The Left Behind Collection

by Tim LaHaye

  “For peacekeeping purposes,” Bailey said. “Naive, but logical sounding. You’re right, he probably won’t get that. What else?”

  “Probably the most controversial and least likely. The logistics alone are incredible, the cost, the . . . everything.”

  “What?”

  “He wants to move the U.N.”

  “Move it?”

  Steve nodded.

  “Where?”

  “It sounds stupid.”

  “Everything sounds stupid these days,” Bailey said.

  “He wants to move it to Babylon.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “He is.”

  “I hear they’ve been renovating that city for years. Millions of dollars invested in making it, what, New Babylon?”

  “Billions.”

  “Think anyone will agree to that?”

  “Depends how bad they want him.” Steve chuckled. “He’s on The Tonight Show tonight.”

  “He’ll be more popular than ever!”

  “He’s meeting right now with the heads of all these international groups that are in town for unity meetings.”

  “What does he want with them?”

  “We’re still confidential here, right?” Steve asked.

  “Of course.”

  “He’s asking for resolutions supporting some of the things he wants to do. The seven-year peace treaty with Israel, in exchange for his ability to broker the desert-fertilizer formula. The move to New Babylon. The establishment of one religion for the world, probably headquartered in Italy.”

  “He’s not going to get far with the Jews on that one.”

  “They’re an exception. He’s going to help them rebuild their temple during the years of the peace treaty. He believes they deserve special treatment.”

  “And they do,” Bailey said. “The man is brilliant. Not only have I never seen someone with such revolutionary ideas, but I’ve also never seen anyone who moves so quickly.”

  “Aren’t either of you the least bit shaky about this guy?” Buck said. “It looks to me like people who get too close wind up eliminated.”

  “Shaky?” Bailey said. “Well, I think he’s a little naive, and I’ll be very surprised if he gets everything he’s asking for. But then he’s a politician. He won’t couch these as ultimatums, and he can still accept the position even if he doesn’t get them. It sounds like he may have run roughshod over Ngumo, but I think he had Botswana’s best interest in mind. Carpathia will be a better U.N. chief. And he’s right. If what happened in Israel happens in Botswana, Ngumo needs to stay close to home and manage the prosperity. Shaky? No. I’m as impressed with the guy as you two are. He’s what we need right now. Nothing wrong with unity and togetherness at a time of crisis.”

  “What about Eric Miller?”

  “I think people are making too much of that. We don’t know that his death wasn’t just what it appeared and was only coincidental with his run-in with you and Carpathia. Anyway, Carpathia didn’t know what Miller was after, did he?”

  “Not that I know of,” Buck said, but he noticed that Steve said nothing.

  Marge buzzed in on the intercom. “Cameron has an urgent message from a Hattie Durham. Says she can’t wait any longer.”

  “Oh, no,” Buck said. “Marge, apologize all over the place for me. Tell her it was unavoidable and that I’ll either call her or catch up with her later.”

  Bailey looked disgusted. “Is this what I can expect from you on work time, Cameron?”

  “Actually, I introduced her to Carpathia this morning, and I want her to introduce me to an airline captain in town today for part of that story on what people think happened last week.”

  “I’ll make no bones about it, Cameron,” Bailey said. “Let’s do the big Carpathia story next issue, then follow up with the theories behind the vanishings after that. If you ask me, that could be the most talked about story we’ve ever done. I thought we beat Time and everybody else on our coverage of the event itself. I liked your stuff, by the way. I don’t know that we’ll have anything terribly fresh or different about Carpathia, but we have to give it all we’ve got. Frankly, I love the idea of you running the point on this coverage of all the theories. You must have one of your own.”

  “I wish I did,” Buck said. “I’m as in the dark as anybody. What I’m finding, though, is that the people who have a theory believe in it totally.”

