by Tim LaHaye
Hattie shouted, “What if the tire burns up the car anyway?”
“Hope you’re right with God!” Ritz shouted.
“You took the words right out of my mouth!” Buck said.
Rocketing toward Dallas at several hundred miles an hour, Rayford was afraid he would overtake Mac in the chopper. He had to time his arrival appropriately. Several minutes later he heard Fortunato contact Mac.
“Dallas tower to Golf Charlie Niner Niner, over.”
“This is Golf Charlie. Go ahead, tower.”
“Switch to alternate frequency for your superior, over.”
“Roger that.”
Rayford switched to frequency 11 to listen in.
“Mac, this is the Supreme Commander.”
“Go ahead, sir.”
“What’s your location?”
“Two hours west of you, sir. Returning from a visit.”
“Were you coming straight back?”
“No, sir. But I can.”
“Please do. There was a major foul-up north of us, do you follow?”
“What happened?”
“We’re not sure yet. We need to find our operative and then we need to get back on schedule as soon as possible.”
“I’m on my way, sir.”
Buck prayed the car would run out of gas soon, but he didn’t know how they would get Hattie across the torn-up ground. The flames licked the back right side of the car, and only Ken’s keeping the thing rolling kept them from exploding.
The fire was closest to Hattie, and even with the car jerking this way and that, she managed to crawl into the front seat, jamming between the men.
“The engine will blow before I run out of gas!” Ken shouted. “We may have to jump!”
“Easier said than done!” Hattie said.
Buck had an idea. He found his phone and punched in an emergency code. “Warn Stapleton tower!” he yelled. “Small craft approaching on fire!”
The dispatcher tried to ask something, but Buck hung up. The engine rattled and banged, the back of the car was a torch, and Ken nursed it over one last rise to the far end of the runway. A foam truck moved into position.
“Keep her rolling, Ken!” Buck said.
The engine finally quit. Ken shifted into neutral and both men grabbed their door handles. Hattie latched onto Buck’s arm with both hands. The car was barely rolling when the foam truck reached it and unloaded, smothering the vehicle and snuffing the fire. Ken burst out one side and Buck the other, Hattie in tow. Lurching blindly through the foam, Buck lifted Hattie into his arms, stunned at her added weight. Weak from the ordeal, he fell in behind Ken and followed him to the Learjet. Ken lowered the steps, told Buck to hand Hattie to him and get aboard, then carried her to where Buck helped her into a seat. Ken had the door shut, the engines screaming, and the Learjet rolling within a minute.
As they jetted into the sky, the foam crew finished with the car and stared at the fleeing plane.
Buck spread his knees and let his hands dangle. His knuckles were raw. He couldn’t wipe from his mind the images of the receptionist—dead before she hit the ground—the guard he rocked off his feet, and the woman trembling as she locked her door.
“Ken, if they find out who we are, you and I are fugitives.”
“What happened to noon?” Hattie said, her voice thin.
“What happened to your phone?” Buck asked. “Chloe and I tried to reach you all morning.”
“They took it,” she said. “Said they had to run diagnostics on it or something.”
“Are you healthy?” Buck said. “I mean, other than your condition?”
“I’ve felt better,” she said. “I’m still pregnant, if you’re curious.”
“I gathered that while carrying you.”
“Sorry.”
“We’re going to be in hiding,” Buck said. “Are you up to it?”
“Who else is there?”
Buck told her.
“What about medical care?”
“I have an idea there, too,” Buck said. “No promises, but we’ll see what we can do.”
Ken seemed to still be wired. “I couldn’t believe my luck when I paid off that janitor and he took me outside where I could look right through the window.”
“When you said you were with Buck,” Hattie said, “I had to trust you.”
“How in the world did you get out of there, Buck?” Ken said.
“I wonder that myself. That guard murdered the receptionist.”
Hattie looked stricken. “Claire?” she said. “Claire Blackburn’s dead?”
“I didn’t know her name,” Buck said, “but she’s dead all right.”
“That’s what they wanted to do to me,” Hattie said.
“You got that right,” Ken said.
“I’ll stay with you guys for as long as you’ll have me,” she said.
Buck got on his phone, updated Rayford and Chloe, then punched in the number of Dr. Floyd Charles in Kenosha.
Rayford concocted a story he believed would be convincing. The only problem, he knew, was that it might not be long before Buck was identified as his impostor.
CHAPTER 18
Before returning to Dallas, Rayford hoped to find out what Leon knew or believed had happened in Denver. But he was unable to reach Mac. Was it possible Buck had been recognized? No one would believe Rayford had not had a part in Hattie’s escape if it was known his son-in-law was there. Rayford would accept the consequences of his actions in what he considered a holy war. He did, however, want to stay out of prison long enough to find Amanda and clear her name.
If Tsion was right, the 144,000 witnesses were sealed by God and protected from harm for a certain period. Though he was not one of the witnesses, Rayford was a believer; he had the mark of God on his forehead, and he trusted God to protect him. If God did not, then, as the apostle Paul put it, to die would be “gain.”
