The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (220 page)

Buck ran toward the hostel. He dialed Chaim’s number again, as he had all along the way. It went to voice mail, but he didn’t want to leave a message. The people in Chaim’s house—Stefan the valet, Jacov’s wife, Hannelore, and Hannelore’s mother—had to have been watching on TV and were likely calling anyone they knew for news of their loved ones.

Finally, Hannelore answered. “Jacov!” she shouted.

“No, Hannelore, this is Greg North.”

“Buck!” she wailed. “What happened? Where—”

“Hannelore!” Buck said. “Your phone is not secure!”

“I don’t care anymore, Buck! If we die, we die! Where is Jacov? What happened to Chaim?”

“I need to meet you somewhere, Hannelore. If Chaim shows up there—”

“Chaim is all right?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see him after—”

“Did you see Jacov?”

“Meet me, Hannelore. Call me from another phone and—”

“Buck, you tell me right now! Did you see him?”

“I saw him.”

“Is he alive?”

“Hannelore—”

“Buck, is he dead?”

“I’m sorry. Yes.”

She began to wail, and in the background Buck heard a scream. Hannelore’s mother? Had she deduced the news?

“Buck, they’re here!”

“What? Who?”

He heard a door smashing, a yell, another scream.

“GC!” she whispered fiercely. And the phone went dead.

Onboard the Phoenix 216, Nicolae Carpathia’s personal physician examined him and pronounced him dead.

“Where were you?” Leon demanded. “You could have done something.”

“Where I was supposed to be, Commander,” the doctor said, “in the auxiliary trailer a hundred yards behind the platform. Security would not let me out, fearing more gunfire.”

As the 216 taxied toward the runway, Leon came to the cockpit and told Abdullah, “Patch me through to Director Hassid at the palace, secure line.”

Abdullah nodded and glanced at Mac as Fortunato backed out. The first officer made the connection and informed Leon over the intercom. With creative switch flipping, Abdullah allowed Mac to listen in, while muting the input button to keep out noise from the cockpit.

“You’re aware of the awful news, David?” Leon said.

“I heard, yes, sir,” David said. “How is the potentate?”

“He’s dead, David . . .”

“Oh.”

“. . . but this is top secret by order of Chief Moon until further notice.”

“I understand.”

“Oh, David, what will we do?”

“We’ll look to you, sir.”

“Well, thank you for those kind words at such a time, but I need something from you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Scramble the satellites to make it impossible for those who did this to communicate with each other by phone. Can you do that?”

A long pause. “Scrambling the satellites” was not the exact terminology, but David could produce Fortunato’s desired result. “Yes,” he said slowly. “It’s possible, of course. You realize the ramifications . . .”

Mac whispered to Abdullah. “Call Buck, call Rayford, call the safe house. Leon’s going to shut down communications. If they need to talk to each other, it has to be now.”

“Tell me,” Leon said.

“We’re all served by the same system,” David said. “It’s the reason we’ve never been able to shut down the Judah-ites’ Internet transmissions.”

“So if they’re shut down, we’re shut down?”

“Exactly.”

“Do it anyway. The landlines in New Babylon would still be operable, would they not?”

“They would, and this would not affect television transmission, but your long distance is all satellite dependent.”

“So those of us in New Babylon would be able to communicate only with each other.”

“Right.”

“We’ll get by. I’ll let you know when to unscramble.”

Two minutes later Leon called David again. “How long does this take?” he said. “I should not be able to reach you!”

“Three minutes,” David said.

“I’ll check back in four.”

“You’ll not reach me, sir.”

“I should hope not!”

But four minutes later Leon was preoccupied with the doctor. “I want an autopsy,” he said, “but zero leaks about cause of death.” Through the reverse intercom bug, Mac heard Leon’s voice catch. “And I want this man prepared for viewing and for burial by the finest mortuary technician in the world. Is that understood?”

“Of course, Commander. As you wish.”

“I don’t want the staff butcher in the palace, so whom would you suggest?”

“One who could use the business, frankly.”

“How crass! This would be a service to the Global Community!”

“But surely you’re prepared to reimburse—”

“Of course, but not if money is the primary concern. . . .”

