by Tim LaHaye
“Yeah. Buck is incredible.”
“He kiss you?”
“No! Dad!”
“Hold hands?”
“No! Now stop it! We just talked. You wouldn’t believe the offer he got today.”
“Offer?”
“I don’t have time to get into it tonight. You flying tomorrow?”
“No.”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“I want to tell you about an offer I got today, too,” Rayford said.
“What was it?”
“Too involved for tonight. I’m not going to take it anyway. We can talk about it in the morning.”
“Dad, tell me one more time you didn’t send those flowers just to cheer me up. I’ll feel awful if you did and I trashed them.”
“I didn’t, Chlo’.”
“That’s good, I guess. But it wasn’t Buck, either.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive this time.”
“Uh-oh.”
“You thinking what I’m thinking, Dad?”
“I’ve been wondering about Bruce ever since I heard Buck tell you it wasn’t him.”
“What am I going to do, Dad?”
“If you’re going to work with the man, you’ll have to have a talk with him.”
“Why is it my responsibility? I didn’t start this! I didn’t encourage it—at least I didn’t mean to.”
“Well, you could ignore it. I mean, he sent them anonymously. How were you supposed to know who they were from?”
“Yeah! I don’t really know, do I?”
“Of course not.”
“I’m supposed to see him tomorrow afternoon,” she said, “to talk about this job.”
“Then talk about the job.”
“And ignore the flowers?”
“You sort of already did that, didn’t you?”
Chloe laughed. “If he’s got the guts to own up to sending them, then we can talk about what it all means.”
“Sounds good.”
“But, Dad, if Buck and I keep seeing each other, it’s going to become obvious.”
“You don’t want people to know?”
“I don’t want to shove it in Bruce’s face, knowing how he feels about me.”
“But you don’t know.”
“That’s right, isn’t it? If he doesn’t tell me, I don’t know.”
“G’night, Chloe.”
“But it’s going to be awkward working for him or with him, won’t it, Dad?”
“’Night, Chloe.”
“I just don’t want to—”
“Chloe! It’s tomorrow already!”
“’Night, Dad.”
Buck was awakened midmorning Tuesday by a call from Stanton Bailey. “Cameron!” he shouted. “You awake?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t sound like it!”
“Wide-awake, sir.”
“Late night?”
“Yes, but I’m awake now, Mr.—”
“You always were honest to a fault there, Cam. That’s why I still don’t understand your insisting you were at that meeting when—ah, that’s behind us. You’re exiled; I’m wishing you were replacing Plank here, but hey, what’s done is done, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, you’ve still got it.”
“Sir?”
“Still got the touch. How does it feel to write another award-winner?”
“Well, I’m glad you like it, Mr. Bailey, but I didn’t write it for an award.”
“We never do, do we? Ever craft one just to make it fit a category in some contest? Me neither. I’ve seen guys try it, though. Never works. They could take a lesson from you. Thorough, long but tight, all the quotes, all the angles, fair to every opinion. I thought it was real good of you not to make the alien kooks and the religious wackos look stupid. Everybody’s got a right to his own opinion, right? And these represent the heartland of America, whether they believe it was something green from Mars or Jesus on a horse.”
“Sir?”
“Or whatever imagery that is. You know what I mean. Anyway, this thing’s a masterpiece, and I appreciate your usual great job and not letting this other business get you down. You keep up the good work, stay there in Chicago for an appropriate amount of time so it still looks like I’ve got some control over my star guy, and you’ll be back in New York before you know it. When’s your lease up?”
“A year, but actually I like it here, and—”
“Very funny. Just talk to me when they start pushing you on that lease, Cameron, and we’ll get you back here. I don’t know about executive editor, because we’ve got to fill that before then and it probably wouldn’t make much sense, you going from the wilderness to the saddle. But we’ll at least get your salary back up where it belongs, and you’ll be back here doing what you do best.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Hey, take the day off! This thing’ll hit the stands a week from yesterday and you’ll be the talk of the town for a few days.”
“I just might take you up on that.”
“And listen, Cameron, stay out of that little gal’s hair there. What’s her name?”
“Verna Zee?”
“Yeah, Verna. She’ll do all right, but just leave her alone. You don’t even have to be over there unless you need to be for some reason. What’s next on your plate?”
“Steve’s trying to get me to go to Israel next week for the signing of the treaty between Israel and the U.N.”
“We’ve got a slew of people going, Cameron. I was going to put the religion editor on the cover story.”
“Jimmy Borland?”
“Problem?”
“Well, first, I don’t see it as a religious story, especially with the one-world religion meeting going on in New York at the same time, the Jews talking about rebuilding the temple, and the Catholics voting on a new pope. And this is going to sound self-serving, but do you really think Jimmy can handle a cover story?”
“Probably not. It just seemed like a good fit. He’s been over there so many times on his beat, and just about anything Israel does can be considered religious, right?”
“Not necessarily.”
“I’ve always liked that you talk to me straight, Cameron. Too many yes people around here. So you don’t think this is a religious thing just because it’s happening in the so-called Holy Land.”