Rayford had not heard from Mac and couldn’t raise him. Either Mac could not get away from Leon long enough to get in touch with him, or something was wrong on the ground. Rayford had to do something. If he was to say he had aborted his mission, it only made sense to radio Leon before showing up again in Dallas.
Buck was rocked to think he might have killed someone. When Dr. Charles met them at Waukegan Airport before following them to Mt. Prospect, Buck whispered his fear. “I have to know how bad I hurt that guard.”
“I know a guy at the GC emergency facility outside Littleton,” Dr. Charles said. “I can find out.”
Dr. Charles stayed in his car on the phone after Ken wheeled the Suburban into the backyard. Chloe and Tsion demanded every detail. Chloe navigated the stairs with her cane, insisting that Hattie take the downstairs bed. Hattie looked exhausted. Ken and Tsion helped her up the stairs and urged her to call for them after her shower so they could help her back down.
Buck and Chloe spoke in private. “You could have been killed,” she said.
“I’m surprised I wasn’t. I just know I killed that guard. I can’t believe it. But he had just murdered the receptionist, and I knew he would do the same to us. I reacted instinctively. If I’d thought about it, I might have frozen.”
“There was nothing else you could do, Buck. But you can’t kill a man with a punch, can you?”
“I hope not. But he had spun around and was moving right toward me when I hit him. I’m not exaggerating, hon. I don’t think I could have hit him harder if I had been running at him. It felt as if my fist was inside his head. Everything crumbled beneath it, and he landed flush on the back of his head. It sounded like a bomb.”
“It was self-defense, Buck.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do if I find out he’s dead.”
“What will the Global Community do if they find out it was you?”
Buck wondered how long that might take. The young guard had gotten a good look at him, but he was likely dead. The other guard assumed he was Rayford Steele. Until someone showed him a picture of Rayf
ord, he might still believe it. But could he describe Buck?
Buck moved to a mirror in the hallway. His face was grimy, his cheek red and purple almost to his nose. His hair was wild and dark with sweat. He needed a shower. But what had he looked like at that clinic? What might the surviving guard say about him?
“Charlie Tango to Dallas tower, over.”
“Tower, go ahead, Charlie Tango.”
“Relay urgent message to Global Community Supreme Commander. Mission aborted due to mechanical failure. Checking equipment before return to base. ETA two hours, over.”
“Roger that, Charlie Tango.”
Rayford put down at an unattended and seemingly abandoned airstrip east of Amarillo and waited for Leon Fortunato’s call.
Buck worried when Dr. Charles finally came into the house and would not make eye contact. The doctor agreed to check Chloe, Ken, and Hattie before heading back to Kenosha. He appeared most concerned about Hattie and her baby. She was to remain at rest for other than nature calls. He told the others how to care for her and what symptoms to monitor.
The doctor removed Ken’s stitches and advised him also to take it easy for several days.
“What, no more shoot-outs? Guess I can’t work for Buck for a while.”
The doctor told Chloe again that time was her ally. Her arm and foot casts were not ready to be removed, but he prescribed therapy that would help her snap back more quickly.
Buck waited, watching. If Dr. Charles ignored him altogether, that meant Buck had killed a man and the doctor didn’t know how to tell him. “Could you check my cheek?” Buck asked.
Without a word, Dr. Charles approached. He held Buck’s face in his hands and turned him this way and that in the light. “I need to clean that,” he said. “You risk infection unless we get some alcohol in there.”
The others left them while the doctor worked on Buck. “You’ll feel better after a shower, too,” he said.
“I’ll feel better when you tell me what you found out. You were on that phone a long time.”
“The man is dead,” Dr. Charles said.
Buck stared.
“I don’t see that you had any choice, Buck.”
“They’ll come looking for me. They had cameras throughout that place.”
“If you looked like you look now, even people who know you might not have recognized you.”
“I have to turn myself in.”
Dr. Charles stepped back. “If you shot an enemy soldier during a battle, would you turn yourself in?”
“I didn’t mean to kill him.”
“But if you had not, he would have killed you. He killed someone right in front of you. You know his assignment was to take out both you and Hattie.”
“How did a punch kill him?”
The doctor applied a butterfly bandage and sat on the table. “My colleague in Littleton tells me that either of the two blows—to the face or to the back of the head—could have done it. But the combination made it unavoidable. The guard suffered severe facial trauma, a shattering of cartilage and bone around the nose, some of it driven into his skull. Both optic nerves were destroyed. Several teeth were shattered, and the upper jaw cracked. That damage alone might have killed him.”
“Might have?”
“My associate leans toward the posterior cranial damage as the cause of death. The back of his head hitting flush on the floor caused his skull to shatter like an eggshell. Several shards of cranial tissue were embedded in the brain. He died instantly.”
Buck hung his head. What kind of a soldier was he? How could he be expected to fight in this cosmic battle of good versus evil if he couldn’t handle killing the enemy?
