CHAPTER 11
By the time Rayford and Chloe were doing the dishes, Rayford had heard all about her awkward encounter with Bruce. “So he never owned up to sending the flowers?” Rayford said.
“It was so strange, Dad,” she said. “I kept trying to get the subject back onto loneliness and how much we all meant to each other, all four of us, and he seemed not to pick up on it. He would agree we all had needs, and then he would shift back to the subject of study or some other thing he wanted me to look up. I finally said I was just curious about romantic relationships during this period of history, and he said he might talk about it tonight. He said others had raised the same subject with him recently and that he had some questions too, so he had been studying it.”
“Maybe he’ll come clean tonight.”
“It isn’t a matter of coming clean, Dad. I don’t expect him to tell me in front of you and Buck that he sent me the flowers. But maybe we’ll be able to read between the lines and find out why he did it.”
![img_2TF_.jpg](images/img_2TF_.jpg)
Buck was still in Bruce’s office when Rayford and Chloe arrived. Bruce began the nightly meeting of the Tribulation Force by getting everyone’s permission to put on the table everything that was happening in each life. Everyone nodded.
After outlining the offers that Buck and Rayford had received, Bruce said he felt the need to confess his own sense of inadequacy for the role of pastor of a church of new believers. “I still deal with shame every day. I know I have been forgiven and restored, but living a lie for more than thirty years wears on a person, and even though God says our sins are separated as far as the east is from the west, it’s hard for me to forget.” He also admitted his loneliness and fatigue. “Especially,” he said, “as I think about this pull toward traveling and trying to unite the little pockets of what the Bible calls ‘tribulation saints.’”
Buck wanted to come right out and ask why he hadn’t simply signed a card on Chloe’s flowers, but he knew it wasn’t his place. Bruce moved on to both Rayford’s and Buck’s new job opportunities. “This may shock all of you, because I have not expressed an opinion yet, but Buck and Rayford, I think both of you should seriously consider accepting these jobs.”
That threw the meeting into an uproar. It was the first time the four of them had spoken so forcefully on such personal subjects. Buck maintained that he would never be able to live with himself if he sold out his journalistic principles and allowed himself to manipulate the news and be manipulated by Nicolae Carpathia. He was impressed that Rayford did not seem to have his head turned by such a choice job offer, but he found himself agreeing with Bruce that Rayford should consider it.
“Sir,” Buck said, “the very fact that you’re not angling for it is a good sign. If you wanted it, knowing what you know now, we would all be worried about you. But think of the opportunity to be near the corridors of power.”
“What’s the advantage?” Rayford said.
“Maybe little to you personally,” Buck said, “except for the income. But don’t you think it would be of great benefit to us to have that kind of access to the president?”
Rayford told Buck he thought they all had a mistaken notion that the pilot of the president’s plane would have more real knowledge than anyone who read the daily papers.
“That might be true now,” Buck said. “But if Carpathia really buys up the major media outlets, someone next to the president would be one of the few who knows what’s really going on.”
“All the more reason for you to work for Carpathia,” Rayford said.
“Maybe I should take your job and you should take mine,” Buck said, and finally they were able to laugh.
“You see what’s happening here,” Bruce said. “We all see each other’s situations more clearly and with more level heads than we see our own.”
Rayford chuckled. “So you’re saying we’re both in denial.”
Bruce smiled. “Maybe I am. It’s possible God has sent these things your way just to test your motives and your loyalties, but they seem too huge to ignore.”
Buck wondered if Rayford was wavering as much as he was now. Buck had been dead sure he would never consider such an offer from Carpathia. Now he didn’t know what he thought.
Chloe broke the logjam. “I think you should both take the jobs.”
Buck found it strange that Chloe would wait until a meeting of the four of them to make such an announcement, and it was clear her father felt the same.
“You said I should at least keep an open mind, Chlo’,” Rayford said. “But you seriously think I should take this?”
Chloe nodded. “This isn’t about the president. It’s about Carpathia. If he is who we think he is, and we all know that he is, he’ll quickly become more powerful than the president of the United States. One or both of you should get as close to him as possible.”
“I was close to him once,” Buck said. “And that’s more than enough.”
“If all you care about is your own sanity and safety,” Chloe pressed. “I’m not discounting the horror you went through, Buck. But without someone on the inside, Carpathia is going to deceive everyone.”
“But as soon as I tell what’s really happening,” Buck said, “he’ll eliminate me.”
“Maybe. But maybe God will protect you too. Maybe all you’ll be able to do is tell us what’s happening so we can tell the believers.”
“I’d have to sell out every journalistic principle I have.”
“And those are more sacred than your responsibilities to your brothers and sisters in Christ?”
Buck didn’t know how to respond. This was one of the things he liked so much about Chloe. But independence and integrity had been so ingrained in him since the beginning of his journalism career that he could hardly get a mental handle on pretending to be something he was not. The idea of posing as a publisher while actually on Carpathia’s payroll was too much to imagine.
