The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (89 page)

“Well,” Carpathia was saying, “of course I am grieving. You will keep in touch then, and I will hear from you from Israel.”

Buck sat bleary-eyed at the breakfast table, his ear stinging and his rib cage tender. Only he and Loretta were up. She was heading to the church office after having been assured she would not have to handle the arrangements for Bruce’s body or for the memorial service, which would be part of Sunday morning’s agenda. Verna Zee was asleep in a small bedroom in the finished basement. “It feels so good to have people in this place again,” Loretta said. “Y’all can stay as long as you need to or want to.”

“We’re grateful,” Buck said. “Amanda may sleep till noon, but then she’ll get right on those arrangements with the coroner’s office. Chloe didn’t sleep much with that ankle cast. She’s dead to the world now, though, so I expect her to sleep a long time.”

Buck had used the dining-room table to put back in order all the pages from Bruce’s transcripts that had been strewn throughout the back of the Range Rover. He had a huge job ahead of him, checking the text and determining what would be best for reproduction and distribution. He set the stacks to one side and laid out the five deluxe universal sat phones Chloe had bought. Fortunately, they had been packed in spongy foam and had survived her accident.

He had told her not to scrimp, and she certainly hadn’t. He didn’t even want to guess the total price, but these phones had everything, including the ability to take calls anywhere in the world.

After Loretta left for the church, Buck rummaged for batteries, then quickly taught himself the basics from the instruction manual and tried his first phone call. For once, he was glad he had always been manic about hanging onto old phone numbers. Deep in his wallet was just the one he needed. Ken Ritz, a former commercial pilot and now owner of his own jet charter service, had bailed out Buck before. He was the one who had flown Buck from a tiny airstrip in Waukegan, Illinois, to New York the day after the vanishings. “I know you’re busy, Mr. Ritz, and probably don’t need my business,” Buck said, “but you also know I’m on a big, fat expense account and can pay more than anyone else.”

“I’m down to one jet,” Ritz said. “It’s at Palwaukee, and right now both it and I are available. I’m charging two bucks a mile and a thousand dollars a day for down time. Where do you want to go?”

“Israel,” Buck said. “And I have to be back here by Saturday night at the latest.”

“Jet lag city,” Ritz said. “It’s best to fly that way early evening and land there the next day. Meet me at Palwaukee at seven, and we’ve got a deal.”

Rayford had finally fallen off to sleep for real, snoring, according to McCullum, for several hours.

About an hour outside Baghdad, Leon Fortunato entered the cockpit and knelt next to Rayford. “We’re not entirely sure of security in New Babylon,” he said. “No one expects us to land in Baghdad. Let’s keep maintaining with the New Babylon tower that we’re on our way directly there. When we pick up our other three ambassadors, we may just stay on the ground for a few hours until our security forces have had a chance to clear New Babylon.”

“Will that affect your meetings?” Rayford said, trying to sound casual.

“I don’t see how it concerns you one way or the other. We can easily meet on the plane while it is being refueled. You can keep the air-conditioning on, right?”

“Sure,” Rayford said, trying to think quickly, “there is still a lot I’d like to teach myself about this craft. I’ll stay in the cockpit or in my quarters and keep out of your way.”

“See that you do.”

Buck checked in with Donny Moore, who said he had found some incredible deals on individual components and was putting together the five mega-laptops himself. “That’ll save you a little money,” he said. “Just a little over twenty thousand apiece, I figure.”

“And I can have these when I get back from a trip, on Sunday?”

“Guaranteed, sir.”

Buck told key people at
Global Community Weekly
his new satellite phone number and asked that they keep it confidential except from Carpathia, Plank, and Rosenzweig. Buck carefully packed his one big, leather shoulder bag and spent the rest of the day working on Bruce’s transcripts and trying to reach Rosenzweig. The old man had seemed to be trying to tell him, not in so many words, that he knew Dr. Ben-Judah was alive and safe somewhere. He just hoped Rosenzweig had followed his advice and was keeping Carpathia out of the picture. Buck had no idea where Tsion Ben-Judah might be hiding out. But if Rosenzweig knew, Buck wanted to talk with him before he and Ken Ritz hit the ground at Ben Gurion Airport.