“Anything Carpathia is involved in is geopolitical, even if it has some religious ramifications. A great religious angle over there, besides the temple thing, is those two preachers at the Wailing Wall.”
“Yeah, what’s with those crazies? Those two said it wasn’t going to rain in Israel for three and a half years, and so far it hasn’t! That’s a dry land as it is, but if they go that long without rain, everything’s gonna dry up and blow away. How dependent is that scientist guy’s—uh, Rosenzweig’s—formula on rain?”
“I’m not sure, sir. I know it requires less rain than if you tried to grow without it, but I think there still has to be water from somewhere to make it work.”
“I’d like to see Jimmy get an exclusive with those two,” Bailey said, “but they’re dangerous, aren’t they?”
“Sir?”
“Well, two guys tried to kill them and wound up dropping dead on the spot, and what was this thing the other day? A bunch of guys got burned up. People said those two called down fire from heaven!”
“Others were saying they breathed fire on them.”
“I heard that too!” Bailey said. “That’s some kind of halitosis problem, eh?”
Bailey was laughing, but Buck couldn’t fake it. He believed the fire-breathing story because it was right out of Scripture, and neither did he put people who believed the Rapture in the same category as the UFO wackos.
“Anyway,” Bailey continued, “I haven’t told Borland he’s got the cover, but I think rumor has it that he’s in line for it. I could put you on it, and I’d rather, but somebody else wo
uld have to get bumped from the trip, because we’re maxed out budgetwise. Maybe I could send one less photographer.”
Buck was eager for a photographer to get some supernatural evidence on film. “No, don’t do that,” he said. “Plank is offering to let me fly over there as part of the U.N. contingency.” There was a long silence. “Sir?”
“I don’t know about that, Cameron. I’m impressed that they’ve apparently forgiven you for stiffing them last time, but how do you maintain objectivity when you’re on their dime?”
“You have to trust me, sir. I have never traded favors.”
“I know you haven’t, and Plank knows you haven’t. But does Carpathia understand journalism?”
“I’m not sure he does.”
“Neither am I. You know what I’m afraid of.”
“What’s that?”
“That he’ll try stealing you away.”
“Not much chance of my going anywhere,” Buck said.
“Still, I would have thought he’d be more upset at you than I was, and now he wants you to ride along on this deal-signing thing?”
“He actually wants me to sit in on the signing as part of his delegation.”
“That would be totally inappropriate.”
“I know.”
“Unless you could make it clear that you’re not part of the delegation. What a great spot! The only media person at the table!”
“Yeah, but how would I do that?”
“It could be something simple. Maybe you wear a patch on your jacket that makes it obvious you’re with Weekly.”
“I could do that.”
“You could carry it with you and slap it on once everyone’s in place.”
“That sounds a little underhanded.”
“Oh, don’t kid yourself, son. Carpathia’s a politician’s politician, and he has all kinds of reasons for wanting you there with him. Not the least of which would be greasing the skids so you could slide out of Global Weekly.”
“I have no such plans, sir.”
“Well, I know you don’t. Listen, do you think you could still get in on the signing, I mean be right there when it happens, with the involved parties instead of the press corps, even if you didn’t ride with the U.N. delegation?”
“I don’t know. I could ask.”
“Well, ask. Because I’ll spring for an extra ticket on a commercial flight before I’ll see you go over there at U.N. expense. I don’t want you owing Carpathia any favors, but there’s not much I wouldn’t do to see you peeking over his shoulder when he signs that treaty.”
CHAPTER 10
Buck liked the idea of taking the day off, not that he had anything ambitious planned anyway. He puttered around in the spare bedroom, setting up his office. Once everything was plugged in and tested, he checked his e-mail and found one long message from James Borland, religion editor of Global Weekly.
Uh-oh, he thought.
I’d get on the phone and have it out with you voice to voice. But I think better on paper and want to vent a little here before I get your usual excuses. You knew full well that I was in line for the treaty signing cover story. The thing’s happening in the religious capital of the world, Cameron. Who did you think would handle it?
Just because I’m not your typical cover-story writer and haven’t done one before doesn’t mean I couldn’t handle it. I might have come to you for advice on it anyway, but you probably would have wanted to share the byline, your name first.
The old man tells me that your writing it was his idea, but don’t think I can’t envision you talking your way into this one and me out of it. Well, I’m going to be in Israel, too. I’ll stay out of your hair if you’ll stay out of mine.
Buck immediately phoned Borland. “Jimmy,” he said, “it’s Buck.”
“You got my e-mail?”
“I did.”
“I have nothing more to say.”
“I imagine not,” Buck said. “You were pretty clear.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Just to set the record straight.”
“Yeah, you’re going to convince me that your story lines up with Bailey’s, that you didn’t even ask for the assignment.”
“To tell you the truth, Jim, I did tell Bailey I saw it as more of a political than a religious story, and I even wondered aloud whether you were up to it.”
