Tribulation Force: The Continuing Drama Of Those Left Behind (14 page)

Rayford was nonplussed. The note from Hattie Durham, saying the same thing, was still in his pocket.

Rayford shifted in his chair and watched his chief pilot’s face. “I had heard that, yes,” he hedged. “Is there anyone in America who hasn’t heard about the new plane? I wouldn’t mind seeing it, with everything they say is in it.”

“It’s top of the line, for sure,” Earl said. “Absolute latest in technology, communications, security, and accommodations.”

“You’re the second person who’s reminded me about that plane today. What’s the point?”

“The point is, the White House has contacted our brass. Seems they think it’s time their current pilot be put out to pasture. They want us to recommend a new guy. The people in Dallas narrowed a list to a half dozen senior pilots, and it came to me because your name is on it.”

“Not interested.”

“Not so fast! How can you say that? Who wouldn’t want to fly one of the most advanced planes in the world, one outfitted like that, for the most powerful man on earth? Or I guess I should say the [_second _]most powerful, now that we’ve got this Carpathia guy at the U.N.”

“Simple. I’d have to move to Washington.”

“What’s keeping you here? Is Chloe going back to school?”

“No.”

“Then she’s mobile too. Or does she have a job?”

“She’s looking for one.”

“Then let her find one in Washington. The job pays twice what you’re making now, and you’re already in the top 5 percent at Pan-Con.”

“Money doesn’t mean that much to me,” Rayford said.

“Get off it!” Earl snapped. “Who calls me first when new numbers are in the air?”

“It’s just not true of me anymore, Earl. And you know why.”

“Yeah, spare me the sermon. But, Ray, the financial freedom to get a bigger, nicer place, run in different circles—”

“It’s the circle I’m running in that’s keeping me in Chicago. My church.”

“Ray, the salary—”

“I don’t care about the money. It’s just Chloe and me now, remember?”

“Sorry.”

“If anything, we ought to be downsizing. We’ve got more house than we need, and I’ve certainly got more money than I can spend.”

“Then do it for the challenge! No regular route, a staff of first officers and navigators. You’ll fly all over the world, a different place every time. It’s an accomplishment, Ray.”

“You said there were five other names.”

“There are, and they’re all good men. But if I lobby for you, you’ve got it. The problem is, I can’t lobby for you with this Nick Edwards thing in the file.”

“You said it was only in your file.”

“It is, but with this morning’s snafu, I can’t risk hiding it. What if I get you the White House assignment and that examiner squawks? As soon as that gets out, Edwards sees it and corroborates the story. No assignment for you, and I look like an idiot for burying the complaint and championing you. End of story.”

“It’s the end of the story anyway,” Rayford said. “I can’t move.”

Earl stood. “Rayford,” he said slowly, “calm down and listen to me. Open your mind a little. Let me tell you what I’m hearing, and then just give me one chance to persuade you.”

Rayford started to protest, but Earl cut him off.

“Please! I can’t make your decision for you, and I won’t try. But you have to let me finish. Even though I don’t agree with your take on the disappearances, I’m happy for you that you’ve found some comfort in religion.”

“It’s not—”

“Ray, I know. I know. I’ve listened to you and I’ve heard you. To you it’s not religion, it’s Jesus Christ. Did I listen well, or what? I admire that you’ve given yourself to this. You’re devout. I don’t doubt you. But you don’t just thumb your nose at an assignment that a thousand pilots would die for. Frankly, I’m not entirely sure you’d have to relocate. How often do you see a president of the United States traveling on a Sunday? Surely not more than you fly Sundays now.”

“Because of seniority, I hardly ever fly Sundays.”

“You can assign someone else to fly Sundays for you. You’ll be the captain, the senior guy, in charge, the boss. You won’t have me to answer to anymore.”

“I’ll do it!” Rayford said, smiling. “I’m kidding.”

“Of course, it would make more sense for you to live in Washington, but I’ll bet if your only condition is living in Chicago, they’d do it.”

“No possible way.”

“Why?”

“Because my church is not just about Sundays. We meet frequently. I’m close to the pastor. We meet almost every day.”

“And you can’t see living without that.”

“I can’t.”