The doctor began putting his things away. “I’ve never met anyone who caused another person’s death and didn’t feel awful for a while,” he said. “I’ve talked with parents who killed someone while protecting their own child, but still they were haunted and sobered. Ask yourself where Hattie would be if not for what you did. Where would you be?”
“I’d be in heaven. Hattie would be in hell.”
“Then you bought her some time.”
Rayford finally received a call from the Dallas tower, asking that he inform them when he was half an hour from touchdown. “The Supreme Commander awaits your arrival.”
He told them he was about to get underway. Half an hour out of Dallas, he radioed in, and forty minutes later he taxied to the hangar that also housed the Condor 216. He alighted to face a glowering Leon Fortunato, Mac McCullum behind him with a knowing look. Rayford couldn’t wait to talk to Mac privately.
“What happened, Captain Steele?”
“It was sluggish, Commander, and only prudent to check it out. I was able to make an adjustment, but I was so far behind schedule I thought I’d better check in.”
“You don’t know what happened, then?”
“To the plane? Not entirely, but it was unstable and—”
“I mean what happened in Denver!”
Rayford glanced at Mac, who almost imperceptibly shook his head.
“In Denver?”
“I told you, Commander,” Mac said, “I was unable to reach him.”
“Follow me,” Fortunato said. He led Rayford and Mac to an office, where he punched up on a computer a video and text e-mail from the Global Community office in Denver. The three bent over the monitor and watched as Fortunato narrated. “We knew Miss Durham was unwilling to return to New Babylon, but His Excellency believed it was in her best interest and in the best interest of global security. To protect his fiancée and their child, we assigned two security officers to meet with you and her and to give you your orders. Their top priority was the transfer of Miss Durham to you for her transport to the Middle East. They were to ensure she was still in Denver when you arrived.
“While the laboratory and clinic there were largely undamaged by the earthquake, we thought the surveillance system had been knocked out. However, the surviving security officer double-checked the system, just in case, and found a view of the impostor.”
“The impostor?” Rayford said.
“The man claiming to be you.”
Rayford raised his eyebrows.
“These were professionals, Captain Steele.”
“These?”
“At least two. Maybe more. The cameras in front of the building and in the reception area were not operating. There are cameras at either end of the main corridor and one in the middle. The action you’ll see here took place in the middle, but the only camera working was the one at the north end of the corridor. Nearly every view of the impostor is blocked by one of the security men, or the impostor has his back to the camera. The tape begins here with the security guards and the perpetrator stepping outside Miss Durham’s door while she dressed for the trip.”
It was clear Buck was the man between the two guards, but his face was indistinct. His hair was out of place, and he had an ugly cheek wound.
“Now watch, gentlemen. When the senior guard knocks on Miss Durham’s door, the other also turns toward the door, but the perp glances down the hall. That’s the clearest view we get of his face.”
Again, Rayford was relieved that the image was not clear.
“The senior guard believes the perp was distracted by two janitors who appear earlier on the tape. He will interview them later today. Now here, a few moments later, he has lost patience with Miss Durham. He calls to her and both guards bang on the door. Here the junior guard orders curious patients back into their rooms. The perp backs up a couple of steps when the senior guard blows open the door. That brings the receptionist. While the junior guard is distracted, the perp somehow disarms him, and see? See the gunfire? He murders the receptionist where she stands. When the junior guard attempts to disarm him, he drives the butt end of the Uzi so hard into his face that the guard is dead before he hits the floor.
Mac and Rayford caught each other’s eyes and leaned closer to study the video. Rayford wondered if Fortunato thought he had th
e power Carpathia possessed, to convince people they had seen something they had not. He couldn’t let it pass.
“That’s not what I see there, Leon.”
Leon looked sharply at him. “What are you saying?”
“The junior guard did the firing.” Fortunato backed up the tape. “See?” Rayford said. “There! He’s firing. The perp is stepping back. The guard wheels back around, and the perp steps forward as the guard appears to slip on his own expelled shell casings. See? He has no footing, so the blow drives his head to the floor.”
Fortunato looked angry. He reran the video a couple more times.
Mac said, “The perp didn’t even attempt to grab the gun.”
“Say what you will, gentlemen, but that impostor murdered the receptionist and the guard.”
“The guard?” Rayford said. “He might have fallen on his head even if he hadn’t been punched.”
“Anyway,” Fortunato continued, “the accomplice pulled Miss Durham through the window and sent her to the getaway car. As soon as the senior guard opened the door, the accomplice fired at him.”
That was not, of course, the way Rayford had heard it. “How did he escape being killed?”
“He nearly was. He has a severe wound to his heel.”
“I thought you said he was coming into the room when he was fired upon?”
“Correct.”
“He was running out of the room if he got shot in the heel.”
The computer beeped, and Fortunato asked an aide for help. “Another message is coming in,” he said. “Bring it up for me.”
The aide hit a few buttons, and a new message flashed from the senior guard. It read, “Foot being treated. Surgery required. Accomplice was second janitor in first scene on tape. Real janitor found with wad of cash. Says accomplice forced on him to appear like bribe. Says accomplice held knife to throat until he got information.”
