by Tim LaHaye
“So what’s the story? How did Fortunato get out?”
“You’re not going to believe it.”
“I’d believe anything at this point.”
“Here’s the story the way I saw it. I take Carpathia back to the shelter, and I put her down near the entrance where I had parked the Condor. It was totally covered over, like I say, so Carpathia directs me around to the side where there’s a smaller opening. We go in and find a big staff of people working, almost as if nothing’s happened. I mean, there’s people cooking, cleaning, setting up, all that.”
“Carpathia’s secretary?”
Mac shook his head. “I guess she was killed in the building collapse, along with most of the other headquarters staff. But he’s got her and all the rest of ’em replaced already.”
“Unbelievable. And Fortunato?”
“He wasn’t there either. Somebody tells Carpathia there were no survivors at headquarters, and I swear, Ray, it looked to me like Carpathia paled. It was the first time I’ve ever seen him rattled, except when he pretends to go into a rage about something. I think those are always planned.”
“Me too. So what about Leon?”
“Carpathia recovers real quick and says, ‘We’ll just see about that.’ He says he’ll be right back, and I ask him can I take him somewhere. He says no and leaves. When was the last time you saw him go anywhere by himself?”
“Never.”
“Bingo. He’s gone about half an hour, and the next thing you know he’s back and he’s got Fortunato with him. Fortunato was covered with dust from his head to his feet, and his suit was a mess. But his shirt was tucked in and his coat buttoned up, tie straightened and everything. There wasn’t a scratch on him.”
“What was his story?”
“It gave me chills, Ray. A bunch of people gathered around, I’d say about a hundred. Fortunato, real emotional, calls for order. Then he claims he went crying and screaming down in the rubble along with everybody else. He said halfway down he was wondering if it was possible to get lucky enough to be wedged in somewhere where he could breathe and stay alive until rescuers might find him. He said he felt himself free-falling and smacking into huge chunks of building; then something caught his feet and flipped him so he was going straight down, headfirst. When he hit, he said, it felt and sounded like he’d cracked his head open. Then it was like the whole weight of the building came down on him. He felt his bones breaking and his lungs bursting and everything went black. He said it was like somebody pulled the plug on his life. He believes he died.”
“And yet there he is, wearing a dusty suit and not a scratch on him?”
“I saw him with my own eyes, Ray. He claims he was lying there dead, not conscious of anything, no out-of-body experience or anything like that. Just black nothingness, like the deepest sleep a person could ever have. He says he woke up, came back from the dead, when he heard his name called. At first he thought he was dreaming, he says. He thought he was a little boy again and his mother was softly calling his name, trying to rouse him. But then, he says, he heard Nicolae’s loud call, ‘Leonardo, come forth!’”
“What?”
“I’m tellin’ you, Ray, it gave me the willies. I was never that religious, but I know that story from the Bible, and it sure sounded like Nicolae was pretending to be Jesus or something.”
“You think the story’s a lie?” Rayford asked. “You know, the Bible also says it’s appointed unto man once to die. No second chances.”
“I didn’t know that, and I didn’t know what to think when he told that story. Carpathia bringing somebody back from the dead? You know, at first I loved Carpathia and couldn’t wait to work for him. There were times I thought he was a godly man, maybe some kind of deity himself. But it didn’t add up. Him making me take off from the top of that building while people were hanging onto the struts and screaming for their lives. Him putting you down because you wanted to help that crash survivor in the desert. What kind of a god-man is that?”
“He’s no god-man,” Rayford said. “He’s an anti-god-man.”
“You think he’s the Antichrist, like some say?”
So there it was. Mac had put the question to him. Rayford knew he had been reckless. Had he now sealed his own fate? Had he revealed himself completely to one of Carpathia’s own henchmen, or was Mac sincere? How could he ever know for sure?
