by Tim LaHaye
“How long until both sides are finished?” Carpathia called out to a foreman.
“It’ll be dry on both sides by midnight!” came the answer. “This side took about six hours. Other side will go quicker. Airworthy by Saturday easily!”
Carpathia flashed a thumbs-up sign, and the workers in the hangar applauded. “We would like to board,” Carpathia whispered, and within minutes a lift had been jury-rigged that allowed them to enter from the rear of the sparkling new plane. Rayford had toured countless new aircraft and was usually impressed, but he had never seen anything like this.
Every detail was richly appointed, expensive, functional, and beautiful. In the rear were full bathrooms with showers. Then came the press area, large enough for parties. Every seat had its own satellite phone, bluetooth, and TV. A restaurant was midship, fully stocked and with room to move and breathe.
Closer to the front came the presidential living quarters and conference room. One room contained high-tech security and surveillance equipment, backup communications, and technology allowing the plane to communicate with anyone anywhere in the world.
Directly behind the cockpit were the crew living quarters, including a private apartment for the pilot. “You will not want to stay on the plane when we land somewhere for a few days,” Nicolae said. “But you would be hard-pressed to find better accommodations anywhere.”
Buck was in Steve’s office when Hattie Durham dropped in to inform Steve that Nicolae was out for a while. “Oh, Mr. Williams!” she said. “I can’t thank you enough for introducing me to Mr. Carpathia.”
Buck didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to tell her she was welcome. In truth he felt awful about it. He just nodded.
“You know who was in today?” she said.
He knew, but he didn’t let on. “Who?”
Buck realized he would have to stay on his toes with her and with Steve, and especially with Carpathia. They must not know how close he was to Rayford, and if he could keep from them any knowledge of his developing relationship with Chloe, so much the better.
“Rayford Steele. He was the pilot the day I met you on the plane.”
“I remember,” he said.
“Did you know he was up for pilot of Air Force One?”
“That would be quite an honor, wouldn’t it?”
“He deserves it. He’s the best pilot I ever worked for.”
Buck felt awkward, talking about his new friend and brother in Christ as if he barely knew him. “What makes a good pilot?” Buck asked.
“A smooth takeoff and landing. Lots of communication with the passengers. And treating the crew like peers rather than slaves.”
“Impressive,” Buck said.
“You want to see the plane?” Steve said.
“May I?”
“It’s in an auxiliary hangar at Kennedy.”
“I was just out there.”
“Want to go back?”
Buck shrugged. “Someone else has already been assigned the story of the new plane and pilot and all that, but sure, I’d love to see it.”
“You can still fly on it to Israel.”
“No, I can’t,” Buck said. “My boss was crystal clear on that point.”
When Rayford arrived home that evening, he knew Chloe would be able to tell he was pensive. “Bruce canceled the meeting for tonight,” she said.
“Good,” Rayford said. “I’m exhausted.”
“So tell me about Carpathia.”
Rayford tried. What was there to say? The man was friendly, charming, smooth, and except for the lying might have made even Rayford wonder if they had misjudged him. “But there’s no longer any doubt about his identity, is there?” he concluded.
“Not in my mind,” Chloe said. “But I haven’t met him.”
“Knowing you, he wouldn’t fool you for a second.”
“I hope so,” she said. “But Buck admits he’s amazing.”
“Have you heard from Buck?”
“He’s supposed to call at midnight his time.”
“Do I need to stay up to make sure you’re awake?”
“Hardly. He doesn’t even know we ate our cookies at the same time. I wouldn’t miss telling him that for anything.”
CHAPTER 14
Buck Williams was cashing in all his journalistic chips. After trying to sleep off jet lag in the King David Hotel on Saturday, he had left messages for Chaim Rosenzweig, Marc Feinberg, and even Peter Mathews. According to Steve Plank, Nicolae Carpathia had turned down flat Buck’s request for help in getting near the two preachers at the Wailing Wall.