Bruce jumped in and focused on Rayford. Buck was glad to have the spotlight off himself, but he could understand how Rayford must have felt. “I think yours is actually the easier decision, Rayford,” Bruce said. “You put some major conditions on it, like being allowed to live here if it’s that important to you, and see how serious they are.”
![img_2TF_.jpg](images/img_2TF_.jpg)
Rayford was shaken. He looked at Buck. “If we were voting, would you make it three-to-one?”
“I could ask you the same,” Buck said. “Apparently we’re the only ones who don’t think we should take these jobs.”
“Maybe you should,” Rayford said, only half kidding.
Buck laughed. “I’m open to considering that I’ve been blind, or at least shortsighted.”
Rayford didn’t know what he was open to considering, and he said so. Bruce suggested they pray on their knees—something each had done privately, but not as a group. Bruce brought his chair to the other side of the desk, and the four of them turned and knelt. Hearing the others pray always moved Rayford deeply. He wished God would just tell him audibly what to do, but when he prayed, he simply asked that God would make it plain to all of them.
As Rayford knelt there, he realized he needed to surrender his will to God—again. Apparently this would be a daily thing, giving up the logical, the personal, the tightfisted, closely held stuff.
Rayford felt so small, so inadequate before God, that he could not seem to get low enough. He crouched, he squatted, he tucked his chin to his chest, and yet he still felt proud, exposed. Bruce had been praying aloud, but he suddenly stopped, and Rayford heard him weeping quietly. A lump formed in his own throat. He missed his family, but he was deeply grateful for Chloe, for his salvation, for these friends.
Rayford knelt there in front of his chair, his hands covering his face, praying silently. Whatever God wanted was what he wanted, even if it made no sense from a human standpoint. The overwhelming sense of unworthiness seemed to crush him, and he slipped to the floor and lay prostrate on the carpet. A fleeting thought of how ridiculous he must look assailed him, but he quickly pushed it aside. No one was watching, no one cared. And anyone who thought the sophisticated airplane pilot had taken leave of his senses would have been right.
Rayford stretched his long frame flat on the floor, the backs of his hands on the gritty carpet, his face buried in his palms. Occasionally one of the others would pray aloud briefly, and Rayford realized that all of them were now facedown on the floor.
Rayford lost track of the time, knowing only vaguely that minutes passed with no one saying anything. He had never felt so vividly the presence of God. So this was the feeling of dwelling on holy ground, what Moses must have felt when God told him to remove his shoes. Rayford wished he could sink lower into the carpet, could cut a hole in the floor and hide from the purity and infinite power of God.
He was not sure how long he lay there, praying, listening. After a while he heard Bruce get up and take his seat, humming a hymn. Soon they all sang quietly and returned to their chairs. All were teary-eyed. Finally Bruce spoke.
“We have experienced something unusual,” he said. “I think we need to seal this with a recommitment to God and to each other. If there is anything between any of us that needs to be confessed or forgiven, let’s not leave here without doing that. Chloe, last night you left us with some implications that were strong but unclear.”
Rayford glanced at Chloe. “I apologize,” she said. “It was a misunderstanding. Cleared up now.”
“We don’t need a session on sexual purity during the Tribulation?”
She smiled. “No, I think we’re all pretty clear on that subject. There is something I would like clarified though, and I’m sorry to ask you this in front of the others—”
“That’s all right,” Bruce said. “Anything.”
“Well, I received some flowers anonymously, and I want to know if they came from anyone in this room.”
Bruce glanced away. “Buck?”
“Not me.” Buck grimaced. “I’ve already suffered for being suspected.”
When Bruce looked at him, Rayford just smiled and shook his head.
“That leaves me then,” Bruce said.
“You?” Chloe said.
“Well, doesn’t it? Didn’t you just limit your suspects to those in this room?”
Chloe nodded.
“I guess you’ll have to widen your search.” Bruce said, blushing. “It wasn’t me, but I’m flattered to be suspected. I only wish I’d thought of it.”
Rayford’s and Chloe’s surprise must have showed, because Bruce immediately launched into an explanation. “Oh, I didn’t mean what you think I mean,” Bruce said. “It’s just that . . . well, I think flowers are a wonderful gesture, and I hope they encouraged you, whoever they were from.”
Bruce seemed relieved to change the subject and return to his teaching. He let Chloe tell some of what she had researched that day. At ten o’clock, when they were getting ready to leave, Buck turned to Rayford. “As wonderful as that prayer time was, I didn’t get any direct leading about what to do.”
“Me either.”
“You must be the only two.” Bruce glanced at Chloe, and she nodded. “It’s pretty clear to us what you should do. And it’s clear to each of you what the other should do. But no one can make these decisions for you.”
![img_2TF_.jpg](images/img_2TF_.jpg)
Buck walked Chloe out of the church.
“That was amazing,” she said.
He nodded. “I don’t know where I’d be without you people.”
“Us people?” She smiled. “You couldn’t have left the last word off that sentence, could you?”
“How could I say that to someone who has a secret admirer?”
She winked at him. “Maybe you’d better.”
“Seriously, who do you think it is?”
