by Tim LaHaye
“Mr. Gustafson, how does Nicolae Carpathia tell the president of the United States who should pilot his plane?”
“I don’t know! Who cares? Politics is politics, whether it’s the Dems and the Repubs in this country or Labor and the Bolsheviks somewhere else.”
Rayford thought the analogy a little sloppy, but he couldn’t argue the logic. “So somebody’s trading something for something, and I’m just the hired hand.”
“Isn’t that the truth with all of us?” Gustafson said. “But everybody loves Carpathia. He seems above all the politics. If I had to guess, I’d say the president is letting him use the new ’seven-seven just because he likes him.”
Yeah, Rayford thought, and I’m the Easter bunny.
“So will you take the job?”
“I’ve never been pushed out of a job before.”
“You’re not being pushed, Rayford. We love you here. We just wouldn’t be able to justify not having one of our top guys get the best job in the world in his profession.”
“What about my record? A complaint has been lodged against me.”
Gustafson smiled knowingly. “A complaint? I know nothing of a complaint? Do you, Earl?”
“Nothing’s come across my desk, sir,” he said. “And if it did, I’m sure it could be expedited beyond danger in a very short time.”
“By the way, Rayford,” Gustafson said, “are you familiar with a Nicholas Edwards?”
Rayford nodded.
“Friend of yours?”
“First officer a couple of times. I’d like to think we’re friends, yes.”
“Did you hear he had been promoted to captain?”
Rayford shook his head. Politics, he thought glumly.
“Nice, huh?” Gustafson said.
“Real nice,” Rayford said, his head spinning.
“Anything else standing in your way?” Gustafson said.
Rayford could see his choices disappearing. “At the very least, and I’m still not saying I’ll take it, I would have to be headquartered in Chicago.”
Gustafson grimaced and shook his head. “Earl told me that. I don’t get it. I would think you’d want to be out of here, away from the memories of your wife and other daughter.”
“Son.”
“Yeah, the college boy.”
Rayford didn’t correct him, but he saw Earl wince.
“Anyway,” Gustafson said, “you could get your daughter away from whoever might be stalking her, and—”
“Sir?”
“—and you could get yourself a nice place outside D.C.”
“Stalking her?”
“Well, maybe it’s not that obvious yet, Rayford, but I sure as blazes wouldn’t want my daughter to be hearing from somebody anonymously. I don’t care what they were sending.”
“But how did you—?”
“I mean, Rayford, you’d never forgive yourself if something happened to that little girl and you had a chance to get her away from whoever is threatening her.”
“My daughter is not being stalked or threatened! What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the roses, or whatever the bouquet was. What was the deal with that?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. As far as I know, only three people, besides whoever sent those, even know she got them. How did you find out?”
“I don’t remember. Somebody just mentioned that sometimes a person has a reason to leave just as much as he has a reason to like the new opportunity.”
“But if you’re not pushing me out, I have no reason to leave.”
“Not even if your daughter is getting hassled by someone?”
“Anyone who wanted to hassle her could find her in Washington just as easily as here,” Rayford said.
“But still . . .”
“I don’t like the idea that you know all this.”
“Well, don’t turn down the job of a lifetime over an insignificant mystery.”
“It’s not insignificant to me.”
Gustafson stood. “I’m not accustomed to begging people to do what I ask.”
“So if I don’t take this, I’m history with Pan-Con?”
“You ought to be, but I suppose we’d have a tough time with a suit from you after we encouraged you to take the job of piloting the president.”
Rayford had no intention of filing a suit, but he said nothing.
Gustafson sat again. “Do me a favor,” he said. “Go to Washington. Talk to the people, probably the chiefs of staff. Tell them you’ll make the run to Israel for the peace-treaty signing. Then decide what you want to do. Would you do that for me?”
Rayford knew Gustafson would never tell him where he’d heard about Chloe’s flowers, and he figured his best bet was to pry it out of Hattie. “Yes,” Rayford said at last. “I’ll do that.”
“Good!” Gustafson said, shaking hands with both Rayford and Earl. “I think we’re halfway home. And Earl, make this run to Baltimore today Rayford’s last before the trip to Israel. In fact, he’s going to be so close to Washington, let’s get somebody else to fly his plane back so he can meet with people at the White House today. Can we arrange that?”
“It’s already done, sir.”
“Earl,” Gustafson said, “if you were ten years younger, you’d be the man for the job.”
Rayford noticed the pain on Earl’s face. Gustafson couldn’t know how badly Halliday had wanted that very job. On the way to his plane, Rayford checked his mail slot. There, among the packages and interoffice memos, was a note. It read simply, “Thanks for your endorsement on my early promotion. I really appreciate it. And good luck to you. Signed, Captain Nicholas Edwards.”
Several hours later Rayford left the cockpit of his 747 in Baltimore and was met by a Pan-Con operative who presented him with credentials that would get him into the White House. Upon his arrival, he was quickly whisked through the gate. A guard welcomed him by name and wished him luck. When he finally got to the office of an assistant to the chief of staff, Rayford made clear that he was agreeing only to fill in as pilot for the trip to Israel the following Monday.
