Left Behind: A Novel Of Earth's Last Days (35 page)

“Everything happening there tomorrow morning you already know about from Plank,” Bailey said. “Word I get is it’s already starting to come down. Plank assumes his new position in the morning, denies Carpathia’s interest, reiterates what it would take, and we all wait and see if anybody bites. I don’t think they will.”

“I wish they would,” Buck said, still hoping he could trust Carpathia and eager to see what the man would do about Stonagal and Todd-Cothran.

“I do, too,” Bailey said, “but what are the odds? He’s a man for this time, but his global disarmament and his reorganization plans are too ambitious. It’ll never happen.”

“I know, but if you were deciding, wouldn’t you go along with it?”

“Yeah,” Bailey said, sighing. “I probably would. I’m so tired of war and violence. I’d probably even go for moving the place to this New Babylon.”

“Maybe the U.N. delegates will be smart enough to know the world is ready for Carpathia,” Buck said.

“Wouldn’t that be too good to be true?” Bailey said.

“Don’t bet the farm or hold your breath or whatever it is you’re not supposed to do when the odds are against you.”

Buck told his new boss he would fly to Chicago the next morning and get back to New York by Sunday night. “I’ll get the lay of the land, find out who’s solid in Chicago and whether we need to look at outside applicants.”

“I’d prefer staying inside,” Bailey said. “But it’s my style to let you make those decisions.”

Buck phoned Pan-Con Airlines, knowing Rayford Steele’s flight left at eight the next morning. He told the reservation clerk his traveling companion was Chloe Steele. “Yes,” she said, “Ms. Steele is flying complimentary in first class. There is a seat open next to her. Will you be a guest of the crew as well?”

“No.”

He booked a cheap seat and charged it to the magazine, then upgraded to the seat next to Chloe. He would say nothing that night about going to Chicago.

It had been ages since Buck had worn a tie, but this was, after all, the Carlisle Hotel dining room. He wouldn’t have gotten in without one. Fortunately they were directed to a private table in a little alcove where he could stash his bag without appearing gauche. His tablemates assumed he needed the bag for his equipment, not aware he had packed a change of clothes, too.

Chloe was radiant, looking five years older in a classy evening dress. It was clear she and Hattie had spent the late afternoon in a beauty salon.

Rayford thought his daughter looked stunning that evening, and he wondered what the magazine writer thought of her. Clearly this Williams guy was too old for her.

Rayford had spent his free hours before dinner napping and then praying that he would have the same courage and clarity he’d had with Hattie. He had no idea what she thought except that he was “sweet” for telling her everything. He wasn’t sure whether that was sarcasm or condescension. He could only hope he had gotten through. That she had spent time alone with Chloe might have been good. Rayford hoped Chloe wasn’t so antagonistic and closed minded that she had become an ally against him with Hattie.

At the restaurant Williams seemed to gaze at Chloe and ignore Hattie. Rayford considered this insensitive, but it didn’t seem to bother Hattie. Maybe Hattie was matchmaking behind his back. Rayford himself had said nothing about Hattie’s new look for the evening, but that was by design. She was striking and always had been, but he was not going down that path again.

During dinner Rayford kept the conversation light. Buck said to let him know when he was ready to be interviewed. After dessert Rayford spoke to the waiter privately. “We’d like to spend another hour or so here, if it’s all right.”

“Sir, we do have an extensive reservation list—”

“I wouldn’t want this table to be less than profitable for you,” Rayford said, pressing a large bill into the waiter’s palm, “so boot us out whenever it becomes necessary.”

The waiter peeked at the bill and slipped it into his pocket. “I’m sure you will not be disturbed,” he said. And the water glasses were always full.

Rayford enjoyed answering Williams’s initial questions about his job, his training, his background and upbringing, but he was eager to get on with his new mission in life. And finally the question came. Buck tried to concentrate on the captain’s answers but felt himself trying to impress Chloe, too. Everyone in, the business knew he was one of the best in the world at interviewing. That and his ability to quickly sift through the stuff and make a readable, engaging article of it had made him who he was.