“I told you,” Steve said. “He thinks those guys are nuts, and he’s disappointed you think they’re worth a story.”
“So he doesn’t know anybody who can get me in there?”
“It’s a restricted area.”
“Precisely my point. Have we finally found something Nicolae the Great can’t do?”
Steve had been angry. “You know as well as I do that he could buy the Wailing Wall,” he spat. “But you’re not going to get close to the place with his help. He doesn’t want you there, Buck. For once in your life, get a clue and stay away.”
“Yeah, that sounds like me.”
“Buck, let me ask you something. If you defy Carpathia and then either turn down his offer or make him so irritated that he withdraws it, where are you going to work?”
“I’ll work.”
“Where? Can’t you see that his influence reaches everywhere? People love him! They’ll do anything for him. People come away from meetings with him doing things they never would have dreamed they’d do.”
Tell me about it, Buck thought.
“I’ve got work to do,” Buck said. “Thanks anyway.”
“Right now you’ve got work to do. But nothing is permanent.”
Steve had never spoken truer words, though he didn’t know it.
Buck’s second strikeout was with Peter Mathews. He was ensconced in a penthouse suite in a five-star hotel in Tel Aviv, and though he did take Buck’s call, he was dismissive. “I admire you, Williams,” he said, “but I think I’ve given you all the best stuff I know, on and off the record. I don’t have any connection with the guys at the Wall, but I’ll give you a quote, if that’s what you want.”
“What I want is to find someone who can get me close enough so I can talk to these two men myself. If they want to kill me or burn me up or ignore me, that’ll be their prerogative.”
“I am allowed close to the Wailing Wall because of my position, but I’m not interested in helping you get there. I’m sorry. On the record, I think these are two elderly Torah students who are pretending to be Moses and Elijah reincarnated. Their costumes are bad, their preaching is worse. Why people have died trying to hurt them, I have no idea. Maybe these two old coots have compatriots hidden among the masses who pick people off who look like threats. Now, I’ve got to go. You’ll be at the signing Monday?”
“That’s why I’m here, sir.”
“I’ll see you there. Do yourself a favor and don’t tarnish your reputation by making a story out of those two. If you want a story, you ought to tag along with me this afternoon as I tour possible sites for Vatican involvement in Jerusalem.”
“But, sir, what do you make of the fact that it hasn’t rained in Jerusalem since those two began preaching?”
“I don’t make anything of it, except maybe that not even the clouds want to hear what they have to say. It hardly ever rains here anyway.”
Rayford had met the crew of Global Community One just a couple of hours before takeoff. Not one had ever worked for Pan-Continental. In a brief pep talk he had emphasized that safety was paramount. “That is why every one of us is here. Proper procedure and protocol come next. We do everything by the book, and we keep our logs and checklists as we go. We look sharp, we stay in the background, we serve our hosts and passengers. While we are deferential to the dignitaries and serve them, their safety is our primary concern. The best airp
lane crew is an invisible one. People feel comfort and security when they see uniforms and service, not individuals.”
Rayford’s first officer was older than Rayford and probably had wanted the pilot’s position. But he was friendly and efficient. The navigator was a young man Rayford would not have chosen, but he did his job. The cabin crew had worked together on Air Force One and seemed overly impressed with the new plane, but Rayford couldn’t fault them for that. It was a technological marvel, but they would soon get used to it and take it for granted.
Flying the 777 was, as Rayford had commented to the certifying examiner in Dallas, like sitting behind the wheel of a Jaguar. But the excitement wore off as the flight stretched on. After a while he left the plane in the control of his first officer and slipped into his own living quarters. He stretched out on the bed and was suddenly struck by how utterly lonely he was. How proud Irene would have been of this moment, when he had the top job in the flying world. But to him it meant little, though he felt in his spirit that he was doing what God had led him to do. Why, he had no idea. But deep inside Rayford felt sure he had flown his last route for Pan-Con.