“Ray, what if this is a phase? What if you eventually lose your zeal? I’m not saying you’re a phony or that you’re going to turn your back on what you’ve found. I’m just saying the novelty might wear off, and you might be able to work somewhere else if you can get back to Chicago on the weekends.”

“Why is this so important to you, Earl?”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t.”

“Because it’s something I’ve dreamed of all my life,” Earl said. “I kept up on all the latest certifications all my years in this position, and I’ve applied for the pilot’s job with every new president.”

“I never knew that.”

“Of course you didn’t. Who would admit that and let the world know he got his guts ripped out every four or eight years, seeing other guys get the job? Your getting it would be the next best thing. I could enjoy it vicariously.”

“For that reason alone I wish I was free to take it.”

Earl sat back down. “Well, thanks for that table scrap.”

“I didn’t mean it that way, Earl. I’m serious.”

“I know you are. Truth is, I know a couple of the other yokels on the list, and I wouldn’t let them drive my car.”

“I thought you said they were good men.”

“I’m just trying to tell you that if you don’t take this, someone else will.”

“Earl, I really don’t think—”

Earl held up a hand. “Ray, do me a favor, will you? Will you not decide right now? I mean, I know you’ve pretty much already decided, but would you hold off telling me officially until you’ve slept on it?”

“I’ll pray about it,” Rayford conceded.

“I thought you might.”

“Are you forbidding me from calling that examiner?”

“Absolutely. You want to file a grievance, do it on paper, through channels, the right way.”

“You sure you want to recommend a guy you don’t believe for a job like this?”

“If you tell me you didn’t pressure the guy, I have to believe you.”

“I didn’t even broach the subject, Earl.”

“This is crazy.” Earl shook his head.

“Who did the complaint go to?”

“My secretary.”

“From?”

“From his secretary, I guess.”

“Can I see it?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Let me see it, Earl. What do you think, I’m going to turn you in?”

Earl buzzed his secretary. “Francine, bring me your notes on the complaint you got from Dallas this morning.” She brought him a single typed sheet. Earl read it and slid it across the desk to Rayford. It read:

Took a call at 11:37 A.M. from a woman who identified herself as Jean Garfield, secretary to Pan-Con Certification Examiner Jim Long of Dallas. Asked how to go about lodging a complaint of religious harassment against Rayford Steele due to his pressuring Long during his recert this A.M. Told her I would get back to her. She did not leave a number, but said she would call back later.

Rayford held up the paper. “Earl, you’re a better detective than this.”

“What do you mean?”

“This smells.”

“You don’t think it’s legit?”

“First of all, my guy had a two-syllable last name on his ID badge. And when was the last time you remember an examiner having a secretary?”

Earl made a face. “Good call.”

“Speaking of calls,” Rayford said, “I’d like to know where that call came from. How hard would that be to determine?”

“Not hard. Francine! Call security for me, please.”

“Would you mind asking her to check something else for me?” Rayford said. “Ask her to call Personnel and see if we have a Jim Long or a Jean Garfield working for Pan-Con.”

“If you do not mind,” Carpathia said, “I would now like to ask your friends to join us.”

Now, already
? Buck wondered.
Just in time for the big news, whatever it is
?

“This is your show,” Buck said, surprised at Carpathia’s pained expression. “Your meeting, I mean. Sure, invite them in.”

Buck didn’t know whether it was just his imagination, but it seemed both Steve Plank and Chaim Rosenzweig had bemused, knowing looks when they entered, trailed by Hattie. She set a chair from the conference table on the other side of Buck, and the men sat. Hattie left again. “Mr. Williams has a prerequisite,” Carpathia announced, to the low murmur from Plank and Rosenzweig. “He must be headquartered in Chicago.”

“That just helps narrow it down,” Dr. Rosenzweig said. “Does it not?”

