The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (181 page)

Still grieving the loss of Ken Ritz, missing his interaction with Mac McCullum, and reeling from the attempted infiltration of the bumbling Ernie, Rayford took his time getting to know T. M. Delanty. While Ernie and the irrepressible Bo were ensconced at Arthur Young Memorial Hospital in Palatine, Rayford made several trips to the Palwaukee Airport to sift through Ken’s things. As often as not, he’d see T.

They shared life stories over a couple of lunches, and Rayford knew they had taken a step toward potential friendship when he mustered the courage to ask, “What does T. M. stand for?”

T gave him a you-had-to-ask-didn’t-you? look. “If I wanted people to know that, I wouldn’t have resorted to initials.”

“Sorry. Just wondered why you go by T, that’s all.”

“I’ve got a crummy first name, what can I tell you? My mother was African-American and my father Scotch-Irish. Heavy on the Scotch, sad to say. She named me after an old schoolteacher of hers. Tyrola made a good last name, but if you were hung with that moniker, what would you go by?”

“I’d go buy a ticket out of town, T. Sorry I asked. Middle name wasn’t an option?”

“Mark.”

Rayford shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, except do I look like a Mark? Admit it, I look like a T.”

Tyrola Mark Delanty was the only member of his small church to be left behind at the Rapture. “I was suicidal,” he said. “And I can’t say I’ve had much fun, even since I finally got right with God. Lost a wife of fourteen years and six kids, my whole extended family, friends, church people, everybody.”

Rayford asked whom he met with now.

“There are about thirty believers in my neighborhood. More all the time. Neighborhood is overstating it, of course. We’re all living in our original homes, but they’re worthless. Just happened to not fall over, so there are living spaces.”

After a few meetings, Rayford and T finally got around to the subject of Ken and Palwaukee and Bo and Ernie. It turned out that T was the major owner of the airport, having bought it from the county a couple of years before the Rapture. “Never made much money at it. Low margin, but it was turning. Ken and several other regulars flew out of here. Ken lived here, as you know, until the earthquake when he moved in with you guys.”

Bo was the only son of a wealthy investor who owned 5 percent of the business but who had died in a car wreck when the Rapture took drivers from cars in front and in back of his. “In the ensuing chaos, Bo shows up as the sole heir, trying to act like a board member and a boss. I humored him until he brought Ernie on. I fought it at first. He was a nineteen-year-old who had dropped out of school when he was fourteen but reputed to be a natural mechanic. Well, it turned out he was, and he helped a lot around here. I only put it together the day of the locust attack that Ernie and Bo had a scheme going.”

“Why would they have wanted Ernie to infiltrate our group?”

“Rumor was that Ken had a lot of money. Ernie was trying, I think, to get in good with him. He and Bo would have run some scam on him and tried to cash in. When Ken was killed, they went into high gear. You saw the sad result of that comical effort.”

Rayford studied T, trying to decide whether to ask what he thought of the rumors about Ken’s wealth. He decided not to pursue it yet, but T made the question moot. “The rumors were true, you know.”

“As a matter of fact, I do know,” Rayford said. “How did
you
know?”

“Ken really wanted to buy the airport, and I really wanted to sell it. That was my hope all along, but now I had a different motive. Rebuilding it after the earthquake really strapped me, and I needed to cash out. I wanted to pour a little money into our tiny congregation and see if we couldn’t accomplish something for God in the few years we have left. I asked Ken if he could afford market value for the airport, and he assured me he could.”

“Did he happen to say where he banked?”

T smiled. “We’re still feeling each other out, aren’t we? Still playing cat and mouse.”

“I was just wondering,” Rayford said.

“Yes, I think we’re both up to speed.”

“What do you think should be done with Ken’s assets, T?”

“Used for God. Every last dime. That’s what he would have wanted.”

“I agree. Does that money belong to anyone else? Legally, I mean?”

“Nope.”

“And you have access to it?”

“You want to dig with me, Rayford?”

“I don’t know. What’re you paying?”

