Left Behind: A Novel of the Earth's Last Days

by Tim LaHaye

  “I am no better,” he conceded. “But why wouldn’t you show up if you were her?”

  “Because I’d have an idea of what you’d have in mind. You’re going to tell her you no longer have feelings for her, but that now you care about her eternal soul.”

  “You make that sound cheap.”

  “Why should it impress her that you care about her soul when she thinks you used to be interested in her as a person?”

  “That’s just it, Chloe. I wasn’t ever interested in her as a person.”

  “She doesn’t know that. Because you were so circumspect and so careful, she thought you were better than most men, who would just come right out and hit on her. I’m sure she feels bad about Mom, and she probably understands that you’re not in any state of mind to start a new relationship. But it can’t make her day to be sent away like it was just as much her fault.”

  “It was, though.”

  “No, it wasn’t, Dad. She was available. You shouldn’t have been, but you were giving signals like you were. In this day and age, that made you fair game.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe that was why I was never good at that game.”

  “I’m glad, for Mom’s sake, that you weren’t.”

  “So, you think I shouldn’t what, let her down easy or tell her about God?”

  “You’ve already let her down, Daddy. She guessed what you were going to say and you confirmed it. That’s why I say she won’t come. She’s still hurt. Probably mad.”

  “Oh, she was mad, all right.”

  “Then what makes you think she’s going to be receptive to your heaven pitch?”

  “It’s not a pitch! Anyway, doesn’t it prove I care about her in a genuine way now?”

  Chloe went and got a soft drink. When she returned and sat next to her father, she put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want to sound like a know-it-all,” she said. “I know you’re more than twice my age, but let me give you an idea how a woman thinks, especially someone like Hattie. OK?”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Does she have any religious background?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You never asked? She never said?”

  “Neither of us ever gave it much thought.”

  “You never complained to her about Mom’s obsession, like you sometimes did with me?”

  “Come to think of it, I did. Of course, I was trying to use that to prove that your mother and I were not communicating.”

  “But Hattie didn’t say anything about her own thoughts about God?”

  Rayford tried to remember. “You know, I think she did say something supportive, or maybe sympathetic, about your mom.”

  “That makes sense. Even if she had wanted to come between you, she might have wanted to be sure you were the one putting the wedge between yourself and Mom, not her.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “That’s not my point anyway. What I’m getting at is that you can’t expect someone who is not even a church person to give a rip about heaven and God and all that. I’m having trouble dealing with it, and I love you and know it’s become the most important thing in your life. You can’t assume she has any interest, especially if it comes to her as a sort of a consolation prize.”

  “For?”

  “For losing your attention.”

  “But my attention is purer now, more genuine!”

  “To you, maybe. To her this is going to be much less attractive than the possibility of having someone who might love her and be there for her.”

  “That’s what God will do for her.”

  “Which sounds real good to you. I’m just telling you, Dad, it’s not going to be something she wants to hear right now.”

  “So, what if she does show up? Should I not talk to her about it?”

  “I don’t know. If she shows, that might mean she’s still hoping there’s a chance with you. Is there?”

  “No!”

  “Then you owe it to her to make that clear. But don’t be so emphatic, and don’t choose that time to try to sell her on—”

  “Stop talking about my faith as something I’m trying to sell or pitch.”

  “Sorry. I’m just trying to reflect how it’s going to sound to her.”

  Rayford had no idea what to say or do about Hattie now. He feared his daughter was right, and that gave him a glimpse of where her mind was, too. Bruce Barnes had told him that most people are blind and deaf to the truth until they find it; then it makes all the sense in the world. How could he argue? That’s what had happened to him.

  Hattie had rushed up to Buck when he arrived at the club around eleven. His anticipation of any possibilities dissipated when the first thing out of her mouth was, “So, am I gonna get to meet Nicolae Carpathia?”