Buck spun in a circle. Where was Chloe’s car? She always parked it in the driveway in front of the garage that contained Loretta’s junk. Loretta’s own car was usually in the other stall. It wouldn’t have made sense for Chloe to move her car into Loretta’s stall just because Loretta had driven to the church. “It could have been tossed anywhere, Tsion,” Buck said.
“Yes, my friend, but not so far away that we could not see it.”
“It could have been swallowed up.”
“We should look, Cameron. If her car is here, we can assume she is here.”
Buck moved up and down the street, looking between wrecked houses and into great holes in the earth. Nothing resembling Chloe’s car turned up anywhere. When he met Tsion back at what used to be Loretta’s garage, the rabbi was trembling. Though only in his middle forties, Tsion suddenly looked old to Buck. He moved with a shaky gait and stumbled, dropping to his knees.
“Tsion, are you all right?”
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Tsion said, his voice just above a whisper. “I have seen devastation and waste, but this is overwhelming. Such widespread death and destruction . . .”
Buck put his hand on the man’s shoulder and felt sobs wrack his body. “Tsion, we must not allow the enormity of all this to penetrate our minds. I have to somehow keep it separated from myself. I know it’s not a dream. I know exactly what we’re going through, but I can’t dwell on it. I’m not equipped. If I allow it to overwhelm me, I’ll be good to no one. We need each other. Let’s be strong.” Buck realized his own voice was weak as he pleaded with Tsion to be strong.
“Yes,” Tsion said tearfully, trying to collect himself. “The glory of the Lord must be our rear guard. We will rejoice in the Lord always, and he will lift us up.”
With that, Tsion rose and grabbed a shovel. Before Buck could catch up, Tsion began digging at the base of the garage.
The helicopter’s radio crackled to life, giving Rayford time to search himself, to think and silently pray that God would keep him from saying something stupid. He still didn’t know whether Amanda was dead or alive. He didn’t know whether Chloe, or Buck, or Tsion were still on earth or in heaven. Finding them, reuniting with them was his top priority. Was he now risking everything?
The dispatcher at the shelter requested Mac’s ten-twenty.
Mac glanced ruefully at Rayford. “Better make it sound like we’re in the air,” he said, cranking the engines. The noise was deafening. “Still workin’ rescue at Baghdad,” he said. “Be at least another hour.”
“Roger that.”
Mac shut the chopper down. “Bought us some time,” he said.
Rayford covered his eyes briefly. “God,” he prayed silently, “all I can do is trust you and follow my instincts. I believe this man is sincere. If he’s not, keep me from saying anything I shouldn’t. If he is sincere, I don’t want to keep from telling him what he needs to know. You’ve been so overt, so clear with Buck and Tsion. Couldn’t you give me a sign? Anything that would assure me I’m doing the right thing?”
Rayford looked uncertainly into Mac’s eyes, dimly illuminated by the glow from the control panel. For the moment, God seemed silent. He had not made a habit of speaking directly to Rayford, though Rayford had enjoyed his share of answers to prayer. There was no turning back now. While he sensed no divine green light, neither did he sense a red or even a yellow. Knowing the outcome could be a result of his own foolishness, he realized he had nothing to lose.
“Mac, I’m gonna tell you my whole story and everything I feel about what’s happened, about Nicolae, and about what is to com
e. But before I do, I need you to tell me what Carpathia knows, if you know, about whether Hattie or Amanda were really expected in Baghdad tonight.”
Mac sighed and looked away, and Rayford’s heart fell. Clearly he was about to hear something he’d rather not hear.
“Well, Ray, the truth is Carpathia knows Hattie is still in the States. She got as far as Boston, but his sources tell him she boarded a nonstop to Denver before the earthquake hit.”
“To Denver? I thought that’s where she had come from.”
“It was. That’s where her family is. Nobody knows why she went back.”
Rayford’s voice caught in his throat. “And Amanda?”
“Carpathia’s people tell him she was on a Pan-Con heavy out of Boston that should have been on the ground in Baghdad before the quake hit. It had lost a little time over the Atlantic for some reason, but the last he knew, it was in Iraqi airspace.”
