by Tim LaHaye
Ritz shook his head. “We’ve got to be at top speed by the flats. I was only at about three-quarters.” He turned around and took the plane back. “Just have to start faster,” he said. “It’s like popping the clutch. If you spin, you don’t accelerate fast. If you feather it for the right purchase, you’ve got a chance.”
The rolling start was slow again, but this time Ken throttled up as quickly as possible. They nearly left the ground as they skimmed dips and skipped mounds. They reached the flat area at what seemed twice the speed as before. Ken shouted over the din, “Now we’re talkin’, baby!”
The Learjet took off like a shot, and Ken maneuvered it so it felt as if they were going straight up. Buck was plastered against the back of his seat, unable to move. He could barely catch his breath, but when he did he let out a yelp and Ritz laughed. “If I don’t die of this headache, I’m gonna get you to the church on time!”
Buck’s phone was chirping. He had to will his hand to pull it out, so strong were the g-forces. “This is Buck!” he hollered.
It was Tsion. “You are still on the plane?” he said.
“Just took off. But we’re going to make good time.”
Buck told Tsion about Ken’s injury and getting him out of the hospital.
“He is amazing,” Tsion said. “Listen, Cameron, I just received an e-mail from Rayford. He and his copilot have discovered that one of the Jewish witnesses works right there at the shelter. A young man. I will be e-mailing him personally. I have just put out onto a central bulletin board the result of several days of study and writing. Check it when you get a chance. I call it ‘The Coming Soul Harvest,’ and it concerns the 144,000 witnesses, their winning many millions to Christ, the visible seal, and what we can expect in the way of judgments over the next year or so.”
“What can we expect?”
“Read it on the Net when you get back. And please talk to Ken about getting us to Israel.”
“That seems impossible now,” Buck said. “Didn’t Rayford tell you Carpathia’s people are claiming to have helped you escape so they can be reunited with you?”
“Cameron! God will not let anything happen to me for a while. I feel a huge responsibility to the rest of the witnesses. Get me to Israel and leave my safety in the Lord’s hands!”
“You have more faith than I do, Tsion,” Buck said.
“Then start working on yours, my brother!”
“Pray for Chloe!” Buck said.
“Constantly,” Tsion said. “For all of you.”
Less than an hour later, Ritz radioed Minneapolis for landing instructions and asked to be put through to a rental car agency. With the shortage of staff and vehicles, prices had been doubled. However, cars were available, and he was given directions to the Global Community hospital.
Buck had no idea what he might encounter there. He couldn’t imagine easy access or the ability to get Chloe out. GC officials weren’t expected to take custody of her until late that afternoon, but surely she was already under guard. He wished he had some clue to her health. Was it wise to move her? Should he kidnap her even if he could?
“Ken, if you’re up to it, I might use you and your crazy head wound as a distraction. They might be looking for me, hopefully not this soon, but I don’t think anyone’s ever put you together with us anyway.”
“I hope you’re serious, Buck,” Ken said, “because I love to act. Plus, you’re one of the good guys. Somebody’s watching out for you and your friends.”
Just outside Minneapolis, Ritz was informed that air traffic was heavier than expected and he would be in a landing pattern for another ten minutes. “Roger that,” he said. “I do have a bit of an emergency here. It’s not life or death, but one passenger on this plane has a serious head wound.”
“Roger, Lear. We’ll see if we can move you up a couple of slots. Let us know if your situation changes.”
“Pretty crafty,” Buck said.
When Ritz was finally cleared to bring in the Learjet, he banked and swooped over the terminal, apparently the target of major quake damage. Rebuilding had begun, but the entire operation, from ticket counters to rental car agencies, was now housed in mobile units. Buck was stunned at the amount of activity at an airport where only two runways functioned.
The harried ground control manager apologized for having nowhere to hangar the Learjet. He accepted Ken’s pledge that he would not leave the plane longer than twenty-four hours. “I hope not,” Buck whispered.
