by Tim LaHaye
“I’m glad one of us enjoys it.”
“Rayford, please. I have been hurt by your avoidance of me, but I also realize that you have suffered many losses, including two wives in three years. I don’t expect you to be comfortable with me. But I thought we patched up our rocky start, and going through what we went through together has to count for something.”
He sat back down. “I don’t know about you, Leah, but I found that as frightening as anything I’ve encountered—and that includes discovering my wife’s body at the bottom of the Tigris. I don’t like to think about it, and I sure don’t want to dwell on it. This is no excuse, but maybe you remind me of it.”
“I’m sure I do. But you’re in charge here, and I need something to do. Assign me something, chief. I’m ready to offer every medical skill I have when necessary, but I don’t want to work only when people are hurt or sick. I’ve tried to help Chloe with the baby and even some with the co-op, but she’s too nice to ask. I have to push myself on her. Make that my job and she won’t feel bad about counting on me.”
“OK, consider that done.”
“Tell her.”
“I will.”
“And you people are so politically correct around here, no one’s even suggested I do anything domestic. I happen to be a good cook and enjoy everything about it. Planning, food preparation, even cleanup. May I do that for you so you can all concentrate on what you’re supposed to be doing?”
“You’d do that? That would help.”
“I’d feel I was contributing. Forget the money. You didn’t even have to ask. I told you from the beginning I was giving it to the cause, and I meant it. If circumstances changed and I left here tomorrow, I wouldn’t take a penny with me. Can we put that to rest?”
“That’s so above and beyond—”
“I already feel appropriately thanked. We bring to the table what we have, and none is more important than another. Except maybe Tsion.”
“So you were giving me a hard time because . . . ?”
“You deserved it. You should have cared more and showed it. Have I asked about your knee?”
“Several times.”
“I wasn’t being polite. I caused that injury. I didn’t know you weren’t looking, but I shouldn’t have stopped in front of you anyway. You’re a wonderful man. You were hurt. I care. I asked. You gave me the cursory, macho answer, end of conversation. I was hurt too, and no one was responsible for that but you. You were following too close, moving too fast for conditions.”
Rayford shook his head. “So how are the ribs coming?”
“Slow, as a matter of fact. I might have cracked more than one. I can go through a day hardly aware of them, then one false move and I’d like to scream.”
“I’m sorry. I hope you feel better soon.”
She looked at him.
“I mean it,” he said.
“I know. And you have a lot more on your mind than my needs.”
“Has everyone else been good to you?”
“The best. No complaints.”
“I’m the only one who doesn’t get a gold star.”
“And since I have your attention, would you consider something, for when I get healthy? I am mobile. I am smart. I take risks, like I did for you all more than once at the hospital. I have no family, nothing to lose. If you need me to go somewhere, do something, deliver something, pick up something, communicate something, I can do the phony alias. All right, I almost blew it with the GC the other night—”
“You gave up too soon was all. Actually you caught on quickly and covered well.”
“Keep me in mind is all I’m saying. With hair dye and makeup, women are harder to recognize than men. The GC won’t keep my picture circulating for long. Get me a fake ID and put me to work.”
“In good time. I’ve just gotten excited about having you in charge of eats.”
“I was afraid I would regret that offer.”
Rayford stood, his toe and knee still tender. Chloe stepped in from the front room. “Daddy, bad news. You know I’ve been trying to reach Nancy, Hattie’s sister, to let her know we’re sure Hattie’s alive? I found her. She shows up on a confirmed dead list. Smoke inhalation.”
Rayford looked at the floor. “Well,” he said sadly, “another reason to find Hattie.”
Mac and Abdullah were scheduled to board the new Global Community One early Friday evening to be ferried back to New Babylon by Mac’s old first officer. The plane, appropriated from Peter II, had been rechristened from GC One to Phoenix 216. Leon Fortunato would come to fetch the wounded heroes.
Mac just couldn’t wait to get back to David and Annie. There was the chore of bugging the new plane and also something urgent David had to talk to him about and didn’t dare by phone. When the world’s leading communications security technician won’t talk on the phone, it’s big.
Mac was packing just after four o’clock when he got a call from Rayford. “I’m on my way to Palwaukee to put some pressure on this Bo character I told you about. I’m going to be in Europe soon and I need a few things. Albie still your best source?”
“By far. What do you need?”
“Oh, ah, I’d just as soon talk to him directly. Got his number?”
“Not with me. I expect to be home tonight. Can you wait till then?”
“I guess, if you can’t get David to dig it out for me.”
“It’s in my computer. A few hours make that much difference?”
“I guess not.”
With his new face and his fresh old-looking documents, Buck flew commercial to Tel Aviv. It had amazed him how difficult it was to find flights anymore. The plague of smoke and fire and sulfur continued to ravage the earth, and virtually every aspect of life was affected. The Rapture itself had changed the face of society, and life had not been the same since the great earthquake either, but Buck knew it would get worse. Virtually everyone had lost someone.
