Nicolae: The Rise Of The Antichrist (2 page)

“What are you doing, Buck?” Chloe said, bracing herself on the dashboard.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, babe, but I know one thing I’m not doing: I’m not poking along in a traffic jam while the world goes to hell.”

The guard who had flagged down Rayford from the overpass now lugged his and Amanda’s baggage out of the helicopter. He led the Steeles, ducking under the whirring blades, across a short tarmac and into a single-story brick building at the edge of a long airstrip. Weeds grew between the cracks in the runway. A small Learjet sat at the end of the strip close to the chopper, but Rayford noticed no one in the cockpit and no exhaust from the engine. “I hope they don’t expect me to fly that thing!” he hollered at Amanda as they hurried inside.

“Don’t worry about that,” their escort said. “The guy who flew it here will get you as far as Dallas and the big plane you’ll be flying.”

Rayford and Amanda were ushered to garishly colored plastic chairs in a small, shabbily appointed military office, decorated in early Air Force. Rayford sat, gingerly massaging his knees. Amanda paced, stopping only when their escort motioned that she should sit down. “I am free to stand, am I not?” she said.

“Suit yourself. Please wait here a few moments for the potentate.”

Buck was waved at, pointed at, and hollered at by traffic cops, and he was honked at and obscenely gestured at by other motorists. He was not deterred. “Where are you going?” Chloe insisted.

“I need a new car,” he said. “Something tells me it’s going to be our only chance to survive.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you see, Chlo’?” he said. “This war has just broken out. It’s not going to end soon. It’s going to be impossible to drive a normal vehicle anywhere.”

“So what’re you gonna do, buy a tank?”

“If it wasn’t so conspicuous, I just might.”

Buck cut across a huge grassy field, through a parking lot, and beside a sprawling suburban high school. He drove between tennis courts and across soccer and football fields, throwing mud and sod in the air as the big car fishtailed. Radio reports continued from around the world with news of casualties and mayhem while Buck Williams and his bride careened on, speeding through yield signs and sliding around curves. Buck hoped he was somehow pointed in the right direction. He wanted to wind up on Northwest Highway, where a series of car dealerships comprised a ghetto of commercialism.

A last sweeping turn led Buck out of the subdivision, and he saw what his favorite traffic reporter always said was “heavy, slow, stop-and-go” traffic all along Northwest Highway. He was in a mood and in a groove, so he just kept going. Pulling around angry drivers, he rode along a soft shoulder for more than a mile until he came upon those car dealerships. “Bingo!” he said.

Rayford was stunned, and he could tell Amanda was too, at the demeanor of Nicolae Carpathia. The dashing young man, now in his mid-thirties, had seemingly been thrust to world leadership against his own will overnight. He had gone from being nearly an unknown in the lower house of Romanian government to president of that country, then almost immediately had displaced the secretary-general of the United Nations. After nearly two years of peace and a largely successful campaign to charm the masses following the terror-filled chaos of the global vanishings, Carpathia now faced significant opposition for the first time.

Rayford had not known what to expect from his boss. Would Carpathia be hurt, offended, enraged? He seemed none of the above. Ushered by Leon Fortunato, a sycophant from the New Babylon office, into the long-unused administrative office at the former Glenview Naval Air Station, Carpathia seemed excited, high.

“Captain Steele!” Carpathia exalted. “Al-, uh, An-, uh, Mrs. Steele, how good to see you both and to know that you are well!”

“It’s Amanda,” Amanda said.

“Forgive me, Amanda,” Carpathia said, reaching for her hand with both of his.

Rayford noticed how slow she was to respond. “In all the excitement, you understand …”

The excitement, Rayford thought. Somehow World War
III
seems more than excitement.

Carpathia’s eyes were ablaze, and he rubbed his hands together, as if thrilled with what was going on. “Well, people,” he said, “we need to get headed home.”

Rayford knew Carpathia meant home to New Babylon, home to Hattie Durham, home to Suite 216, the potentate’s entire floor of luxuriously appointed offices in the extravagant and sparkling Global Community headquarters. Despite Rayford and Amanda’s sprawling, two-story condo within the same four-block complex, neither had ever remotely considered New Babylon home.

Still rubbing his hands as if he could barely contain himself, Carpathia turned to the guard with the walkie-talkie. “What is the latest?”