Ritz taxied near one of the old runways where heavy equipment was moving massive amounts of earth. He parked the Lear in line with everything from single engine Piper Cubs to Boeing 727s. They couldn’t have stopped farther from the car rental agencies and still been on airport property.
Ken, wincing, gasping, and moving slowly, urged Buck to hurry ahead, but Buck was afraid Ken might collapse.
“Don’t go into your wounded old coot act yet,” Buck teased. “At least wait until we get to the hospital.”
“If you know me,” Ritz said, “you know this is no act.”
“I don’t believe this,” Buck said, when they finally reached the car rental area and found themselves at the end of a long line. “Looks like they’re sending people to the other side of the parking lot for cars.”
Ken, several inches taller than Buck, stood on tiptoes and peered into the distance. “You’re right,” he said. “And you may have to get the car and come get me. I’m not up to walking any more now.”
As they neared the head of the line, Buck told Ritz to rent the car on his credit card and Buck would reimburse him. “I don’t want my name all over the state, in case the GC thinks to check around.”
Ritz slapped his card on the counter. A young woman studied it. “We’re down to subcompacts. Will that be acceptable?”
“What if I say no, honey?” he said.
She made a face. “That’s all we have.”
“Then what difference does it make whether it’s acceptable?”
“You want it then?”
“I don’t have any choice. Just how subcompact is this rig?”
She slid a glossy card across the counter and pointed to the smallest car pictured. “My word,” Ritz said, “there’s barely room in there for me, let alone my son here.”
Buck fought a smile. The young woman, already clearly weary of Ritz and his banter, began filling out the paperwork.
“That thing even have a backseat?”
“Not really. There’s a little space behind the seats, though. You put your luggage there.”
Ritz looked at Buck, and Buck knew what he was thinking. The two of them were going to get to know each other better than they cared to in that car. Adding a grown woman in fragile condition took more imagination than Buck possessed.
“Do you have a color preference?” the girl asked.
“I get to choose?” Ritz said. “You’ve got only one model left, but it comes in different colors?”
“Usually,” she said. “We’re down to just the red ones now.”
“But I get to choose?”
“If you choose red.”
“OK, then. Give me a second. You know what I think I’d like? You got any red ones?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take a red one. Wait a minute. Son, red OK with you?”
Buck just closed his eyes and shook his head. As soon as he had the keys he ran for the car. He tossed his and Ritz’s bags behind the seats, pushed both seats back as far as they would go, jammed himself behind the wheel, and raced back to the exit road where Ritz waited. Buck had been gone only a few minutes, but apparently standing there had become too much for Ken. He sat with his knees pulled up, hands clasped in front of him.
Ritz struggled to his feet and appeared woozy, covering his eyes. Buck whipped open his door, but Ken said, “Stay there. I’m all right.”
He squeezed himself in, knees pushing against the dashboard and his head pressing against the roof. He chuckled. “Buddy boy, I ha
ve to duck to see out.”
“There’s not much to see,” Buck said. “Try to relax.”
Ritz snorted. “You must’ve never been hit in the back of the head with an airplane.”
“Can’t say I have,” Buck said, pulling onto the shoulder and passing several cars.
“Relaxing isn’t the point. Surviving is. Why did you let me out of that hospital anyway? I needed another day or two of shut-eye.”
“Don’t put that on me. I tried to talk you out of leaving.”
“I know. Just help me find my dope, would ya? Where’s my bag?”
The Twin Cities’ expressways were in relatively decent shape, compared to the Chicago area. By snaking between lane closures and detours, Buck moved at a steady pace. With his eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel, he reached behind Ken and grabbed his big leather bag. He strained, pulling it over the back of Ken’s seat, and in the process dragged it hard across the back of Ken’s head, causing him to screech.
“Oh, Ken! I’m so sorry! Are you all right?”
