by Tim LaHaye
“David? I know. But we need him right where he is.”
CHAPTER 14
The flight to Waukegan had been difficult for Chloe. The drive from Waukegan to Wheeling to drop off Ken Ritz, and then on to Mt. Prospect, was worse. She had slept in Buck’s arms during virtually the entire flight, but the Range Rover had been torture.
The best Buck could do was let her lie across the backseat, but one of the fasteners connecting the seat to the floor had broken loose during the earthquake, so he had to drive even slower than normal. Still, Chloe seemed to bounce the whole way. Finally Ken knelt, facing the back, and tried to brace the seat with his hands.
When they got to Palwaukee Airport, Buck walked Ken to the Quonset hut where he had been given a corner to move into. “Always an adventure,” Ken said wearily. “One of these days you’re gonna get me killed.”
“It was stupid to ask you to fly so soon after surgery, Ken, but you were a lifesaver. I’ll send you a check.”
“You always do. But I also want to know more about where all you guys are, you know, with your beliefs and everything.”
“Ken, we’ve been through this before. It’s becoming pretty clear now, wouldn’t you say? This whole period of history, this is it. Just a little more than five more years, and it’s all over. I can see why people might not have understood what was happening before the Rapture. I was one of them. But it’s come to one giant countdown. The whole deal now is which side you’re on. You’re either serving God or you’re serving the Antichrist. You’ve been a supplier for the good guys. It’s time you joined our team.”
“I know, Buck. I’ve never seen anything like how you people take care of each other. It’d be good for me if I could see it all one more time in black and white, you know, like on one sheet of paper, pros and cons. That’s how I am. I figure it out, and I make my decision.”
“I can get you a Bible.”
“I’ve got a Bible somewhere. Are there like one or two pages that have the whole deal spelled out?”
“Read John. And then Romans. You’ll see the stuff we’ve talked about. We’re sinners. We’re separated from God. He wants us back. He’s provided the way.”
Ken looked uncomfortable. Buck knew he was light-headed and in pain. “Have you got a computer?”
“Yeah, and of course an e-mail address.”
“Let me have it, and I’ll write down a newsgroup for you. The guy you brought back from Egypt with me is the hottest thing on the Internet. Talk about putting everything on one page for you, he does it.”
“So once I join up I get the secret mark on my forehead?”
“You sure do.”
Buck reclined the front passenger seat and moved Chloe there. But it wasn’t flat enough, and she soon retreated again to the back. When Buck finally pulled into the backyard at Donny’s, Tsion rushed out to greet Chloe. As soon as he saw her he burst into tears. “Oh, you poor child. Welcome to your new home. You are safe.”
Tsion helped Buck remove her from the backseat and opened the door so Buck could carry her inside. Buck headed for the stairs, but Tsion stopped him. “Right here, Cameron. See?” Tsion had brought down his bed for her. “She cannot use the stairs yet.”
Buck shook his head. “I suppose next comes the chicken soup.”
Tsion smiled and pushed a button on the microwave. “Give me sixty seconds.”
But Chloe did not eat. She slept through the night and off and on the next day.
“You need a goal,” Tsion told her. “Where would you like to go on your first day out?”
“I want to see the church. And Loretta’s house.”
“Will not that be—”
“It will be painful. But Buck says if I hadn’t run, I never would have survived. I need to see why. And I want to see where Loretta and Donny died.”
When she hobbled to the kitchen table and sat by herself, she asked only for her computer. It pained Buck to watch her peck away with one hand. When he tried to help, she rebuffed him. He must have looked hurt.
“Honey, I know you want to help,” she said. “You searched for me until you found me, and nobody can ask for more than that. But, please, don’t do anything for me unless I ask.”
“You never ask.”
“I’m not a dependent person, Buck. I don’t want to be waited on. This is war, and there aren’t enough days left to waste. As soon as I get this hand working, I’m gonna take some of the load off Tsion. He’s on the computer day and night.”
