CHAPTER 10
Buck liked the idea of taking the day off, not that he had anything ambitious planned anyway. He puttered around in the spare bedroom, setting up his office. Once everything was plugged in and tested, he checked his e-mail and found one long message from James Borland, religion editor of Global Weekly.
Uh-oh, he thought.
I’d get on the phone and have it out with you voice to voice. But I think better on paper and want to vent a little here before I get your usual excuses. You knew full well that I was in line for the treaty signing cover story. The thing’s happening in the religious capital of the world, Cameron. Who did you think would handle it?
Just because I’m not your typical cover-story writer and haven’t done one before doesn’t mean I couldn’t handle it. I might have come to you for advice on it anyway, but you probably would have wanted to share the byline, your name first.
The old man tells me that your writing it was his idea, but don’t think I can’t envision you talking your way into this one and me out of it. Well, I’m going to be in Israel, too. I’ll stay out of your hair if you’ll stay out of mine.
Buck immediately phoned Borland. “Jimmy,” he said, “it’s Buck.”
“You got my e-mail?”
“I did.”
“I have nothing more to say.”
“I imagine not,” Buck said. “You were pretty clear.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Just to set the record straight.”
“Yeah, you’re going to convince me that your story lines up with Bailey’s, that you didn’t even ask for the assignment.”
“To tell you the truth, Jim, I did tell Bailey I saw it as more of a political than a religious story, and I even wondered aloud whether you were up to it.”
“And you don’t think that constitutes running me off the story so you can write it?”
“I may have, Jim, but it wasn’t intentional. I’m sorry, and if it means that much to you, I’ll insist that you do it.”
“Right. What’s the catch?”
“That I get your stories, and one new one.”
“You want my beat?”
“Just for a few weeks. In my mind, you’ve got the most enviable job on the Weekly.”
“Why don’t I trust you, Buck? You sound like Tom Sawyer trying to get me to paint your fence.”
“I’m dead serious, Jim. You let me cover the one-world religion story, the rebuilding of the temple story, the two preachers at the Wailing Wall story, the vote for a new pope story, and another one in your bailiwick I haven’t told anyone about yet, and I’ll see to it you get to do the cover story on the treaty.”
“I’ll bite. What’s the big scoop on my beat that I’ve missed?”
“You didn’t miss it. I just have a friend who was in the right place at the right time.”
“Who? What?”
“I won’t reveal my source, but I happen to know that Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah—”
“I know him.”
“You do?”
“Well, I know of him. Everybody does. Pretty impressive guy.”
“Have you heard what he’s up to?”
“Some research project, isn’t it? Something typically musty?”
“So that’s another one you don’t want. It sounds like I’m asking for Baltic and Mediterranean and offering Boardwalk and Park Place.”
“That’s exactly what it sounds like, Buck. You think I’m stupid?”
“I sure don’t, Jimmy. That’s one thing you don’t understand. I’m not your enemy.”
“Just my competitor, keeping the cover stories for yourself.”
“I just offered you one!”
“Something doesn’t wash, Buck. The one-world religion meeting is dry as dust, and the thing will never work anyway. Nothing’s going to stand in the way of the Jews rebuilding their temple because no one but the Jews care. I’ll grant you that those two guys at the Wailing Wall would be a great story, but more than a half-dozen people who’ve tried to get near them wound up dead. I have to think every journalist in the world has asked for an exclusive, but no one’s had the guts to go in there. Everybody knows who the new pope’s gonna be. And who in the world cares about the rabbi’s research?”
“Whoa, back up a second there, Jim,” Buck said. “Now, see, you’ve got a leg up on me on the pope thing because I have no idea who the new one will be.”
“Oh, come on, Buck. Where have you been? All the smart money is on Archbishop Mathews out of—”
“Cincinnati? Really? I interviewed him for the—”
“I know, Buck. I saw it. Everybody around here has seen your next Pulitzer.”
Buck was silent. Did the depths of jealousy know no bounds?
