The Left Behind Collection

by Tim LaHaye

  Rayford was in a testy mood. He didn’t want to talk to Carpathia; Carpathia wanted to talk to him. He could come Rayford’s way. What have I become? Rayford wondered. He was playing games with the potentate of the world. Petty. Silly. Immature. But I don’t care.

  Carpathia snapped his phone shut and slipped it into his pocket. He waved at Rayford, who pretended not to notice and turned his back. Rayford leaned toward Mac. “So, what are you going to teach me today?”

  “Don’t look now, but Carpathia wants you.”

  “He knows where I am.”

  “Ray! He could still toss you in jail.”

  “I wish he would. So anyway, what are you going to teach me today?”

  “Teach you! You’ve flown whirlybirds.”

  “A long time ago,” Rayford said. “More than twenty years.”

  “Chopper jockeying is like riding a bike,” Mac said. “You’ll be as good as me in an hour.”

  Mac looked over Rayford’s shoulder, stood, and thrust out his hand. “Potentate Carpathia, sir!”

  “Excuse Captain Steele and me for a moment, would you, Officer McCullum?”

  “I’ll meet you in the hangar,” Rayford said.

  Carpathia slid McCullum’s chair close to Rayford’s and sat. He unbuttoned his suit coat and leaned forward, forearms on his knees. Rayford still had legs crossed and arms folded.

  Carpathia spoke earnestly. “Rayford, I hope you do not mind my calling you by your first name, but I know you are in pain.”

  Rayford tasted bile. “Lord, please,” he prayed silently, “keep my mouth shut.” It only made sense that the embodiment of evil himself was the slimiest of liars. To imply that Amanda had been his plant, a mole in the Tribulation Force for the Global Community, and then to feign sorrow over her death? A lethal wound to the head was too good for him. Rayford imagined torturing the man who led the forces of evil against the God of the universe.

  “I wish you had been here earlier, Rayford. Well, actually I am glad you were able to get the rest you needed. But those of us here for the first breakfast were treated to Leon Fortunato’s account of last night.”

  “Mac said something about it.”

  “Yes, Officer McCullum has heard it twice. You should ask him to share it with you again. Better yet, schedule some time with Mr. Fortunato.”

  It was all Rayford could do to feign civility. “I’m aware of Leon’s devotion to you.”

  “As am I. However, even I was moved and flattered at how his view has been elevated.”

  Rayford knew the story but couldn’t resist baiting Carpathia. “It doesn’t surprise me that Leon is grateful for your rescuing him.”

  Carpathia sat back and looked amused. “McCullum has heard the story twice, and that is his assessment? Have you not heard? I did not rescue Mr. Fortunato at all! I did not even save his life! According to his testimony, I brought him back from the dead.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I do not claim this for myself, Rayford. I am telling you only what Mr. Fortunato says.”

  “You were there. What’s your account?”

  “Well, when I heard that my most trusted aide and personal confidant had been lost in the ruins of our headquarters, something came over me. I simply refused to believe it. I willed it to be untrue. Every fiber of my being told me to simply go, by myself, to the site and bring him back.”

  “Too bad you didn’t take witnesses.”

  “You do not believe me?”

  “It’s quite a tale.”

  “You must talk with Mr. Fortunato.”

  “I’m really not interested.”

  “Rayford, that fifty-foot pile of bricks, mortar, and debris had been a two-hundred-foot tall building. Leon Fortunato had been with me on the top floor when that building gave way. Despite the earthquake precautions designed into it, everyone in there should have been killed. And they were. You know there were no survivors.”

  “So you’re saying it’s Leon’s contention, and yours, that even he was killed in the fall.”

  “I called him out of the middle of that wreckage. No one could have survived that.”

  “And yet he did.”

  “He did not. He was dead. He had to be.”

  “And how did you extricate him?”

  “I commanded him to come forth, and he did.”

  Rayford leaned forward. “That had to make you believe the story of Lazarus. Too bad it’s from a book of fairy tales, huh?”