“Very good,” he was told. “We have already begun the character and reference check, the FBI probe, and the Secret Service interviewing. It will take a bit longer to complete anyway, so you’ll be in a position to impress us and the president without being responsible for him until you’ve passed all checkpoints.”
“You can authorize me to fly the U.N. secretary-general with less clearance on me than you’d need for the president?”
“Precisely. Anyway, you’ve already been approved by the U.N.”
“I have?”
“You have.”
“By whom?”
“By the secretary-general himself.”
Buck was on the phone to Marge Potter at Global Weekly headquarters in New York when he heard the news. The entire world would go to dollars for currency within one year, the plan to be initiated and governed by the United Nations, funded by a one-tenth of one percent tax to the U.N. on every dollar.
“That doesn’t sound unreasonable, does it?” Marge asked.
“Ask the financial editor, Marge,” Buck said. “It’ll be gazillions a year.”
“And just how much is a gazillion?”
“More than either of us can count.” Buck sighed. “You were going to do some checking, Marge, about finding someone to help arrange these religion interviews.”
He could hear her shuffling papers. “You can catch your one-world religion guys here in New York,” she said. “They’re heading out Friday, but very few of them will be in Israel. Your temple guys will be in Jerusalem next week. We’ll try to get in touch with those two kooks you want at the Wailing Wall, but the smart money here says not to count on it.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“And where would you like us to send your remains?”
“I’ll survive.”
“No one else has.”
“But I’m not threatening them, Marge. I
’m helping them broadcast their message.”
“Whatever that is.”
“You see why we need a story on them?”
“It’s your life, Buck.”
“Thank you.”
“And you’d better get to this Cardinal Mathews on your way here. He’s shuttling back and forth between the one-faith meetings in New York and the Cincinnati archdiocese, and he’s heading to the Vatican for the papal vote right after the treaty signing next Monday.”
“But he will be in Jerusalem?”
“Oh, yes. There’s some rumor floating around that in case he’s the next pope he’s making contacts in Jerusalem for some major shrine or something. But the Catholics would never leave the Vatican, would they?”
“You never know, Marge.”
“Well, that’s for sure. I hardly get time to think about these things, being gofer for you and everyone else around here who can’t do his own legwork.”
“You’re the best, Marge.”
“Flattery will get you, Buck.”
“Get me what?”
“It’ll just get you.”
“What about my rabbi?”
“Your rabbi says he’s refusing all news contacts until after he presents his findings.”
“And when is that?”
“Word just came today that CNN is giving him an hour of uninterrupted time on their international satellite. Jews will be able to see it all over the world at the same time, but of course it will be in the middle of the night for some of them.”
“And when is this?”
“Monday afternoon, after the signing of the treaty. Signing is at 10 a.m. Jerusalem time. Rabbi Ben-Judah goes on the air for an hour at two in the afternoon.”
“Pretty shrewd, going on while the world’s press elite is crowding Jerusalem.”
“All these religious types are shrewd, Buck. The guy who’ll probably be the next pope will be at the treaty signing, schmoozing the Israelis. This rabbi thinks he’s so all-fired important that the treaty signing will be upstaged by the reading of his research paper. Be sure I’m right on my TV schedule there, Buck. I want to be absolutely certain I miss that one.”
“Aw, c’mon, Marge. He’s going to tell you how to spot the Messiah.”
“I’m not even Jewish.”
“Neither am I, but I’d sure want to be able to recognize the Messiah. Wouldn’t you?”
“You want me to get serious and tell you the truth one time here, Buck? I think I’ve seen the Messiah. I think I recognize him. If there’s really supposed to be somebody sent from God to save the world, I think he’s the new secretary-general of the United Nations.”
Buck shivered.
Rayford was priority listed as a first-class passenger for the next flight to Chicago out of Baltimore. He called Chloe to let her know why he would be later than expected.
“Hattie Durham’s been trying to reach you.”
“I’ve been on my cell. What does she want?”
“She’s trying to set up a meeting with you and Carpathia before you become his pilot.”
“I’m going to fly him round-trip to Tel Aviv. Why do I have to meet him?”
“More likely he feels he has to meet you. Hattie told him you were a Christian.”
“Oh, great! He’ll never trust me.”
“Probably wants to keep an eye on you.”
“I want to talk to Hattie in person, anyway. When does he want to see me?”
“Tomorrow.”
“My life’s getting too busy all of a sudden. What’s new with you?”
“Something more from my secret admirer today,” she said. “Candy this time.”
“Candy!” Rayford said, spooked by the fears Leonard Gustafson had planted. “You didn’t eat any of it, did you?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“Just don’t touch that stuff till you know who it’s from.”
“Oh, Dad!”
“You never know, hon. Please, just don’t take any chances.”
“All right, but these are my favorites! They look so good.”
“Don’t even open them until we know, OK?”