He phoned Chloe and woke her. “Sorry, Chlo’,” he said.
“That’s all right, Dad. Is it exciting?”
“Oh, yeah, I can’t deny that.”
They had discussed that the plane-to-ground communications were likely under surveillance, so there would be no disparaging talk about Carpathia or anyone else in his orbit. And they would not mention Buck by name.
“Who do you know there?”
“Only Hattie really. I’m kind of lonely.”
“Me too. I haven’t heard from anyone else yet. I’m supposed to get a call early Monday morning, your time. When will you be in Jerusalem?”
“In about three hours we land in Tel Aviv and are transported by luxury motor coaches to Jerusalem.”
“You aren’t flying into Jerusalem?”
“No. A 777 can’t land near there. Tel Aviv is only thirty-five miles from Jerusalem.”
“When will you be home?”
“Well, we were scheduled to leave Tel Aviv Tuesday morning, but now they tell us that we’ll be flying on to Baghdad Monday afternoon and we’ll leave from there Tuesday morning. It adds six hundred air miles, about another hour, to the total trip.”
“What’s in Baghdad?”
“The only airport near Babylon that will take a plane this size. Carpathia wants to tour Babylon and show his people the plans.”
“Will you go along?”
“I imagine I will. It’s about fifty miles south of Baghdad by bus. If I take this job I imagine I’ll be seeing a lot of the Middle East over the next few years.”
“I miss you already. I wish I could be there.”
“I know who you miss, Chloe.”
“I miss you too, Dad.”
“Ah, I’ll be chopped liver to you within a month. I can see where you and what’s-his-name are going.”
“Bruce phoned. He said he got a strange call from some woman named Amanda White, claiming to have known Mom. She told Bruce she met Mom at one of the church’s home Bible study groups and only just remembered her name. She said it came to her because she knew it sounded like iron and steel.”
“Hmm,” Rayford said. “Irene Steele. Guess I never thought of it that way. What’d she want?”
“She said she finally became a Christian, mostly because of remembering things Mom said at that Bible study, and now she’s looking for a church. She wondered if New Hope was still up and running.”
“Where’s she been?”
“Grieving her husband and two grown daughters. She lost them in the Rapture.”
“Your mom was that instrumental in her life, and yet she didn’t remember her name?”
“Go figure,” Chloe said.
Buck napped for about an hour and a half before taking a call from Chaim Rosenzweig, who had just gotten in. “Even I will need to adjust to the time difference, Cameron,” Dr. Rosenzweig said. “No matter how many times I make the trip, the jet lag attacks. How long have you been in the country?”
“I arrived yesterday morning. I need your help.” Buck told Rosenzweig he needed to get closer to the Wailing Wall. “I tried,” he said, “but I probably didn’t get within a hundred yards. The two men were preaching, and the crowds were much bigger than I ever saw on CNN.”
“Oh, there are bigger crowds now as we get closer to the signing of the covenant. Perhaps in light of the signing, the pair have stepped up their activities. More and more people are coming to hear them, and apparently they are even seeing Orthodox Jews converting to Christianity. Very strange. Nicolae asked about them on the way over and watched some of the coverage on the television. He was as angry as I have ever seen him.”
“What did he say?”
“That was just it. He said nothing. I thought he looked flushed, and his jaw was set. I know him just a little, you understand, but I can tell when he is agitated.”
“Chaim, I need your help.”
“Cameron, I am not Orthodox. I do not go to the Wall, and even if I could, I would probably not risk the danger. I don’t recommend that you do either. The bigger story here is the covenant signing Monday morning. Nicolae and the Israeli delegation and I finalized everything in New York Friday. Nicolae was brilliant. He is amazing, Cameron. I long for the day when we both are working for him.”
“Chaim, please. I know every journalist in the world would love to have an exclusive with the two preachers, but I am the one who will not give up until I get it or die trying.”