  “Now, Rayford, I have been most tolerant and have never disparaged your beliefs. Neither have I hidden that I believe you are, at best, misguided. But, yes, it gave me pause that this incident mirrored an account I believe was allegorical.”

  “Is it true you used the same words Jesus used with Lazarus?”

  “So Mr. Fortunato says. I was unaware of precisely what I said. I left here with full confidence that I would come back with him, and my resolve never wavered, not even when I saw that mountain of ruins and knew that rescuers had found no one alive.”

  Rayford wanted to vomit. “So now you’re some sort of deity?”

  “That is not for me to say, though clearly, raising a dead man is a divine act. Mr. Fortunato believes I could be the Messiah.”

  Rayford raised his eyebrows. “If I were you, I’d be quick to deny that, unless I knew it to be true.”

  Carpathia softened. “It does not seem the time for me to make such a claim, but I am not so sure it is untrue.”

  Rayford squinted. “You think you might be the Messiah.”

  “Let me just say, especially after what happened last night, I have not ruled out the possibility.”

  Rayford thrust his hands in his pockets and looked away.

  “Come now, Rayford. Do not assume I do not see the irony. I am not blind. I know a faction out there, including many of your so-called tribulation saints, labels me an antichrist, or even the Antichrist. I would delight in proving the opposite.”

  Rayford leaned forward, pulled his hands from his pockets, and entwined his fingers. “Let me get this straight. There’s a possibility you are the Messiah, but you don’t know for sure?”

  Carpathia nodded solemnly.

  “That makes no sense,” Rayford said.

  “Matters of faith are mysteries,” Carpathia intoned. “I urge you to spend time with Mr. Fortunato. See what you think after that.”

  Rayford made no promises. He looked toward the exit.

  “I know you need to go, Captain Steele. I just wanted to share with you the tremendous progress already made in my rebuilding initiative. As early as tomorrow we expect to be able to communicate with half the world. At that time I will address anyone who can listen.” He pulled a sheet from his coat pocket. “Meanwhile, I would like you and Mr. McCullum to load whatever equipment you need onto the 216 and chart a course to bring these international ambassadors to join those who are already here.”

  Rayford scanned the list. It appeared he would fly more than twenty thousand miles. “Where are you on rebuilding runways?”

  “Global Community forces are working around the clock in every country. Cellular-Solar will network the entire world within weeks. Virtually anyone not on that project is rebuilding airstrips, roads, and centers of commerce.”

  “I have my assignment,” Rayford said flatly.

  “I would like to know your itinerary as soon as it is set. Did you notice the name on the back?”

  Rayford turned the sheet over. “Pontifex Maximus Peter Mathews, Enigma Babylon One World Faith. So we bring him, too?”

  “Though he is in Rome, pick him up first. I would like him on the plane when each of the other ambassadors boards.”

  Rayford shrugged. He wasn’t sure why God had put him in this position, but until he felt led to leave it, he would hang in.

  “One more thing,” Carpathia said. “Mr. Fortunato will go with you and serve as host.”

  Rayford shrugged again. “Now may I ask you something?” Carpathia nodded, standing. �
�Could you let me know when the dredging operation commences?”

  “The what?”

  “When they pull the Pan-Con 747 out of the Tigris,” Rayford said evenly.

  “Oh, yes, that. Now, Rayford, I have been advised it would be futile.”

  “There’s a chance you won’t do it?”

  “Most likely we will not. The airline informed us who was aboard, and we know there are no survivors. We are already at a loss for what to do with the bodies of so many victims of this disaster. I have been advised to consider the aircraft a sacred burial vault.”

  Rayford felt his face flush, and he slumped. “You’re not going to prove to me my wife is dead, are you?”

  “Oh, Rayford, is there any doubt?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is. It doesn’t feel like she’s dead, if you know what I—well, of course you don’t know what I mean.”

  “I know it is difficult for loved ones to let go unless they see the body. But you are an intelligent man. Time heals—”

  “I want that plane dredged up. I want to know whether my wife is dead or alive.”