The uniformed GC officer had a wire plugged in his ear and appeared startled that he had been addressed directly by Carpathia himself. He yanked out the earplug and stammered, “What? I mean, pardon me, Mr. Potentate, sir.”

Carpathia leveled his eyes at the man. “What is the news? What is happening?”

“Uh, nothing much different, sir. Lots of activity and destruction in many major cities.”

It seemed to Rayford that Carpathia was having trouble manufacturing a look of pain.

“Is this activity largely centered in the Midwest and East Coast?” the potentate asked.

The guard nodded. “And some in the South,” he added.

“Virtually nothing on the West Coast then,” Carpathia said, more a statement than a question. The guard nodded. Rayford wondered if anyone other than those who believed Carpathia was Antichrist himself would have interpreted Carpathia’s look as one of satisfaction, almost glee. “How about Dallas/Ft. Worth?” Carpathia asked.

“
DFW
suffered a hit,” the guard said. “Only one major runway is still open. Nothing’s coming in, but lots of planes are heading out of there.”

Carpathia glanced at Rayford. “And the military strip nearby, where my pilot was certified on the 757?”

“I believe that’s still operational, sir,” the guard said.

“All right then, very good,” Carpathia said. He turned to Fortunato. “I am certain no one knows our whereabouts, but just in case, what do you have for me?’

The man opened a canvas bag that seemed incongruous to Rayford. Apparently he had gathered Air Force leftovers for a disguise for Carpathia. He produced a cap that didn’t match a huge, dress overcoat. Carpathia quickly donned the getup and motioned that the four others in the room should gather around him. “The jet pilot is where?” he asked.

“Waiting just outside the door, per your instructions, sir,” Fortunato said.

Carpathia pointed to the armed guard. “Thank you for your service. You may return to your post via the helicopter. Mr. Fortunato and the Steeles and I will be flown to a new plane, on which Captain Steele will transport me back to New Babylon.”

Rayford spoke up. “And that is in-?”

Carpathia raised a hand to silence him. “Let us not give our young friend here any information he would have to be responsible for,” he said, smiling at the uniformed guard. “You may go.” As the man hurried away, Carpathia spoke quietly to Rayford.

“The Condor 216 awaits us near Dallas. We will then fly west to go east, if you know what I mean.”

“I’ve never heard of a Condor 216,” Rayford said. “It’s unlikely I’m qualified to-”

“I have been assured,” Carpathia interrupted, “that you are more than qualified.”

“But what is a Condor 2-”

“A hybrid I designed and named myself,” Carpathia said. “Surely you do not think what has happened here today was a surprise to me.”

“I’m learning,” Rayford said, sneaking a glance at Amanda, who appeared to be seething.

“You are learning,” Carpathia repeated, smiling broadly. “I like that. Come, let me tell you about my spectacular new aircraft as we travel.”

Fortunato raised a forefinger. “Sir, my recommendation is that you and I run together to the end of the airstrip and board the jet. The Steeles should follow when they see us get on board.”

Carpathia held the oversized hat down onto his styled hair and slipped in behind Fortunato as the aide opened the door and nodded to the waiting jet pilot. The pilot immediately took off running toward the Learjet as Fortunato and Carpathia jogged several yards behind. Rayford slipped an arm around Amanda’s waist and drew her close.

“Rayford,” Amanda said, “have you ever once in your life heard Nicolae Carpathia misspeak?”

“Misspeak?”

“Stutter, stammer, have to repeat a word, forget a name?”

Rayford suppressed a smile, amazed he could find anything humorous on what could easily be the last day of his life on earth. “Besides your name, in other words?”

“He does that on purpose, and you know it,” she said.

Rayford shrugged. “You’re probably right. But with what motive?”

“I have no idea,” she said.

“Hon, do you see no irony in your being offended by the man we’re convinced is the Antichrist?” Amanda stared at him. “I mean,” he continued, “listen to yourself. You expect common courtesy and decency from the most evil man in the history of the universe?”

Amanda shook her head and looked away. “When you put it that way,” she muttered, “I suppose I am being oversensitive.”

Buck sat in the sales manager’s office of a Land Rover dealership. “You never cease to amaze me,” Chloe whispered.

“I’ve never been conventional, have I?”

“Hardly, and now I suppose any hope of normalcy is out the window.”