  “Well, I’ve got mine,” Bailey said. “And it’s almost eerie how close it matches Carpathia’s, or Rosenzweig’s, or whoever. I’ve got relatives who believe the space alien stuff. I’ve got an uncle who thinks it was Jesus, but he also thinks Jesus forgot him. Ha! I think it was natural, some kind of a phenomenon where all our high-tech stuff interacted with the forces of nature and we really did a number on ourselves. Now come on, Cameron. Where are you on this?”

  “I’m in the perfect position for my assignment,” he said. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

  “What are people saying?”

  “The usual. A doctor at O’Hare told me he was sure it was the Rapture. Other people have said the same. You know our Chicago bureau chief—”

  “Lucinda Washington? It’s going to be your job to find a replacement for her, you know. You’ll have to go there, get the lay of the land, get acquainted. But you were saying?”

  “Her son believes she and the rest of the family were taken to heaven.”

  “So, how’d he get left behind?”

  “I’m not sure what the deal is on that,” Buck said. “Some Christians are better than others or something. That’s one thing I’m going to find out before I finish this piece. This flight attendant who just called, I’m not sure what she thinks, but she said the captain she’s meeting today thinks he has an idea.”

  “An airline captain,” Bailey repeated. “That would be interesting. Unless his idea is the same as the other scientific types. Well, carry on. Steve, we’re gonna announce this today. Good luck, and don’t worry about anything you’ve said here finding its way into the magazine, unless we get it through other sources. We’re agreed on that, aren’t we, Williams?”

  “Yes, sir,” Buck said.

  Steve didn’t look so sure.

  Buck ran to the elevator and called information for the number of the Pan-Con Club. He asked them to page Hattie, but when they couldn’t locate her, he assumed she hadn’t arrived yet or had gone out with her pilot friend. He left a message to have her call him on his cell phone, then headed that way in a cab just in case.

  His mind was whirring. He agreed with Stanton Bailey that the big story was what had been behind the disappearances, but he was also becoming suspicious of Nicolae Carpathia. Maybe he shouldn’t be. Maybe he should focus on Jonathan Stonagal. Carpathia should be smart enough to see that his elevation could help Stonagal in ways that would be unfair to his competitors. But Carpathia had pledged that he would “deal with” both Stonagal and Todd-Cothran, knowing full well they were behind illegal deeds.

  Did that make Carpathia innocent? Buck certainly hoped so. He had never in his life wanted to believe more in a person. In the days since the disappearances, he’d hardly had a second to think for himself. The loss of his sister-in-law and niece and nephew tugged at his heart almost constantly, and something made him wonder if there wasn’t something to this Rapture thing. If anybody in his orbit would be taken to heaven, it would have been them.

  But he knew better than that, didn’t he? He was Ivy League educated. He had left the church when he left the claustrophobic family situation that threatened to drive him crazy as a young man. He had never considered himself religious, despite a prayer for help and deliverance once in a while. He had built his life around achievement, excitement, and—he couldn’t deny it—attention. He loved the status that came with having his byline, his writing, his thinking in a national magazine. And yet there was a certain loneliness in his existence, especially now with Steve moving on. Buck had dated and had considered escalating a
couple of serious relationships, but he had always been considered too mobile for a woman who wanted stability.

  Since the clearly supernatural event he had witnessed in Israel with the destruction of the Russian air force, he had known the world was changing. Things would never again be as they had been. He wasn’t buying the space alien theory of the disappearances, and while it very well could be attributed to some incredible cosmic energy reaction, who or what was behind that? The incident at the Wailing Wall was another unexplainable bit of the supernatural.

  Buck found himself more intrigued by the “whys and wherefores” story, as he liked to think of it, than even the rise of Nicolae Carpathia. As taken as he was with the man, Buck hoped against hope that he wasn’t just another slick politician. He was the best Buck had ever seen, but was it possible that Dirk’s death, Alan’s death, Eric’s death, and Buck’s predicament were totally independent of Carpathia?

