by Tim LaHaye
“Doctor Airplane,” Chloe said, and Ritz laughed.
“That’s what she said. That’s all they could get out of her, except her name.”
“Annie Ashton,” she whispered.
“Screwed up those guys’ heads something awful. They come in complaining, especially the woman, about having no guards assigned like they asked. ‘We didn’t ask,’ Ken said, mimicking her voice. ‘It was a directive.’”
Chloe nodded.
Ken continued. “They shuffle past, snagging the end of our drape, talking about how she’s in bed B, all proud of themselves because they can read an adhesive strip on the door. I call out, ‘Two visitors at a time, please, and I’d appreciate you keeping it down. I have a toxic patient here.’ I meant infectious, but it means the same, doesn’t it?
“’Course they saw right away there was just an empty gurney over there. One of the guys pokes his head in here and I raise way up on my tiptoes, doctorlike, and say, ‘If you don’t want typhoid fever, you’d better pull your face outta here.’”
“Typhoid fever?”
“It sounded good to me. And it did the trick.”
“That scared them off?”
“Well, almost. He shut the curtain and said from behind it, ‘Doctor, may we speak to you in private, please?’ I said, ‘I can’t leave my patient. And I’d have to scrub before I talk to anybody. I’m immune, but I can carry the disease.’”
Buck raised his eyebrows. “They bought this?”
Chloe shook her head, appearing amused.
Ken said, “Hey, I was good. They asked who my patient was. I could have told them Annie Ashton, but I thought it was more realistic if I acted insulted by the question. I said, ‘Her name’s not as important as her prognosis. Anyway, her name’s on the door.’ I heard them tsk-tsking and one said, ‘Is she conscious?’ I said, ‘If you’re not a doctor, it’s none of your business.’ The woman said something about their having a doctor who hadn’t caught up to them yet, and I said, ‘You can ask me whatever you need to know.’
“One of them says, ‘We know what it says on the door, but we were told Mother Doe was in that bed.’ I said, ‘I’m not going to stand here and argue. My patient is not Mother Doe.’
“One of the guys says, ‘You mind if we ask her what her name is?’ I say, ‘As a matter of fact, I do mind. She needs to concentrate on getting better.’ The guy says, ‘Ma’am, if you can hear me, tell me your name.’
“I nod to Chloe so she’ll tell ’em, but I’m stomping toward the curtain like I’m mad. She hesitates, not sure what I’m up to, but finally she says, acting real weak like, ‘Annie Ashton.’”
Chloe raised her hand. “Not acting,” she said. “Why’d they name me Mother Doe?”
“You don’t know?” Buck said, reaching for her hand.
She shook her head.
“Let me finish my story,” Ritz said. “I think they’re coming back. I whipped that curtain open and stared them down. I don’t guess they expected me to be so big. I said, ‘There! Satisfied? Now you’ve upset her and me too.’ The woman says, ‘Excuse us, Doctor, ah—’ and Chloe says, ‘Doctor Airplane.’ I had to bite my tongue. I said, ‘The medication’s getting to her,’ which it was. I said, ‘I’m Doctor Lalaine, but we’d better not shake hands, all things considered.’
“The rest of ’em are all crowded around the door, and the woman peeks through the curtain and says, ‘Do you have any idea what happened to Mother Doe?’ I tell her, ‘One patient from this room was taken to the morgue.’
“She says, ‘Oh, really?’ in a tone that tells me she doesn’t believe that one bit. She says, ‘What caused this young lady’s injuries? Typhoid?’ Real sarcastic. I wasn’t ready for that one, and while I’m trying to think up a smart, doctory answer, she says, ‘I’m going to have our physician examine her.’
“I tell her, ‘I don’t know how they do it where you’re from, but in this hospital only the attending physician or the patient can ask for a second opinion.’ Well, even though she’s a good foot shorter than me, she somehow looks down her nose at me. She says, ‘We are from the Global Community, here under orders from His Excellency himself. So be prepared to give ground.’
“I say, ‘Who the heck is His Excellency?’ She says, ‘Where have you been, under a rock?’ Well, I couldn’t tell her that was just about right and that because I had OD’d on tranqs I wasn’t too sure where I was now, so I said, ‘Servin’ mankind, trying to save lives, ma’am.’ She huffed out, and a couple minutes later, you walked in. You’re up-to-date.”
“And they’re bringing in a doctor,” Buck said. “Terrific. We’d better hide her someplace and see if we can get her lost in the system.”
“Answer me,” Chloe whispered.
“What?”
“Buck, am I pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Is the baby OK?”
“So far.”
“How ’bout me?”
“You’re pretty banged up, but you’re not in danger.”
“Your typhoid fever is almost gone,” Ritz said.
Chloe frowned. “Dr. Airplane,” she scolded. “Buck, I have to get better fast. What do these people want?”
“It’s a long story. Basically, they want to trade you for either Tsion or Hattie or both.”
“No,” she said, her voice stronger.
“Don’t worry,” Buck said. “But we’d better get going. We’re not going to fool a real doctor for long, despite Joe Thespian here.”
“That’s Dr. Airplane to you,” Ken said.
Buck heard people at the door. He dropped to the floor and crawled under two curtains, squatting in the area already crowded with both bed and gurney.
“Dr. Lalaine,” one of the men said, “this is our physician from Kenosha. We would appreciate it if you would let him examine this patient.”
“I don’t understand,” Ritz said.
“Of course you don’t,” the doctor said, “but I helped treat an unidentified patient yesterday who matched this description. That’s why I was invited.”
Buck shut his eyes. The voice sounded familiar. If it was the last doctor he had talked to in Kenosha, the one who’d taken pictures of Chloe, all hope was gone. Even if Buck surprised them and came out swinging, there was no way he could get Chloe out of that place.