“Unless Ken told you you could have it, I believe rightfully it’s mine. It was left on my property. I’m not sure where, and I’m not sure how much. But I’d sure like to get at it before Bo and Ernie recuperate.”

Rayford nodded. “Your little church can make use of all that?”

“Like I said, we want to see if we can do something significant. We wouldn’t build a church or fix up our homes.”

“Any inkling how much you’re talking about?” Rayford said.

“Maybe over a million.”

“Would it surprise you to know it’s probably five times that?”

“Are we negotiating, Rayford? You want some of this, think you’re entitled to it, what?”

Rayford shook his head. “I’d like to be able to buy his planes. I have no claim on his money or anything else.”

“I’ll tell you what,” T said. “If there’s half as much money as you think there is, I’ll give you his planes.”

“How much for the Gulfstream?”

“If there’s as much as you say there is, you can have that one too.”

“And can I fly out of here?”

“You can house ’em, keep ’em up, and live here with ’em if you want.”

“And may a Jordanian fly my son-in-law in here within twenty-four hours, no questions asked?”

“You got it, brother.”

Rayford broached the subject of a world commodity co-op among believers, coordinated out of the Tribulation Force safe house. “Any interest in getting behind that, delivering, running charters, that type of thing?”

“Now
that
I could get excited about,” T said. “My little band of believers too, I’ll bet.”

Buck met Abdullah Smith in an outdoor café run by a young woman on the tail end of her recuperative season. Abdullah was as secretive and quiet as just about anyone Buck had ever met. But he had a clear mark on his forehead and was healthy. He embraced Buck with vigor despite being a laconic conversationalist.

“The name McCullum is all I need to hear, sir. We are brothers, the three of us. I fly. You pay. Nothing more need be said.”

And it wasn’t. At least by Abdullah. Buck told him he was making one last social call and would meet him at the airport in Amman at six that evening. “I would appreciate a stop in northern Greece, and then straight to the Chicago area.”

Abdullah nodded.

The streets of Jerusalem were largely deserted. Buck had never grown used to the sobbing and howling he heard on every corner. It seemed many suffered in every household. He heard that thousands in Jerusalem had slit their wrists, tried to hang themselves, drunk poison, stuck their heads in gas ovens, put plastic bags over their heads, sat in garages with cars running, even jumped in front of trains and leaped off buildings. They were severely injured, of course, and some were left looking like slabs of butchered meat. But no one died. They just lived in torment.

Buck found Rosenzweig’s home a little quieter, but even Chaim begged to be put out of his misery. Jacov reported that Chaim had taken no nourishment—none—for more than a week. He was trying to starve himself to death or develop a fatal case of dehydration. He looked terrible, emaciated and wan.

Jonas and Jacov’s mother-in-law were more stoic. Though clearly suffering, they did what they could to help themselves. They slept, they ate, they got up and around. They tried medication, though it seemed to make no difference. The point was in trying. They looked forward to the day they would be free from the effects of the sting. Jonas, in particular, was childlike in his excitement over reading the Bible with Jacov and having Tsion Ben-Judah’s daily cyberspace message read to him.

Chaim merely wanted to die. Buck sat on his bed until the old man cried out in agony. “Everything hurts, Cameron. If you cared a whit about me, you would free me from this misery. Have compassion. Do the right thing. God will forgive you.”

“You’re asking the impossible, and I wouldn’t do it anyway. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t give you every opportunity to believe.”

“Let me die!”

“Chaim, I do not understand you. I really don’t. You know the truth. Your suffering will be over in several weeks and—”

“I will
never
survive that long!”

“And you’ll have something to live for.”

Chaim was silent and still for a long time, as if peace had come over him. But it had not. “To tell you the truth, my young friend, I don’t understand either. I confess I want to come to Christ. But a battle rages within me, and I simply cannot.”

“You can!”

“I cannot!”

“Not being able to is not the problem, is it, Doctor?”

Chaim shook his head miserably. “I will not.”

“And you deny my charge that your pride keeps you from God.”

“I admit it now! It
is
pride! But it’s there and it’s real. A man cannot become what he is not.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Chaim! Paul, who had been an orthodox Jew, wrote, ‘If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.’”