“And you don’t think that constitutes running me off the story so you can write it?”
“I may have, Jim, but it wasn’t intentional. I’m sorry, and if it means that much to you, I’ll insist that you do it.”
“Right. What’s the catch?”
“That I get your stories, and one new one.”
“You want my beat?”
“Just for a few weeks. In my mind, you’ve got the most enviable job on the Weekly.”
“Why don’t I trust you, Buck? You sound like Tom Sawyer trying to get me to paint your fence.”
“I’m dead serious, Jim. You let me cover the one-world religion story, the rebuilding of the temple story, the two preachers at the Wailing Wall story, the vote for a new pope story, and another one in your bailiwick I haven’t told anyone about yet, and I’ll see to it you get to do the cover story on the treaty.”
“I’ll bite. What’s the big scoop on my beat that I’ve missed?”
“You didn’t miss it. I just have a friend who was in the right place at the right time.”
“Who? What?”
“I won’t reveal my source, but I happen to know that Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah—”
“I know him.”
“You do?”
“Well, I know of him. Everybody does. Pretty impressive guy.”
“Have you heard what he’s up to?”
“Some research project, isn’t it? Something typically musty?”
“So that’s another one you don’t want. It sounds like I’m asking for Baltic and Mediterranean and offering Boardwalk and Park Place.”
“That’s exactly what it sounds like, Buck. You think I’m stupid?”
“I sure don’t, Jimmy. That’s one thing you don’t understand. I’m not your enemy.”
“Just my competitor, keeping the cover stories for yourself.”
“I just offered you one!”
“Something doesn’t wash, Buck. The one-world religion meeting is dry as dust, and the thing will never work anyway. Nothing’s going to stand in the way of the Jews rebuilding their temple because no one but the Jews care. I’ll grant you that those two guys at the Wailing Wall would be a great story, but more than a half-dozen people who’ve tried to get near them wound up dead. I have to think every journalist in the world has asked for an exclusive, but no one’s had the guts to go in there. Everybody knows who the new pope’s gonna be. And who in the world cares about the rabbi’s research?”
“Whoa, back up a second there, Jim,” Buck said. “Now, see, you’ve got a leg up on me on the pope thing because I have no idea who the new one will be.”
“Oh, come on, Buck. Where have you been? All the smart money is on Archbishop Mathews out of—”
“Cincinnati? Really? I interviewed him for the—”
“I know, Buck. I saw it. Everybody around here has seen your next Pulitzer.”
Buck was silent. Did the depths of jealousy know no bounds?
Borland must have sensed he’d gone too far. “Truthfully, Buck, I’ve got to hand it to you. That’s going to be one good read. But you got no hint that he’s got the inside track on the papacy?”
“None.”
“He’s a pretty crafty guy. He’s got support coming out his ears, and I think he’s a shoo-in. So do a lot of other people.”
“So, since I know him and I think he trusts me, you won’t mind that story being part of the trade?”
“Oh, you just assume we’re making this trade now, is that it?” Jimmy said.
“Why not? How bad do you want the cover?”
“Buck, you think I don’t know you’re going t
o be part of the U.N. contingent at the signing and that you’re going to be wearing a Global Weekly blazer or hat or something to get us a little play?”
“So make it part of your cover story. ‘Substitute Religion Editor Gets to Stand Next to Secretary-General.’”
“Not funny. No way Plank gives you that plum and then settles for someone else writing the piece.”
“I’m telling you, Jim, I’ll insist on it.”
“You weren’t supposed to have any more bargaining power after missing that Carpathia meeting before. What makes you think Bailey will listen to you? You’re just a Chicago bureau writer now.”
Buck felt his old ego kick in, and the words were out before he could measure them. “Yeah, just a Chicago bureau writer who wrote next week’s cover story and has been assigned the following week’s too.”
“Touché!”
“I’m sorry, Jim. That was out of line. But I’m serious about this. I’m not just bluffing to make you think your beat is a bigger deal than a cover story. I’m convinced things are breaking religiously that make much more interesting stories than the treaty signing.”
“Wait a minute, Buck. You’re not one of the suckers buying into the prophetic, apocalyptic, all-this-has-been-foretold-in-the-Bible theories, are you?”
That’s exactly what I am, Buck thought, but he couldn’t afford to go public yet. “How widespread is that view?” Buck asked.
“You ought to know. You wrote the cover story.”
“My story gives voice to all the opinions.”
“Yeah, but you ran into the Rapture nuts. They’d love to see some spin on all these stories you want to do that shoehorns them into God’s plan.”
“You’re the religion editor, Jim. Do they have a point?”
“Doesn’t sound to me like something God would have done.”
“You’re allowing that there is a God.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What manner?”
“God is in all of us, Buck. You know my view.”
“Your view hasn’t changed since the disappearances?”
“Nope.”
“Was God in the people who disappeared?”
“Sure.”
“So now part of God is gone?”
“You’re way too literal for me, Buck. Next you’re going to tell me the treaty proves Carpathia’s the Antichrist.”