Buck got his own laptop and wrote to Ken Ritz about the possibility of going to Israel. He couldn’t imagine it ever being safe for Tsion there, but Tsion was so determined to go, Buck was afraid there would be no choice. His ulterior motive with Ken, of course, was to see if he had come to a spiritual decision. As he was transmitting the message, Chloe called out from the kitchen.
“Oh, my word! Buck! You’ve got to see this!”
He hurried to peer over her shoulder. The message on the screen was several days old. It was from Hattie Durham.
Rayford was afraid Leon Fortunato would be bored on the trip to Rome and might pester him and Mac in the cockpit. But every time Rayford clicked on the secret intercom to monitor the cabin, Leon was whistling, humming, singing, talking on the phone, or noisily moving about.
Once Rayford had Mac take over while he found an excuse to wander into the cabin. Leon was arranging the mahogany table where he and Pontifex Maximus Peter Mathews and the ten kings would meet prior to seeing Carpathia.
Leon looked excited enough to burst. “You will remain in the cockpit as soon as our guests join us, will you not?”
“Sure,” Rayford said. It was clear Leon needed no company.
Rayford didn’t expect any secrets listening in on Leon and Mathews, but he loved the entertainment possibilities. Fortunato was such a Carpathia groupie and Mathews so condescending and independent that the two were like oil and water. Mathews was used to being treated like royalty. Fortunato treated Carpathia like the king of the world that he was but was slow to serve anyone else and often curt with those who served him.
When Mathews boarded in Rome he immediately treated Fortunato as one of his valets. And he already had two. A young man and woman carried his things aboard and stood chatting with him. As Rayford listened in, he was exposed again to Mathews’s gall. Every time Fortunato suggested it was time to get under way, Mathews interrupted.
“Could I get a cold drink, Leon?” Mathews said.
There was a long pause. “Certainly,” Fortunato said flatly. Then, with sarcasm, “And your staff?”
“Yes, something for them as well.”
“Fine, Pontiff Mathews. And then I think we should really be—”
“And something to munch. Thank you, Leon.”
After two such encounters, Fortunato’s silence was deafening. Finally Leon said, “Pontiff Mathews, I really think it’s time—”
“How long are we going to sit here, Leon? What do you say we get this show on the road?”
“We cannot move with unauthorized personnel on the plane.”
“Who’s not authorized?”
“Your people.”
“I introduced you, Leon. These are my personal assistants.”
“You were under the impression they were invited?”
“I go nowhere without them.”
“I’m going to have to check with His Excellency.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’ll have to check with Nicolae Carpathia.”
“You said ‘His Excellency.’”
“I planned to talk that over with you en route.”
“Talk to me now, Leon.”
“Pontiff, I would appreciate your addressing me by my title. Is that too much to ask?”
“Titles are what we’re talking about. Where does Carpathia get off using Excellency?”
“It was not his choice. I—”
“Yes, and I suppose Potentate wasn’t his choice either. Secretary-general just
never did it for him, did it?”
“As I said, I want to discuss the new title with you during the trip.”
“Then let’s get going!”
“I’m not authorized to transport uninvited guests.”
“Mr. Fortunato, these are invited guests. I invited them.”
“My title is not mister.”
“Oh, so the Potentate is now His Excellency and you’re what, Potentate? No, let me guess. You’re Supreme Something-or-Other. Am I right?”
“I need to check this with His Excellency.”
“Well, hurry. And tell ‘His Excellency’ that Pontifex Maximus thinks it’s nervy to switch from a royal title—already an overstatement—to a sacred one.”
Rayford heard only Fortunato’s end of the conversation with Nicolae, of course, but Leon had to eat crow.
“Pontiff,” he said finally, “His Excellency has asked me to express his welcome and his assurance that anyone you feel necessary to make your flight comfortable is an honor for him to have on board.”
“Really?” Mathews said. “Then I insist on a cabin crew.” Fortunato laughed. “I’m serious, Leon—or, I mean, what is your title, man?”