  Carpathia stepped behind Rayford and placed a hand on each shoulder. Rayford closed his eyes, wishing he could melt away. Carpathia spoke soothingly. “Next you will be asking me to resurrect her.”

  Rayford spoke through clenched teeth. “If you are who you think you are, you ought to be able to pull that off for one of your most trusted employees.”

  Buck had fallen asleep atop the bedspread. Now, well after midnight, he couldn’t imagine he had slept more than two hours. Sitting up, gathering the covers around him, he didn’t want to move. But what had awakened him? Had he seen lights flicker in the hallway?

  It had to have been a dream. Surely electricity would not be reconnected in Mount Prospect for days, maybe weeks. Buck held his breath. Now he did hear something from the other room, the low, whispering cadence of Tsion Ben-Judah. Had something awakened him too? Tsion was praying in his own tongue. Buck wished he understood Hebrew. The prayer grew fainter, and Buck lay back down and rolled onto his side. As he lost consciousness he reminded himself that in the morning he needed one last look around Loretta’s neighborhood—one more desperate attempt to find Chloe.

  Rayford found Mac in the cockpit of the idle helicopter. He was reading.

  “Finally let you go, did he?” Mac said. Rayford always ignored obvious questions. He just shook his head. “I don’t know how he does it,” Mac said.

  “What’s that?”

  Mac rattled his magazine. “The latest Modern Avionics. Where would Carpathia get this? And how would he know to stock it in the shelter?”

  “Who knows?” Rayford said. “Maybe he’s the god he thinks he is.”

  “I told you about Leon’s diatribe last night.”

  “Carpathia told me again.”

  “What, that he agrees with Leon about his own divinity?”

  “He’s not going that far yet,” Rayford said. “But he will. The Bible says he will.”

  “Whoa!” Mac said. “You’re gonna have to start from the beginning.”

  “Fair enough,” Rayford said, unfolding Carpathia’s passenger list. “First let me show you this. After my training, I want you to plot our course to these countries. First we pick up Mathews in Rome. Then let’s go to the States and pick up all the other ambassadors on the way back.”

  Mac studied the sheet. “Should be easy. Take me a half hour or so to plot it. Are there spots to land in all these places?”

  “We’ll get close enough. We’ll put the chopper and a fixed-wing in the cargo hold, just in case.”

  “So when do we get to talk?”

  “Our training session should take until about five, don’t you think?”

  “Nah! I told you, you’ll be up to speed in no time.”

  “We’ll need to break for a late lunch somewhere,” Rayford said. “And then we’ll still have several hours to train, right?”

  “You’re not following me, Ray. You don’t need a whole day playing with this toy. You know what you’re doing, and these things fly themselves.”

  Rayford leaned close. “Who’s not following whom?” he said. “You and I are away from the shelter today, training until 1700 hours. Is that understood?”

  Mac smiled sheepishly. “Oh. You learn the whirlybird by late lunch at around one, and we’re still on leave until five.”

  “You catch on quick.”

  Rayford took notes as Mac walked him through every button, every switch, every key. With the blades at top speed, Mac feathered the controls until the bird lifted off. He went through a series of maneuvers, turning this way and that, dipping and climbing. “It’ll come back to you quick, Ray.”

  “Let me ask you something first, Mac. You were stationed in this area, weren’t you?”

  “For many years,” Mac said, slowly flying south.

  “You know people, then.”

  “Locals, you mean? Yeah. I couldn’t tell you if any of them survived the earthquake. What are you looking for?”

  “Scuba equipment.”

  Mac glanced at Rayford, who did not return his gaze. “There’s a new one for the middle of the desert. Where do you want to go diving? In the Tigris?” Mac grinned, but Rayford shot him a serious look and he paled. “Oh, sure, forgive me, Rayford. Man, you don’t really want to do that, do you?”

  “I’ve never wanted anything more, Mac. Now do you know somebody or not?”

  “Let ’em dredge the thing, Ray.”

