by Tim LaHaye
“You know, of course, that Stonagal is behind him.”
“Of course. But he’ll soon supersede Stonagal in influence because of his charisma. Stonagal can’t be too visible, and so he will never have the masses behind him. When Nicolae comes to power, he’ll in essence have jurisdiction over Stonagal.”
“Wouldn’t that be something?”
“I say it’ll happen sooner than any of us can imagine, Buck.”
“Except you, of course.”
“That’s exactly how I feel. You know I’ve always had good instincts. I’m sure I’m sitting on one of the greatest rises to power of anyone in history. Maybe the greatest. And I’ll be right there helping it happen.”
“What do you think of my instincts, Steve?”
Steve pressed his lips together. “Other than your writing and reporting, your instincts are the things I most envy.”
“Then rest easy. My gut feeling is the same as yours. And except that I could never be anybody’s press secretary, I almost envy you. You are uniquely positioned to enjoy the ride of your life.”
Steve smiled. “We’ll keep in touch. You’ll always have access, to me and to Nicolae.”
“I can’t ask for more than that.”
Marge interrupted on the intercom without signaling first. “Hit your TV, Steve, or whoever’s TV it is now.”
Steve smiled at Buck and switched it on. CNN was broadcasting live from Jerusalem, where two men had tried to attack the preachers at the Wailing Wall. Dan Bennett was on the scene for CNN.
“It was an ugly and dangerous confrontation for what many here are calling the two heretical prophets, known only as Moishe and Eli,” Bennett said. “We know these names only because they have referred to each other thus, but we have been unable to locate anyone who knows any more about them. We know of no last names, no cities of origin, no families or friends. They have been taking turns speaking—preaching, if you will—for hours and continuing to claim that Jesus Christ is the Messiah. They have proclaimed over and over that the great worldwide disappearances last week, including many here in Israel, evidenced Christ’s rapture of his church.
“A heckler asked why they had not disappeared, if they knew so much. The one called Moishe answered, and I quote, ‘Where we come from and where we go, you cannot know.’ His companion, Eli, was quoted, ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions,’ apparently a New Testament quotation attributed to Christ.”
Steve and Buck exchanged glances.
“Surrounded by zealots most of the day, the preachers were finally attacked just moments ago by two men in their midtwenties. Watch the footage as our cameras caught the action. You can see the two at the back of the crowd, working their way to the front. Both are wearing long, hooded robes and are bearded. You can see that they produce weapons as they emerge from the crowd.
“One has an Uzi automatic weapon and the other a bayonet-type knife that appears to have come from an Israeli-issue military rifle. The one wielding the knife surges forward first, displaying his weapon to Moishe, who had been speaking. Eli, behind him, immediately falls to his knees, his face toward the sky. Moishe stops speaking and merely looks at the man, who appears to trip. He sprawls while the man with the Uzi points the weapon at the preachers and appears to pull the trigger.
“There is no sound of gunfire as the Uzi apparently jams, and the attacker seems to trip over his partner and both wind up on the ground. The group of onlookers has backed away and run for cover, but watch again closely as we rerun this. The one with the gun seems to fall of his own accord.
“As we speak, both attackers lie at the feet of the preachers, who continue to preach. Angry onlookers demand help for the attackers, and Moishe is speaking in Hebrew. Let’s listen and we’ll translate as we go.
“He’s saying, ‘Men of Zion, pick up your dead! Remove from before us these jackals who have no power over us!’
“A few from the crowd approach tentatively while Israeli soldiers gather at the entrance to the Wall. The zealots are waving them off. Eli is speaking.
“‘You who aid the fallen are not in danger unless you come against the anointed ones of the Most High,’ apparently referring to himself and his partner. The fallen attackers are being rolled onto their backs, and those attending them are weeping and shouting and backing away. ‘Dead! Both dead!’ they are saying, and now the crowd seems to want the soldiers to enter. They are clearing the way. The soldiers are, of course, heavily armed. Whether they will try to arrest the strangers, we don’t know, but from what we saw, the two preachers neither attacked nor defended themselves against the men now on the ground.
“Moishe is speaking again: ‘Carry off your dead, but do not come nigh to us, says the Lord God of Hosts!’ This he has said with such volume and authority that the soldiers quickly have checked pulses and carried off the men. We will report any word we receive on the two who attempted to attack the preachers here at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. At this moment, the preachers have continued their shouting, proclaiming, ‘Jesus of Nazareth, born in Bethlehem, King of the Jews, the chosen one, ruler of all nations.’
“In Israel, Dan Bennett for CNN.”
Marge and a few others on the staff had drifted into Steve’s office during the telecast. “If that doesn’t beat all,” one said. “What a couple of kooks.”
“Which two?” Buck said. “You can’t say the preachers, whoever they are, didn’t warn ’em.”
“What’s going on over there?” someone else asked.
“All I know,” Buck said, “is that things happen there that no one can explain.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “If you believe in the Virgin Birth, that’s been true for centuries.”
Buck rose. “I’ve got to get to JFK,” he said.
“What are you gonna do about the job?”
“I’ve got twenty-four hours, remember?”
“Don’t use them all. Answer too quick, you look eager; too slow, you look indecisive.”
Buck knew Steve was right. He was going to have to accept the promotion just to protect himself from other pretenders. He didn’t want to be obsessed with it all day. Buck was glad for the diversion of seeing Hattie Durham. His only question now was whether he would recognize her. They had met under most traumatic circumstances.
Rayford and Chloe arrived in New York just after noon on Wednesday and went directly to the Pan-Con Club to wait for Hattie Durham. “I’m guessing she won’t show,” Chloe said.
“Why?”
“Because I wouldn’t if I were her.”
“You’re not her, thank God.”
“Oh, don’t put her down, Dad. What makes you any better?”
Rayford felt awful. Chloe was right. Why should he think less of Hattie just because she seemed dim at times? That hadn’t bothered him when he had seen her only as a physical diversion. And now, just because she had been nasty with him on the phone and never acknowledged his last invitation to meet today, he had categorized her as less desirable or less deserving.
“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 availabl
e. 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 assassins. “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.