  When Buck had originally promised to try to introduce her to Nicolae, he hadn’t thought it through. Now, after hearing Steve rhapsodize about the prominence of Carpathia, he felt trivial calling to ask if he could introduce a friend, a fan. He called Dr. Rosenzweig. “Doc, I feel kinda stupid about this, and maybe you should just say no, that he’s too busy. I know he’s got a lot on his plate and this girl is no one he needs to meet.”

  “It’s a girl?”

  “Well, a young woman. She’s a flight attendant.”

  “You want him to meet a flight attendant?”

  Buck didn’t know what to say. That reaction was exactly what he had feared. When he hesitated, he heard Rosenzweig cover the phone and call out for Carpathia. “Doc, no! Don’t ask him!”

  But he did. Rosenzweig came back on and said, “Nicolae says that any friend of yours is a friend of his. He has a few moments, but only a few moments, right now.”

  Buck and Hattie rushed to the Plaza in a cab. Buck realized immediately how awkward he felt and how much worse he was about to feel. Whatever reputation he enjoyed with Rosenzweig and Carpathia as an international journalist would forever be marred. He would be known as the hanger-on who dragged a groupie up to shake hands with Nicolae.

  Buck couldn’t hide his discomfort, and on the elevator he blurted, “He really has only a second, so we shouldn’t stay long.”

  Hattie stared at him. “I know how to treat VIPs, you know,” she said. “I often serve them on flights.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I mean, if you’re embarrassed by me or—”

  “It’s not that at all, Hattie.”

  “If you think I won’t know how to act—”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just thinking of his schedule.”

  “Well, right now we’re on his schedule, aren’t we?”

  He sighed. “I guess we are.”

  Why, oh, why, do I get myself into these things?

  In the hallway Hattie stopped by a mirror and checked her face. A bodyguard opened the door, nodded at Buck, and looked Hattie over from head to toe. She ignored him, craning her neck to find Carpathia. Dr. Rosenzweig emerged from the parlor. “Cameron,” he said, “a moment please.”

  Buck excused himself from Hattie, who looked none too pleased. Rosenzweig pulled him aside and whispered, “He wonders if you could join him alone first?”

  Here it comes, Buck thought, flashing Hattie an apologetic look and holding up a finger to indicate he would not be long. Carpathia’s gonna have my neck for wasting his time.

  He found Nicolae standing a few feet in front of the TV, watching CNN. His arms were crossed, his chin in his hand. He glanced Buck’s way and waved him in. Buck shut the door behind him, feeling as if he had been sent to the principal’s office. But Nicolae did not mention Hattie.

  “Have you seen this business in Jerusalem?” he said. Buck said he had. “Strangest thing I have ever seen.”

  “Not me,” Buck said.

  “No?”

  “I was near Tel Aviv when Russia attacked.”

  Carpathia kept his eyes on the screen as CNN played over and over the attack on the preachers and the collapsing of the would-be assassin
s. “Yes,” he mumbled. “That would have been something akin to this. Something unexplainable. Heart attacks, they say.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The attackers are dead of heart attacks.”

  “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Yes. And the Uzi did not jam. It is in perfect working order.”

  Nicolae seemed transfixed by the images. He continued to watch as he talked. “I wondered what you thought of my choice for press secretary.”

  “I was stunned.”

  “I thought you might be. Look at this. The preachers never touched either of them. What are the odds? Were they scared to death, was that it?”

  The question was rhetorical. Buck didn’t answer.

  “Hm, hm, hm,” Carpathia exclaimed, the least articulate Buck had ever heard him. “Strange indeed. There is no question Plank can do the job though, do you agree?”

  “Of course. I hope you know you’ve crippled the Weekly.”

  “Ah! I have strengthened it. What better way to have the person I want at the top?”

  Buck shuddered, relieved when Carpathia looked away from the TV at last. “This makes me feel just like Jonathan Stonagal, maneuvering people into positions.” He laughed, and Buck was pleased to see that he was kidding.

