by Tim LaHaye
Leon's driver was pulling into the Carpathia estate by the time Nicolae took another call from Viv.
"I'm getting no answer at Reiche's number," she said. "Nicolae, I'm scared."
"Best not to worry about things over which we have no control. I believe you taught me that, Aunt Viv."
"Why does Reiche have to go out every day? Why can't he just enjoy something from your liquor cabinet?"
"Precisely. He happens to be a bright man, a spiritual man, without a lick of common sense."
"Someone's pulling in right now."
"It is us, Viv."
"I so wish he would pull in right behind you. He will be back soon, won't he?"
"We can hope," Nicolae said. But privately he wished for the worst. He was dead serious in his desire to have a reason to retaliate. And if he had to pick one dispensable member of his inner circle, it was Reiche. Fortunato was irreplaceable. Viv was weak but genuinely cared for
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him. Reiche had always been a sycophant and always would be.
"Keep trying his phone, Viv," Nicolae said once they were inside and he saw how distraught she was. It would give her something to do.
But with each failed attempt to reach him, she became more and more distressed. "I'm going to call the bar itself," she said.
"Put it on speaker," Leon said. "We may have to go down there."
The number rang. Then, "Hello. We're closed."
"Closed? But..."
"We've had an incident here. This is a crime scene."
"What happened? Who was--?"
Click.
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TWENTY-NINE
Rayford had little experience--beyond meeting the president of Pan-Con--with high-level meetings, especially in Washington. He decided he could quickly get used to the hospitality.
His CIA contact asked if he wanted to be flown in a military jet or first-class commercial, or if he preferred his usual free ride on Pan-Con.
"Actually, Pan-Con has arranged for me to fly myself, along with a few hundred guests, but I don't guess they're invited to our meeting."
No laughter. No response. Okay, so no sense of humor.
"Seriously, they have scheduled me with a long enough layover to easily accommodate your schedule."
"You'll be in your Pan-Con uniform then?"
"Correct, though I could bring a change of clothes if a suit would be more appropriate."
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"Your uniform will be fine, Captain. We'll have military personnel here as well, so you'll fit right in."
Rayford thought of another funny line but decided not to try it. He also wasn't sure his rather austere Pan-Con getup would fit in with a top-brass military uniform, especially worn by someone decorated enough to have reached that level.
"Two men in their early thirties, looking almost like twins, both with short dark hair, will await you at the end of the Jetway. They won't be holding any signs, but they have your picture and will recognize you."
"No trading code phrases then, I guess," Rayford said, wincing when he was again met by silence.
Finally he heard a sigh, then detected actual mirth. "If that disappoints you, Captain, I can have one of them tell you he has the yo-yo. Then you can respond, I have the string.'"
"No!" Rayford said, howling. "But I'm sure glad to know you've run into rubes like me before."
"Every day," the man said. "And I'm sure you know that the people you are meeting with are not likely to have time or interest in frivolity."
"Roger that. And I thank you for indulging me. I'm finished now."
"Not a problem, Captain. I won't see you here, but I wish you all the best and thank you for your time."
Nicolae was grateful that Leon's SUV windows were tinted black and no one could see in. Leon's driver raced
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them toward The Church Pew bar, but they were held a block and a half away due to all the emergency vehicles. Nicolae slid out of sight when Leon lowered his window and asked passersby what was going on.
"Rumors say it was a gang-type hit," a man said.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Some guy took six .22 slugs to the back of the head. Quick and easy. Down and out. Of course, the throwaway gun is still there and nobody saw a thing. That will be the end of this one."
"Any idea who the guy is?"
The looker-on shook his head. "Somebody said they're about to haul him out of there though."
"Roll up your window, Leon," Nicolae whispered. "Then walk down there and see if you can confirm who it is."
Irene was intrigued by Rayford's summons to Washington. "And you have no idea what they want?"
He shook his head. "I can't imagine, though I suppose Earl is on the right track. He's guessing something to do with terrorism and how it affects flights, pilots, flight decks, that kind of thing."
"Well, take pictures and remember everything," she said.
"Um, I don't think you're allowed to do that in CIA headquarters. Anyway, wouldn't it look a little touristy?"
"I wouldn't mind being a tourist."
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"You want to come along, Irene? I'd love that."
Irene was touched. He sounded like he meant it. "Are you serious?"
"You wouldn't be able to be in the meeting, of course. But you might be able to tour the headquarters. And if not that, there are plenty of things in Washington to see. You know downtown D.C. is less than ten miles away."
"Don't tempt me."
"You ought to come."
"But, Rayford, how much time would I get with you? You're piloting both ways, and when we're there, you're in a meeting I can't attend. I'd just be tagging along. Anyway, I promised Jackie I'd go to this meeting with her."
"What meeting? Where?"
"New Hope," Irene said softly. She didn't want to set him off, but it was apparently too late. He went from wishing she would come along with him to Washington to now wanting to badger her anew about this.
"All right, what's the meeting?"