He found it hard to leave Chloe and the baby. He had been with them more than ten months, from the moment of Kenny’s birth. Buck couldn’t imagine the bond he’d developed and was shocked at how he physically ached to hold the baby. He had known that longing for Chloe, and sometimes it had nearly driven him mad. Somehow with Kenny it was even more intense.
On the plane an Asian woman a few rows behind him held a small boy, probably a few months younger than Kenny. Buck was so jealous it was all he could do to stay in his seat when the boy squalled during takeoff. As soon as he was able, he found his way back and asked the woman if she spoke English.
“Little,” she said.
“What’s your baby’s name?”
“Li,” she said, pronouncing it Lee.
“Hi, Li,” he said, and the boy locked eyes with him. “How old?”
“Seven month,” she said.
“Beautiful boy.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
“Would he come to me?”
“Beg pardon?”
Buck held out his arms to the baby. “May I hold him?”
She hesitated. “I keep,” she said.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I understand. I would not give my boy to a stranger either.”
“You have boy baby?”
He showed her a picture and she cooed and showed it to her son, who tried to grab it. “Beautiful boy too. You miss?”
“Very much.”
She nudged her baby toward him, and Buck reached for Li again. The boy eagerly went to him, but when Buck straightened and gathered him in, Li grew serious and squirmed to keep an eye on his mother.
“She’s right there,” Buck said. “Mama’s right there.” But Li squawked and she took him back.
Buck offered his hand, which she shook shyly. “Greg North,” he said.
“Nice meet you, Mr. Greg,” she said, but she did not offer her name.
Later in the flight, after Buck had eaten, he was thrilled when the young mother asked his help. He had seen her pacing the aisle with Li till he fell
asleep. She said, “You hold, I eat?” Buck held the sleeping child for nearly twenty minutes before she came for him. He hated to give him up.
In Tel Aviv Buck searched every face for the sign of the cross. The only one he saw was on a man who was being interrogated, so Buck refrained from jeopardizing his situation.
It was nine in the morning in Israel when Buck slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out of the Ben Gurion airport terminal to call Chaim Rosenzweig’s home. A young female answered and spoke in Hebrew. Buck racked his brain. “English, please,” he said, hoping he could come up with a name.
“Dr. Rosenzweig’s,” she said. “May I help you?”
“Hannelore?”
“Yes,” she said tentatively. “Who’s speaking please?”
“I’ll tell you, but you must not say my name aloud, all right?”
“Who is it, please?”
“I want to surprise Chaim, all right?”
“Who?”
“Hannelore, it’s Buck Williams.”
“Buck!” she whispered with excitement. “No one can hear me. Where are you?”
“Ben Gurion.”
“Can you come? The doctor and Jacov will be so excited!”
“I very much want to see everyone.”
“Wait there. I will send Jacov.”
“Tell him not to say my name, Hannelore. If he must call out for me, I am using the name Greg North.”
“Greg North. He will come soon, Buck. Greg, I’m sorry. I will keep your secret from Dr. Rosenzweig. He will be so—”
“And how is Jonas?”
“Oh, Buck, I’m sorry. He has passed. Praise God he is in heaven. We’ll tell you all about it.”
CHAPTER 13
Rayford grabbed his bag of cash and trotted up the tower stairs at Palwaukee Airport. Having seen two cars in the lot, he knew T had kept Bo Hanson from fleeing. Rayford’s knee protested a few steps from the top, and he limped to the door.
He had been in the tower many times and knew anyone there had heard his every footfall. T waved him in from behind the desk, and Bo looked up from a side chair as if just realizing someone was coming in. Rayford had found Bo none too bright, despite his privileged upbringing. His bleached crew cut was caked in place, and he took a deep breath, Rayford assumed, to showcase his muscular physique. The pose didn’t mask his fear.
“It’s been a while, Bo.”
He nodded. “Mr. Steeles.”
“Steele.”
“Sorry.”
“What’ve you been up to, Bo?”
“Nothin’ much. What about you?”
“Lost a dear friend recently. Two, matter of fact.”
Rayford sat, setting the bag at his feet.
“Two?” Bo said.
“One was my doctor. You met him.”
“Yeah. What happened?”
“Something he caught from Hattie.”
“Oh. I heard about her. Bad news.”
“What’d you hear?”
“It was all over the news,” Bo said. “Plane crash. Spain, I think. I lost somebody too. Ernie got burned up the other day in California.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. Sorry about, ah, Hattie, too.”
“How much did she pay you, Bo?” Rayford said.
“Pay me?”
“To fly her out of here, concoct a story, fake her death.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You approved the flight. Your initials are on the log. You didn’t think to alter the plane’s identification, so even though the pilot never reported in, his plane was traced to your brother Sam in Baton Rouge.”
“He—I—I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You fancy yourself a businessman, Bo?”
Bo looked at T. “I own part of this airport. I do all right.”
“Five percent,” T clarified.
Bo looked stricken. “I have other holdings, other interests, other concerns.”
“Wow,” Rayford said. “Impressive words. Any of those other things have names?”
“Yeah,” Bo said. “One of ’em’s named None of Your.”