“It does indeed,” Carpathia said. Buck glanced at Plank, who was nodding. The secretary-general turned toward Buck. “Here is my offer: You become president and publisher of the [_Chicago Tribune, _]which I shall acquire from the Wrigley family within the next two months. I will rename it [_The Midwest Tribune _]and publish it under the auspices of Global Community Enterprises. The headquarters will remain Tribune Tower in Chicago. Along with your job comes a limousine with driver, a personal valet, whatever staff you deem necessary, a home on the North Shore with domestic help, and a retreat home on Lake Geneva in southern Wisconsin. Beyond naming the publication and the publishing company, I will not intrude on your decision making. You will have complete freedom to run the paper any way you wish.” His voice took a tone of sarcasm. “With your twin towers of truth and justice undergirding every word.”

Buck wanted to laugh aloud. It didn’t surprise him that Carpathia could afford such a purchase, but there was no way a man so visible could hide behind a publishing company name and break every rule of journalistic ethics by owning a major media outlet while serving as secretary-general of the United Nations.

“You’ll never get away with it,” Buck said. He kept silent about the real issue: that Carpathia would never give anyone in his charge complete freedom unless he believed he had total control of their mind.

“That will be
my
problem,” Carpathia said.

“But with complete freedom,” Buck said, “I would be your problem too. I am devoted to the tenet that the public has a right to know. So the first investigative piece I assign, or write myself, would be about ownership of the publication.”

“I would welcome the publicity,” Carpathia said. “What would be wrong with the United Nations owning a paper dedicated to news of the global community?”

“You wouldn’t own it personally?”

“That is semantics. If it would be more appropriate for the U.N. to own it than for me, I would donate the money, or buy it and donate the company to the U.N.”

“But then the [_Tribune _]becomes a house organ, an in-house sheet promoting the interests of the U.N.”

“Which makes it legal.”

“But which also makes it impotent as an independent news voice.”

“That will be up to you.”

“Are you serious? You would allow your own publication to criticize you? To take issue with the United Nations?”

“I welcome the accountability. My motives are pure, my goals are peaceful, and my audience is global.”

Buck turned in frustration to Steve Plank, knowing full well that Steve was one who had already proven susceptible to Carpathia’s power. “Steve, you’re his media adviser! Tell him there’s no credibility in such a venture! It would not be taken seriously.”

“It wouldn’t be taken seriously at first by other news media, Buck,” Steve acknowledged. “But it won’t be long before Global Community Publishing owns those media services too.”

“So by monopolizing the publishing industry, you eliminate the competition and the public doesn’t know the difference?”

Carpathia nodded. “That is one way to phrase it. And if my motives were anything but ideal, I would have a problem with it too. But what is wrong with controlling global news when we are headed toward peace and harmony and unity?”

“Where is the power to think for oneself?” Buck asked. “Where is the forum for diverse ideas? What happens to the court of public opinion?”

“The court of public opinion,” Steve said, “is calling for more of what the secretary-general has to offer.”

Buck was defeated, and he knew it. He couldn’t expect Chaim Rosenzweig to understand the ethics of journalism, but when a veteran like Steve Plank could support a puff sheet for a benevolent dictator, what hope was there?

“I can’t imagine being involved in such a venture,” Buck said.

“I love this man!” Carpathia exulted, and Plank and Rosenzweig smiled and nodded. “Think about it. Mull it over. Somehow I will make it legal enough to be acceptable even to you, and then I will not take no for an answer. I want the paper, and I am going to get it. I want you to run it, and I am going to get you. Freedom, Buck Williams. Total freedom. The day you believe I am intruding, you may quit with full pay.”

Having thanked Earl Halliday for his confidence and promising not to declare himself just yet—though Rayford could not imagine taking the job—he stood in the terminal at an otherwise deserted bank of pay phones. Francine, Earl’s secretary, had confirmed that there was no Jean Garfield working for Pan-Con. And while there were no fewer than six James Longs, four of them were baggage handlers and the other two were midlevel bureaucrats. None worked in Dallas, none was an examiner, and none had a secretary.

“Who’s out to get you?” Earl had asked.

“I can’t imagine.”

Francine reported that the call she took that morning had been traced to New York. “It’ll take them a few hours to get an exact phone number,” she said, but Rayford knew in a flash who it was. He couldn’t be sure why she would do it, but only Hattie Durham would pull a stunt like that. Only she would have access to Pan-Con people who would know where he was and what he was doing that morning. And what was that business about
Air Force One?