"It's preplanning for VBS."
"VBS? What's that?"
"Vacation Bible School. It's like Sunday school every day for a week during the summer. For kids of all ages. I want Raymie to go."
"At New Hope, of course."
She wanted to say, "Obviously. Our church wouldn't host anything like that." But she caught herself and merely nodded.
Rayford shook his head and sighed. "You want us to
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do more together and here's your chance. But no. You'll be at New Hope planning Summer Bible Camp."
"Vacation Bible School."
"Whatever."
"Rafe, if you'd only try New Hope, you'd enjoy going to church again." She didn't want to fight. She simply wanted to show him how earnest she was.
"I doubt it," he said.
"I've finally figured out the difference between New Hope and our church."
"Do tell."
"Truth."
"Truth?"
"Exactly. Our church dances around the truth. We sing, we read a few verses, Pastor Bohrer doesn't so much preach--and he never teaches--as much as he just shares thoughts. Like a homily. Listening to him is like reading those inspirational books full of partly true but mostly made-up stories of long-lost kitties finding their way home, orphans teaching some curmudgeon a life lesson, an elderly woman--"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it, okay?"
But Irene was on a roll, feeling confident, tired of backing down when Rayford acted bored. Her new resolve had been lost somewhere in the conversation. "I can tell from what I'm learning from Jackie that New Hope is about truth. The real truth. Hard truth. If the Bible says it, they ferret out the meaning and figure it out. You know what the Bible says about truth?"
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"No, I don't. But I have a feeling you're about to tell me."
"John 8:32 says, 'You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.' You know who said that?"
"I don't know. Le
t me guess. Since you said it was in John, I'm going to take a stab at, oh, John?"
"No. Jesus."
"Well, there you go. How'd you know that verse, by the way?"
"I know a lot of verses."
"You've got it bad, Irene."
"No. I've got it good. In the Psalms, David says he has hidden God's word in his heart so he won't sin. That's what I want to do. That's why I try to memorize a lot of verses."
"Oh, please. Well, more power to you. Just leave me out of it."
Irene sat on the arm of the couch. "You know what, Rafe? I can handle arguing and going back and forth about this stuff, but that really hurt. For you to tell me to just leave you out of it cuts me deeper than I'm sure you even meant to."
Rayford looked stunned. "Well, you're right about that, Irene. I didn't mean to cut you at all. I wasn't thinking about you. I was thinking about me. I don't want to be part of this; that's all. If that hurts you, I'm sorry."
"You know what makes me sorry? That you know yourself so well and still don't want to do anything about it."
"I know myself so well?"
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"You said it yourself. You weren't thinking about me. You were thinking about you."
When Rayford left the room without another word, Irene slowly shut her eyes. If he never came to the truth, she decided, it would be her own fault. Her and her big mouth.
When the SUV was secure again and Leon was hustling down the crowded street, Nicolae sat up and peered toward the tavern. "Sure enough," he said to the driver, "emergency medical personnel are wheeling out a gurney. Look at those people jostling for position to see what they can see."
"Yeah," the driver said. "Sort of like what we're doing."
Presently Leon jogged back and climbed into the car, where he sat huffing and puffing from the effort. "Whew!" he said. "His head and face were covered, but it was Planchette all right."
"Really," Nicolae said, signaling the driver to close the soundproof window between the front and back seats.
"I'm so sorry," Leon said as the driver pulled away.
"Do not be sorry," Nicolae said. "This is all the instigation I need."
"But he was your friend," Leon said.
"Hardly. Listen to me, Leon. You can do the work Reiche was doing and do it better. He has just served me the best way ever."
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Leon looked amazed. "You are one cold man, Nicolae Carpathia. I believe you're more ruthless and heartless than I."
Nicolae grinned at him, and Leon shook his hand.
As he had been told, Rayford found the CIA operatives awaiting him at the end of the Jetway at Reagan International. They looked somber but proved cordial and accommodating. They asked if he wanted to do any sightseeing or needed anything before proceeding to headquarters.
"I'd rather just get to the meeting, if you don't mind."
"We've been assigned to give you a walking tour of headquarters. By the time we're through, everyone will be assembled. They're actually having this meeting in the auditorium."
"Seriously? How many will be there?"
"Well, they won't fill six hundred and fifty seats," one said, laughing. "No, there'll be fewer than ten. I believe they just want to be sure the meeting is under the radar."
"Have to worry about that even at the CIA, huh?"
"You have no idea."
"Nicolae, you can't be serious," Leon said. They were in Carpathia's home office. "You don't retaliate for a foot soldier's death by taking out the general."
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"You do not?"
"No."
"You may not. But I do. I will never be conventional, Leon. Now do you have access to the personnel I need, or do you not?"
"Of course I do. I just want you to think about this. You have not even informed Ms. Ivins that her old friend and mentor is gone, and now you want to assassinate a leading political figure?"
"Does it matter in what order these things are accomplished? If you believe it is so crucial to let Aunt Viv know what has happened, get her in here."
