The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books

by Tim LaHaye

  “Sure, what’s happening?”

  “Nothing specific,” he said. “It’s just that I’d like to spend some time with you, now that you know I’m available.”

  “Available? That’s what you are?”

  “Yes, ma’am! And you?”

  “I guess I’m available too. That means we’ve got something in common.”

  “Did you have plans this evening?”

  “Nope. Dad’s going to be a little late. He was interviewed at the White House today.”

  “He’s taking the job then?”

  “He’s going to make the maiden voyage and then decide.”

  “I could have been on that flight.”

  “I know.”

  “Pick you up at six?” Buck said.

  “I’d love it.”

  CHAPTER 12

  As promised, Cardinal Mathews’s assistant called Buck back, and the news was good. The cardinal had been so impressed with Buck’s interview of him for the soon-to-appear cover story that he said Buck could ride with him to New York the following morning.

  Buck booked the last flight out of O’Hare to Cincinnati that evening. He surprised Chloe by showing up at six with Chinese food. He told her of his plans for the evening trip and added, “I didn’t want to waste talking time trying to find a place to eat.”

  “My dad’s going to be jealous when he gets home,” she said. “He loves Chinese.”

  Buck reached deep into the big sack, pulled out an extra order, and grinned. “Gotta keep the dad happy.”

  Buck and Chloe sat in the kitchen, eating and talking for more than an hour. They talked about everything—their respective childhoods, families, major events of their lives, hopes, fears, and dreams. Buck loved to hear Chloe talk, not just what she said, but even her voice. He didn’t know whether she was the best conversationalist he had ever met, or if he was simply falling for her. Probably both, he decided.

  Rayford arrived to find Buck and Chloe at Raymie’s computer, which had not been turned on since the week of the disappearances. Within a few minutes, Buck had Chloe connected to the Internet and set up with a new e-mail address. “Now from here, just like with your cell, you can reach me anywhere in the world.

  Rayford left Buck and Chloe at the computer and examined the mints from Holman Meadows. The candies were still shrink-wrapped and had been delivered by a reputable company. They had been addressed to Chloe, but with no message. Rayford decided they had not been tampered with, and even if they had come from Hattie Durham for some inexplicable reason, there was no sense in not enjoying them.

  “Whoever’s in love with your daughter sure has good taste,” Buck said.

  “Thank you,” Chloe said.

  “I mean good taste in chocolate mints.”

  Chloe blushed. “I know what you meant,” she said.

  At Rayford’s insistence, Buck had agreed to leave his car in the Steele’s garage during his trip. Buck and Chloe left the Tribulation Force meeting early to get to the airport. Traffic was lighter than he expected, and they arrived more than two hours before his flight. “We could have stayed longer at the church,” he said.

  “Better to be safe, though, don’t you think?” she said. “I hate always running on the edge of lateness.”

  “Me too,” he said, “but I usually do. You can just drop me at the curb.”

  “I don’t mind waiting with you if you don’t mind paying for the parking.”

  “You going to be all right going back to the car this time of night?”

  “I’ve done it lots of times,” she said. “There are a lot of security guards.”

  She parked and they strolled through the massive terminal. He lugged his leather over-the-shoulder case with his whole world in it. Chloe seemed awkward, but Buck had nothing for her to carry, and they weren’t at the hand-holding stage yet, so they just kept moving. Every time he turned so she could hear him, his bag shifted and the strap slipped off his shoulder, so they eventually settled into a silent trek to the gate.

  Buck checked in and found that it was going to be a nearly empty flight. “Wish you could come with me,” he said lightly.

  “I wish—,” she began, but apparently thought better of saying it.

  “What?”

  She shook her head.

  “You wish you could come with me too?”

  She nodded. “But I can’t and I won’t, so let’s not start with any of that.”

  “What would I do with you?” he said. “Put you in my bag?”

  She laughed.

  They stood at the windows, watching baggage handlers and ground traffic controllers in the night. Buck pretended to look out the window as he stared at Chloe’s reflection a few inches from his own. A couple of times he sensed her focus had shifted from the tarmac to the glass as well, and he imagined he was holding her gaze. Wishful thinking, he decided.

  “We’re going to be delayed twenty minutes,” the woman at the counter announced.

  “Don’t feel obligated to stay, Chloe,” Buck said. “You want me to walk you back to the car?”

  She laughed again. “You’re really paranoid about that big old parking garage, aren’t you? No, see, the deal is that I bring you here, wait with you at your gate so you won’t feel lonely, and then I stay until you’re safely on the plane. I wave as it takes off, pretend to be rooted to the spot, and only when the jet trail fades out of sight do I venture out to the car.”

  “What, do you make this stuff up as you go along?”

  “Of course. Now sit down and relax and pretend you’re a frequent worldwide traveler.”

  “I wish for once I could pretend I’m not.”

  “And then you’d be nervous about the flight and need me here?”

  “I need you here anyway.”

  She looked away. Slow down, he told himself. This was the fun part, the parrying stage, but it was also maddeningly uncertain. He didn’t want to say things to her just because he would be gone for a few days that he wouldn’t say otherwise.

