The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (76 page)

Buck had been praying about whether to tell Chloe of President Fitzhugh’s warning about New York City and Washington. Fitzhugh was well connected and undoubtedly accurate, but Buck couldn’t spend his life running from danger. Life was perilous these days, and war and destruction could break out anywhere. His job had taken him to the hottest hazard spots in the world. He didn’t want to be reckless or foolishly put his wife in harm’s way, but every member of the Tribulation Force knew the risks.

Rayford was grateful that Chloe had begun getting to know Amanda better by e-mail. When Rayford and Amanda were dating, he had monopolized most of Amanda’s time, and while the women seemed to like each other, they had not bonded other than as believers. Now, communicating daily, Amanda seemed to be growing in her knowledge of Scripture. Chloe was passing along everything she was studying.

Between Bruce and Chloe, Rayford found his answers about the fifth and seventh seals. It was not pleasant news, but he hadn’t expected any different. The fifth seal referred to the martyrdom of Tribulation saints. In a secured mail package, Bruce sent to Chloe—who forwarded it on to Rayford—his careful study and explanation of the passage from Revelation which referred to that fifth seal.

Bruce’s explanation of the seventh seal made it clear that it was still a mystery even to him.

Amanda tried to summarize for Rayford: “We’re looking at a world war, famine, plagues, death, the martyrdom of the saints, an earthquake, and then silence in heaven as the world is readied for the next seven judgments.”

Rayford shook his head, then cast his eyes down. “Bruce has been warning us of this all along. There are times I think I’m ready for whatever comes and other times when I wish the end would simply come quickly.”

“This is the price we pay,” she said, “for ignoring the warnings when we had the chance. And you and I were warned by the same woman.”

Rayford nodded.

“Look here,” Amanda said. “Bruce’s last line says, ‘Check your e-mail Monday at midnight. Lest you find this all as depressing as I have, I am uploading a favorite verse to comfort your hearts.’”

Bruce had sent it so it would be available to both couples just before they left for their trips to Chicago to meet up with him. It read simply, “He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”

Rayford shifted in the pilot’s seat, eager to talk to Amanda and find out how she was faring on the grueling nonstop flight from New Babylon to Dulles International. She was spending as much of the time as she could in Rayford’s private quarters behind the cockpit, but she had to be sociable enough with the rest of the contingent so as not to appear rude. That, Rayford knew, meant hours of small talk.

She had already been asked about the new import/export business she was starting, but then the mood in
Global Community One
seemed to shift. During one of the few breaks Rayford shared alone with her, she said, “Something’s up. Someone keeps bringing Carpathia printouts. He studies them and scowls and has private, heated meetings.”

“Hmph,” Rayford said. “Could be something. Could be anything. Could be nothing.”

Amanda smirked. “Don’t doubt my intuition.”

“I’ve learned that,” he said.

Buck and Chloe arrived in Chicago the night before the scheduled rendezvous with the Tribulation Force. They checked into the Drake Hotel and called New Hope to leave a message for Bruce, telling him they had arrived and that they would see him the following afternoon at four. They knew from his e-mails that he was back in the States from his Australia/Indonesia trip, but they had heard nothing from him since.

They also e-mailed him that Rayford and Amanda were going to come to the Drake for lunch the next day and that the four of them would travel to Mount Prospect together that afternoon.
If you want to join us for lunch in the Cape Cod Room, we’d be delighted,
Buck had written.

A couple of hours later, when they still had received no response to either the e-mail or the phone message, Chloe said, “What do you think it means?”

“It means he’s going to surprise us at lunch tomorrow.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Count on it,” Buck said.

“Then it won’t really be a surprise, will it?”

The phone rang. “So much for surprises.” Buck said. “That has to be him.”

But it wasn’t.

Rayford had illuminated the Fasten Seat Belt sign and was five minutes from touchdown at Dulles when he was contacted through his earphones by one of Carpathia’s communications engineers. “The potentate would like a word with you.”

“Right now? We’re close to final approach.”

“I’ll ask.” A few seconds later he came back on. “In the cockpit with you alone after engine shutdown.”

“We have a postflight checklist with the first officer and the navigator.”

“Just a minute!” The engineer sounded peeved. When he came back on, he said, “Run the other two out of there after shutdown and do the postflight jazz after your meeting with the potentate.”

“Roger,” Rayford muttered.

“If you recognize my voice and will talk to me, call me at this pay phone number, and make sure you call from a pay phone.”

“Affirmative,” Buck said. He hung up and turned to Chloe. “I’ve got to run out for a minute.”

“Why? Who was that?”

“Gerald Fitzhugh.”

“Thank you, gentlemen, and forgive me for the intrusion,” Carpathia said as he passed the first officer and navigator on his way into the cockpit. Rayford knew they were as annoyed as he at the breach of procedural protocol, but then Carpathia was the boss. Was he ever.

Carpathia slipped deftly into the copilot chair. Rayford imagined that along with all his other gifts, the man could probably learn to fly a jet in an afternoon.

“Captain, I feel the need to take you into my confidence. Our intelligence has discovered an insurrection plot, and we are being forced to circulate false itineraries for me in the United States.” Rayford nodded, and Carpathia continued. “We suspect militia involvement and even collusion between disgruntled American factions and at least two other countries. To be on the safe side, we are scrambling our radio communications and telling the press conflicting stories of my destinations.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Rayford said.

“Most people think I will be in Washington for at least four days, but we are now announcing that I will also be in Chicago, New York, Boston, and perhaps even Los Angeles over the next three days.”

“Do I hear my little vacation slipping away?” Rayford said.

“On the contrary. But I do want you available on a moment’s notice.”

“I will leave word where I can be reached.”

“I would like you to fly the plane to Chicago and have someone you trust return it to New York the same day.”

“I know just the person,” Rayford said.

“I’ll get to New York somehow, and we can leave the country from there on schedule. We’re just trying to keep the insurrectionists off balance.”

“Hey,” Buck said when President Fitzhugh picked up on the first ring. “It’s me.”

“I’m glad you’re not at home,” Fitzhugh said.

“Can you tell me more?”

“Just that it’s good you’re not at home.”

“Gotcha. When can I return home?”

“That could be problematic, but you’ll know before you head back that way. How long are you away from home?”