The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (235 page)

“Director Hassid,” Leon said, eyes boring into his. “Rayford Steele shot dead our beloved potentate.”

Rayford? Hadn’t they watched the same recording?

Leon would be suspicious if David agreed too quickly.

“No,” David said, “the recording was clear. Dr. Ro—”

“A stroke victim and a great loyal statesman would be incapable of such an act, would he not?”

“But—”

Fortunato’s sweaty palms still cupped his cheeks. “The only killing weapon was the Saber in the hands of Rayford Steele, who shall have to pay for his crime.”

“Rayford Steele?” David said, his voice cracking like a junior high schooler.

“The assassin.”

“The assassin?”

“Look again, David, and tell me what you see.”

David was terrified. He had not noticed anyone switching chips, yet this version indeed showed Rayford firing at the stage. David wondered if he was weaker than Buck had been three and a half years before. Was it possible that Leon
could
make him see something that wasn’t there? He stared, unblinking. Time seemed to stand still.

Someone had to have changed the chip while he was distracted in Leon’s hands. This was no concoction, no mind game. For while this showed the gunshot, it also showed Nicolae falling into Chaim’s lap.

“Slow it down,” David said, trying to mimic the flat voices he had heard earlier. He believed his ruse was failing miserably, but he had no choice but to play it out.

“Yes, Walter,” Leon said. “Show the fatal shot again and slow it down.”

David fought for control, determined to watch the lectern, the curtain, the kings. As soon as the flash of fire and the puff of smoke appeared at the end of the Saber, the lectern split, and the pieces hurtled toward the ten kings. The curtain seemed to twist on itself from the middle and shoot into the distance. Chaim appeared to come from behind the falling potentate and steer toward the center of the stage. The angle was wrong for seeing what he had actually done.

To his disgust, David had to submit a second time to Leon’s hands on his face. “Well?” Leon said, peering at him. “Is there any doubt?”

This time David could not stall. He was suddenly aware of Leon’s overbearing cologne. How had he missed that before?

“Cameras don’t lie,” Leon said. “We have our assassin, don’t we?”

David nodded, forcing Leon to loosen his grip. “We sure do,” he managed. “Steele must pay.”

“I hate this,” Leah said as the three sat inside again. “It’s nerve-racking. We shouldn’t be out during the day. Too many things can go wrong.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to the car,” Chloe said.

Leah cocked her head and gave Chloe a stare. “
I
shouldn’t have gone to the car? I’m not the reason we’re here, dear.”

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Chloe said.

“Stop,” Rayford said. “This gets us nowhere. Now, Chloe, I’m sorry, but this was a monumentally stupid thing to do.”

“Dad! We need to get to the new place.”

“And we have to check it out, but we’re way past where we can get away with being out one second more than necessary, except at night.”

“All right! OK! I’m sorry!”

Leah reached for her hand. “Me too,” she said, but Chloe pulled away.

“C’mon, don’t do that,” Leah said. “I shouldn’t have said that, and I’m sorry. We have to be able to work together.”

“We need to get out of here,” Rayford said. “Those guys think we’re just friends in here for a drink. We can’t stay till dark.”

“We should get closer to Chicago,” Chloe said.

“That’ll look
more
suspicious,” Rayford said, “unless we can find a place where we could leave the cars out of sight and still be able to walk into the city.”

“Where the L tracks end now?” Chloe suggested.

“They end everywhere,” Leah said. “Totally shut down, right?”

“Well,” Chloe said, “the tracks are torn up heading in from the south, and then they’re OK in the city, but they’re closed.”

Rayford looked to the ceiling. “So how about we find a place to hide the cars down that way, coming in from separate directions, then follow the tracks into the city.”

Leah nodded. “Good idea.”

Chloe said, “That’s what I thought.”

“If you’re where I think you are,” T said, “it looks impossible.”

“You can see the road?” Buck said. “Why can’t I hear you?”

“Wind, maybe, but you’ll hear me soon. I’m already lower than I want to be, but I sure hope I’m looking at the wrong road.”

“There’s only one possibility in this area,” Buck said. “If you see any stretch of open road, you’re looking at us.”

“Buck, do you have any idea how long it takes for one of these to stop? An aircraft carrier would be easier.”

“Any options?”

“Yeah! I land at Jerusalem Airport or better yet, Tel Aviv, and we hope for the best.”

“It would be more efficient for Chaim to commit suicide right here than to risk that, T. They’re looking for him.”

“I’m willing to try this, Buck, but it sure seems an uninspired way to become a martyr.”

“I hear you.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean I literally hear you. Flash your landing lights. . . . I see you! You’re way to my right!”

“Adjusting.”

“More. More! More! There! No, a little left now! Hold.”

“I see nothing!”

“Use your lights when you need to. That’ll help me too.”

“I don’t like what I’m not seeing.” The landing lights came on and stayed on this time. “Now I don’t like what I
am
seeing.”