Ken sat with the bag in his lap. Tears streamed, and he grimaced so hard his teeth showed. “If I thought you did that on purpose,” he rasped, “I’d kill you.”
CHAPTER 12
Rayford Steele enjoyed a hunger for the Word of God from the day he had received Christ. He found, however, that as the world slowly began to get back to speed following the disappearances, he became busier than ever. It became increasingly difficult to spend the time he wanted to in the Bible.
His first pastor, the late Bruce Barnes, had impressed upon the Tribulation Force how important it was that they “search the Scriptures daily.” Rayford tried to get himself in that groove, but for weeks he was frustrated. He tried getting up earlier but found himself involved in so many late night discussions and activities that it wasn’t practical. He tried reading his Bible during breaks on his flights, but that caused tension between him and his various copilots and first officers.
Finally he hit upon a solution. No matter where he was in the world, regardless of what he had done during the day or evening, sometime he would be going to bed. Regardless of the location or situation, before he turned out the light, he would get his daily Bible study in.
Bruce had at first been skeptical, urging him to give God the first few minutes of the day rather than the last. “You have to get up in the morning too,” Bruce had said. “Wouldn’t you rather give God your freshest and most energetic moments?”
Rayford saw the wisdom of that, but when it didn’t seem to work, he went back to his own plan. Yes, he had at times fallen asleep while reading or praying, but usually he was able to stay alert, and God always showed him something.
Since losing his Bible in the earthquake, Rayford had been frustrated. Now, in the wee hours, he wanted to get online, download a Bible, and see if Tsion Ben-Judah had posted anything. Rayford was grateful he had kept his laptop in his flight bag. If only he had kept his Bible there, he would still have that too.
In his undershirt, trousers, and socks, Rayford lugged his laptop to the communications center, found a hot spot, and sat where he could see his own door down the hall.
As information began appearing on his screen, he was distracted by footsteps. He lowered the screen and stared down the hall. A young, dark-haired man stopped at Rayford’s door and knocked quietly. When there was no answer, he tried the knob. Rayford wondered if someone had been assigned to rob him or look for clues to the whereabouts of Hattie Durham or Tsion Ben-Judah.
The young man knocked again, his shoulders slumped, and he turned away. Then it hit Rayford. Could it be Hassid? He gave a loud “Psst!”
The young man stopped and looked toward the sound. Rayford was in the dark, so he raised his computer screen. The young man paused, clearly wondering if the figure at the computer was whom he wanted to see. Rayford imagined his concocting a story in case he encountered a superior officer.
Rayford signaled him, and the young man approached. His nameplate read David Hassid.
“May I see your mark?” Hassid whispered. Rayford put his face near the screen and pulled his hair back. “Like the young Americans say, that is so cool.”
Rayford said, “You were looking for me?”
“I just wanted to meet you,” Hassid said. “By the way, I work here in communications.” Rayford nodded. “Though we don’t have phones in our rooms, we do have wireless.”
“I don’t. I looked.”
“They are covered with stainless steel plates.”
“I did see that,” Rayford said.
“So you don’t need to risk getting caught out here, Captain Steele.”
“That’s good to know. It wouldn’t surprise me if they could tell where I’ve been on the Web through here.”
“They could. They can trace it through the lines in your room, too, but what will they find?”
“I’m just trying to find out what my friend, Tsion Ben-Judah, is saying these days.”
“I could tell you by heart,” Hassid said. “He is my spiritual father.”
“Mine too.”
“He led you to Christ?”
“Well, no,” Rayford admitted. “That was his predecessor. But I still see the rabbi as my pastor and mentor.”
“Let me write down for you the address of the central bulletin board where I found his message for today. It’s a long one, but it’s so good. He and a brother of his discovered their marks yesterday too. It’s so exciting. Do you know that I am probably one of the 144,000 witnesses?”
“Well, that would be right, wouldn’t it?” Rayford said.