Chaim thrashed painfully for several minutes, but he said nothing. To Buck, that was progress. “Chaim?” he said softly.

“Leave me alone, Cameron!”

“I’ll be praying for you.”

“You’ll be wasting time.”

“Never. I love you, Chaim. We all do. God most of all.”

“If God loved me, he would let me die.”

“Not until you belong to him.”

“That will never happen.”

“Famous last words. Good-bye, friend. I’ll look forward to seeing you again.”

Rayford loved his daughter with all that was in him. He always had. It wasn’t just because she was the only family he had left. He had loved Raymie too and still missed him terribly. Losing two wives in fewer than three years was a blow he knew would be with him until Jesus came again.

But his relationship with Chloe had always been special. They’d had their moments, of course, when she was going through the process of breaking away from the family and becoming an independent young woman. Yet she was so much like him.

That had made it difficult for her to believe that God was behind the disappearances in the first place. Flattered that she took after him and yet afraid her practicality might forever keep her from Christ, Rayford had agonized over her. The greatest day of his life—excluding when he himself became a believer—was when Chloe made her decision.

He was thrilled when she and Buck married, despite the ten-year age difference. He didn’t know what he thought when he heard they were expecting and that he would be a grandfather with fewer than five years left on earth.

But seeing Chloe in the full bloom of her pregnancy, he was transported. He remembered Irene, despite difficult pregnancies, looking radiant the further she progressed and, yes, the bigger she got. He had read all the books, knew the pitfalls. Rayford understood that Irene would not believe him when he said she was most beautiful when she was very pregnant.

She had said the same things Chloe was saying now—that she felt like a cow, a barn, a barge. She hated the swollen joints, the sore back, the shortness of breath, the lack of mobility. “In a way I’m glad Buck is stuck in Israel,” she said. “I mean, I want him back and I want him back now, but he’s going to think I’ve doubled in size.”

Rayford took the occasion to sit with Chloe. “Sweetheart,” he said, “indulge me. It may be politically incorrect to say that you are doing what you were meant to do. I know you’re more than a baby-making machine and that you have incredible things to offer this world. You made an impact even before the Rapture, but since, you’ve been a soldier. You’re going to make the world commodity co-op a lifesaver for millions of saints. But you need to do me a favor and stop bemoaning what this pregnancy is doing to your body.”

“I know, Daddy,” she said. “But it’s just that I’m so—”

“Beautiful,” he said. “Absolutely beautiful.”

He said it with such feeling that it seemed to shut her up. She looked different, of course. Nothing was the same. With only a few weeks until her due date, she was full faced and ponderous. But he could still detect his little girl there, his Chloe when she had been a toddler, full of life and curiosity.

“I’m frustrated for Buck that he can’t see you like this. Now don’t look at me like that. I mean it. He will find you so lovely, and believe it or not, he will find you attractive too. You’re not the first mom-to-be who equates pregnancy with being overweight. Husbands don’t think that way. He’ll see you the way I saw your mother when she was carrying you. He’ll be overcome with the knowledge that you’re carrying his and your child.”

Chloe seemed to appreciate the pep talk. “I’m really stressed about him coming home,” she said. “I know he’s leaving Israel at six their time, but who knows how long he’ll be in Greece?”

“Not long. He wants to get home.”

“And it being a charter, they’ll keep moving I think. I wish I could meet him at the airport.”

“Doc says you shouldn’t—”

“Ride in the car, especially on these roads, I know. I don’t really want to endure that. But Buck and I have been apart so long. And as much as we worry about bringing a baby into the world at this time in history, we’ve both grown so attached to this child already that we can’t wait to meet him . . . or her.”

“I can’t wait to be a grandfather,” Rayford said. “I’ve been praying for this child since I knew it existed. I just worry that life is going to be so hard for all of us that I won’t get the opportunity to be the kind of grandpa I want to be.”

“You’ll be great. I’m glad you’re not still flying for Carpathia. I wouldn’t want to worry about you all the time.”

