Nicolae: The Rise Of The Antichrist (11 page)

Loretta and Verna were watching from the window as he pulled into the drive. Only then did he smack himself in the head and remember. He jumped out of the car and raced around to the back. Fumbling with the keys, he opened the back latch and found, strewn all over, Bruce’s pages. The computer was there too, along with the phones Chloe had bought. “Chloe,” he said, and she turned gingerly. “As soon as we get you inside, I’d better get back to Carpathia.”

Rayford was back in the cockpit. As the night wore on, the cabin grew more and more quiet. The conversation deteriorated into small talk. The dignitaries were well fed by the crew, and Rayford got the impression they were settling in for the long haul.

Rayford awakened with a start and realized his finger had slipped off the intercom button. He pressed it again and still heard nothing. He had heard more than he wanted to hear already anyway. He decided to stretch his legs.

As he walked back through the main cabin to watch one of the televisions in the back of the plane, everyone except Carpathia ignored him. Some dozed and some were being attended to by the flight crew, who were clearing trays and finding blankets and pillows.

Carpathia nodded and smiled and waved to Rayford. How can he do that? Rayford wondered. Bruce said the Antichrist would not be indwelt by Satan himself until halfway into the Tribulation, but surely this man is the embodiment of evil.

Rayford could not let on that he knew the truth, despite the fact that Carpathia was well aware of his Christian beliefs. Rayford merely nodded and walked on. On television he saw live reports from around the world. Scripture had come to life. This was the Red Horse of the Apocalypse. Next would come more death by famine and plagues until a quarter of the population of the earth that remained after the Rapture was wiped out. His universal cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Few people not on that plane knew his number. Thank God for technology, he thought. He didn’t want anyone to hear him. He slipped deeper into the back of the plane and stood near a window. The night was as black as Carpathia’s soul.

“This is Rayford Steele,” he said.

“Daddy?”

“Chloe! Thank God! Chloe, are you all right?”

“I had a little car accident, Dad. I just wanted you to know that you saved my life again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got that message you left at The Drake,” she said. “If I had taken the time to go to our room, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

“And Buck’s OK?”

“He’s fine. He’s late returning a call to you-know-who, so he’s trying to do that right now.”

“Let me excuse myself, then,” Rayford said. “I’ll get back to you.”

Rayford strode back to the cockpit, trying not to appear in a hurry. As he passed Fortunato, Leon was handing a phone to Carpathia. “Williams from Chicago,” he said.

“It’s about time.”

Carpathia made a face as if he felt Leon was overreacting. As Rayford reached the cockpit, he heard Carpathia exalt, “Cameron, my friend! I have been worried about you.”

Rayford quickly settled in and set his earphones. McCullum looked at him expectantly, but Rayford ignored him and closed his eyes, pressing the secret button.

“I am curious about coverage,” Carpathia was saying. “What is happening there in Chicago? Yes-yes-devastation, I understand-yes. Yes, a tragedy-”

Sickening, Rayford thought.

“Cameron,” Carpathia said, “would it be possible for you to get to New Babylon within the next few days? Ah, I see-Israel? Yes, I see the wisdom of that. The so-called holy lands were spared again, were they not? I would like pooled coverage of high-level meetings in Baghdad and New Babylon. I would like to have your pen on it, but Steve Plank, your old friend, can run the point. You and he can work together to see that the appropriate coverage is carried in all our print media….”

Rayford would be eager to talk to Buck. He admired his son-in-law’s moxie and ability to set his own agenda and even gracefully decline suggested directives from Carpathia. Rayford wondered how long Carpathia would stand for that. For now, he apparently respected Buck enough and was, Rayford hoped, still unaware of Buck’s true loyalties.

“Well,” Carpathia was saying, “of course I am grieving. You will keep in touch then, and I will hear from you from Israel.”

BUCK
sat bleary-eyed at the breakfast table, his ear stinging and his rib cage tender.

Only he and Loretta were up. She was heading to the church office after having been assured she would not have to handle the arrangements for Bruce’s body or for the memorial service, which would be part of Sunday morning’s agenda. Verna Zee was asleep in a small bedroom in the finished basement. “It feels so good to have people in this place again,” Loretta said. “Y’all can stay as long as you need to or want to.”

