by Tim LaHaye
“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 tha
t 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.”
“The heck I’ll recommend somebody else,” Ken said. He unhooked the IV and yanked the tape off.
“Slow down, Ken. I can’t let you do this. You’ve got to get a clean bill of health before—”
“Forget me, will ya? I may have to go slow, but we both know if there’s no brain trauma, there’s little danger I’m gonna hurt myself worse. I’ll be a little uncomfortable, that’s all. Now come on, help me get dressed and get out of here.”
“I appreciate this, but really—”
“Williams, if you don’t let me do this, I’m gonna hate you for the rest of my life.”
“I sure wouldn’t want to be responsible for that.”
There was no way to sneak out. Buck put his arm around Ken and tucked his hand in Ken’s armpit. They moved as quickly as possible, but a male nurse came running. “Whoa! He’s not allowed out of bed! Help! Someone! Get his doctor!”
“This ain’t prison,” Ken called out. “I signed in, and I’m checkin’ out!”
They were headed through the lobby when a doctor hurried toward them. The girl at the desk summoned her supervisor. Buck pleaded with his eyes. The supervisor glared at him but stepped directly in front of the doctor, and he stumbled trying to avoid her. “I’ll handle this,” she said.
The doctor left with a suspicious look, and the candy striper was sent to the pharmacy to get Ken’s prescriptions. The supervisor whispered, “Being a believer doesn’t guarantee you’re not stupid. I’m making this happen, but it had better be necessary.”
Buck nodded his thanks.
Once in the Rover, Ken sat still, gently cradling his head in his fingers. “You OK?” Buck asked.
Ritz nodded. “Run me by Palwaukee. I got a bag of stuff they’re keepin’ for me. And we’ve got to get to Waukegan.”
“Waukegan?”
“Yeah. My Learjet got blown around over there, but it’s OK. Only problem is, the hangars are gone. Their fuel tanks are fine, they tell me. One problem, though.”
“I’ll bite.”
“Runways.”
“What about ’em?”
“Apparently they don’t exist anymore.”
Buck was cruising as quickly as he could manage. One advantage of no roads was that he could drive from one place to another as the crow flies. “Can you take off in a Learjet without pavement beneath you?”
“Never had to worry about it before. We’ll find out though, won’t we?”
“Ritz, you’re crazier than I am.”
“That’ll be the day. Every time I’m with you I’m sure you’re gonna get me killed.” Ritz fell silent for a moment. Then, “Speakin’ of getting killed, you know I wasn’t just calling you because I needed work.”
“No?”
“I read your article. That ‘wrath of the Lamb’ thing in your magazine.”
“What did you think?”
“Wrong question. It isn’t what I thought when I read it, which frankly wasn’t much. I mean, I’ve always been impressed with your writing.”
“I
didn’t know that.”
“So sue me, I didn’t want you to get the big head. Anyway, I didn’t like any of the theories you came up with. And no, I didn’t believe we were going to suffer the wrath of the Lamb. But what you ought to be asking is what do I think about it now?”
“All right. Shoot.”
“Well, a guy would have to be a fool to think the first worldwide earthquake in the history of mankind was a coincidence, after you predicted it in your article.”
“Hey, I didn’t predict it. I was totally objective.”
“I know. But you and I talked about this stuff before, so I knew where you were comin’ from. You made it look like all those Bible scholar guys were just giving more opinions to stack up against the space aliens and the conspiracy nuts. Then, wham, bang, my head’s split open, and all of a sudden the only guy I know crazier than me is the one that had the thing figured out.”
“So you wanted to get hold of me. Here I am.”
“Good. ’Cause I figure if what the globe just went through was the wrath of the Lamb, I better make friends with that Lamb.”
Buck always thought Ritz was too smart to miss all the signs. “I can help you there,” he said.
“I kind of thought you might.”
It was close to noon by the time Buck came out of the ditch where Green Bay Road used to be and drove slowly over the flattened fence and around the crumpled landing lights at the Waukegan Airport. The runways had not just sunk or twisted. They lay in huge chunks from end to end.
There, in one of the few open spaces, was Ken Ritz’s Learjet, apparently none the worse for wear.
Ritz moved slowly, but he was able to gingerly taxi the thing between hazards to the fuel pump. “She’ll take us to Minneapolis and back more than once with a full tank,” he said.
“The question is how fast?” Buck said.
“Less than an hour.”
Buck looked at his watch. “Where are you gonna take off from?”
“It’s sloped, but from the cockpit I saw one patch across Wadsworth on the golf course that looks like our best bet.”
“How are you gonna get across the road and through those thickets?”
“Oh, we’ll do it. But it’s gonna take longer than flying to Minneapolis. You’re gonna be doing most of the work. I’ll steer the jet, and you’ll clear the way. It’s not gonna be easy.”