“It’s not, Commander. I simply know that Dr. Eikenberry’s mortuary has been decimated. She’s lost more than half her staff and has had to reorganize her business.”

“And she’s local?”

“Baghdad.”

“I do not want Nicolae shipped to Baghdad. Can she come to the palace morgue?”

“I’m sure she’d be more than happy . . .”

“Happy?”

“Willing, sir.”

“I hope she can work miracles.”

“Fortunately his face was not affected.”

“Still,” Leon said, his voice husky again, “how do you hide the, the . . . awful injury?”

“I’m sure it can be done.”

“He must look perfect, dignified. The whole world will mourn him.”

“I’ll call her now.”

“Yes, please try. I’d like to know whether you’re able to get through.”

But he was not able. Global telephone communications were off the air. And Abdullah too had failed to reach anyone.

Mac was about to shut off the intercom bug when he heard Leon take a huge breath and let it out. “Doctor?” he said. “Can your mortician, ah—”

“Dr. Eikenberry.”

“Right. Can she do a cast of the potentate’s body?”

“A cast?”

“You know, some sort of plaster or plastic or something that would preserve his exact dimensions and features?”

The doctor hesitated. “Well,” he said finally, “death masks are nothing new. A whole corpse would be quite an undertaking, pardon the expression.”

“But it could be done?”

Another pause. “I should think the body would have to be dipped. The palace morgue has a large enough tank.”

“It could be done then?”

“Anything can be done, Excellency. I’m sorry, I mean Commander.”

Fortunato cleared his throat. “Yes, please, Doctor. Don’t call me Excellency. At least not yet. And do arrange for a cast of the potentate’s body.”

Beside the desk in her hangar office, David stood facing Annie and holding both her hands.

“You’re trembling,” she said.

“I thought
you
were,” he said. “You’re not as scared as I am?”

“At least,” she said. “What’s going on?”

He sighed. “I just got a call from a mortician in Baghdad. Says she was told to go through me for large purchases. She wants several liters of some sort of a plastic amalgam delivered to the palace morgue as soon as possible.”

“For?”

“I can only imagine. This stuff is used to make casts of faces, body parts, tire tracks, that kind of thing. But she wants enough to fill a tub the size of a whirlpool bath.”

“She’s going to make a cast of Carpathia’s whole body?”

He shrugged. “That’s my guess.”

“Whatever for?”

“She didn’t sound too sure herself. She kept asking how much water would have to be added to how much solution and if that would fill the stainless steel container. She also wanted to know how long I thought it would take that much solution to harden, how long it would remain pliable before drying, all that.”

Annie slipped her hands around David’s waist and laid her head on his chest. “Someone’s put her up to it. Maybe to make a replica of the body so they can make him look better lying in state?”

He pondered that. “I just wonder if they’ve heard about the prophecy of his resurrecting and want to keep the real body somewhere convenient, just in case.”

“They don’t believe the prophecies, do they?”

“How could anyone not by this time?”

She looked up at him and shook her head. “What’s going to happen around here when, you know . . .”

“It happens?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not going to be pretty. I can’t wait to see what Dr. Ben-Judah has to say about you-know-who when he’s no longer really himself.”

“You think there’ll be any of the man left of him?”

David cocked his head. “His body, sure. Maybe he’ll sound like himself and have the same mannerisms, but he’s supposed to be indwelt, and indwelt means indwelt. When I was promoted, I moved into the quarters of that director who was reassigned to Australia, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s the same place. Same walls, same bed, same lav, everything. It looks the same, but it’s not. I’m the new dweller.”

She held him tighter. “I don’t want to know the new dweller of the potentate.”

“Well, it’ll be no more Mr. Nice Guy.”

“Not funny,” she said.

“They should be here any minute, babe.”

“I know. My ears are tuned to the ’16. I know how long it takes to get the hangar doors open and to position the forklift and winch. I hope security keeps its distance. Did you see all of ’em out there? Have you heard all the rules?”

“Have I! You’d think you were off-loading the body of the king of the world.”

She snorted. “Tell you the truth, I’d like to drop the box and run over the whole thing with the forklift. Let’s see
that
come back to life.”

David tugged her toward the door. “What if he comes back to life while you’re transporting the body?”