Borland must have sensed he’d gone too far. “Truthfully, Buck, I’ve got to hand it to you. That’s going to be one good read. But you got no hint that he’s got the inside track on the papacy?”
“None.”
“He’s a pretty crafty guy. He’s got support coming out his ears, and I think he’s a shoo-in. So do a lot of other people.”
“So, since I know him and I think he trusts me, you won’t mind that story being part of the trade?”
“Oh, you just assume we’re making this trade now, is that it?” Jimmy said.
“Why not? How bad do you want the cover?”
“Buck, you think I don’t know you’re going to be part of the U.N. contingent at the signing and that you’re going to be wearing a Global Weekly blazer or hat or something to get us a little play?”
“So make it part of your cover story. ‘Substitute Religion Editor Gets to Stand Next to Secretary-General.’”
“Not funny. No way Plank gives you that plum and then settles for someone else writing the piece.”
“I’m telling you, Jim, I’ll insist on it.”
“You weren’t supposed to have any more bargaining power after missing that Carpathia meeting before. What makes you think Bailey will listen to you? You’re just a Chicago bureau writer now.”
Buck felt his old ego kick in, and the words were out before he could measure them. “Yeah, just a Chicago bureau writer who wrote next week’s cover story and has been assigned the following week’s too.”
“Touché!”
“I’m sorry, Jim. That was out of line. But I’m serious about this. I’m not just bluffing to make you think your beat is a bigger deal than a cover story. I’m convinced things are breaking religiously that make much more interesting stories than the treaty signing.”
“Wait a minute, Buck. You’re not one of the suckers buying into the prophetic, apocalyptic, all-this-has-been-foretold-in-the-Bible theories, are you?”
That’s exactly what I am, Buck thought, but he couldn’t afford to go public yet. “How widespread is that view?” Buck asked.
“You ought to know. You wrote the cover story.”
“My story gives voice to all the opinions.”
“Yeah, but you ran into the Rapture nuts. They’d love to see some spin on all these stories you want to do that shoehorns them into God’s plan.”
“You’re the religion editor, Jim. Do they have a point?”
“Doesn’t sound to me like something God would have done.”
“You’re allowing that there is a God.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What manner?”
“God is in all of us, Buck. You know my view.”
“Your view hasn’t changed since the disappearances?”
“Nope.”
“Was God in the people who disappeared?”
“Sure.”
“So now part of God is gone?”
“You’re way too literal for me, Buck. Next you’re going to tell me the treaty proves Carpathia’s the Antichrist.”
How I’d love to convince you, Buck thought. And someday I’ll try. “I know the treaty is a big deal,” he said. “Probably bigger than most people realize, but the signing is just the show. The fact that there’s an agreement was the story, and that story has been told.”
“The signing may just be show, but it’s worth a cover, Buck. Why wouldn’t you think I could handle it?”
“Tell me I can have the other stuff, and I’ll see that you get it.”
“Deal.”
“You’re serious?”
“’Course I’m serious. I’m sure you think you’ve pulled one over on me, but I’m no kid anymore, Buck. I don’t care where this cover ranks with all the ones you’ve done. I’d like to have it for my scrapbook, my grandkids, all that.”
“I understand.”
“Yeah, you understand. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and you’ll do twice as many covers as you’ve already done.”
“Chloe! Come down here!”
Rayford stood in the living room, too stunned to even sit. He had just flipped on the TV and heard the special news bulletin.
Chloe came hurrying down the stairs. “I’ve got to get to the church,” she said. “What’s up?”
Rayford shushed her and they watched and listened. A CNN White House correspondent spoke. “Apparently this unusual gesture came as a result of a meeting early last evening between U.N. Secretary-General Nicolae Carpathia and President Gerald Fitzhugh. Fitzhugh has already led the way among heads of state in his unwavering support of the administration of the new secretary-general, but this lending of the new presidential aircraft sets a whole new standard.