Buck had breezed through the preliminaries, and he liked this guy. Steele seemed honest and sincere, smart and articulate. He realized he had seen a lot of Rayford in Chloe. “I’m ready,” he said, “to ask your idea of what happened on that fateful flight to London. Do you have a theory?”

The captain hesitated and smiled as if gathering himself. “I have more than a theory,” he said. “You may think this sounds crazy coming from a technically minded person like me, but I believe I have found the truth and know exactly what happened.”

Buck knew this would play well in the magazine. “Gotta appreciate a than who knows his mind,” he said. “Here’s your chance to tell the world.”

Chloe chose that moment to gently touch Buck’s arm and ask if he minded if she excused herself for a moment.

“I’ll join you,” Hattie said.

Buck smiled, watching them go. “What was that?” he said. “A conspiracy? Were they supposed to leave me alone with you, or have they heard this before and don’t want to rehash it?”

Rayford was privately frustrated, almost to the point of anger. That was the second time in a few hours that Chloe had somehow been spirited away at a crucial time. “I assure you that is not the case,” he said, forcing himself to smile. He couldn’t slow down and wait for their return. The question had been asked, he felt ready, and so he stepped off the edge of a social cliff, saying things he knew could get him categorized as a kook. A he had done with Hattie, he outlined his own spotty spiritual history and brought Williams up to the present in a little over half an hour, covering every detail he felt was relevant. At some point the women returned.

Buck sat without interrupting as this most lucid and earnest professional calmly propounded a theory that only three weeks before Buck would have found absurd. It sounded like things he had heard in church and from friends, but this guy had chapter and verse from the Bible to back it up. And this business of the two preachers in Jerusalem representing two witnesses predicted in the book of Revelation? Buck was aghast. He finally broke in.

“That’s interesting,” he said. “Have you heard the latest?” Buck told him what he had seen on
CNN
during his few brief minutes at his apartment. “Apparently thousands are making some sort of a pilgrimage to the Wailing Wall. They’re lined up for miles, trying to get in and hear the preaching. Many are converting and going out themselves to preach. The authorities seem powerless to keep them out, despite the opposition of the Orthodox Jews. Anyone who comes against the preachers is struck dumb or paralyzed, and many of the old orthodox guard are joining forces with the preachers.”

“Amazing,” the pilot responded. “But even more amazing, it was all predicted in the Bible.”

Buck was desperate to maintain his composure. He wasn’t sure what he was hearing, but Steele was impressive. Maybe the man was reaching to link Bible prophecy with what was happening in Israel, but no one else had an explanation. What Steele had read to Buck from Revelation appeared clear. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was mumbo jumbo. But it was the only theory that tied the incidents so closely to any sort of explanation. What else would give Buck this constant case of the chills?

Buck focused on Captain Steele, his pulse racing, looking neither right nor left. He could not move. He was certain the women could hear his crashing heart. Was all this possible? Could it be true? Had he been exposed to a clear work of God in the destruction of the Russian air corps just to set him up for a moment like this? Could he shake his head and make it all go away? Could he sleep on it and come to his senses in the morning? Would a Conversation with Bailey or Plank set him straight, snap him out of this silliness?

He sensed not. Something about this demanded attention. He wanted to believe something that tied everything together and made it make sense. But Buck also wanted to believe in Nicolae Carpathia. Maybe Buck was going through a scary time where he was vulnerable to impressive people. That wasn’t like him, but then, who was himself these days? Who could be expected to be himself during times like these?

Buck didn’t want to rationalize this away, to talk himself out of it. He wanted to ask Rayford Steele about his own sister-in-law and niece and nephew. But that would be personal, that would not relate to the story he was working on. This had not begun as a personal quest, a search for truth. This was merely a fact-finding mission, an element in a bigger story.

In no way did Buck even begin to think he was going to pick a favorite theory and espouse it as Global Weekly’s position. He was supposed to round up all the theories, from the plausible to the bizarre. Readers would add their own in the Letters column, or they would make a decision based on the credibility of the sources. This airline pilot, unless Buck made him look like a lunatic, would come off profound and convincing.

For the first time in his memory Buck Williams was speechless.