“I serve at the rank of Commander.”
“Commander? Tell the truth now, Commander, is it actually Supreme Commander?” Fortunato did not respond, but Mathews must have detected something in his face. “It is, isn’t it? Well, even if it isn’t, I insist. If I am to call you Commander, it shall be Supreme Commander. Is that acceptable?”
Fortunato sighed loudly. “The actual title is Supreme Commander, yes. You may call me either.”
“Oh, no I may not. Supreme Commander it is. Now, Supreme Commander Fortunato, I am deadly serious about cabin service on a long flight like this, and I’m shocked at your lack of foresight in not providing it.”
“We have all the amenities, Pontiff. We felt it more necessary to have a full complement of service personnel when the regional ambassadors begin to join us.”
“You were wrong. I wish not to leave the ground until this plane is properly staffed. If you have to check that with His Excellency, feel free.”
There was a long silence, and Rayford assumed the two were staring each other down. “You’re serious about this?” Fortunato said.
“Serious as an earthquake.”
The call button sounded in the cockpit. “Flight deck,” Mac said. “Go ahead.”
“Gentlemen, I have decided to employ a cabin crew between here and Dallas. I shall be contracting with one of the airlines here. Please communicate with the tower that we could be delayed for as long as two or three hours. Thank you.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Mac said, “but our delay here has already cost us four places in line for takeoff. They’re being flexible because of who we are, but—”
“Did you misunderstand something?” Leon said.
“Not at all, sir. Roger that delay.”
Hattie’s e-mail message read:
Dear CW, I didn’t know who else to turn to. Well, actually I did. But I got no response from AS at the private number she gave me. She said she carries her phone all the time, so I’m worried what happened to her.
I need your help. I lied to my former boss and told him my people were from Denver. When I changed my flight from Boston to go west instead of east, I was hoping he would think I was going to see my family. Actually, they live in Santa Monica. I’m in Denver for a whole other reason.
I’m at a reproductive clinic here. Now, don’t overreact. Yes, they do abortions, and they’re pushing me that direction. In fact, that’s mostly what they do. But they do also ask every mother if she’s considered her options, and every once in a while a baby is carried to term. Some are put up for adoption; some are raised by the mother. Others are raised by the clinic.
This place also serves as a safe house, and I am here anonymously. I cut my hair short and dyed it black, and I wear colored contact lenses. I’m sure no one recognizes me.
They give us access to these computers a few hours every week. At other times we write things and draw pictures and exercise. They also encourage us to write to friends and loved ones and make amends. Sometimes they urge us to write to the fathers of our children.
I couldn’t do that. But I do need to talk to you. I have a private satellite phone. Do you have a number like AS does? I’m scared. I’m confused. Some days abortion seems the easiest solution. But I’m already growing attached to this child. I might be able to give it up, but I don’t think I could end its life. I told a counselor I felt guilty about becoming pregnant when I wasn’t married. She had never heard anything like that in her life. She said I ought to stop obsessing about right and wrong and start thinking about what was best for me.
I feel more guilty about considering abortion than I do about what you would call immorality. I don’t want to make a mistake. And I don’t want to keep living like this. I envy you and your close friends. I sure hope you all survived the earthquake. I suppose your dad and your husband believe it was the wrath of the Lamb. Maybe it was. I wouldn’t be surprised.
If I don’t hear from you, I’m going to assume the worst, so please get back to me if you can. Say hi to everybody. My love to L. Love, H.
“Now, Buck,” Chloe said, “I don’t mind if you help me. Just reply as fast as you can that I was hurt and away from my e-mail, that I’m going to be fine, and here’s my phone number. OK?”
Buck was already typing.
Rayford slipped his laptop out of his flight bag and left the plane. On the way he passed the two bored young people, a red-faced and sweating Leon on the phone, and Mathews. The Supreme Pontiff of Enigma Babylon glanced at Rayford and looked away. So much for pastoral interest, Rayford thought. Pilots were just props on this guy’s stage.