“All right, but you’re going to want some too. They’re the same ones you always bring me from New York, from that one little department-store chain.”
“Windmill Mints from Holman Meadows?”
“Those are the ones.”
That was the height of insult. How many times had Rayford mentioned to Hattie that he had to get those mints from that store during layovers in New York. She had even accompanied him more than once. So Hattie wasn’t even trying to hide that she was sending the mysterious gifts. What was the point? It didn’t seem to fit as vengeance for the cavalier way he had treated her. What did it have to do with Chloe? And was Carpathia aware of—or even behind—something so pedestrian?
Rayford would find out, that was sure.
Buck felt alive again. His life had been in such turmoil since the disappearances, he had wondered if it would ever settle back into the hectic norm he so enjoyed. His spiritual journey had been one thing, his demotion and relocation another. But now he seemed back in the good graces of the brass at Global Weekly, and he had used his instincts to trade for what he considered the top-breaking stories in the world.
He sat in his new makeshift home office, faxing, e-mailing, phoning, working with Marge and with reporters at Weekly, and making contacts for himself as well. He had a lot of people to interview in a short time, and all the developments seemed to be breaking at once.
Though part of him was horrified at what had happened, Buck enjoyed the rush of it. He desperately wanted to convince his own family of the truth. His father and brother would hear none of it, however, and if he had not been busy with challenging, exciting work, that fact alone would have driven him crazy.
Buck had just a few days to get his work done before and after the treaty signing. It seemed his whole life was on fast-forward now, trying to cram as much into seven years as he could. He didn’t know what heaven on earth would be like, though Bruce was trying to teach him and Rayford and Chloe. He longed for the Glorious Appearing and the thousand-year reign of Christ on the earth. But in his mind, until he learned and knew more, anything normal he wanted to accomplish—like investigative reporting and writing, falling in love, getting married, maybe having a child—all had to be done soon.
Chloe was the best part of this new life. But did he have the time to do justice to a relationship that promised to be more than anything he had ever experienced? She was different from any woman he had known, and yet he couldn’t put a finger on that difference. Her faith had enriched her and made her a new person, and yet he had been attracted to her before either of them had received Christ.
The idea that their meeting might have been part of some divine plan boggled his mind. How he wished they had met years before and had been ready together for the Rapture! If he was going to get any time with her before starting his trip to Israel, it would have to be that very day.
Buck looked at his watch. He had time for one more call, then he would reach Chloe.
Rayford dozed with his earphones on in first class. Images from the news filled the screen in front of him, but he had lost interest in reports of record crime waves throughout the United States. The name Carpathia finally roused him. The United Nations Security Council had been meeting several hours every day, finalizing plans for the one-world currency and the massive disarmament plan the secretary-general had instituted. Originally, the idea was to destroy 90 percent of weapons and donate the remaining 10 percent to the U.N. Now each contributing country would also invest its own soldiers in the U.N. peacekeeping forces.
Carpathia had asked the president of the United States to head up the verification committee, a highly controversial move. Enemies of the U.S. claimed Fitzhugh would be biased and untrustworthy, making certain they destroyed their weapons while the U.S. hoarded its own.
Carpathia himself addressed these issues in his
customarily direct and sympathetic way. Rayford shuddered as he listened. Undoubtedly, he would have trusted and supported this man if Rayford hadn’t been a Christian.
“The United States has long been a keeper of the peace,” Carpathia said. “They will lead the way, destroying their weapons of destruction and shipping to New Babylon the remaining 10 percent. Peoples of the world will be free to come and inspect the work of the U.S., assuring themselves of full compliance and then following in like manner.
“Let me just add this,” the secretary-general said. “This is a massive, major undertaking that could take years. Every country could justify month after month of procedural protocol, but we must not let this occur. The United States of America will set the example, and no other country will take longer than they do to destroy their weapons and donate the rest. By the time the new United Nations headquarters is completed in New Babylon, the weapons will be in place.
“The era of peace is at hand, and the world is finally, at long last, on the threshold of becoming one global community.”
Carpathia’s pronouncement was met with thunderous applause, even from the press.
Later, on the same newscast, Rayford saw a brief special on the new Air Force One, a 777 which would be delivered to Washington’s Dulles Airport and then flown to New York to await its official maiden voyage under the control of “a new captain to be announced shortly. The new man has been culled from a list of top pilots from the major airlines.”
In other news, Carpathia was quoted as saying that he and the ecumenical council of the meeting of religious leaders from around the world would have an exciting announcement by the next afternoon.
Buck reached the assistant to Archbishop Peter Cardinal Mathews in Cincinnati. “Yes, he’s here, but resting. He leaves tomorrow morning for New York for the final meeting of the ecumenical council, and then he’ll be on to Israel and the Vatican.”
“I would come anywhere, anytime, at his convenience,” Buck said.
“I’ll get back to you with an answer, one way or the other, within thirty minutes.”
Buck phoned Chloe. “I’ve got only a few minutes right now,” he said, “but can we get together, just the two of us, before the meeting tonight?”