  He hoped so. He wanted to believe a person could come along once in a generation who could capture the imagination of the world. Could Carpathia be another Lincoln, a Roosevelt, or the embodiment of Camelot that Kennedy had appeared to some?

  On impulse, as the cab crawled into the impossible traffic at JFK, Buck plugged his laptop modem into his cell phone and brought up a news service on his screen. He quickly called up Eric Miller’s major pieces for the last two years and was stunned to find he had written about the rebuilding and improvement in Babylon. The title of Miller’s series was “New Babylon, Stonagal’s Latest Dream.” A quick scan of the article showed that the bulk of the financing came from Stonagal banks throughout the world. And of course there was a quote attributed to Stonagal: “Just coincidence. I have no idea the particulars of the financing undertaken by our various institutions.”

  Buck knew that the bottom line with Nicolae Carpathia would have nothing to do with Mwangati Ngumo or Israel or even the new Security Council. To Buck, the litmus test for Carpathia was what he did about Jonathan Stonagal once Carpathia was installed as secretary-general of the United Nations.

  Because if the rest of the U.N. went along with Nicolae’s conditions, he would become the most powerful leader in the world overnight. He would have the ability to enforce his wishes militarily if every member were disarmed and U.N. might were increased. The world would have to be desperate for a leader they trusted implicitly to agree to such an arrangement. And the only leader worth the mantle would be one with zero tolerance for a murderous, behind-the-scenes schemer like Jonathan Stonagal.

  CHAPTER 20

  Rayford and Chloe Steele waited until one-thirty in the afternoon, then decided to head for their hotel. On their way out of the Pan-Con Club, Rayford stopped to leave a message for Hattie, in case she came in. “We just got another message for her,” the girl at the counter said. “A secretary for a Cameron Williams said Mr. Williams would catch up with her here if she would call him when she got in.”

  “When did that message come?” Rayford asked.

  “Just after one.”

  “Maybe we’ll wait a few more minutes.”

  Rayford and Chloe were sitting near the entrance when Hattie rushed in. Rayford smiled at her, but she immediately seemed to slow, as if she had just happened to run into them. “Oh, hi,” she said, showing her identification at the counter and taking her message. Rayford let her play her game. He deserved it.

  “I really shouldn’t have come to see you,” she said, after being introduced to Chloe. “And now that I’m here, I should return this call. It’s from the writer I told you about. He introduced me to Nicolae Carpathia this morning.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Hattie nodded, smiling. “And Mr. Carpathia gave me his card. Did you know he’s going to be named People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive?”

  “I had heard that, yes. Well, I’m impressed. Quite a morning for you, wasn’t it? And how is Mr. Williams?”

  “Very nice, but very busy. I’d better call him. Excuse me.”

  Buck was on an escalator inside the terminal when his phone rang. “Well, hello yourself,” Hattie said.

  “I am so sorry, Miss Durham.”

  “Oh, please,” she said. “Anybody who leaves me in midtown Manhattan in an expensive cab can call me by my first name. I insist.”

  “And I insist on paying for that cab.”

  “I’m just kidding, Buck. I’m going to meet with this captain and his daughter, so don’t feel obligated to come over.”

  “Well, I’m already here,” he said.

  “Oh.”

  “But that’s all right. I’ve got plenty to do. It was good to see you again, and next time you come through New York—”

  “Buck, I don’t want you to feel obligated to entertain me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Sure you do. You’re a nice guy, but it’s obvious we’re not kindred spirits. Thanks for seeing me and especially for introducing me to Mr. Carpathia.”

  “Hattie, I could use a favor. Would it be possible to introduce me to this captain? I’d like to interview him. Is he staying overnight?”

  “I’ll ask him. You should meet his daughter anyway. She’s a doll.”

  “Maybe I’ll interview her, too.”

  “Yeah, good approach.”

  “Just ask him, Hattie, please.”

  Rayford wondered if Hattie had a date with Buck Williams that evening. The right thing to do would be to invite her to dinner at his and Chloe’s hotel. Now she was waving him over to the pay phone.