Rayford sat near a window in the terminal. With his amazing computer, powered by the sun, he could communicate from anywhere. He checked the bulletin board where Tsion kept in touch with his growing church. In just a few days, hundreds of thousands of people had responded to his messages. Open messages to Nicolae Carpathia pleaded for amnesty for Tsion Ben-Judah. One poignantly summarized the consensus: “Surely a lover of peace like yourself, Potentate Carpathia, who aided in Rabbi Ben-Judah’s escape from orthodox zealots in his homeland, has the power to return him safely to Israel, where he can communicate with so many of us who love him. We’re counting on you.”
Rayford smiled. Many were so new in the faith that they did not know Carpathia’s true identity. When, he wondered, might Tsion himself have to blatantly expose Carpathia?
When he checked his mail, Rayford was dumbfounded to learn of the contact from Hattie. He had strangely mixed emotions. He was glad she and her baby were safe, but he so badly wanted a message from Amanda that he found himself jealous. He resented that Chloe had heard from Hattie before he heard from Amanda. “God, forgive me,” he prayed silently.
Several hours later, the Condor 216 finally took off from Rome with a full cabin crew, compliments of Alitalia Airlines.
When Rayford wasn’t planning the Tigris River dive, he eavesdropped on the cabin.
“Now this is more like it, Supreme Commander Fortunato,” Mathews was saying. “Isn’t this better than the buffet line you had planned? Admit it.”
“Everyone appreciates being served,” Fortunato allowed. “Now there are some issues His Excellency has asked me to brief you on.”
“Quit calling him that! It drives me nuts. I was going to save this news, but I might as well tell you now. Response to my leadership has been so overwhelming that my staff has planned a weeklong festival next month to celebrate my installation. Though I no longer serve the Catholic church, which has been blended into our much bigger faith, it seemed appropriate to some that my title change as well. I believe it will have more immediate impact and be more easily understood by the masses if I simply go by Peter the Second.”
“That sounds like a pope’s title,” Fortunato said.
&n
bsp; “Of course it is. Though some would call my position a papacy, I frankly see it as much larger.”
“You prefer Peter the Second over Supreme Pontiff or even Pontifex Maximus?”
“Less is more. It has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”
“We’ll have to see how His—ah, Potentate Carpathia feels about it.”
“What does the Global Community potentate have to do with the One World Faith?”
“Oh, he feels responsible for the idea and for your elevation to this post.”
“He needs to remember that democracy wasn’t all bad. At least they had separation between church and state.”
“Pontiff, you asked what His Excellency has to do with you. I must ask, where would Enigma Babylon be without financing from the Global Community?”
“I could ask the reverse. People need something to believe in. They need faith. They need tolerance. We need to stand together and rid the world of the hatemongers. The vanishings took care of narrow-minded fundamentalists and intolerant zealots. Have you seen what’s happening on the Internet? That rabbi who blasphemed his own religion in his own country is now developing a huge following. It falls to me to compete with that. I have a request here—” Rayford heard rustling papers—“for increased financial support from the Global Community.”
“His Excellency was afraid of that.”
“Bull! I’ve never known Carpathia to be afraid of anything. He knows we have tremendous expenses. We are living up to our name. We’re a one-world faith. We influence every continent for peace and unity and tolerance. Every ambassador ought to be mandated to increase his share of contributions to Enigma Babylon.”
“Pontiff, no one has ever faced the fiscal problems His Excellency faces now. The balance of power has shifted to the Middle East. New Babylon is the capital of the world. Everything will be centralized. The rebuilding of that city alone has caused the potentate to propose significant tax increases across the board. But he’s also rebuilding the whole world. Global Community forces are at work on every continent, reestablishing communications and transportation and engaging in cleanup, rescue, relief, sanitation, you name it. Every region leader will be asked to call his subjects to sacrifice.”