Rayford dropped his head and fought for composure. “So, it’s underground somewhere,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I have seen it at the airport?”
“I don’t know,” Mac said. “Maybe it was completely swallowed by the desert. But all the other planes monitored by Baghdad tower have been accounted for, so that doesn’t seem likely.”
“There’s still hope then,” Rayford said. “Maybe that pilot was far enough behind schedule that he was still in the air and just stayed there until everything stopped moving and he could find a spot to put down.”
“Maybe,” Mac said, but Rayford detected flatness in his voice. Clearly, Mac was dubious.
“I won’t stop looking until I know.” Mac nodded, and Rayford sensed something more. “Mac, what are you not telling me?” Mac looked down and shook his head. “Listen to me, Mac. I’ve already hinted what I think of Carpathia. That’s a huge risk for me. I don’t know where your true loyalties lie, and I’m about to tell you more than I should tell anyone that I wouldn’t trust with my life. If you know something about Amanda that I need to know, you’ve got to tell me.”
Mac drew a hesitant breath. “You really don’t want to know. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Is she dead?”
“Probably,” he said. “I honestly don’t know that, and I don’t think Carpathia does either. But this is worse than that, Rayford. This is worse than her being dead.”
Getting into the garage at the wreckage of Loretta’s home seemed impossible even for two grown men. It had been attached to the house and somehow appeared the least damaged. There was no basement under the garage area, thus not far for its cement slab and foundation to go. When the roof had fallen in, the sectioned doors had been so heavily compressed that their panels had overlapped by several inches. One door was angled at least two feet off track, pointing to the right. The other was off track about half that much and pointed in the other direction. There was no budging them. All Buck and Tsion could do was start hacking through them. In their normal state, the wood doors might easily have been cracked through, but now they sat with a huge section of roof and eaves jamming them awkwardly down to concrete, which rested two feet below the surface.
To Buck, every whack at the wood with his ax felt as if he were crashing steel against steel. With both hands at the bottom of the handle and swinging with all his might, the best he could do was chip tiny pieces with each blow. This was a quality door, made only more solid by the crush of nature.
Buck was exhausted. Only nervous energy and grief held in check kept him going. With every swing of the ax, his desire grew to find Chloe. He knew the odds were against him, but he believed he could face her loss if he knew anything for sure. He went from hoping and praying that he would find her alive to that he would simply find her in a state that proved she died relatively painlessly. It wouldn’t be long, he feared, before he would be praying that he find her regardless.
Tsion Ben-Judah was in good shape for his age. Up until he had gone into hiding, he had worked out every day. He had told Buck that though he had never been an athlete, he knew that the health of his scholar’s mind depended also on the health of his body. Tsion was keeping up his end of the task, whaling away at the door in various spots, testing for any weakness that would allow him to drive through it more quickly. He was panting and sweating, yet still he tried to talk while he worked.
“Cameron, you do not expect to find Chloe’s car in here anyway, do you?”
“No.”
“And if you do not, from that you will conclude that she somehow escaped?”
“That’s my hope.”
“So this is a process of elimination?”
“That’s right.”
“As soon as we have established that her car is not here, Cameron, let us try to salvage whatever we can from the house.”
“Like what?”
“Foodstuffs. Your clothes. Did you say you had already cleared your bedroom area?”
“Yes, but I didn’t see the closet or its contents. It can’t be far.”
“And the chest of drawers? Surely you have clothes in there.”
“Good idea,” Buck said.
Between the two axes and their resounding thwacks against the garage door, Buck heard something else. He stopped swinging and held up a hand to stop Tsion. The older man leaned on his ax to catch his breath, and Buck recognized the thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades. It grew so loud and close that Buck assumed it was two or three choppers. But when he caught sight of the craft, he was astounded to see it was just one, big as a bus. The only other he’d seen like it was in the Holy Land during an air attack years before.