  “Did you hear what happened to Eric Miller?” Buck asked.

  “Your friend from Seaboard Monthly? No. What?”

  “Drowned last night.”

  Carpathia looked shocked. “You do not say! Dreadful!”

  “Listen, Mr. Carpathia—”

  “Buck, please! Call me Nicolae.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be comfortable doing that. I just wanted to apologize for bringing this girl up to meet you. She’s just a flight attendant, and—”

  “Nobody is just anything,” he said, taking Buck’s arm. “Everyone is of equal value, regardless of their station.”

  Carpathia led Buck to the door, insisting he be introduced. Hattie was appropriate and reserved, though she giggled when Carpathia kissed her on each cheek. He asked her about herself, her family, her job. Buck wondered if he had ever taken a Carnegie course on how to win friends and influence people.

  “Cameron,” Dr. Rosenzweig whispered. “Telephone.”

  Buck took it in the other room. It was Marge. “I hoped you’d be there,” she said. “You just got a call from Carolyn Miller, Eric’s wife. She’s pretty shook up and really wants to talk to you.”

  “I can’t call her from here, Marge.”

  “Well, get back to her as soon as you get a minute.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “I have no idea, but she sounded desperate. Here’s her number.”

  When Buck reemerged, Carpathia was shaking hands with Hattie and then kissed her hand. “I am charmed,” he said. “Thank you, Mr. Williams. And Miss Durham, it shall be my pleasure should our paths cross again.”

  Buck ushered her out and found her nearly overcome. “Some guy, huh?” he said.

  “He gave me his number!” she said, nearly squealing.

  “His number?”

  Hattie showed Buck the business card Nicolae had handed her. It showed his title as president of the Republic of Romania, but his address was not Bucharest as one would expect. It was the Plaza Hotel, his suite number, phone number, and all. Buck was speechless. Carpathia had penciled in another phone number, not at the Plaza, but also in New York. Buck memorized it.

  “We can eat at the Pan-Con Club,” Hattie said. “I don’t really want to see this pilot at one, but I think I will, just to brag about meeting Nicolae.”

  “Oh, now it’s Nicolae, is it?” Buck managed, still shaken by Carpathia’s business card. “Trying to make someone jealous?”

  “Something like that,” she said.

  “Would you excuse me a second?” he said. “I need to make a call before we head back.”

  Hattie waited in the lobby while Buck ducked around the corner and dialed Carolyn Miller. She sounded horrible, as if she had been crying for hours and hadn’t slept, which was no doubt true.

  “Oh, Mr. Williams, I appreciate your calling.”

  “Of course, ma’am, and I am so sorry about your loss. I—”

  “You remember that we’ve met?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Miller. Refresh me.”

  “On the presidential yacht two summers ago.”

  “Certainly! Forgive me.”

  “I just didn’t want you to think we’d never met. Mr. Williams, my husband called me last night before heading for the ferry. He said he was tracking a big story at the Plaza and had run into you.”

  “True.”

  “He told me a crazy story about how you two had a wrestling match or something over an interview with this Romanian guy who spoke at—”

  “Also true. It wasn’t anything serious, ma’am. Just a disagreement. No hard feelings.”

  “That’s how I took it. But that was the last conversation I’ll ever have with him, and it’s driving me crazy. Do you know how cold it was last night?”

  “Nippy, as I recall,” Buck said, puzzled at her abrupt change of subject.

  “Cold, sir. Too cold to be standing outside on the ferry, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And even if he was, he’s a good swimmer. He was a champion in high school.”

  “All due respect, ma’am, but that had to be—what, thirty years ago?”

  “But he’s still a strong swimmer. Trust me. I know.”

  “What are you saying, Mrs. Miller?”

  “I don’t know!” she shouted, crying. “I just wondered if you could shed any light. I mean, he fell off the ferry and drowned? It doesn’t make any sense!”