Ritz said, “I’ve already told these people who this patient is.”
“And we’ve already proven your story false, Doctor,” the woman said. “We asked for Mother Doe in the morgue. It didn’t take long to determine that that was the real Ms. Ashton.”
Buck heard an envelope being opened, something being pulled out. “Look at these pictures,” the woman said. “She may not be a dead ringer, but she’s close. I think that’s her.”
“There’s one way to be sure,” the doctor said. “My patient had three small scars on her left knee from arthroscopic surgery when she was a teenager, and also an appendectomy scar.”
Buck was reeling. Neither was true of Chloe. What was going on?
Buck heard the rustle of blanket, sheet, and gown. “You know, this doesn’t really surprise me,” the doctor said. “I thought the face was a little too round and the bruising more extensive on this girl.”
“Well,” the woman said, “even if this isn’t who we’re looking for, it isn’t Annie Ashton, and she certainly doesn’t have typhoid fever.”
“Nobody in this hospital has typhoid fever,” Ken said. “I say that to keep people’s noses out of my patients’ business.”
“I want this man brought up on charges,” the woman said. “Why wouldn’t he know the name of his own patient?”
“There are too many patients right now,” Ken said. “Anyway, I was told this was Annie Ashton. That’s what it says on the door.”
“I’ll talk to the chief of staff here about Dr. Lalaine,” the doctor said. “I suggest the rest of you check admissions again for Mother Doe.”
“Doctor?” Chloe said in a tiny
voice. “You have something on your forehead.”
“I do?” he said.
“I don’t see anything,” the woman said. “This girl is doped up.”
“No, I’m not,” Chloe said. “You do have something there, Doctor.”
“Well,” he said, pleasantly but dismissively, “you’re probably going to have something on your forehead too, once you recover.”
“Let’s get going,” one of the men said.
“I’ll find you after I’ve talked to the chief of staff,” the doctor said.
The others left. As soon as the door shut, the doctor said, “I know who she is. Who are you?”
“I’m Dr.—”
“We both know you’re no doctor.”
“Yes he is,” Chloe slurred. “He’s Dr. Airplane.”
Buck emerged from behind the curtain. “Dr. Charles, meet my pilot, Ken Ritz. Have you ever been an answer to prayer before?”
“It wasn’t easy getting assigned to this,” Floyd Charles said. “But I thought I might come in handy.”
“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” Buck said.
“Keep in touch,” the doctor said. “I may need you someday. I suggest we transfer your wife out of here. They’ll come look more closely when they don’t find Mother Doe.”
“Can you arrange transportation to the airport and everything we’ll need to take care of her?” Buck asked.
“Sure. As soon as I get Dr. Airplane’s medical license suspended.”
Ken whipped off his smock. “I’ve had enough of doctorin’ anyway,” he said. “I’m going back to sky jockeying.”
“Will I be able to take care of her at home?” Buck asked.
“She’ll be in a lot of pain for a long time and may never feel like she used to, but there’s nothing life-threatening here. The baby’s fine too, as far as we know.”
“I didn’t know until today,” Chloe said. “I suspected, but I didn’t know.”
“You almost gave me away with that forehead remark,” Dr. Charles said.
“Yeah,” Ken said. “What was that all about?”
“I’ll tell you both on the plane,” Buck said.
Early Thursday morning in New Babylon, Nicolae Carpathia and Leon Fortunato met with Rayford. “We have communicated your itinerary to the dignitaries,” Carpathia said. “They have arranged for appropriate accommodations for the Supreme Commander, but you and your first officer should make your own arrangements.”
Rayford nodded. This meeting, as with so many, was unnecessary.
“Now on a personal note,” Carpathia added, “while I understand your position, it has been decided not to dredge the wreckage of the Pan-Con flight from the Tigris. I am sorry, but it has been confirmed your wife was on board. We should consider that her final resting place, along with the other passengers.”
Rayford believed in his gut Carpathia was lying. Amanda was alive, and she was certainly no traitor to the cause of Christ. He and Mac had scuba gear coming, and while he had no idea where Amanda was, he would start by proving she was not on board that submerged 747.
Two hours before flight time Friday, Mac told Rayford he had replaced the fixed-wing aircraft in the cargo hold. “We’re already takin’ the chopper,” he said. “That little two-engine job is redundant. I replaced it with the Challenger 3.”
“Where’d you find that?” The Challenger was about the size of a Learjet but nearly twice as fast. It had been developed during the last six months.
“I thought we lost everything but the chopper, the fixed-wing, and the Condor. But beyond the rise in the middle of the airstrip, I found the Challenger. I had to install a new antenna and a new tail rudder system, but she’s good as new.”
“I wish I knew how to fly it,” Rayford said. “Maybe I could see my family while Fortunato’s laying over in Texas.”
“They found your daughter?”
“Just got the word. She’s banged up, but she’s fine. And I’m going to be a grandpa.”
“That’s great, Ray!” Mac said, patting Rayford on the shoulder. “I’ll teach you the Challenger. You’ll know how to drive it in no time.”
“I’ve got to finish packing and get an e-mail to Buck,” Rayford said.
“You’re not sending or receiving through the system here, are you?”
“No. I got a coded e-mail from Buck informing me when my private phone would be ringing. I made sure I was outside at that time.”
“We’ve got to talk to Hassid about how secure the Internet is in here. You and he and I have all been on the Net, keeping track of your friend Tsion. I’m worried that the brass can tell who’s been on. Carpathia’s got to be furious about Tsion. We could all be in trouble.”
“David told me that if we stay with the bulletin boards, we’re not traceable.”
“He’d like to be going with us, you know,” Mac said.
“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.