How long, he wondered, before he and his loved ones would be hiding out in the shelter under the church?

Security was tight at Baghdad. Rayford had been instructed not to communicate with the tower there so as not to allow enemy aircraft to know where they were. Rayford was convinced that the retaliatory strikes by Global Community forces in London and Cairo, not to mention North America, would have kept all but the suicidal out of Iraq. However, he did what he was told.

Leon Fortunato communicated by phone with both Baghdad and New Babylon towers. Rayford phoned ahead to be sure there was a place he and McCullum could stretch their legs and relax inside the terminal. Despite his years of flying, there came certain points even for him when he became claustrophobic aboard a plane.

A ring of heavily armed GC soldiers surrounded the plane as it slowly rolled to a stop at the most secure end of the Baghdad terminal. The six-member crew of stewards and flight attendants were the first to get off. Fortunato waited until Rayford and McCullum had run through their postflight checklist. He got off with them. “Captain Steele,” he said, “I will be bringing the three other ambassadors back on board within the hour.”

“And when would you like to leave for New Babylon?”

“Probably not for another four hours or so.”

“International aviation rules prohibit me from flying again for twenty-four hours.”

“Nonsense,” Fortunato said. “How do you feel?”

“Exhausted.”

“Nevertheless, you’re the only one qualified to fly this plane, and you’ll be flying it when we say you’ll be flying it.”

“So international aviation rules go out the window?”

“Steele, you know that international rules on everything are embodied in the man sitting on that plane. When he wants to go to New Babylon, you’ll fly him to New Babylon. Understood?”

“And if I refuse?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Let me remind you, Leon, that once I’ve gotten a break, I’ll want to be on that plane, familiarizing myself with all its details.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just stay out of our way. And I would appreciate it if you would refer to me as Mr. Fortunato.”

“That means a lot to you, does it, Leon?”

“Don’t push me, Steele.”

As they entered the terminal, Rayford said, “As I am the only one who can fly that plane, I would appreciate it if you would call me Captain Steele.”

Late in the afternoon, Chicago time, Buck broke from the fascinating reading of Bruce Barnes’s writing and finally got through to Chaim Rosenzweig.

“Cameron! I have finally talked live with our mutual friend. Let us not mention his name on the phone. He did not speak to me long, but he sounded so empty and hollow that it moved me to my very soul. It was a strange message, Cameron. He simply said that you would know whom to talk with about his whereabouts.”

“That
I
would know?”

“That’s what he said, Cameron. That you would know. Do you suppose he means N.C.?”

“No! No! Chaim, I’m still praying you’re keeping him out of this.”

“I am, Cameron, but it is not easy! Who else can intercede for the life of my friend? I am frantic that the worst will happen, and I will feel responsible.”

“I’m coming there. Can you arrange a car for me?”

“Our mutual friend’s car and driver are available, but dare I trust him?”

“Do you think he had anything to do with the trouble?”

“I should think he had more to do with getting our friend to safety.”

“Then he is probably in danger,” Buck said.

“Oh, I hope not,” Rosenzweig said. “Anyway, I will meet you at the airport myself. Somehow we will get you where you need to go. Can I arrange a room for you somewhere?”

“You know where I’ve always stayed,” Buck said, “but I think I’d better stay somewhere else this time.”

“Very well, Cameron. There’s a nice hotel within driving distance of your usual, and I am known there.”

Rayford stretched and stood watching the Cable News Network/Global Community Network television broadcast originating in Atlanta and beamed throughout the world. It was clear Carpathia had completely effected his will and spin onto the news directors at every venue. While the stories carried the horrifying pictures of war, bloodshed, injury, and death, each also spoke glowingly of the swift and decisive action of the potentate in responding to the crisis and crushing the rebellion. Water supplies had been contaminated, power was out in many areas, millions were instantly homeless.

Rayford noticed activity outside the terminal. A dolly carrying television equipment, including a camera, were wheeled toward the Condor 216. Soon enough, CNN/GCN announced the impending live television broadcast from Potentate Carpathia at an unknown location. Rayford shook his head and went to a desk in the corner, where he found stationery from a Middle Eastern airline and began composing a letter to Earl Halliday’s wife.