Rayford was certain he was not getting through. He only hoped this writer was astute enough to understand, to quote him correctly, and to represent his views in such a way that readers might look into Christianity. It was clear that Williams wasn’t buying it personally. If Rayford had to guess, he’d say Williams was trying to hide a smirk—or else he was so amused, or amazed, that he couldn’t frame a response.

Rayford had to remind himself that his purpose was to get through to Chloe first and then maybe to influence the reading public, if the thing found its way into print. If Cameron Williams thought Rayford was totally out to lunch, he might just leave him out, along with all his cockamamie views.

Buck did not trust himself to respond with coherence. He still had chills, yet he felt sticky with sweat. What was happening to him? He managed a whisper. “I want to thank you for your time, and for dinner,” he said. “I will get back to you before using any of your quotes.” That was nonsense, of course. He had said it only to give himself a reason to reconnect with the pilot. He might have a lot of personal questions about this, but he never allowed people he interviewed to see their quotes in advance. He trusted his tape recorder and his memory, and he had never been accused of misquoting.

Buck looked back up at the captain and saw a strange look cross his face. He looked—what? Disappointed? Yes, then resigned, suddenly Buck remembered who he was dealing with. This was an intelligent, educated man. Surely he knew that reporters never checked back with their sources. He probably thought he was getting a journalistic brush-off.

A rookie mistake, Buck, he reprimanded himself. You just underestimated your own source.

Buck was putting his equipment away when he noticed Chloe was crying, tears streaming down her face. What was it with these women? Hattie Durham had been weeping when she and the captain had finished talking that afternoon. Now Chloe.

Buck could identify, at least with Chloe. If she was crying because she had been moved by her father’s sincerity and earnestness, it was no surprise. Buck had a lump in his throat, and for the first time since he had lain facedown in fear in Israel during the Russian attack, he wished he had a private place to cry.

“Could I ask you one more thing, off the record?” he said. “May I ask what you and Hattie were talking about this afternoon in the club?”

“Buck!” Hattie scolded. “That’s none of your—”

“If you don’t want to say, I’ll understand,” Buck said. “I was just curious.”

“Well, much of it was personal,” the captain said.

“Fair enough.”

“But, Hattie, I don’t see any harm in telling him that the rest of it was what we just went over. Do you?”

She shrugged.

“Still off the record, Hattie,” Buck said, “do you mind if I ask your reaction to all this?”

“Why off the record?” Hattie snapped. “The opinions of a pilot are important but the opinions of a flight attendant aren’t?”

“I’ll put you on the machine if you want,” he said. “I didn’t know you wanted to be on the record.”

“I don’t,” she said. “I just wanted to be asked. It’s too late now.”

“And you don’t care to say what you think—”

“No, I’ll tell you. I think Rayford is sincere and thoughtful. Whether he’s right, I have no idea. That’s all beyond me and very foreign. But I am convinced he believes it. Whether he should or not, with his background and all that, I don’t know. Maybe he’s susceptible to it because of losing his family.”

Buck nodded, realizing he was closer to buying Rayford’s theory than Hattie was. He glanced at Chloe, hoping she had composed herself and that he could draw her out. She still had a tissue pressed under her eyes.

“Please don’t ask me right now,” she said.

Rayford was not surprised at Hattie’s response, but he was profoundly disappointed with Chloe’s. He was convinced she didn’t want to embarrass him by saying how off the wall he sounded. He should have been grateful, he guessed. At least she was still sensitive to his feelings. Maybe he should have been more sensitive to hers, but he had decided he couldn’t let those gentilities remain priorities anymore. He was going to contend for the faith with her until she made a decision. For tonight, however, it was clear she had heard enough. He wouldn’t be pushing her anymore. He only hoped he could sleep despite his remorse over her condition. He loved her so much.

“Mr. Williams,” he said, standing and thrusting out his hand, “it’s been a pleasure. The pastor I told you about in Illinois really has a handle on this stuff and knows much more than I do about the Antichrist and all. It might be worth a call if you want to know any more. Bruce Barnes, New Hope Village Church, Mount Prospect.”