  “I need you here too,” she said lightly, “but you’re leaving me.”

  “That is something I would never do.”

  “What, leave me?”

  “Absolutely.” He kept a humorous tone in an effort not to scare her off.

  “Well, that’s encouraging. Can’t have any of this leaving stuff.”

  Rayford kept an ear out for Chloe while packing for his quick trip to New York the next afternoon. Earl had called, wanting to know if Carpathia’s office had reached him.

  “And is that the same Hattie Durham who used to work for us?” Earl asked.

  “One and the same.”

  “She’s Carpathia’s secretary?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Small world.”

  “I guess it would be silly to tell you to be careful in Cincinnati and New York and Israel, considering all you’ve been through,” Chloe said.

  Buck smiled. “Don’t start your good-byes until you’re ready to leave.”

  “I’m not leaving till your plane is out of sight,” she said. “I told you that.”

  “We have time for a cookie,” he said, pointing at a vendor in the corridor.

  “We already had dessert,” she said. “Chocolates and a cookie.”

  “Fortune cookies don’t count,” he said. “Come on. Don’t you remember our first cookie?”

  The day they had met, Chloe had eaten a cookie and he had dabbed a tiny piece of chocolate from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. Not knowing what to do with it, he had licked it off.

  “I remember I was a slob,” she said. “And you tried a very old joke.”

  “You feel like a cookie?” he said, setting her up the way she had him in New York that first day.

  “Why, do I look like one?”

  Buck laughed, not because the joke was any funnier than the first time, he decided, but because it was theirs and it was stupid.

  “I’m really not hungry,” she said as
they peered through the glass as a bored teenager waited for their order.

  “Me either,” Buck said. “These are for later.”

  “Tonight later or tomorrow later?” she asked.

  “Whenever we synchronize our watches.”

  “We’re going to eat them together? I mean, at the same time?”

  “Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

  “Your creativity never ceases.”

  Buck ordered two cookies in two bags.

  “Can’t do that,” the teenager said.

  “Then I want one cookie,” he said, handing over the money and slipping some to Chloe.

  “And I want one cookie,” she said, money in hand.

  The teenager made a face, bagged the cookies for each of them, and made change.

  “More than one way to skin a cat,” Buck said.

  They moseyed back to the gate. A few more passengers had gathered, and the woman at the counter announced that their plane had finally arrived. Buck and Chloe sat watching as the arriving passengers filed past, looking tired.

  Buck carefully folded his cookie sack and laid it in his carry-on bag. “I’ll be on a plane to New York at eight tomorrow morning,” he said. “I’ll have this with coffee and think of you.”

  “That’ll be seven o’clock my time,” Chloe said. “I’ll still be in bed, anticipating my cookie and dreaming of you.”

  We’re still playing around the edges, Buck thought. Neither of us will say anything serious.

  “I’ll wait till you’re up, then,” he said. “Tell me when you’re going to eat your cookie.”

  Chloe studied the ceiling. “Hmm,” she mused. “When will you be in your most important, most formal meeting?”

  “Probably sometime late morning at a big hotel in New York. Carpathia is coming for some joint announcement with Cardinal Mathews and other religious leaders.”

  “Whenever that is, I’ll eat my cookie,” Chloe said. “And I dare you to eat yours then, too.”

  “You’ll learn not to dare me.” Buck smiled, but he was only half kidding. “I know no fear.”

  “Ha!” she said. “You’re afraid of the parking garage here, and you’re not even the one walking through it alone!”

  Buck reached for her cookie sack.

  “What’re you doing?” she said. “We’re not hungry, remember?”

  “Just smell this,” he said. “Fragrance is such a memory enhancer.”

  He opened her cookie sack and held it up to his face. “Mmm,” he said. “Cookie dough, chocolate, nuts, butter, you name it.”

  He tilted it toward her, and she leaned to sniff it. “I do love that smell,” she said.

  Buck reached with his other hand and cupped her cheek in his palm. She didn’t pull away but held his look. “Remember this moment,” he said. “I’ll be thinking of you while I’m gone.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Now close that bag. That cookie has to stay fresh so the smell will remind me.”

  Rayford awoke earlier than Chloe and padded down to the kitchen. He lifted the small cookie bag from the counter. One left, he thought, and was tempted. Instead he wrote Chloe a note. “Hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t resist.” On the back he wrote, “Just kidding,” and laid the note atop the bag. He had coffee and juice, then changed into his workout clothes and went for a run.

  Buck sat in first class with Cardinal Mathews on the Cincy to New York morning flight. Mathews was in his late fifties, a beefy, jowly man with close-cropped black hair that appeared to be his own natural color. Only his collar evidenced his station. He carried an expensive briefcase and laptop computer, and Buck noticed from his ticket sleeve that he had checked four bags.

  Mathews traveled with an aide, who merely deflected other people and said little. The aide moved to a seat in front of them so Buck could sit next to the archbishop. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a candidate for the papacy?” Buck began.