“The White House sent the current Air Force One to New York late yesterday afternoon to collect Carpathia, and today comes this announcement that the maiden flight of the new Air Force One will carry Carpathia and not the president himself.”
“What?” Chloe asked.
“The treaty signing in Israel,” Rayford said.
“But the president is going, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but on the old plane.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I.”
The CNN reporter continued, “Skeptics suspect a behind-the-scenes deal, but the president himself made this statement from the White House just moments ago.”
CNN ran a DVD. President Fitzhugh looked perturbed. “Naysayers and wholly political animals can have a field day with this gesture,” the president said, “but peace-loving Americans and everyone tired of politics-as-usual will celebrate it. The new plane is beautiful. I’ve seen it. I’m proud of it. There’s plenty of room on it for the entire United States and United Nations delegations, but I have decided it is only right that the U.N. contingency have the plane to themselves for this maiden voyage.
“Until our current Air Force One becomes Air Force Two, we will christen the new 777 ‘Global Community One’ and offer it to Secretary-General Carpathia with our best wishes. It’s time the world rallies round this lover of peace, and I am proud to lead the way by this small gesture.
“I also call upon my colleagues around the globe to seriously study the Carpathia disarmament proposal. Strong defense has been a sacred cow in our country for generations, but I’m sure we all agree that the time for a true, weaponless peace is long past due. I hope to have an announcement soon on our decisions in this regard.”
“Dad, does this mean you would—?”
But Rayford silenced Chloe again with a gesture as CNN cut to New York for a live response from Carpathia.
Nicolae gazed directly into the camera, appearing to look right into the eyes of each viewer. His voice was quiet and emotional. “I would like to thank President Fitzhugh for this most generous gesture. We at the United Nations are deeply moved, grateful, and humbled. We look forward to a wonderful ceremony in Jerusalem next Monday.”
“Man, is he slick.” Rayford shook his head.
“That’s the job you told me about. You’d be flying that plane?”
“I don’t know. I suppose. I didn’t realize the old Air Force One was going to become Air Force Two, the vice president’s plane. I wonder if they’re really retiring the current pilot. It’s like musical chairs. If the current pilot stays with the 747 when it becomes AF2, what happens to the current AF2 pilot?”
Chloe shrugged. “You’re sure you don’t want the job flying the new plane?”
“Surer now than ever. I don’t want to have anything to do with Carpathia.”
Buck took a call from Alice at the Chicago office. “You’d better get two lines into there,” she said, “if you’re going to keep working from home.”
“Besides my cell, I’ve got two lines,” Buck said. “But one of ’em’s for my fax.”
“Well, Mr. Bailey’s been trying to reach you, and he’s been getting a busy signal.”
“What did he call there for? He has to know I’m here.”
“He didn’t call here. Marge Potter was on with Verna about something else and told her.”
“Bet Verna loved that.”
“She sure did. She all but danced. She thinks you’re in trouble with the big boss again.”
“I doubt it.”
“Know what she’s guessing?”
“I can’t wait.”
“That Bailey didn’t like your cover story and he’s firing you.”
Buck laughed.
“Not true?” Alice said.
“Quite the opposite,” Buck said. “But do me a favor and don’t tell Verna.”
Buck thanked her for the deliveries the day before, spared her the story about Chloe having thought Alice was his fiancée, and hung up so he could call Bailey. He got to Marge Potter first.
“Buck, I miss you already,” she said. “What in the world happened?”
“Someday I’ll lay it all out for you,” he said. “I hear the boss has been trying to reach me.”
“Well, I’ve been trying for him. Right now he’s got Jim Borland in there, and I hear raised voices. Don’t think I’ve ever heard Jim raise his voice before.”
“You’ve heard Bailey raise his?”
Marge laughed. “Not more than twice a day,” she said. “Anyway, I’ll have him call you.”
“You might want to interrupt them, Marge. Their meeting may be the reason he was trying to reach me.”
Almost immediately Stanton Bailey was on the line. “Williams, you’ve got a lot of nerve acting like the executive editor you’re not.”