She stopped and closed her eyes. “Like I wasn’t freaked out enough. You’d have to find me in heaven.” A hum vibrated the office window. “You’d better go. They’re about three minutes away.”

Rayford could not believe his luck at Tel Aviv. He hurried past the busy counters and out a side exit toward the small-craft hangars. The Gulfstream sat gleaming in Hangar 3.

An armed guard doing double duty as manifest coordinator checked Marv Berry off his list and said, “Wait a minute, there’s something else I’m s’posed to ask. Ah, yeah, flight plan reported to tower?”

“You bet,” Rayford said, “but they weren’t happy with how slow the small craft were being cleared, so I’d better keep you out of trouble by getting out of here quick.”

“I ’preciate that,” the guard said, clearly more comfortable with a gun than a pen. “They expect lots of passengers on the big birds tonight and want to get the little ones out of the way.”

“Understandable,” Rayford said. “I’ll do my part.”

“Wish I’d a been in Jerusalem tonight,” the guard said as Rayford circled the Gulfstream, doing a quick preflight.

“Yeah?”

“I’d a killed somebody, guilty or not.”

“That so?”

“Dang straight. Somebody’d pay for that. Who’d wanna go and kill our only hope?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“You’re American, right, Mr. Berry?”

“You could tell?”

“Sure, me too.”

“You don’t say.”

“Colorado,” the young man said. “Fort Collins. You?”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Wanted Gala duty. This is as close as I got. Hoped for potentate bodyguard, but I guess that’s all political.”

“Like everything else,” Rayford said, pulling open the Gulfstream’s door and steps.

“Need some help there, Mr. Berry?”

“Got it, thanks.”

“Where’d you say you were from?”

I didn’t,
Rayford thought. “Kalamazoo,” he said, mounting the steps and tossing in his bag.

“That’s what, Midwest?”

Rayford hated the small talk, not to mention the delay, only slightly less than the prospect of being detained and put to death. “Michigan!” he called out, pulling the door.

“Hang on a second, sir,” the guard said. “Squawk box is for me.”

“I gotta go,” Rayford said. “Nice talking to you.”

“Just a minute, please,” the young man said with a smile. “Another minute won’t kill you, will it?”

It just might.
“I’ve really got to go, son.”

“Wyatt.”

“Why?”

“Wyatt. That’s my name.”

“Well, thanks, Wyatt, and good-bye.”

“Mr. Berry!”

“Yes, Wyatt.”

“I’m not gonna be able to hear the box here if you fire up. Can’t you give me a second?”

From the radio on Wyatt’s makeshift desk in the middle of the hangar: “Officer 423, do you copy? Initiate code red screening effective immediately.”

“This is Wyatt. You mean those thorough checks on everybody, even small craft?”

“Where are you, 423?”

“Small-craft Hangar 3, sir.”

“Then that is what I mean, yes!”

Rayford quickly closed the door, but before he could settle into the cockpit, Wyatt came running. “Mr. Berry, sir! I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the craft!”

Rayford initiated the starting sequence, which only caused Wyatt to rush in front of the Gulfstream, waving, rifle dangling. He didn’t appear alarmed or even suspicious. It was clear he simply thought Rayford couldn’t hear him.

He motioned for Rayford to open the door. Rayford considered simply starting up as soon as Wyatt was clear of the front, hoping the GC was thin staffed enough and busy enough that they would ignore him. But he couldn’t risk an air pursuit or gung ho Wyatt from Fort Collins shooting at him on the runway.

He moved to the door and opened it three inches. “What is it, Wyatt?”

“I’ve been instructed, sir, to do a thorough check and search of even small craft before departure tonight, due to what happened in Jerusalem.”

“Even me, Wyatt? A small-town guy like you? An American?”

“Got to, sir. Sorry.”

“Wyatt, you know the Gulfstream, don’t you?”

“The Gulfstream, sir?”

“This aircraft.”

“No sir, I don’t. I’m not an aviation man. I’m a soldier.”

Rayford peeked through the slivered opening. “If you knew this plane, Wyatt, you’d know that if the door opens all the way, I have to start the whole ignition sequence over.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, some kind of a safety mechanism that keeps the engines from starting until the door is closed.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I have to—”

“I’m sorry, too, Wyatt, because the tower guys were complaining about you, and I was trying to keep you out of trouble, make you look good, by getting away quickly.”

