Soul Harvest: The World Takes Sides (17 page)

“I am,” Buck said, flashing his ID.

“—make sure you stay out of the way.”

Buck traipsed through the first hotel, pausing at any bed that had a patient with no name card. He ignored several huge bodies and didn’t waste time on people with gray or white hair. If anyone looked small or thin or feminine enough to be Chloe, he took a good look.

He was on his way to the second hotel when a tall black man backed out of a room, locking the door. Buck nodded and kept moving, but the man apparently noticed his fax. “Looking for someone?”

“My wife.” Buck held Up the page.

“Haven’t seen her, but you might want to check in here.”

“More patients?”

“This is our morgue, sir. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I’ve got the key.”

Buck pursed his lips. “Guess I’d better.”

Buck stepped behind the man as he unlocked the door. When he pushed, however, the door stuck a bit and Buck bumped into him. Buck apologized, and the man turned and said, “No prob—”

He stopped and stared at Buck’s face. “Are you all right, sir? I’m a doctor.”

“Oh, the cheek’s all right. I just fell. It looks OK, doesn’t it?”

The doctor cocked his head to look more closely. “Oh, that looks superficial. I thought I noticed a bruise on your forehead, just under the hairline.”

“Nope. Didn’t get banged there, far as I know.”

“Bumps there can cause subcutaneous bleeding. It’s not dangerous, but you could look like a raccoon in a day or two. Mind if I take a peek?”

Buck shrugged. “I’m in kind of a hurry. But go ahead.”

The doctor grabbed a fresh pair of rubber gloves from a box in his pocket and pulled them on.

“Oh, please don’t make a big production of it,” Buck said. “I don’t have any diseases or anything.”

“That may be,” the doctor said, pushing Buck’s hair out of the way. “I can’t claim the same for all the bodies I deal with.” They were in a huge room, nearly every foot of the floor covered with sheeted corpses.

“You do have a mark there,” the doctor said. He pushed on it and around it. “No pain?”

“No.”

“You know,” Buck said, “you’ve got something on your forehead too. Looks like a smudge.”

The doctor swiped his forehead with his sleeve. “May have picked up some newsprint.”

The doctor showed Buck how to pull back the shroud at the head of each body. He would have a clear view of the face and could simply let the material drop again. “Ignore this row. It’s all men.”

Buck jumped when the first body proved that of an elderly woman with bared teeth, eyes open and scared.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor said. “I have not manipulated the bodies. Some appear asleep. Others look like that. Sorry to startle you.”

Buck grew more cautious and breathed a prayer of desperation before each unveiling. He was horrified at the parade of death but grateful each time he did not find Chloe. When he finished, Buck thanked the doctor and headed for the door. The doctor looked at him curiously and apologetically reached for Buck’s “smudge” once more, rubbing it lightly with his thumb, as if he could wash it away. He shrugged. “Sorry.”

Buck opened the door. “Yours is still there too, Doc.”

In the first room of the other hotel, Buck saw two middle-aged women who looked as if they’d been through a war. On his way out he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. He held his hair away from his forehead. He saw nothing.

Buck waited so long for an elevator that he almost gave up and took the stairs.

But when a car finally had room for him, he stood there with the picture of Chloe dangling from his fingers. A heavyset, older doctor stepped on at the third floor and stared. Buck raised the picture to eye level. “May I?” the doctor asked, reaching for it. “She belong to you?”

“My wife.”

“I saw her.”

Buck felt a lump in his throat. “Where is she?”

“Don’t you mean how is she?”

“Is she all right?”

“When last I saw her, she was alive. Step off on four so we can talk.”

Buck tried to withhold his excitement. She was alive, that was all that mattered. He followed the doctor off the elevator, and the big man motioned him to a corner. “I advised she needed surgery, but we’re not operating here. If they followed my advice, they scheduled her for Milwaukee or Madison or Minneapolis.”

“What was wrong with her?”

“At first I thought she had been run over. Her right side was pretty banged up from her ankle to her head. She had what appeared to be chunks of asphalt embedded into that side of her body, and she had broken bones and possibly a fractured skull, totally on that side. But for her to be run over on asphalt, she would have had to have damage on her other side. And there was nothing there but a slight abrasion on her hip.”