But this one, setting down just a hundred or so yards away, resembled those old gray-and-black Israeli transport choppers only in size. This was sparkling white and appeared to have just come off the assembly line. It carried the huge insignia of the Global Community.
“Do you believe this?” Buck asked.
“What do you make of it?” Tsion said.
“No idea. I just hope they’re not looking for you.”
“Frankly, Cameron, I think I have become a very low priority to the GC all of a sudden, don’t you?”
“We’ll find out soon enough. Come on.”
They dropped their axes and crept back to the upturned pavement that had served as Loretta’s street not that many hours before. Through a gouge in that fortress they saw the GC copter settle next to a toppled utility pole. A high-tension wire snapped and crackled on the ground while at least a dozen GC emergency workers piled out of the aircraft. The leader communicated on a walkie-talkie, and within seconds power was cut to the area and the sparking line fell dead. The leader directed a wire cutter to snip the other lines that led to the power pole.
Two uniformed officers carried a large circular metal framework from the helicopter, and technicians quickly jury-rigged a connection that fastened it to one end of the now bare pole. Meanwhile, others used a massive earth drill to dig a new hole for the pole. A water tank and fast-setting concrete mixer dumped a solution in the hole, and a portable pulley was anchored on four sides by two officers putting their entire weight on its metal feet at each corner. The rest maneuvered the quickly refashioned pole into position. It was drawn up to a forty-five degree angle, and three officers bent low to slide its bottom end into the hole. The pulley tightened and straightened the pole, which dropped fast and deep, sending the excess concrete solution shooting up the sides of the pole.
Within seconds, everything was reloaded into the helicopter and the GC team lifted off. In fewer than five minutes, a utility pole that had borne both electrical power and telephone lines had been transformed.
Buck turned to Tsion. “Do you realize what we just saw?”
“Unbelievable,” Tsion said. “It is now a cell tower, is it not?”
“It is. It’s lower than it should be, but it will do the trick. Somebody believes that keeping the cell areas functioning is more important than electricity or telephone wires.”
Buck pulled his phone from his pocket
. It showed full power and full range, at least in the shadow of that new tower. “I wonder,” he said, “how long it will be before enough towers are up to allow us to call anywhere again.”
Tsion had started back toward the garage. Buck caught up with him. “It cannot be long,” Tsion said. “Carpathia must have crews like this working around the clock all over the world.”
“We better get heading back soon,” Mac said.
“Oh sure,” Rayford said. “I’m going to let you take me back to Carpathia and his safe shelter before you tell me something about my own wife that I’ll hate worse than knowing she’s dead?”
“Ray, please don’t make me say any more. I said too much already. I can’t corroborate any of this stuff, and I don’t trust Carpathia.”
“Just tell me,” Rayford said.
“But if you respond the way I would, you won’t want to talk about what I want to talk about.”
Rayford had nearly forgotten. And Mac was right. The prospect of bad news about his wife had made him obsess over it to the exclusion of anything else important enough to talk about.
“Mac, I give you my word I’ll answer any question you have and talk about anything you want. But you must tell me anything you know about Amanda.”
Mac still seemed reluctant. “Well, for one thing, I do know that that Pan-Con heavy would not have had enough fuel to go looking for somewhere else to land. If the quake happened before they touched down and it became obvious to the pilot he couldn’t land at Baghdad, he wouldn’t have had a whole lot farther to go.”
“So that’s good news, Mac. Since I didn’t find the plane at Baghdad, it has to be somewhere relatively close by. I’ll keep looking. Meanwhile, tell me what you know.”
“All right, Ray. I don’t guess we’re at any point in history where it makes sense to play games. If this doesn’t convince you I’m not one of Carpathia’s spies, nothing will. If it gets back that I quoted him to you, I’m a dead man. So regardless of what you think of this or how you react to it or what you might want to say to him about it, you can’t ever let on. Understand?”