“Sir?”
“It’s not your place to be assigning cover stories, telling Borland I originally had him in mind for the treaty piece, then kissing up to him by offering to take his garbage stories and letting him have your cover article.”
“I didn’t do that!”
“He didn’t do that!” Borland hollered.
“I can’t keep up with you two,” Bailey said. “Now, what’s the deal?”
With Chloe gone to see about her new job at the church, Rayford thought about calling his chief pilot. Earl Halliday wanted to hear from him as soon as possible and would likely call him if Rayford didn’t get back to Earl soon.
Today’s news was the very kind of development that would seal Rayford’s decision. He couldn’t deny the prestige that would accompany being the president’s pilot. And being Carpathia’s might be even noisier. But Rayford’s motives and dreams had swung 180 degrees. Being known as the pilot of Air Force One—or even Global Community One—for seven years was simply not on his wish list.
The size of his own house had sometimes embarrassed Rayford, even when four people were living there. At other times he had been proud of it. It evidenced his status, his station in life, the level of his achievement. Now it was a lonely place. He was so grateful to have Chloe home. Though he would not have said a word if she had returned to college, he didn’t know what he would have done with himself during his off-hours. It was one thing to busy your mind with all that is necessary to transport hundreds of people safely by air. But to have virtually nothing to do at home but eat and sleep would have made the place unbearable.
Every room, every knickknack, every feminine touch reminded him of Irene. Occasionally something would jump out and flood his mind with Raymie, too. He found a piece of Raymie’s favorite candy under a cushion on the couch. A couple of his books. A toy was hiding behind a potted plant.
Rayford was growing emotional, but he didn’t mind as much any more. His grief was more melancholic than painful now. The closer he grew to God, the more he looked forward to being with him and with Irene and Raymie after the Glorious Appearing.
He allowed his memories to bring his loved ones closer in his mind and heart. Now that he shared their faith, he understood them and loved them all the more. When regret crept in, when he felt ashamed of the husband and father he had been, he merely prayed for forgiveness for having been so blind.
Rayford decided to cook for Chloe that night. He would prepare one of her favorite dishes—shrimp scampi with pasta and all the trimmings. He smiled. In spite of him and all the negative traits she had inherited, she had grown to be a wonderful person. If there was one clear example of how Christ could change a person, she was it. He wanted to tell her that, and dinner would be one expression. It was easy to buy things for her and take her out. He wanted to do something himself.
Rayford spent an hour at the grocery store and another hour and a half in the kitchen before he had everything cooking in anticipation of her arrival. He found himself identifying with Irene, remembering the hopeful expression on her face almost every night. He had said his thank-yous and complimented her enough, he supposed. But it wasn’t until now that he realized she must have been doing that work for him out of the same love and devotion he felt for Chloe.
He had never grasped that, and his paltry attempts at compliments must have been seen as perfunctory as they were. Now there was no way to make it up to Irene, except to show up in the kingdom himself, with Chloe alongside.
Buck hung up from the call with Stanton Bailey and Jim Borland wondering why he didn’t just accept Carpathia’s offer to manage the Chicago Tribune and be done with it. He had convinced them both that he was sincere and finally got the old man’s gruff approval, but he wondered if it was worth being in the doghouse again. His goal was to tie the religious stories together so neatly that Borland would get an idea how his job should be done and Bailey would get a picture of what he needed in an executive editor.
Buck didn’t want that job any more than he had when Steve Plank left and Buck had been talked into it. But he sure hoped Bailey found someone who would make it fun to work there again.
He banged out some notes on his computer, in essence outlining the assignments he had acquired in the trade with Jimmy Borland. He had made the same initial assumptions Borland did about all the breaking stories. But that was before he had studied prophecy, before he knew where Nicolae Carpathia fit into the sweep of history.
Now he was hoping all these things would break at essentially the same time. It was possible he was sitting on the direct fulfillment of centuries-old prophecies. Cover stories or not, these developments would have as much impact on the short remaining history of mankind as the treaty with Israel.