“Is she going to live?”

“I don’t know. We couldn’t do X rays or MRIs here. I have no idea about the extent of damage to bones or to internal organs. I did, however, finally come to some hypothesis of what might have happened to her. I believe she was struck by a section of roofing. It probably knocked her to the ground, causing that abrasion. She was brought here by Ambu-Van. I understand she was unconscious, and they had no idea how long she’d been lying there.”

“Did she regain consciousness?”

“Yes, but she was unable to communicate.”

“She couldn’t speak?”

“No. And she did not squeeze my hand or blink or nod or shake her head.”

“You’re sure she’s not here?”

“I’d be disappointed if she was still here, sir. We’re sending all the acute cases to one of the three M’s, as I told you.”

“Who would know where she was sent?”

The doctor pointed down the hall. “Ask that man right there for the disposition of Mother Doe.”

“Thanks so much,” Buck said. He hurried down the hall, then stopped and turned around. “Mother Doe?”

“We have been through the alphabet several times with all the unidentified Does.

By the time your wife arrived, we were into descriptive terms.”

“But she’s not.”

“Not what?”

“A mother.”

“Well, if she and the baby survive this, she will be, in about seven months.”

The doctor strode away; Buck nearly fainted.

Rayford and Mac sat at breakfast that morning planning the lengthy tour in the Condor 216 that would commence Friday. “So, what did His Excellency want last night?”

“His Excellency?”

“Haven’t you been informed that that’s what we’re to call him from now on?”

“Oh brother!”

“I got that straight from Leon, or should I say ‘Supreme Commander Leonardo Fortunato.’”

“That’s his new moniker?” Rayford nodded. Mac shook his head. “These guys get more like Keystone Kops all the time. All Carpathia wanted to know was how long I thought you’d be staying with him. I told him I thought that was up to him and he said no, that he sensed you were getting restless. I told him he ought to let up on you over that little incident near the airport, and he said he already had. He said he could have really come down hard on you for that, and he hoped you’d stay with him longer since he hadn’t.”

“Who knows?” Rayford said. “Anything else?”

“He wanted to know if I knew your son-in-law. I told him I knew who he was but that I had never met him.”

“Why do you think he asked that?”

“I don’t know. He was trying to get in good with me for some reason. Maybe he’s gonna be checking up on you. He told me he thought it strange that he’d gotten an intelligence report that Mr. Williams, as he likes to call him, had survived but not checked in. He told me Mr. Williams was publisher of Global Community Weekly, as if I wouldn’t know that.”

“Buck called this morning. I’m sure they have that logged, probably even recorded. If they wanted to talk to him so bad, why didn’t they break in and do it then?”

“Maybe they’re trying to let him hang himself. How long do you think Carpathia will trust a believer in a position like that?”

“That honeymoon is already over. You have to do what you have to do, Mac, but if I were you, I wouldn’t be quick to declare myself as a new believer. Obviously, nobody but fellow believers can see these marks.”

“Yeah, but what about that verse about confessing with your mouth?”

“I have no idea. Do the rules still stand at a time like this? Are you supposed to confess your faith to the Antichrist? I just don’t know.”

“Well, I already confessed it to you. I don’t know whether that counts, but meanwhile, you’re right. I’ll be more help to you this way. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, and it can only help us.”

With a lump in his throat, Buck prayed silently as he approached the doctor at the other end of the hall. “Lord, keep her alive. I don’t care where she is, as long as you take care of her and our baby.”

A moment later he was saying, “Minneapolis! That’s got to be over three hundred miles from here.”

“I drove it last week in six hours,” the doctor said. “But I understand the foothills that make that western edge of Wisconsin so beautiful around Tomah were turned into mini mountains in the quake.”

RAYFORD
and Mac were on their way to board the Condor 216 and confirm she was flightworthy. Rayford threw an arm around Mac’s shoulder and drew him close.

“There’s also something I need to show you on board,” he whispered. “Installed just for me by an old friend no longer with us.”

Rayford heard footsteps behind him. It was a uniformed young woman with a message. It read, “Captain Steele: Please meet briefly with Dr. Chaim Rosenzweig of Israel and me in my office immediately. I shall not keep you long. Signed, Supreme Commander Leonardo Fortunato.”

