The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (131 page)

“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.’”

“You didn’t!” Buck roared.

“They asked me where was I from, and I asked them to guess. One said Lithuania, and so I pointed at him and smiled and said, ‘Yes! Yes, I am Joe the Baker from Lithuania!’”

“You’re crazy!”

“Yes,” he said. “But am I not a good soldier?”

“You are.”

“They asked me if I had papers. I told them I had them at the bakery. I had just come out for a stroll to see the damage. My bakery survived, you know.”

“I had heard that,” Buck said.

“I told them to come by sometime for free donuts. They said they just might do that and asked where Joe’s Bakery was located. I told them to head west to the only establishment on Route 50 still standing. I said God must like donuts, and they laughed. When I left, I waved at them, but soon enough they began to follow. I knew you would know where to look for me if I was not where I was supposed to be. But I worried that if you stayed in the hotels much longer, they would overtake me. God was watching over us, as usual.”

“You are acquainted with Dr. Rosenzweig, I’m sure,” Fortunato said.

“I am indeed, Commander,” Rayford said, shaking Chaim’s hand.

Rosenzweig was his usual enthusiastic self, an elflike septuagenarian with broad features, a deeply lined face, and wisps of curly white hair independent of his control.

“Captain Steele!” he said, “It is such an honor to see you again. I came to ask after your son-in-law, Cameron.”

“I spoke with him this morning, and he’s fine.” Rayford looked directly into Rosenzweig’s eyes, hoping to communicate the importance of confidentiality. “
Everyone
is fine, Doctor,” he said.

“And Dr. Ben-Judah?” Rosenzweig said.

Rayford felt Fortunato’s eyes all over him. “Doctor Ben-Judah?” he said.

“Surely you know him. An old protégé of mine. Cameron helped him escape zealots in Israel, with the help of Poten—, I mean Excellency Carpathia.”

Leon appeared pleased that Rosenzweig had used the proper title. He said, “You know how much His Excellency thinks of you, Doctor. We promised to do all we could.”

“And so where did Cameron take him?” Rosenzweig asked. “And why has he not reported to the Global Community?”

Rayford fought for composure. “If what you say is true, Dr. Rosenzweig, it was done independent of my involvement. I followed the news of the rabbi’s misfortune and escape, but I was here.”

“Surely your own son-in-law would tell you—”

“As I say, Doctor, I have no firsthand knowledge of the operation. I was unaware the Global Community was involved.”

“So he didn’t bring Tsion back to the States?”

“I am unaware of the rabbi’s whereabouts. My son-in-law is in the States, but whether he is with Dr. Ben-Judah, I could not say.”

Rosenzweig slumped and crossed his arms. “Oh, this is awful! I had so hoped to learn that he is safe. The Global Community could offer tremendous assistance in protecting him. Cameron was not sure of Excellency Carpathia’s concern for Tsion, but surely he proved himself by helping to find Tsion and get him out of the country!”

What had Fortunato and Carpathia fed Dr. Rosenzweig?

Fortunato spoke up. “As I told you, Doctor, we provided manpower and equipment that escorted Mr. Williams and Rabbi Ben-Judah as far as the Israeli-Egyptian border. Past that, they fled, apparently by plane, out of Al Arish on the Mediterranean. Naturally we hoped to be brought up to speed, if for no other reason than that we expected some modicum of gratitude. If Mr. Williams feels Dr. Ben-Judah is safe, wherever he has hidden him, that’s fine with us. We simply want to be of assistance until you feel it is no longer necessary.”

Rosenzweig leaned forward and gestured broadly. “That is the point! I hate to leave it in Cameron’s hands. He is a busy man, important to the Global Community. I know that when His Excellency pledges support, he follows through. And with the personal story you just told me, Commander Fortunato, well, there is clearly much, much more to my young friend Nicolae—pardon the familiar reference—than meets the eye!”

It was after midnight in the Midwest. Buck had brought Tsion up to speed on Chloe. Now he was on the phone to the Arthur Young Memorial Hospital in Palatine. “I understand that,” Buck said. “Tell him it’s his old friend, Buck.”

“Sir, the patient is stable but sleeping. I will not be telling him anything tonight.”

“It’s urgent that I talk to him.”

“You’ve said that, sir. Please try again tomorrow.”

“Just listen—”

Click.

Buck hardly noticed road construction ahead. He skidded to a stop. A traffic director approached. “Sorry, sir, but I’m gonna hold you here for a minute. We’re filling in a fissure.”

Buck put the Rover in park and rested his head against the back of the seat. “So, what do you think, Joe the Baker? Should we let Ritz test his wings to Minneapolis before we let him take us back to Israel?”

Tsion smiled at the mention of Joe the Baker, but he suddenly sobered.

“What is it?” Buck said.

“Just a minute,” Tsion said.

Up ahead a bulldozer turned, its lights shining through the Range Rover. “I did not notice you had injured your forehead, too,” Tsion said.

Buck sat up quickly and looked in the rearview mirror. “I don’t see anything. You’re the second person tonight who said he saw something on my forehead.” He spread his hair. “Now where? What?”

“Look at me,” Tsion said. He pointed to Buck’s forehead.

Buck said, “Well, look at yourself! There’s something on yours, too.”

Tsion pulled down the visor mirror. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Now you are teasing me.”

“All right,” Buck said, frustrated. “Let me look again. OK, yours is still there. Is mine still there?”

Tsion nodded.

“Yours looks like some kind of a 3-D thing. What does mine look like?”

“The same. Like a shadow or a bruise, or a, what do you call it? A relief?”

“Yes,” Buck said. “Hey! This is like one of those puzzles that looks like a bunch of sticks until you sort of reverse it in your mind and see the background as the foreground and vice versa. That’s a cross on your forehead.”