Buck called Steve Plank. “Any word yet?” Steve said. “Anything I can tell the secretary-general?”
“Is that what you call him?” Buck said, astonished. “Not even you can call him by name?”
“I choose not to. It’s a matter of respect, Buck. Even Hattie calls him ‘Mr. Secretary-General,’ and if I’m not mistaken, they spend almost as much time together off the job as on the job.”
“Don’t rub it in. I know well enough that I introduced them.”
“You regret it? You provided a world leader with someone he adores, and you changed Hattie’s life forever.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Buck said, realizing he was dangerously close to showing his true colors to a Carpathia confidant.
“She was a nobody from nowhere, Buck, and now she’s on the front page of history.” That was not what Buck wanted to hear, but then he wasn’t planning to tell Steve what he wanted to hear either. “So, what’s the story, Buck?”
“I’m no closer to a decision today,” Buck said. “You know where I stand.”
“I don’t understand you, Buck. Where’s the glitch? What’s going to make this not work? It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“I’m a journalist, Steve, not a public relations guy.”
“Is that what you’re calling me?”
“That’s what you are, Steve. I don’t fault you for it, but don’t pretend to be something you’re not.”
Clearly, Buck had offended his old friend. “Yeah, well, whatever,” Steve said. “You called me, so what did you want?”
Buck told him of the deal he had made with Borland.
“Big mistake,” Steve said, still clearly steamed. “You’ll recall I never assigned him a cover story.”
“This shouldn’t be a cover story. The other pieces, the ones he’s letting me handle, are the big stories.”
Steve’s voice rose. “This would have been the biggest cover story you’ve ever had! This will be the most widely covered event in history.”
“You say that and tell me you’re not a PR guy now?”
“Why? What?”
“The U.N. signs a peace treaty with Israel and you think it’s bigger than the disappearances of billions all over the globe?”
“Well, yeah, that. Of course.”
“‘Well, yeah, that. Of course,’” Buck mimicked. “Good grief, Steve. The story is the treaty, not the ceremony. You know that.”
“So you’re not coming?”
“Of course I’m coming, but I’m not riding along with you guys.”
“You don’t want to be on the new Air Force One?”
“What?”
“C’mon, Mister International Journalist. Keep the news on, man.”
Rayford looked forward to Chloe’s arrival, but he also looked forward to the meeting of the core group that night. Chloe had told him Buck had been as much against accepting a job with Carpathia as Rayford was against accepting a job with the White House. But you never knew what Bruce would say. Sometimes he had a different view of things, and he often made a lot of sense. Rayford couldn’t imagine how such changes could figure in to their new lives, but he was eager to talk about it and pray about it. He looked at his watch. His dinner should be done in half an hour. And that was when Chloe had said she’d be home.
“No,” Buck said, “I wouldn’t want to go over there on the new or the old Air Force One. I appreciate the invitation to be part of the delegation, and I’ll still take you up on being at the table for the signing, but even Bailey agrees that Global Weekly ought to send me.”
“You told Bailey about our offer?!”
“Not the job offer, of course. But about riding along, sure.”
“Why do you think the trip to New York was so clandestine, Buck? You think we wanted the Weekly to know about this?”
“I figured you didn’t want them to know I was being offered a job, which they don’t know. But how was I supposed to explain showing up in Israel and being in on the signing?”
“We hoped it wouldn’t make any difference to your former employer by then.”
“Just don’t make any assumptions, Steve,” Buck said.
“You, either.”
“Meaning?”
“Don’t expect the offer of a lifetime to stay on the table if you’re going to thumb your nose at an invitation like you did last time.”
“So the job is tied to playing ball on the PR trip.”
“If you want to put it that way.”
“You’re not making me feel any better about the idea, Steve.”
“You know, Buck, I’m not sure you’re cut out for politics and journalism at this level.”
“I agree it’s sunk to a new low.”