Rayford stood and looked out the window. The morning sun was harsh. “I’m getting back into the war,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, I can blame it on you. You’ve taken Ken’s idea so far that it’s going to give me a full-time job. I’m going to be flying almost as much as when I was with Pan-Con.”

“For the co-op?”

He nodded. “I’ve told you about T.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’re going to run the airlift operation out of Palwaukee. I’ll be flying all over the world. If those fishermen in the Bering Strait are as successful as you seem to think they’ll be, I’ll have enough business up there to last till the Glorious Appearing.”

Floyd Charles knocked on the doorjamb. “Time for a little checkup. You want Dad to wait outside?”

“What’re we doing?” Chloe said.

“Just checking heartbeats, yours and Junior’s.”

“He can stay. Can he listen?”

“Sure.”

Floyd took Chloe’s pulse first, then listened to her heart with his stethoscope. He spread lubricating jelly on her protruding belly and used a battery-powered monitor to amplify the liquid sounds of the fetal heartbeat. Rayford fought tears, and Chloe beamed. “Sounds like a big boy to me,” Doc Charles said.

As he finished up, Chloe asked, “Everything still fine?”

“No major problems,” he said.

Rayford glanced at Floyd. He was not as light as usual. He had not even smiled when he joked about her having a boy. She didn’t want to know the sex of the baby, and he had never tested to find out.

“How about other than major problems, Floyd?” she said, her voice flat. “You usually say everything’s great.”

She had spoken exactly what was on Rayford’s mind, and his heart sank when Floyd pulled up a chair.

“You noticed that, did you?” he said.

“Oh, no,” she said.

Floyd put a hand on her shoulder. “Chloe, listen to me.”

“Oh, no!”

“Chloe, what did I say? I said no major problems, and I meant it. Do you think I would say that if it wasn’t true?”

“So what’s the minor problem?”

“Some reduction in the baby’s pulse.”

“You’re kidding,” Rayford said. “If I’d had to guess, I would have said it sounded too fast.”

“All fetal pulses are faster than ours,” Floyd said. “And the reduction is so slight that I hardly gave it a second thought last week.”

“This has been going on for a week?” Chloe said.

Floyd nodded. “We’re talking about a fraction of a percentage decrease in six days. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“But if it means anything,” Chloe said, “what would it mean?”

“We don’t want to see an actual slowdown of the fetal pulse. Like 5 percent, especially 10 percent or more.”

“Because . . . ?”

“Because that could mean some threat to viability.”

“English, Doctor,” Chloe said.

“As the baby gets into position for birth, the umbilical cord could tighten around the chest or the neck.”

“Do you think that’s happening?”

“No. I’m just watching heart rate, Chloe. That’s all.”

“Is it a possibility?”

“Anything is a possibility. That’s why I’m not listing everything that can go wrong.”

“If this is so minor, why are you telling me?”

“For one thing, you asked. I just want to prepare you for a form of treatment should the symptoms persist.”

“But you said the reduction in rate right now is not worth worrying about.”

“OK, if the symptoms get worse.”

“What would you do?”

“At least get you on oxygen for the better part of each day.”

“I need to stand up a minute,” Chloe said.

She started to move, and Rayford reached to help. Floyd didn’t. “Actually,” he said, “I’d prefer that you take it very easy until I can get out and get you some oxygen tomorrow.”

“I can’t even stand up?”

“For necessities. If it’s just to shift position, try not to.”

“All right,” she said, “my dad and I are bottom-line people. Give me the worst-case scenario.”

“I’ve dealt with enough pregnant women, especially at this stage of gestation, to know it’s not best to dwell on all the negative possibilities.”

“I’m not pregnant women, Doc. I’m Chloe, and you know me, and you know I’m going to bug you to death until you tell me the worst case.”

“All right,” he said. “I see the oxygen solving the problem. If it doesn’t, I’ll have you on monitors around the clock to warn of a significant change in fetal pulse. Worst case, we might want to induce labor. It might mean a cesarean section because of the likelihood of an umbilical cord problem.”

Chloe fell silent and looked at Rayford. He said, “You don’t like to induce, right?”