  “Carpathia says they’re gonna leave it alone.”

  Mac shook his head. “I don’t know, Ray. You ever scuba dive in a river?”

  “I’m a good diver. But no, never in a river.”

  “Well, I have, and it’s not the same, believe me. The current isn’t much calmer at the bottom than the top. You’ll spend half your time keeping from getting sucked downstream. You could wind up three hundred miles southeast in the Persian Gulf.”

  Rayford was not amused. “What’s the story, Mac? You got a source for me?”

  “Yeah, I know a guy. He was always able to get anything I wanted from just about anywhere. I’ve never seen scuba stuff around here, but if it’s available and he’s still alive, he can get it.”

  “Who and where?”

  “He’s a national. He runs the tower at the airstrip down at Al Basrah. That’s northwest of Abadan where the Tigris becomes the Shatt al Arab. I wouldn’t begin to try to pronounce his real name. To all of his, ahem, clients, he goes by Al B. I call him Albie.”

  “What’s his arrangement?”

  “He takes all the risks. Charges you double retail, no questions asked. You get caught with contraband stuff, he’s never heard of you.”

  “Try to reach him for me?”

  “Just say the word.”

  “That’s what I’m saying, Mac.”

  “Quite a risk.”

  “Being honest with you is a risk, Mac.”

  “How do you know you can trust me?”

  “I don’t. I have no choice.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “You’d feel the same way if the shoe was on the other foot.”

  “True enough,” Mac said. “Only time will prove I’m not a rat.”

  “Yeah,” Rayford said, feeling as reckless as he had ever been. “If you’re not a friend, there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

  “Uh-huh, but would a fink make a dangerous dive with you?”

  Rayford stared at him. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “You can’t stop me. If my guy can get a suit and a tank for you, he can get them for me, too.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Well, not just to prove myself. I’d like to keep you around awhile. You deserve to know if your wife’s in the drink. But that dive’s gonna be dangerous enough for two, let alone solo.”

  “I’ll have to think about that.”

  “For once, quit thinking so much. I’m goin’ with you and
that’s that. I gotta figure some way to keep you alive long enough to tell me what the devil has been going on since the disappearances.”

  “Put her down,” Rayford said, “and I’ll tell you.”

  “Right here? Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  Mac had flown a few miles to where Rayford could see the city of Al Hillah. He banked left and headed for the desert, landing in the middle of nowhere. He shut the engine down quickly to avoid sand damage. Still, Rayford saw grains on the back of his hands and tasted them on his lips.

  “Let me get behind the controls,” Rayford said, unstrapping himself.

  “Not on your life,” Mac said. “Next you’re gonna try startin’ her up and liftin’ off. I know you can do it and it’s not that dangerous, but Lord knows nobody else around here can explain things to me. Now out with it, let’s go.”

  Rayford hopped out and landed in the sand. Mac followed. They strolled half an hour in the sun, Rayford sweating through his clothes. Finally Rayford led the way back to the helicopter, where they leaned against the struts on the shade side.

  He told Mac his life story, starting with the kind of family he was raised in—decent, hardworking, but uneducated people. He had shown a proclivity for math and science and was fascinated by aviation. He did well in school, but his father could not afford to send him to college. A high school counselor told him he should be able to get scholarships, but that he needed something extra on his résumé.

  “Like what?” Rayford had asked her.

  “Extracurricular activities, student government, things like that.”

  “What about flying solo before I graduate?”

  “Now that would be impressive,” she admitted.

  “I’ve done it.”

  That helped him earn a college education that led to military training and commercial flying. All the while, he said, “I was a pretty good guy. Good citizen—you know the drill. Drank a little, chased a little. Never anything illegal. Never saw myself as a rascal. Patriotic, the whole bit. I was even a churchgoer.”

  He told Mac he had been smitten with Irene from the beginning. “She was a little too goody-goody for me,” he admitted, “but she was pretty and loving and selfless. She amazed me. I asked, she accepted, and though it turned out she was a lot more into church than I was, I wasn’t about to let her go.”