  “It doesn’t to me either, ma’am, and I wish I could help. But I can’t.”

  “I know,” she said. “I was just hoping.”

  “Ma’am, is someone with you, watching out for you?”

  “Yes, I’m OK. I have family here.”

  “I’ll be thinking of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Buck could see Hattie in a reflection. She seemed patient enough. He called a friend at the telephone company. “Alex! Do me a favor. Can you still tell me who’s listed if I give you a number?”

  “Long as you don’t tell anybody I’m doin’ it.”

  “You know me, man.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Buck recited the number he had memorized from the card Carpathia had given Hattie. Alex was back to him in seconds, reading off the information as it scrolled onto his computer screen. “New York, U.N., administrative offices, secretary-general’s office, unlisted private line, bypasses switchboard, bypasses secretary. OK?”

  “OK, Alex. I owe you.”

  Buck was lost. He couldn’t make any of this compute. He jogged out to Hattie. “I’m gonna be another minute,” he said. “Do you mind?”

  “No. As long as we can get back by one. No telling how long that pilot will wait. He’s got his daughter with him.”

  Buck turned back to the phones, glad he had no interest in competing with Carpathia or this pilot for Hattie Durham’s affection. He called Steve. Marge answered and he was short with her. “Hey, it’s me. I need Plank right away.”

  “Well, have a nice day yourself,” she said and rang him through.

  “Steve,” he said quickly, “your boy just made his first mistake.”

  “What’re you talking about, Buck?”

  “Is your first job going to be announcing Carpathia as the new secretary-general?”

  Silence.

  “Steve? What’s next?”

  “You’re a good reporter, Buck. The best. How did this get out?”

  Buck told him about the business card.

  “Whew! That doesn’t sound like Nicolae. I can’t imagine it was an oversight. Must have been on purpose.”

  “Maybe he’s assuming this Durham woman is too ditzy to figure it out,” Buck said, “or that she wouldn’t show me. But ho
w does he know she won’t call the number too soon and ask for him there?”

  “As long as she waits until tomorrow, Buck, he’ll be all right.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “You can’t use this, all right? Are we off the record?”

  “Steve! Who do you think you’re talking to? Are you working for Carpathia already? You’re still my boss. You don’t want me to run with something, you just tell me. Remember?”

  “Well, I’m telling you. The Kalahari Desert makes up much of Botswana where Secretary-General Ngumo is from. He returns there tomorrow a hero, having become the first leader to gain access to the Israeli fertilizer formula.”

  “And how did he do that?”

  “By his stellar diplomacy, of course.”

  “And he cannot be expected to handle the duties of both the U.N. and Botswana during this strategic moment in Botswana history, right, Steve?”

  “And why should he, when someone is so perfectly suited to step right in? We were there Monday, Buck. Who’s going to oppose this?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I think it’s brilliant.”

  “You’re going to be a perfect press secretary, Steve. And I’ve decided to accept your old job.”

  “Good for you! Now you’ll sit on this till tomorrow, you got it?”

  “Promise. But will you tell me one more thing?”

  “If I can, Buck.”

  “What did Eric Miller get too close to? What lead was he tracking?”

  Steve’s voice became hollow, his tone flat. “All I know about Eric Miller,” he said, “is that he got too close to the railing on the Staten Island Ferry.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Rayford watched Chloe as she wandered around the Pan-Con Club, then stared out the window. He felt like a wimp. For days he had told himself not to push, not to badger her. He knew her. She was like him. She would run the other way if he pushed too hard. She had even talked him into backing off of Hattie Durham, should Hattie show up.

  What was the matter with him? Nothing was as it was before or would ever be again. If Bruce Barnes was right, the disappearance of God’s people was only the beginning of the most cataclysmic period in the history of the world. And here I am, Rayford thought, worried about offending people. I’m liable to “not offend” my own daughter right into hell.