  “Rayford, Buck Williams wants to meet you. He’s doing a story and wants to interview you.”

  “Really? Me?” he said. “About what?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I suppose about flying or the disappearances. You were in the air when it happened.”

  “Tell him sure, I’ll see him. In fact, why don’t you ask him to join the three of us for dinner tonight, if you’re free.” Hattie stared at Rayford as if she had been tricked into something. “Come on, Hattie. You and I will talk this afternoon, then we’ll all get together for dinner at six at the Carlisle.”

  She turned back to the phone and told Buck. “Where are you now?” she asked. She paused. “You’re not!” Hattie peeked around the corner, laughed, and waved. Covering the mouthpiece, she turned to Rayford. “That’s him, right there on the portable phone!”

  “Well, why don’t you both hang up and you can make the introductions,” Rayford said. Hattie and Buck hung up, and Buck tucked his phone away as he entered.

  “He’s with us,” Rayford told the woman at the desk. He shook Buck’s hand. “So you’re the writer for Global Weekly who was on my plane.”

  “That’s me,” Buck said.

  “What do you want to interview me about?”

  “Your take on the disappearances. I’m doing a cover story on the theories behind what happened, and it would be good to get your perspective as a professional and as someone who was right in the middle of the turmoil when it happened.”

  What an opportunity! Rayford thought. “Happy to,” he said. “You can join us for dinner then?”

  “You bet,” Buck said. “And this is your daughter?”

  Buck was stunned. He loved Chloe’s name, her eyes, her smile. She looked directly at him and gave a firm handshake, something he liked in a woman. So many women felt it was feminine to offer a limp hand. What a beautiful girl! he thought. He had been tempted to tell Captain Steele that, as of the next day, he would no longer be just a writer but would become executive editor. But he feared that would sound like bragging, not complaining, so he had said nothing.

  “Look,” Hattie said, “the captain and I need a few minutes, so why don’t you two get acquainted and we’ll all get back together later. Do you have time, Buck?”

  I do now, he thought. “Sure,” he said, looking at Chloe and her father. “Is that all right with you two?”

  The captain seemed to hesitate, but his daughter looked at him expectantly. She was clearly old enoug
h to make her own decisions, but apparently she didn’t want to make things awkward for her dad.

  “It’s OK,” Captain Steele said hesitantly. “We’ll be in here.”

  “I’ll stash my bag, and we’ll just take a walk in the terminal,” Buck said. “If you want to, Chloe.”

  She smiled and nodded.

  It had been a long time since Buck had felt awkward and shy around a girl. As he and Chloe strolled and talked, he didn’t know where to look and was self-conscious about where to put his hands. Should he keep them in his pockets or let them hang free? Let them swing? Would she rather sit down or people watch or window-shop?

  He asked her about herself and where she went to college, what she was interested in. She told him about her mother and her brother, and he sympathized. Buck was impressed at how smart and articulate and mature she seemed. This was a girl he could be interested in, but she had to be at least ten years younger than he was.

  She wanted to know about his life and career. He told her anything she asked but little more. Only when she asked if he had lost anybody in the vanishings did he tell her about his family in Tucson and his friends in England. Naturally, he said nothing about the Stonagal or Todd-Cothran connections.

  When the conversation lulled, Chloe caught him gazing at her, and he looked away. When he looked back, she was looking at him. They smiled shyly. This is crazy, he thought. He was dying to know if she had a boyfriend, but he wasn’t about to ask.

  Her questions were more along the lines of a young person asking a veteran professional about his career. She envied his travel and experience. He pooh-poohed it, assuring her she would tire of that kind of a life.

  “Ever been married?” she asked.

  He was glad she had asked. He was happy to tell her no, that he had never really been serious enough with anyone to be engaged. “How about you?” he asked, feeling the discussion was now fair game. “How many times have you been married?”