The operatives pulled into the CIA complex and began the tour from the car. They told Rayford of the nearly two hundred and sixty acres and two and a half million square feet of building space. They walked him from the original precast concrete building to the newer steel-and-glass addition, now decades old, and showed him the twin six-story towers and the four-story core building.
Rayford was most impressed that the entire complex looked like a college campus. And he found it interesting to finally see for himself the massive seal of the CIA embedded in the main lobby floor.
Most stunning, however, was something that made him stop and stare. He was aware of the two men glancing at each other, but he couldn't take his eyes from the etching in the wall. If ever he had the haunting feeling
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that someone was trying to tell him something, it was now.
The etching read, " 'And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.' John VIII:XXXII."
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THIRTY
Viv was shaking when she sat down. "Something's happened to Reiche," she said. "I know it has. When you came back and went straight in here, what else could I think?"
"You thought correctly, Aunt Viv," Nicolae said. "He was murdered."
"Oh no! Oh no, no, no."
"Do not worry, Viv. We shall exact revenge, and at the highest level."
"No, no, no!"
"You are not hearing me, Auntie. We will make Tismaneanu regret this, and we will lock up the election."
Viv scowled at him, tears streaming. "Have you no heart whatsoever? How does whatever you are planning bring back my dear friend, my teacher?"
Nicolae looked at Leon, then back at Viv. "Are you
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not an adult?" he said. "Bring back your dear friend? When have you ever known of someone coming back from the dead? There will be no returning of Reiche Planchette. The sooner you accept that, the better. Now we must make the best of it, and the best is what will come of that which it gives us license to do."
"Is that all you ever think of, Nicolae? What will best serve you?"
He was nonplussed. What else was a person to think of? "What is best for me will be best for Romania. And Europe. And the world."
"Your ego knows no bounds!" she said, sobbing.
"Be careful, Aunt Viv. Remember to whom you are speaking."
She sat shaking her head.
"Say something, Leon," Nicolae said. "I cannot console a crazy woman."
"I'm no crazy woman! I'm grieving! Can't you see that?"
Leon rose and moved to her side, kneeling and putting a hand on her shoulder. "I am so, so sorry for your loss, Ms. Ivins. Reiche Planchette was a true friend and a loyal employee, and I know how much you thought of each other. Nothing I say or do can make this better, but just know that I am sympathetic and that I care."
Nicolae was stunned to see the change in Viv. She wiped her face and began to nod. Then she whispered, "Thank you very much, Mr. Fortunato, for those kind words. I will want to be heavily involved in Mr. Planchette's memorial service, inviting his many friends and relatives, of course."
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"Of course." Leon turned to Nicolae. "I should think Ms. Ivins would be the perfect choice for that task, Mr. Carpathia. Do you not agree?"
"Hmm?" Nicolae said, looking up from taking notes. "Just a moment. '... just know that I am sympathetic and that I care.' That was good, Leon. Very good. Now, what was it?"
"I'm advising that you take Ms. Ivins up on her offer to handle Mr. Planchette's memorial service."
"Oh, well, yes, certainly. And, Viv, to show my sympathy and care, I am guessing you will feel a whole lot better once Emil Tismaneanu is dead."
Viv stood and stared at Nicolae, then left the room.
When she was gone, he shrugged. "Leon, there are some people in the world you simply cannot please."
The CIA operatives led Rayford to several sculpt
ures and other objects of art in the main building, on the grounds, and on a couple of different floors. Finally they walked him through a tunnel to the dome-shaped auditorium connected to the original building.
"What are the big plaster rings?" Rayford said, looking up and pointing at the inside of the dome.
"Partly for looks, partly for sound," one said, and Rayford was impressed with the acoustics. "But look at this."
The operative pushed a button and a projection screen rose from the floor. "We'll leave that up," he said, "as the meeting facilitator wants to use it today."
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A side door opened and three men in suits and three more in military uniforms entered. The meeting facilitator introduced himself as Jack Graham and quickly introduced the others, and Rayford was suddenly lost in the sea of names and titles. Only Graham was CIA. Two were from the Defense Department, and the three in uniform were on various task forces under the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
All greeted Rayford formally by name, shaking his hand and thanking him for coming. Graham led everyone to the first two rows of seats, and he faced them, his knees on the lowered seat of a chair in the front row. Rayford realized his initial hosts had disappeared.
"We have a problem," Graham began, "and, Captain Steele, we're hoping you might be able to shed a little light. We understand your military experience is limited and that you are not an expert in munitions or antiterrorism."
"I can confirm that," Rayford said.
"You are here as a representative of every commercial pilot in this country. We're looking to you less for technical expertise than for a gut-level reaction of how you think your colleagues might respond to our dilemma. An old problem has resurfaced, and it could be a disaster if we don't nip it."
"May I counsel you, Nicolae?" Leon said.
"Do you not always?"
"Yes, but I don't want to be critical, and I certainly