“We’re grateful,” Buck said. “Amanda may sleep till noon, but then she’ll get right on those arrangements with the coroner’s office. Chloe didn’t sleep much with that ankle cast. She’s dead to the world now, though, so I expect her to sleep a long time.”

Buck had used the dining-room table to put back in order all the pages from Bruce’s transcripts that had been strewn throughout the back of the Range Rover. He had a huge job ahead of him, checking the text and determining what would be best for reproduction and distribution. He set the stacks to one side and laid out the five deluxe universal cell phones Chloe had bought. Fortunately, they had been packed in spongy foam and had survived her accident.

He had told her not to scrimp, and she certainly hadn’t. He didn’t even want to guess the total price, but these phones had everything, including the ability to take calls anywhere in the world, due to a built-in satellite chip.

After Loretta left for the church, Buck rummaged for batteries, then quickly taught himself the basics from the instruction manual and tried his first phone call. For once, he was glad he had always been manic about hanging onto old phone numbers. Deep in his wallet was just the one he needed. Ken Ritz, a former commercial pilot and now owner of his own jet charter service, had bailed out Buck before. He was the one who had flown Buck from a tiny airstrip in Waukegan, Illinois, to New York the day after the vanishings.

“I know you’re busy, Mr. Ritz, and probably don’t need my business,” Buck said, “but you also know I’m on a big, fat expense account and can pay more than anyone else.”

“I’m down to one jet,” Ritz said. “It’s at Palwaukee, and right now both it and I are available. I’m charging two bucks a mile and a thousand dollars a day for down time.

Where do you want to go?”

“Israel,” Buck said. “And I have to be back here by Saturday night at the latest.”

“Jet lag city,” Ritz said. “It’s best to fly that way early evening and land there the next day. Meet me at Palwaukee at seven, and we’ve got a deal.”

Rayford had finally fallen off to sleep for real, snoring, according to McCullum, for several hours.

About an hour outside Baghdad, Leon Fortunato entered the cockpit and knelt next to Rayford. “We’re not entirely sure of security in New Babylon,” he said. “No one expects us to land in Baghdad. Let’s keep maintaining with the New Babylon tower that we’re on our way directly there. When we pick up our other three ambassadors, we may just stay on the ground for a few hours until our security forces have had a chance to clear New Babylon.”

“Will that affect your meetings?” Rayford said, trying to sound casual.

“I don’t see how it concerns you one way or the other. We can easily meet on the plane while it is being refueled. You can keep the air-conditioning on, right?”

“Sure,” Rayford said, trying to think quickly, “there is still a lot I’d like to teach myself about this craft. I’ll stay in the cockpit or in my quarters and keep out of your way.”

“See that you do.”

Buck checked in with Donny Moore, who said he had found some incredible deals on individual components and was putting together the five mega-laptops himself. “That’ll save you a little money,” he said. “Just a little over twenty thousand apiece, I figure.”

“And I can have these when I get back from a trip, on Sunday?”

“Guaranteed, sir.”

Buck told key people at Global Community Weekly his new universal cell phone number and asked that they keep it confidential except from Carpathia, Plank, and Rosenzweig. Buck carefully packed his one big, leather shoulder bag and spent the rest of the day working on Bruce’s transcripts and trying to reach Rosenzweig. The old man had seemed to be trying to tell him, not in so many words, that he knew Dr. Ben-Judah was alive and safe somewhere. He just hoped Rosenzweig had followed his advice and was keeping Carpathia out of the picture. Buck had no idea where Tsion Ben-Judah might be hiding out. But if Rosenzweig knew, Buck wanted to talk with him before he and Ken Ritz hit the ground at Ben Gurion Airport.

How long, he wondered, before he and his loved ones would be hiding out in the shelter under the church?

Security was tight at Baghdad. Rayford had been instructed not to communicate with the tower there so as not to allow enemy aircraft to know where they were. Rayford was convinced that the retaliatory strikes by Global Community forces in London and Cairo, not to mention North America, would have kept all but the suicidal out of Iraq. However, he did what he was told.

Leon Fortunato communicated by phone with both Baghdad and New Babylon towers. Rayford phoned ahead to be sure there was a place he and McCullum could stretch their legs and relax inside the terminal. Despite his years of flying, there came certain points even for him when he became claustrophobic aboard a plane.

