am of a mind to--"
"Wait just one minute here, Gheorghe," Fortunato said, eliciting a wave and a huge smile from Nicolae, apparently for brashly calling the head of state by his
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first name. "You don't tell me how it's going to be; I tell you. I have run into a roadblock here on your request for forty-eight hours. Twenty-four is the limit, and--"
"Twenty-four? Why, I"
"Twenty-four, and you are in no position to be exposing anybody. You are the one vulnerable, sir, and unless you want the international community to know of the duplicity within your--"
Click.
Leon slapped his phone shut as Nicolae applauded. "He hung up on you, Leon! He hung up on you! Nice work!"
"And so," Leon said, hiding his racing heart, "what do you do if he does not comply within the time frame?"
"Oh, he will. Trust me. He will. We have him, Leon. He is ours."
A few minutes later Carpathia's intercom chirped, and Viv Ivins said, "Mr. Stonagal for you, sir."
Nicolae pushed a button that put Jonathan on speakerphone. "How are you, my friend? I have Leon here with me, and we are wondering what time it is in New York."
"Same as it always is in relation to your neck of the woods. Now what in blazes do you think you're doing?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. You think you can use a thug to threaten a government chief and not have it get back to me?"
"I was not under the impression that I reported to you, Jonathan."
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"Well, you do when my name--not to mention my money--is invoked. And how dare you seek the presidency without my knowledge, let alone my blessing and that of the others?"
Fortunato had rarely seen Nicolae shaken. The younger man covered well. In measured tones he said, "Jonathan, you had better take a deep breath and think about whom you are talking to."
Stonagal swore. "I know whom I'm talking to, son. Now you listen to me. We have a meeting of the council coming up, and at that time--"
"When?"
"What?"
"When is your secret meeting with your underground brotherhood? Are you deaf or do we not have a good connection?"
"Whom do you think you're talking to, Nicolae?"
"Someone I will not be speaking to for long if you do not answer me."
"Three weeks."
"I will be in office by then."
Stonagal was sputtering. "This is all premature, Nicolae. Now don't screw this up. We can set things in motion that guarantee you the presidency in the next election."
"Sorry, I am not waiting that long."
"But I... but you... we can't--"
"That is the problem, Jonathan. You cannot do anything. I will die from boredom before the next election. And why should I wait when we have what we need on this guy? You know we do."
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"But why complicate things in such a dangerous way when we can grease the skids and--"
Carpathia stood. "Because I am not an employee, Jonathan! Anytime you want to pull your half of the money out and try to use it for more control over someone else, feel free."
"All right, calm down. Surely you must know that while I own only half a share in what we're doing with Vasile, there are seas of money necessary for global initiatives under my control elsewhere. It would behoove you not to run too far ahead of me. The other financiers need to be on board when you come to your rightful place of leadership."
"We all understood that that begins here in Romania."
"Of course, but--"
"But nothing! If I have to start here, I want to start now, this week."
"Vasile will never go for it."
"He has no choice."
Stonagal paused. "And how will you allow him to save face?"
"That is the least of my worries."
Irene kept checking her watch. For an hour after a late dinner, she had succeeded in keeping Raymie from the garage. Yes, she told him, the gifts were there, and, yes, his father had promised to take him out on one of them that very evening. But no, he could not see them until
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Rayford arrived home. And he was late. Late enough that she had tried his cell and, failing to reach him, called Pan-Con. The flight had landed on time.
She waited thirty more minutes, then called Rayford's cell again.
"Hi, hon," he said, and she heard restaurant noises.
"Rayford, tell me you didn't forget."
"Of course I didn't. What time is it? Oh no! On my way."
"Where are you?"
"An hour away."
"An hour! Raymie won't have time to do anything tonight."
"You didn't show him the stuff, did you? At least I get to see the look on his face."
"You might find that mixed. He doesn't just want to see the stuff, Rafe. He wants to enjoy it with you. Now where are you?"
"Oh, well, we had a snafu on the flight. We were
shorted some dinners so the staff didn't get to eat. I thought I should take them out before we headed home."
"How thoughtful of you."
"Wasn't it?"
"Yes, you're extremely thoughtful, Rayford."
"Why are you being sarcastic, Irene?"
"I can't imagine. So, you're out to dinner with your whole crew."
"Yeah! Well, some of them just headed straight home. But whoever wanted to come along came along."
"Just hurry, will you?"
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Rayford rang off and signaled for the waiter.
"Gotta go?" Hattie said.
"Yeah."
"And am I your whole crew?"
He sighed. "Yep."
"At least I'm those who decided to come along."
"Right."
"That was a little white lie, wasn't it?" she said, grinning.
Rayford nodded. But it hadn't been a white lie at all. It had been a big, black, ugly thing, and he would just have to remind himself that Irene's knowing the truth would be more hurtful than not.
The drive home was one of the longest of his life, because he still had to drop Hattie off, and his rationalizations were not helping him feel better. At the very least he could have called Irene. And he could have asked to talk with Raymie. But nothing had happened with Hattie. And he had told mostly the truth, hadn't he? They had been shorted some meals, and both he and Hattie had been hungry. Sure, they could have stopped for fast food, and, yes, he had forgotten his promise. At least temporarily.
But Raymie was a good kid. He'd understand. And he would be forgiving.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Leon was proud of himself, believing his plan was foolproof. Even if his scheme to intimidate the president of Romania fell apart at some juncture, he was certain nothing could lead back to him or to Nicolae Carpathia.
Fortunato began in a seedy area on the east side of Bucharest, where blue-collar workers and their families were crammed into housing units too small for even half of them. Bars teemed with customers, and hooligans of all ages milled about on street corners. Leon cruised through the district to the unit where his contact lived. As he parked on the crowded street and emerged from his vehicle, Leon recognized the man's girlfriend marching down the steps, clearly agitated.