“You seem high. I thought you were too low.”

“I was lower than I wanted to be with all those emergency lights off to the left down there. Let’s hope they’re too busy to look up.”

“You still seem high.”

“I am. But I still don’t see you either.”

“If you stay up there, I’m safe. You gonna go ’round again?”

“Negative. I have one shot and I’m going to make it work.”

“You’d better start dropping.”

“Here I come.”

Buck put his phone down and waved, though he couldn’t imagine T seeing him from that angle. The plane drifted right, and Buck tried to signal T back to center. With his lights still on, T should have been able to see that for himself.

As the Super J screamed past him, Buck grabbed his phone and shouted, “You straight?”

“Straight as I can get! No way this works! Too steep! Too fast!”

“Abort?”

“Too late!”

Buck shut his eyes as the plane dropped and the hot exhaust swept past him. He covered his ears, knowing that would never block the sound of the impact. But what he heard wasn’t a plane crash. He thought he detected the screech of tires over the din of the jets, but that may have been wishful thinking. He peeked through the dust and exhaust to see the plane bounce a couple of feet, the red exhaust flame pouring out the sides as the plane used reverse thrust in a desperate attempt to slow down.

The next impact resounded like a rifle shot. White smoke billowed from beneath the craft, and the plane began spinning wildly—the landing lights illuminating the ditch and grass, then shining toward him. Suddenly the lights went off, but he could hear the jets continue to run. The noise abated except for the whine of the engine, but Buck no longer saw anything. The plane had to be facing him. He had not heard the fuselage break up, as he had feared if T couldn’t stop.

He ran toward the plane, amazed to see Chaim beside him, keeping pace.

The New Babylon night was warm and dry. Spotlights from a dozen angles bathed the palace courtyard, nearly bright as day. Nothing would compete with the merciless, cloudless, sun-filled daytime sky, but until then, everyone could clearly see all there was to see.

David and Annie were among the hundreds of employees allowed—or in their case assigned—to file past the bier ahead of the pilgrims from around the globe. The couple waited on the steps while ten pallbearers—four men on each side and one at each end—solemnly carried in the draped Plexiglas box, accompanied by a live orchestra playing a dirge. From behind the barricades an eighth of a mile away, the mourning began. Employees began to wail too. The men gently placed the bier atop the pedestal and carefully positioned it. A technician, with what appeared to be a portable vacuum cleaner tucked under one arm, knelt between one of the end men and a side man and screwed a pressure gauge into the rubber stopper at the foot end. He checked the readout twice, then hooked a hose to the stopper, twisted a dial, and ran the suction machine for two seconds. He checked the pressure once more, removed everything but the stopper, then hurried away.

The eight side men backed smartly away while the two on the ends removed the shroud. Annie seemed to recoil. David was stunned. He had expected Carpathia to appear lifelike. The work of Dr. Eikenberry had been astounding, of course, as there was no evidence of trauma. Yet somehow, even in a dark suit, white shirt, and striped tie, Carpathia appeared more lifeless than any corpse David had ever seen.

The bier itself was shaped like an old-fashioned pine box, the torso area expanding to contain Carpathia’s robust physique. The lid was two inches thick and bolted to the sides with huge, stainless steel screws that bit deep into the plastic, pulled the casket gasket tight, and were secured at their undersides by self-locking washers and screws.

The lid was not three inches above Carpathia’s face, and as people passed, they could lean over the velvet ropes and see their breath on the top. If this was Carpathia, he would be closer to his people in death than he had ever been in life.

David had listened to the revised autopsy report wherein all references to the sword and its damage were omitted and the bullet trauma was added. At the end of that, Dr. Eikenberry had launched a clinical play-by-play as she secured the eyelids with adhesive and stitched the lips with invisible thread.

David was curious and wanted a closer look. Fortunately, the cluster in front of them paused for more than a minute. David leaned forward and studied the remains, knowing this probably made him look grief stricken. He wondered if this was really Carpathia. The body looked stiff, cold, pale. Could it be a wax figure? Might the resurrection occur in the morgue refrigerator? The vacuum-sealed Plexiglas bier certainly would not be conducive.

Carpathia’s hands were more lifelike and convincing. Left was draped over right at the waist, and they looked manicured and only slightly paler than in life. They rested within a quarter inch of the transparent lid. David almost wished the man were worthy of this display.

David was stunned when several ahead of him made religious gestures, from crossing themselves to bowing. A woman nearly toppled as she gave in to tears, and David wondered what the outcry from the public would be like if GC personnel reacted like this.

Three armed guards stood on the other side of the bier. When any mourner touched the glass, the closest guard leaned over and wiped the prints away, polishing, polishing.

Finally the line moved, and David tried to guide Annie for a closer look. She surreptitiously stiffened, and he let her stay outside him as they passed. The man behind David collapsed to his knees upon full view of the body and moaned in a foreign tongue. David turned to see it was Bakar.