“Of course not. I used to say nature knows best. That baby comes when he is ready. Now I know that God knows best. But he has also given us brains and miracle medicines and technologies that allow us to do what we need to do when things don’t go the way we wish.”

Chloe looked uncomfortable. “I need to know one thing, Floyd. Did I contribute to this? Was there something I shouldn’t have done, or something I should have done differently?”

Floyd shook his head. “I wasn’t wild about your going to Israel. And if I never hear again about you running from helicopter to jet, it’ll be too soon. But overexertion at that stage of pregnancy would have shown up in different problems.”

“Such as?”

“Such as nothing that turned up, so I’m not going to talk about it. How’s that? You’ve already been through all the predictable stuff—convinced you’re going to have a monster, convinced the baby has already died, certain your baby doesn’t have all its parts. You don’t need to worry about stuff you might have caused but didn’t. Now when do you expect Papa?”

“Sometime tonight,” she said. “That’s all I know.”

Abdullah Smith seemed pleased that Buck showed up when he said he would. “I heard you were a man of your word,” Buck said, “and wanted to show that I am too.”

Abdullah, as usual, did not respond. He grabbed one of Buck’s bags and led him briskly toward his plane. Buck tried to guess which one it would be. He passed the prop jobs, knowing they would never get him across the Atlantic. But Abdullah also passed a Learjet and a brand-new Hajiman, a smaller version of the
Concorde
and just as fast.

Buck stopped and stared when Abdullah pulled back the Plexiglas cockpit shield of what he recognized as an Egyptian fighter jet. It would fly nearly two thousand miles an hour at very high altitudes but had to have a shorter than usual fuel range.

“This is your plane?” Buck said.

“Please to board,” Abdullah said. “Fuel tank enlarged. Small cargo hold added. Stop in Greece, stop in London, stop in Greenland, stop in Wheeling.”

Buck was impressed that he knew where he was going. It was clear his hope of stretching out, getting some reading done, even dozing, was not in the cards.

“Passenger must board first,” Abdullah said.

Buck climbed in and tried to show that he knew his way around this type of craft, after having done a series of articles on ride-alongs with American fighter pilots. That was before the reign of Nicolae Carpathia and the wholesale marketing of such surplus craft to private citizens.

Buck was about to strap on his helmet and oxygen mask when Abdullah sighed and said, “Belt.”

Buck was sitting on it. So much for showing off. He had to stand, as much as one could in that confined space, while Abdullah reached beneath him to retrieve the belt. Once strapped in, he tried to put the helmet on. Again the pilot had to assist—untangling his straps, twisting the helmet just so, and smacking it on top until it settled into correct, and extremely tight, position. It pressed against Buck’s temples and cheekbones. He started to put the mouthpiece in until Abdullah reminded him, “Not until high altitude.”

“Right. I knew that.”

Abdullah fit just ahead of him, giving Buck the feeling they were on a luge, Abdullah’s head just inches from Buck’s nose.

Taking a jet fighter from a staging area, out onto the tarmac, into line, and then out onto the runway would have taken up to half an hour in the States. Buck learned that in Amman, the airport was like the street market. No lines or queues. It was first come, first served, and you were on your own. Abdullah sang something into the radio about jet, charter, passenger, cargo, and Greece, all while moving the fighter directly onto the runway. He didn’t wait for instructions from ground control.

The Amman airport had only recently reopened after rebuilding, and while air traffic was down because of the plague of locusts, several flights were lined up. Two wide-bodies sat at the front of the line, followed by a standard jet, a Learjet, and another big plane. Abdullah turned to get Buck’s attention and pointed to the fuel gauge, which showed full.

Buck gave a thumbs-up sign, which he intended to imply that he felt good about having lots of fuel. Abdullah, apparently, took it to mean that Buck wanted to get into the air—and now. He taxied quickly around other planes, reached the line of craft cleared and in line for takeoff, and passed them one by one. Buck was speechless. He imagined if the other pilots had horns, they’d have been honking, like drivers in traffic do to those who ride the shoulder.