“I don’t need any excuse for being unique,” he said, “but everyone everywhere will be acting impulsively soon enough.”

The sales manager, who had busied himself with paperwork and figuring a price, turned the documents and slid them across the desk toward Buck. “You’re not trading the Lincoln, then?”

“No, that’s a rental,” Buck said. “But I am going to ask you to return that to O’Hare for me.” Buck looked up at the man without regard to the documents.

“That’s highly unusual,” the sales manager said. “I’d have to send two of my people and an extra vehicle so they could get back.”

Buck stood. “I suppose I am asking too much. Another dealer will be willing to go the extra mile to sell me a vehicle, I’m sure, especially when no one knows what tomorrow may bring.”

“Sit back down, Mr. Williams. I won’t have any trouble getting my district manager to sign off on throwing in that little errand for you. As you can see, you’re going to be able to drive your fully loaded Range Rover out of here within an hour for under six figures.”

“Make it half an hour,” Buck said, “and we’ve got a deal.”

The sales manager rose and thrust out his hand. “Deal.”

THE
Learjet was a six-seater. Carpathia and Fortunate, deep in conversation, ignored Rayford and Amanda as the couple passed. The Steeles ducked into the last two seats and held hands. Rayford knew global terror was entirely new to Amanda. It was new to him.

On this scale, it was new to everyone. She gripped his hands so tight his fingers turned white. She was shuddering.

Carpathia turned in his seat to face them. He had that fighting-a-grin look Rayford found so maddening in light of the situation. “I know you are not certified on these little speedsters,” Carpathia said, “but you might learn something in the copilot’s chair.”

Rayford was much more worried about the plane he would be expected to fly out of Dallas, something he had never seen or even heard of. He looked at Amanda, hoping she would plead with him to stay with her, but she quickly let go of his hand and nodded.

Rayford climbed toward the cockpit, which was separated from the other seats by a thin panel. He strapped himself in and looked apologetically at the pilot, who offered his hand and said, “Chico Hernandez, Captain Steele. Don’t worry, I’ve already done the preflight check, and I don’t really need any help.”

“I wouldn’t be of any help anyway,” Rayford said. “I haven’t flown anything smaller than a 707 for years.”

“Compared to what you usually fly,” Hernandez said, “this will seem like a motorbike.”

And that’s exactly what it seemed to Rayford. The Learjet screamed and whined as Hernandez carefully lined it up on the runway. They seemed to hit top ground speed in seconds and quickly lifted off, banking hard to the right and setting a course for Dallas.

“What tower do you connect with?” Rayford asked.

“The tower’s empty at Glenview,” Hernandez said.

“I noticed.”

“I’ll let a few towers know I’m coming along the way. The weather people tell us we’re clear all the way, and Global Community intelligence spots no enemy aircraft between here and touchdown.”

Enemy aircraft, Rayford thought. There’s an interesting way to refer to American militia forces. He recalled not liking the militias, not understanding them, assuming them criminals. But that had been when the American government was also their enemy. Now they were allies of lame duck United States President Gerald Fitzhugh, and their enemy was Rayford’s enemy-his boss, of all things, but his enemy nonetheless. Rayford had no idea where Hernandez came from, what his background was, whether he was sympathetic and loyal to Carpathia or had been pressed into reluctant service as Rayford himself had.

Rayford slipped on earphones and found the proper dials so he could communicate to the pilot without allowing for anyone else to hear. “This is your pretend first officer,” he said softly. “Do you read me?”

“Loud and clear, ‘Copilot’,” Hernandez said. And as if reading Rayford’s mind, Hernandez added, “This channel is secure.”

Rayford took that to mean that no one else, inside or outside the plane, could hear their conversation. That made sense. But why had Hernandez said that? Had he realized that Rayford wanted to talk? And how comfortable would Rayford be talking to a stranger? Just because they were fellow pilots didn’t mean he could bare his soul to this man. “I’m curious about Global Community One,” Rayford said.

“You haven’t heard?” Hernandez asked.

“Negative.”

Hernandez shot a glance behind him at Carpathia and Fortunato. Rayford chose not to turn, so as not to arouse any suspicion. Apparently, Hernandez had found Carpathia and Fortunato in earnest discussions again, because he told what he knew about Rayford’s former plane.