“Thank you, officer,” Rayford said. “Tell them I’m on my way.” He turned back to Mac and shrugged.

“Any chance I can drive to Minnesota?” Buck said. “Sure, but it’ll take you forever,” the doctor said.

“What would be the chance of my catching a ride with one of the Medivac planes?”

“Out of the question.”

Buck showed him his ID. “I work for the Global Community.”

“Doesn’t just about everybody?”

“How do I find out if she made it up there?”

“We’d know if she didn’t. She’s there.”

“And if she took a turn for the worse, or if she, you know. ...”

“We’re informed of that, too, sir. It’ll be on the computer so everyone is up-to-date.”

Buck ran down four flights of stairs and emerged at the far end of the second hotel. He looked across the parking lot and saw Ben-Judah where he had left him.

Two uniformed GC officers were talking with him. Buck held his breath. Somehow, the conversation did not look like a confrontation. It appeared friendly banter.

Tsion turned and began walking away, turning again after a few steps to proffer a shy wave. They both waved, and he kept walking. Buck wondered where he was going. Would he go straight to the Range Rover or to the prearranged meeting spot?

Buck stayed in the shadows as Ben-Judah steadily made his way past the front of the hotels and into a rocky area gouged by the earthquake. When he was nearly out of sight, the GC men began following. Buck sighed. He prayed Tsion would have the wisdom to not lead them to the Range Rover. Just go to the spot, friend, he thought, and stay a couple of hundred yards ahead of these yokels.

Buck did a couple of jumping jacks to loosen up and get the blood pumping. He jogged around the back of the second hotel, continued around the back of the first hotel, and emerged into the parking lot. He made a wide arc fifty yards to the left of the GC pair and maintained a leisurely pace as he jogged into the night. If the GC men noticed him, they didn’t let on. They concentrated on the smaller, older man. Buck hoped that if Tsion noticed him, he wouldn’t call out or follow.

It had been a long time since Buck had jogged more than a mile, especially scared to death. He huffed and puffed as he reached the area where he had left the Range Rover. A new section of cars had parked beyond his, so he had to search to find it.

Tsion plodded along, making his own trail over a difficult course. The GC men were still 100 to 150 yards behind him. Buck guessed Tsion knew he was being followed. He was not heading for the Rover but toward their spot. When Buck started the engine and turned on the headlights, Tsion touched a hand to his nose and increased his tempo. Buck raced over the open spaces, bouncing and banging but on pace to intersect with Tsion. The rabbi began trotting, and the GC men now sprinted. Buck was doing about thirty miles an hour, much too fast for the uneven ground. As he flopped in the seat, corralled only by his seat belt, he leaned over and lifted the handle on the passenger door. When he slid to a stop in front of Tsion, the door flew open, Tsion grabbed the inside handle, and Buck floored the accelerator. The door swung back and smacked Tsion in the rear, sending him across the seat and nearly into Buck’s lap. Tsion laughed hysterically, Buck looked at him, bemused, and jerked the wheel left. He put such distance between himself and the GC men that they would not have been able to see even the color of the vehicle, let alone the license number.

“What is so funny?” he asked Tsion, who cackled through his tears.

“I am Joe Baker,” Tsion said in a ridiculously labored American accent. “I run a bakery shop and bake the rolls for you, because I am Joe Baker!” He laughed and laughed, covering his face and letting the tears come.

“Have you lost your mind?” Buck asked. “What is this about?”

“Those officers!” Tsion said, pointing over his shoulder. “Those brilliant, highly trained bloodhounds!” He laughed so hard he could hardly breathe.

Buck had to laugh himself. He had wondered if he would ever smile again.

Tsion kept one hand over his eyes and raised the other as if to inform Buck that if he could just calm himself he would be able to tell the story. Finally, he managed. “They greeted me in a friendly way. I was wary. I camouflaged my Hebrew accent and did not say much, hoping they would get bored and walk away. But they continued to study me in the dim light. Finally they asked who I was.” He began to giggle again and had to collect himself. “That is when I told them. I said, ‘My name is Joe Baker, and I am a baker. I have a bakery.’”