  “So, we’re just going to jump right into it, are we?” Mathews said. “Don’t you like a little champagne in the morning?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Well, you won’t mind if I have a little pick-me-up.”

  “Suit yourself. Tell me when you’re available to chat.”

  Mathews’s aide heard the conversation and signaled the flight attendant, who immediately brought the cardinal a glass of champagne. “The usual?” she said.

  “Thank you, Caryn,” he said, as if to an old friend. Apparently she was. When she was gone he whispered, “The Litewski family, from my first parish. Baptized her myself. She’s worked this flight for years. Now where were we?”

  Buck did not respond. He knew the cardinal had heard and remembered the question. If he wanted it repeated for his own ego, he could repeat it himself.

  “Oh, yes, you were wondering why I didn’t mention the papacy. I guess I thought everyone knew. Carpathia knew.”

  I’ll bet he did, Buck thought. Probably engineered it. “Is Carpathia hoping you’ll get it?”

  “Off the record,” Mathews whispered, “there is no hoping anymore. We have the votes.”

  “We?”

  “That’s the editorial we. We, us, me, I have the votes. Understand?”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I’ve been a member of the college of cardinals for more than ten years. I have never yet been surprised by a papal vote. You know what Nicolae calls me? He calls me P. M.”

  Buck shrugged. “He calls you by your initials? Is there some significance?”

  Mathews’s aide peeked back between the seats and shook his head. So, I should know, Buck surmised. But he had never been afraid of asking a dumb question.

  “Pontifex Maximus,” Mathews beamed. “Supreme Pope.”

  “Congratulations,” Buck said.

  “Thank you, but I trust you know that Nicolae has much more in mind for my papacy than merely leadership of the Holy Roman Catholic Mother Church.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’ll be announced later this morning, and if you do not quote me directly, I’ll give you the first shot at it.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I like you.”

  “You hardly know me.”

  “But I know Nicolae.”

  Buck sank in his seat. “And Nicolae likes me.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So this little ride-along was not really entirely the result of my legwork.”

  “Ah, no,” Mathews said. “Carpathia endorsed you. He wants me to tell you everything. Just don’t make me look bad or self-serving for what I tell you.”

  “Will the announcement make you appear that way?”

  “No, because Carpathia himself will make that announcement.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Secretary-General Carpathia’s office, Ms. Durham speaking.”

  “Rayford Steele here.”

  “Rayford! How are—”

  “Let me get to the point, Hattie. I want to come early this afternoon so I can speak with you privately for a few minutes.”

  “That would be wonderful, Captain Steele. I should tell you in advance, however, that I am seeing someone.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I didn’t intend it to be.”

  “Will you have time?”

  “Certainly. Secretary-General Carpathia can see you at four. Shall I look for you at three-thirty?”

  Rayford hung up the phone as Chloe came into the kitchen, dressed for work at the church. She saw his note. “Oh, Dad! You didn’t!” she said, and he thought she was on the verge of tears. She grabbed the bag and shook it. A relieved look came over her as she turned the note over and laughed. “Grow up, Dad. For once in your life, act your age.”

  He was getting ready to head to the airport and she for work when CNN broadcast a press conference live from the meeting of international religious leaders in New York. “Watch this, Dad,” she said. “Buck is there.”

  Rayford set his
carry-on bag on the floor and went to stand next to Chloe, who held a mug of coffee in both hands. The CNN correspondent intoned an explanation of what was to come. “We’re expecting a joint statement from the coalition of religious leaders and the United Nations, represented by new Secretary-General Nicolae Carpathia. He seems the man of the hour here, having helped hammer out propositions and pulling together representatives of widely varying systems of belief. Since he has been in office, not a day has passed without some major development.

  “Speculation here is that the religions of the world are going to make some fresh attempt at addressing global issues in a more cohesive and tolerant way than ever before. Ecumenism has failed in the past, but we’ll soon see if this time around there is some new wrinkle that can finally make it work. Stepping to the podium is Archbishop Peter Cardinal Mathews, prelate of the Cincinnati archdiocese of the Roman Catholic Church and widely seen as a potential successor to Pope John XXIV who served only a controversial five months before being listed among the missing in the disappearances just weeks ago.”

  The camera panned to the press conference platform, where more than two dozen religious leaders from around the world, all dressed in their native garb, jockeyed for position. As Archbishop Mathews worked his way through to the bank of microphones, Rayford heard Chloe squeal.

  “There’s Buck, Dad! Look! Right there!”

  She pointed to a reporter who was not in the crowd with the rest of the journalists but seemed to teeter on the back edge of the raised platform. Buck appeared to be trying to keep his balance. Twice he stepped down only to step back up again.

  As Mathews droned on about international cooperation, Rayford and Chloe stared at Buck in the back corner. No one else would have even noticed him. “What’s he got?” Rayford said. “Is that some sort of a notebook or recorder?”

  Chloe looked close and gasped. She ran to the kitchen and returned with her cookie sack. “It’s his cookie!” she said. “We’re going to eat our cookies at the same time!”

  Rayford was lost, but he was sure glad he hadn’t eaten that cookie. “What—?” he began, but Chloe shushed him.