“I can’t wait to find out my assignment. I feel so new to this, so ignorant of the truth. I know the gospel, but it seems I need to know so much more if I’m going to be a bold evangelist, preaching like the apostle Paul.”
“We’re all new at this, David, if you think about it.”
“But I’m newer than most. Wait till you see all the messages on the bulletin board. Thousands and thousands of believers have already responded. I don’t know how Dr. Ben-Judah will have time to read them all. They’re pleading with him to come to their countries and to teach them and train them face-to-face. I would give everything I owned for that privilege.”
“You know, of course, that Dr. Ben-Judah is a fugitive.”
“Yes, but he believes he is one of the 144,000 as well. He’s teaching that we are sealed, at least for a time, and that the forces of evil cannot come against us.”
“Really?”
“Yes. That protection is not for everyone who has the mark, apparently. But it is for the converted Jewish evangelists.”
“In other words, I could be in danger, but you couldn’t, at least for a while.”
“That seems to be what he’s teaching. I’ll be eager to hear your response.”
“I can’t wait to plug in.”
Rayford unplugged his machine and the two strolled down the corridor, whispering. Rayford discovered Hassid was just twenty-two years old, a college graduate who had aspired to military service in Poland. “But I was so enamored of Carpathia, I immediately applied for service to the Global Community. It wasn’t long before I discovered the truth on the Internet. Now I am enlisted behind enemy lines, but I didn’t plan it that way.”
Rayford advised the young man that he was wise in not declaring himself until the time was right. “It will be dangerous enough for you to be a believer, but you’ll be of greater help to the cause right now if you remain silent about it, as Officer McCullum is doing.”
At Rayford’s door, Hassid gripped his hand fiercely and squeezed hard. “It is so good to know I am not alone,” he said. “Did you want to see my mark?”
Rayford smiled. “Sure.”
Still shaking Rayford’s hand, Hassid reached with his free hand and pulled his hair out of the way.
“Sure enough,” Rayford said. “Welcome to the family.”
Buck found parking at the hospital similar to what it had been at th
e airport. The original pavement had sunk, and a turnaround had been scraped from the dirt at the front. But people had created their own parking places, and the only spot Buck could find was several hundred yards from the entrance. He dropped Ken off in front with his bag and told him to wait.
“If you promise not to smack me in the head again,” Ken said. “Man, gettin’ out of this car is like being born.”
Buck parked in a haphazard line of other vehicles and grabbed a few toiletries from his own bag. As he headed toward the hospital, he tucked in his shirt, brushed himself down, combed his hair, and applied a few sprays of deodorant. When he got near the entrance he saw Ken on the ground, using his bag as a pillow. He wondered if pressing him into service had been a good idea. A few people stared at him. Ken appeared comatose. Oh no! Buck thought.
He knelt by Ken. “Are you all right?” he whispered. “Let me get you up.”
Ken spoke without opening his eyes. “Oh, man! Buck, I did something royally stupid.”
“What?”
“‘Member when you got me my medicine?” Ken’s words were slurred. “I popped ’em in my mouth without water, right?”
“I offered to get you something to drink.”
“That’s not the point. I was s’posed to take one from one bottle and three from the other, every four hours. I missed my last dose, so I took two of one and six of the other.”
“Yeah?”
“But I mixed up the bottles.”
“What are they?”
Ritz shrugged and his breathing became deep and regular.
“Don’t fall asleep on me, Ken. I’ve got to get you inside.”
Buck pawed through Ken’s bag and found the bottles. The larger recommended dose was for local pain. The smaller appeared to be a combination of morphine, Demerol, and Prozac. “You took six of these?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Come on, Ken. Get up. Right now.”
“Oh, Buck. Let me sleep.”
“No way. Right now, we have to go.”
Buck didn’t think Ken was in danger or had to have his stomach pumped, but if he didn’t get him inside, he’d be a dead weight and worthless. Worse, he would probably be hauled away.