“But my commanding officer just told me—”

“Wyatt! Listen to me! You think I shot Carpathia?”

“’Course not. I—”

“I’d need you to teach me about weapons, for one thing.”

“I could sure teach you, but—”

“I’ll bet you could. And I could teach you to fly—”

“I have to—”

“Wyatt, I just heard on the radio that two wide-bodies are in landing sequence right now, with another waiting to take off. Now my perimeter flange is going to overheat if I don’t get going, and you don’t want a fire in here. Tell your boss I was already on my way out when you got the order, then we’re both covered. You look quick, you avoid a fire, and you’re still following orders.”

Rayford kept a careful eye on Wyatt’s hands and flinched when the young man moved his right. If he leveled that rifle at him, Rayford would have to comply. But Wyatt saluted and pointed at Rayford. “Good thinkin’, sir. Carry on.”

Rayford fired up the engines and maneuvered onto the tarmac. He couldn’t wait to tell Mac about this one. He heard about other planes on a radio that wasn’t on yet? Perimeter flange? Fire? Tsion taught that part of the population decimation might be God’s way of removing his most incorrigible enemies in anticipation of the coming epic battle. Wyatt was living proof that the inept had survived. Rayford knew he wouldn’t always enjoy such fortune.

“Ben Gurion Tower to Gulfstream!”

Rayford leaned forward and looked as far as he could in both directions, both on the runway and in the sky.

“Gurion Tower to Gulfstream, do you copy?”

He was clear.

“Gulfstream, you are not cleared! Remain stationary.”

“Gulfstream to Tower,” Rayford said. “Proceeding, thank you.”

“Repeat, Gulfstream, you are
not
cleared!”

“Cleared by Officer 423, Tower.”

“Repeat?”

“. . . been . . . leared . . . two-three . . . wer.”

“You’re breaking up, Gulfstream! You are not cleared for takeoff. Repeat, not cleared!”

“. . . nection . . . wer, thank y—”

“Do we have your flight plan, Gulfstream?”

“. . . o copy, tow—”

“Flight plan?”

“. . . icer fo—, two, thr—”

“If you can hear any of this, Gulfstream, be aware that satellite coordinates have been scrambled and there is only manual positioning. Copy?”

Rayford depressed and released the talk button rapidly, then held it halfway down, creating static on the other end.
No satellite capability?
For once he would be glad for that. He needn’t worry about pursuit. If he was flying blind, so would the GC. Did that mean the phones were out too? He tried the safe house, then Laslos. Nothing. He only hoped he could connect with the Greek believers before he put down there. It made no sense to try to make it back to America. If Leah’s message meant what he thought and Hattie was no longer in Belgium, she could have long since led the GC to the safe house. He only hoped his message had gotten to David’s computer before the satellites went down.

Buck had been angry with his father-in-law before, but never like this. No contact? Nothing? What was he supposed to do, collect Leah from Brussels, and it was every man for himself? Now the phones didn’t seem to be working.

Did he dare try to make it to Chaim’s house and see what was going on? Why would the GC storm the place and force their way in? Were they too looking for Chaim? And why? Buck knew somebody already had to have the old man. Someone had spirited him, or his body, from the Gala site. No way a wheelchair-bound stroke victim could have made his own way out of that place with his contrivance in pieces on the ground.

Buck took a cab to the small place he had once used as an Israeli safe house. No one he recognized was living there. He walked several miles in the darkness through rubble, never far from the cacophony of sirens and the flashing light shows of emergency vehicles. When he finally arrived at Chaim’s, the place was deserted and dark. Had everyone been taken away? Emergency personnel were stretched, of course, but if they expected Chaim, wouldn’t someone be left to guard the place?

Buck crept to the back, suddenly aware of his fatigue. Grief and trauma did that to a person, he told himself. He had not gotten to know Jacov well, but how he had thrilled to the young man’s coming to belief in Christ! They had kept up some, not as much as either had liked, due to the risk of discovery. And though he knew he would see Jacov at the Glorious Appearing—if not before—he dreaded having to break the news to Jacov’s friend and coworker, Stefan.