Rayford gave T a look and turned back to Bo, whose chest was heaving, his pulse visible at the neck. “I’ll bite, Bo. None of Your?”
“Yeah, it’s my business. It’s called None of Your Business. Get it? Ha! None of Your Business!”
“Got it, Bo. Good one. So you need payoffs from young women who want to disappear.”
“I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yet you haven’t denied it.”
“Denied what?”
“That you put Hattie Durham on your brother’s Quantum and got her flown out of here.”
“I deny that.”
“You do.”
“I absolutely do. I had nothing to do with that.”
“It happened, but you didn’t do it?”
“Right.”
“But now you know what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t know. I guess. But I wasn’t even here.”
“Why are your initials on the log?”
“The tower guy called me. Said a guy wanted to refuel a Quantum. I said OK. If it was my brother, I didn’t know that. And if his passenger was Hattie, I didn’t know that either. I told you. I wasn’t here. I didn’t put anybody on any plane.”
“But you’ve got one heck of a memory. You know all the details of the flight you OK’d the night you weren’t here.”
“Prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“Whatever you just said.”
Rayford shook his head. “You want me to prove you have a good memory?”
“I don’t know. You’re making fun of me or something, and I don’t get it.”
Rayford leaned forward and clapped Bo on the thigh. “Tell you something, Bo,” he said. “I’m a businessman too. What if I were to tell you I don’t have a problem with Hattie flying off to Europe or even pretending to be dead?”
Bo shrugged. “OK.”
“She’s a grown woman, has her own money, makes her own decisions. She doesn’t report to me. I mean, I care about her. She’s not really well. Isn’t making smart decisions these days, but that’s her right, isn’t it?”
Bo nodded solemnly.
“But, see, I need to find her.”
“Can’t help you.”
“Don’t be too sure. I need to talk to her, give her some news she has to hear in person. Now what am I gonna do, Bo? How am I gonna find her?”
“I dunno. I told you.”
“You told me you were a businessman who did all right. How much of a businessman are you, Bo? This much of one?” Rayford bent and unzipped his bag.
Bo leaned and peered into it. He looked up at Rayford, then at T.
“Go ahead,” Rayford said. “Grab a bundle. They’re real. Go on.”
Bo grabbed a wrapped stack of twenties and pressed his thumb against the end, letting the bills flap in succession.
“You like?” Rayford said.
“’Course I like. How much you got?”
“See for yourself.”
Bo bent to the bag in earnest and opened it wide. “I could use some of this.”
“Badly enough to tell me what I need to know?”
He still had his nose in the bag. “Nothing like the smell of cash. What do you need to know?”
“I want to fly to Europe tomorrow and find Hattie Durham alive and well within an hour after I hit the ground. Know anybody who can help me with that?”
“Maybe.”
Rayford grabbed two handfuls of bundles from the bag and began setting them on the desk one by one. When three bundles were laid out, he said, “Would that buy me some information?”
“A little.”
“Like what?”
“France.”
“City?”
“More.”
Rayford set another bund
le.
“Coast.”
“You drive a hard bargain. North or south?”
“Yes.”
With every question, Rayford added cash. Finally he narrowed it to a city on the English Channel. “Le Havre.”
“You’ve got a lot of money sitting there,” Rayford said, “but every bill goes back into the bag without an exact address, who she’s with, and what might otherwise surprise me. You write it down, I leave this money with T—”
“Hey, you’re welshin’!”
“—and when I find her, I tell him, and you get the dough. But you’ve got to write it down.”
“It’s already written down,” Bo said, and he produced it from his wallet. Everything Rayford needed was hand printed in tiny letters. “You’ll keep me out of this, right?”
“That I promise,” Rayford said. “Now there is the matter of silence.”
“Silence?”
“You haven’t proven good at it, have you?”
“Guess not.”
“I’m not good at it either.”
“You said you’d keep me out of this.”
“I assume you meant to not tell whoever is with Hattie, or Hattie herself.”
“That is what I meant.”
“But my complete silence can be bought.”
“Silence from who?”
“The GC, of course. Defrauding an insurance company by a fake death or even causing rescue workers to search under false pretenses is an international class X felony under Global Community law. It is punishable by life imprisonment. As a citizen, I am bound to report any knowledge of a felony.”
“I’ll deny it.”
“I have a witness.” He nodded to T, who was staring down at the desk.
“You takin’ his side, Delanty? You’re scum.”
T said, “This is between you and—”
“Forget it,” Bo said. “I’ll take my chances. This is ex—, extor—, blackmail.”
“Bo,” Rayford said, “can you reach that phone? You’d better call and report this extortion, and be sure to tell them what it is I’m blackmailing you over. You know, the felony.”
Bo snorted and folded his arms.
“Oh, are you through with the phone?” Rayford said. “I need to report a crime.”
“You wouldn’t dare. You’re hidin’ out yourself.”
“They accept anonymous reports, don’t they, T?” T did not respond. “Let’s find out.” Rayford lifted the receiver and began to push buttons.