A ring of heavily armed GC soldiers surrounded the plane as it slowly rolled to a stop at the most secure end of the Baghdad terminal. The six-member crew of stewards and flight attendants were the first to get off. Fortunato waited until Rayford and McCullum had run through their postflight checklist. He got off with them. “Captain Steele,” he said, “I will be bringing the three other ambassadors back on board within the hour.”

“And when would you like to leave for New Babylon?”

“Probably not for another four hours or so.”

“International aviation rules prohibit me from flying again for twenty-four hours.”

“Nonsense,” Fortunato said. “How do you feel?”

“Exhausted.”

“Nevertheless, you’re the only one qualified to fly this plane, and you’ll be flying it when we say you’ll be flying it.”

“So international aviation rules go out the window?”

“Steele, you know that international rules on everything are embodied in the man sitting on that plane. When he wants to go to New Babylon, you’ll fly him to New Babylon. Understood?”

“And if I refuse?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Let me remind you, Leon, that once I’ve gotten a break, I’ll want to be on that plane, familiarizing myself with all its details.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just stay out of our way. And I would appreciate it if you would refer to me as Mr. Fortunate.”

“That means a lot to you, does it, Leon?”

“Don’t push me, Steele.”

As they entered the terminal, Rayford said, “As I am the only one who can fly that plane, I would appreciate it if you would call me Captain Steele.”

Late in the afternoon, Chicago time, Buck broke from the fascinating reading of Bruce Barnes’s writing and finally got through to Chaim Rosenzweig.

“Cameron! I have finally talked live with our mutual friend. Let us not mention his name on the phone. He did not speak to me long, but he sounded so empty and hollow that it moved me to my very soul. It was a strange message, Cameron. He simply said that you would know whom to talk with about his whereabouts.”

“That I would know?”

‘That’s what he said, Cameron. That you would know. Do you suppose he means NC?”

“No! No! Chaim, I’m still praying you’re keeping him out of this.”

“I am, Cameron, but it is not easy! Who else can intercede for the life of my friend? I am frantic that the worst will happen, and I will feel responsible.”

“I’m coming there. Can you arrange a car for me?”

“Our mutual friend’s car and driver are available, but dare I trust him?”

“Do you think he had anything to do with the trouble?”

“I should think he had more to do with getting our friend to safety.”

“Then he is probably in danger,” Buck said.

“Oh, I hope not,” Rosenzweig said. “Anyway, I will meet you at the airport myself.

Somehow we will get you where you need to go. Can I arrange a room for you somewhere?”

“You know where I’ve always stayed,” Buck said, “but I think I’d better stay somewhere else this time.”

“Very well, Cameron. There’s a nice hotel within driving distance of your usual, and I am known there.”

Rayford stretched and stood watching the Cable News Network/Global Community Network television broadcast originating in Atlanta and beamed throughout the world. It was clear Carpathia had completely effected his will and spin onto the news directors at every venue. While the stories carried the horrifying pictures of war, bloodshed, injury, and death, each also spoke glowingly of the swift and decisive action of the potentate in responding to the crisis and crushing the rebellion. Water supplies had been contaminated, power was out in many areas, millions were instantly homeless.

Rayford noticed activity outside the terminal. A dolly carrying television equipment, including a camera, were wheeled toward the Condor 216. Soon enough, CNN/
GCN

announced the impending live television broadcast from Potentate Carpathia at an unknown location. Rayford shook his head and went to a desk in the corner, where he found stationery from a Middle Eastern airline and began composing a letter to Earl Halliday’s wife.

Logic told Rayford he should not feel responsible. Apparently Halliday had been cooperating with Carpathia and his people on the Condor 216 long before Rayford was even aware of it. However, there would be no way Mrs. Halliday would know or understand anything except that it appeared Rayford had led his old friend and boss directly to his death. Rayford didn’t even know yet how Earl had been killed. Perhaps everyone on his flight to Glenview had perished. All he knew was that the deed had been done, and Earl Halliday was no more. As he sat trying to compose a letter with words that could never be right, he felt a huge, dark cloud of depression begin to settle on him. He missed his wife. He missed his daughter. He grieved over his pastor. He mourned the loss of friends and acquaintances, new and old. How had it come to this?