“That’s just what you might do.”
“Doctor, I’ve never asked you for anything but your time, and you’ve always been most generous.”
“I don’t know what I can do for you, Cameron. I would take you there myself if I thought I could get in. But you will not be able to get in anyway.”
“But you must know someone with access.”
“Of course I do! I know many Orthodox Jews, many rabbis. But—”
“What about Ben-Judah?”
“Oh, Cameron! He is so busy. His live report on the research project will be broadcast Monday afternoon. He must be cramming like a schoolboy before a final examination.”
“But maybe not, Chaim. Maybe he has done so much research that he could talk about this for an hour without notes. Maybe he’s ready now and is looking for something to occupy him so he doesn’t overprepare or stress out waiting for his big moment.”
There was silence on the other end, and Buck prayed Rosenzweig would yield. “I don’t know, Cameron. I would not want to be bothered so close to a big moment.”
“Would you do this, Chaim—just call and wish him the best and feel him out about his schedule this weekend? I’ll come anywhere at any time if he can get me close to the Wall.”
“Only if he is looking for a diversion,” Rosenzweig said. “If I sense he is buried in his work, I won’t even broach the subject.”
“Thank you, sir! You’ll call me back?”
“Either way. And Cameron, please don’t get your hopes up, and don’t hold it against me if he is unavailable.”
“I would never do that.”
“I know. But I also sense how important this is to you.”
Buck was dead to the world and had no idea how long his phone had been ringing. He sat straight up in bed and noticed the Sunday afternoon sun turning orange, the stream of light making a weird pattern on the bed. Buck caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he reached for the phone. His cheek was red and creased, his eyes puffy and half open, his hair shooting out in all directions. His mouth tasted horrible, and he had slept in his clothes.
“Hello?”
“Ees dis Chamerown Weeleeums?” came the thick Hebrew accent.
“Yes, sir.”
“Dees ist Dochtor Tsion Ben-Judah.”
Buck jumped to his feet as if the respected scholar were in the room. “Yes, Dr. Ben-Judah. A privilege to hear from
you, sir!”
“Thank you,” the doctor managed. “I am calling you from out front of your hotel.”
Buck fought to understand him. “Yes?”
“I have a car and a driver.”
“A car and driver, yes sir.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“To go?”
“To the Wall.”
“Oh, yes, sir—I mean, no, sir. I’m going to need ten minutes. Can you wait ten minutes?”
“I should have called before arriving. I was under the impression from our mutual friend that this was a matter of some urgency to you.”
Buck ran the strange-sounding English through his mind again. “A matter of urgency, yes! Just give me ten minutes! Thank you, sir!”
Buck tore off his clothes and jumped in the shower. He didn’t give the water time to heat. He lathered up and rinsed off, then dragged his razor across his face.
He didn’t take the time to find the electrical adapter for his hair dryer but just yanked a towel off the rack and attacked his long hair, feeling as if he were pulling half of it out of his scalp.
He jerked the comb through his hair and brushed his teeth. What did one wear to the Wailing Wall? He knew he wouldn’t be getting inside, but would he offend his host if he was not wearing a coat and tie? He hadn’t brought one. He hadn’t planned on dressing up even for the treaty signing the next morning.
Buck chose his usual button-up shirt, dressy jeans, ankle-high boots, and leather jacket. He dropped his MP3 recorder and camera into his smallest leather bag and ran down three flights of stairs. When he burst from the door he stopped. He had forgotten his cell and had no idea what the rabbi looked like. Would he look like Rosenzweig, or Feinberg, or neither?
Neither, it turned out. Tsion Ben-Judah, in a black suit and black felt hat, stepped from the front passenger seat of an idling white Mercedes and waved shyly. Buck hurried to him. “Dr. Ben-Judah?” he said, shaking his hand. The man was middle-aged, trim, and youthful with strong, angular features and only a hint of gray in his dark brown hair.