“That’s not what I meant. Anyway, remember your big-shot predictions about a new one-world currency? That it would never happen? Watch the news tomorrow, pal. And remember that it was all Nicolae Carpathia’s doing, diplomacy behind the scenes.”
Buck had seen Carpathia’s so-called diplomacy. It was likely the same way he got the president of the United States to hand over a brand-new 777, not to mention how he got eyewitnesses to a murder to believe they’d seen a suicide.
It was time to tell Bruce about his trip.
“Rayford, can you come in?”
“When, Earl?”
“Right now. Big doings with the new Air Force One. Have you heard?”
“Yes, it’s all over the news.”
“You say the word, and you’ll be flying that plane to Israel with Nicolae Carpathia on board.”
“Not ready to decide yet.”
“Ray, I need you in here. Can you come or not?”
“Not today, Earl. I’m in the middle of something here, and I’ll have to see you tomorrow.”
“What’s so important?”
“It’s personal.”
“What, you’ve got another deal cooking?”
“I’m cooking, but not another deal. I happen to be preparing dinner for my daughter.”
Rayford heard nothing for a moment. Finally: “Rayford, I’m all for family priorities. Heaven knows we’ve got enough pilots with bad marriages and messed-up kids. But your daughter—”
“Chloe.”
“Right, she’s college age, right? She’d understand, wouldn’t she? Couldn’t she put off dinner with Dad for a couple hours, knowing he might get the best flying job in the world?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Earl. I’ve got that Baltimore run late morning, back late afternoon. I can see you before that.”
“Nine o’clock?”
“Fine.”
“Rayford, let me just warn you: If the other guys on the short list ever wanted this job, they’re going to be drooling over it now. You can bet they’re calling in all their chips, lining up their endorsements, trying to find out who knows who, all that.”
“Good. Maybe one of them will get it and I won’t have to worry about it anymore.”
Earl Halliday sounded agitated. “Now, Rayford—,” he began, but Rayford cut him off.
“Earl, after tomorrow morning let’s agree not to waste any more of each other’s time. You know my answer, and the only reason I haven’t made it final yet is because you asked me not to for the sake of our friendship. I’m thinking about it, I’m praying about it, and I’m talking about it with people who care for me. I’m not going to be badgered or shamed into it. If I turn down a job that everyone else wants, and later I regret it, that’ll be my problem.”
Buck was pulling into the parking lot at New Hope Village Church just as Chloe was pulling out. They drew up even with each other and rolled down their windows. “Hey, little girl,” Buck said, “you know anything about this church?”
Chloe smiled. “Just that it’s crowded every Sunday.”
“Good. I’ll try it. So, are you taking the job?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I’ve already got a job.”
“Looks like I have one, too,” she said. “I learned more today than I learned in college last year.”
“How’d it go with Bruce? I mean, did you tell him you knew he sent the flowers?”
Chloe looked over her shoulder, as if afraid Bruce might hear. “I’ll have to tell you all about it,” she said. “When we have time.”
“After the meeting tonight?”
She shook her head. “I was up too late last night. Some guy, you know.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Couldn’t get rid of him. Happens to me all the time.”
“Later, Chloe.”
Buck couldn’t blame Bruce for whatever level of interest he had in Chloe. It just felt strange, competing with your new friend and pastor for a woman.
“Is that what it smells like?” Chloe exulted as she came in from the garage. “Shrimp scampi?” She entered the kitchen and gave her dad a kiss. “My favorite! Who’s coming over?”
“The guest of honor just arrived,” he said. “Would you rather eat in the dining room? We could move in there easily.”
“No, this will be perfect. What’s the occasion?”
“Your new job. Tell me all about it.”
“Dad! What possessed you?”
“I just got in touch with my feminine side,” he said.
“Oh, please!” she groaned. “Anything but that!”
During dinner she told him of Bruce’s assignments and all the research and study she had done already.
“So, you’re going to do this?”
“Learn and study and get paid for it? I think that’s an easy call, Dad.”
“And what about Bruce?”
She nodded. “What about Bruce?”