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“That many possibilities?”
“That few. In fact, none.”
![img_2TF_.jpg](images/img_2TF_.jpg)
Rayford was beginning to wonder whether Hattie Durham had had anything to do with Chloe’s flowers, but he wasn’t going to suggest that to his daughter. What kind of crazy idea would have gone through Hattie’s mind to spur such an act? Another example of her idea of a practical joke?
Wednesday morning in Earl Halliday’s office at O’Hare, Rayford was surprised to find the president of Pan-Con himself, Leonard Gustafson. He had met Gustafson twice before. Rayford should have known something was up when he got off the elevator on the lower level. The place looked different. Desks were neater, neckties were tied, people looked busier, clutter and mess had been swept out of sight. People raised their eyebrows knowingly at Rayford as he strode toward Earl’s office.
Gustafson, former military, was shorter than Rayford and thinner than Earl, but his mere presence was too big for Earl’s little office. Another chair had been dragged in, but as Rayford entered, Gustafson leaped to his feet, his trench coat still draped over one arm, and pumped Rayford’s hand.
“Steele, man, how are you?” he said, pointing to a chair as if this were his office. “I had to come through Chicago today on another matter, and when I found out you were coming to see Earl, well, I just wanted to be here and congratulate you and release you and wish you the best.”
“Release me?”
“Well, not fire you, of course, but to set your mind at ease. You can rest assured there’ll be no hard feelings here. You’ve had a remarkable, no, a stellar career with Pan-Con, and we’ll miss you, but we’re proud of you.”
“Is the news release already written?” Rayford said.
Gustafson laughed a little too loudly. “That can be done right away, and of course we’ll want to make the announcement. This will be a feather in your cap, just like it is in ours. You’re our guy, and now you’ll be his guy. You can’t beat that, huh?”
“The other candidates have dropped out?”
“No, but suffice it to say we have inside information that the job is yours if you want it.”
“How does that work? Somebody owed some favors?”
“No, Rayford, that’s the crazy thing. You must have friends in high places.”
“Not really. I’ve had no contact with the president, and I don’t know anyone on his staff.”
“Apparently you were recommended by the Carpathia administration. You know him?”
“Never met him.”
“Know anyone who knows him?”
“As a matter of fact I do,” Rayford muttered.
“Well, you played that card at the right time,” Gustafson said. He clapped Rayford on the shoulder. “You’re perfect for the job, Steele. We’ll be thinking good thoughts about you.”
“So I couldn’t turn this down if I wanted to?”
Gustafson sat, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Earl told me you had some misgivings. Don’t make the biggest mistake of your life, Rayford. You want this. You know you want this. It’s here for the taking. Take it. I’d take it. Earl would take it. Anyone else on the list would die for it.”
“It’s too late to make the biggest mistake of my life,” Rayford said.
“What’s that?” Gustafson said, but Rayford saw Earl touch his arm, as if reminding him he was dealing with a religious fanatic who believed he had missed a chance to be in heaven. “Oh, yeah, that. Well, I mean since then,” Gustafson added.
“Mr. Gustafson, how does Nicolae Carpathia tell the president of the United States who should pilot his plane?”
“I don’t know! Who cares? Politics is politics, whether it’s the Dems and the Repubs in this country or Labor and the Bolsheviks somewhere else.”
Rayford thought the analogy a little sloppy, but he couldn’t argue the logic. “So somebody’s trading something for something, and I’m just the hired hand.”
“Isn’t that the truth with all of us?” Gustafson said. “But everybody loves Carpathia. He seems above all the politics. If I had to guess, I’d say the president is letting him use the new ’seven-seven just because he likes him.”
Yeah, Rayford thought, and I’m the Easter bunny.
“So will you take the job?”
“I’ve never been pushed out of a job before.”
“You’re not being pushed, Rayford. We love you here. We just wouldn’t be able to justify not having one of our top guys get the best job in the world in his profession.”
“What about my record? A complaint has been lodged against me.”
Gustafson smiled knowingly. “A complaint? I know nothing of a complaint? Do you, Earl?”
“Nothing’s come across my desk, sir,” he said. “And if it did, I’m sure it could be expedited beyond danger in a very short time.”
“By the way, Rayford,” Gustafson said, “are you familiar with a Nicholas Edwards?”
Rayford nodded.
“Friend of yours?”
“First officer a couple of times. I’d like to think we’re friends, yes.”
“Did you hear he had been promoted to captain?”
Rayford shook his head. Politics, he thought glumly.
“Nice, huh?” Gustafson said.
“Real nice,” Rayford said, his head spinning.
“Anything else standing in your way?” Gustafson said.
Rayford could see his choices disappearing. “At the very least, and I’m still not saying I’ll take it, I would have to be headquartered in Chicago.”
Gustafson grimaced and shook his head. “Earl told me that. I don’t get it. I would think you’d want to be out of here, away from the memories of your wife and other daughter.”
“Son.”
“Yeah, the college boy.”
Rayford didn’t correct him, but he saw Earl wince.
“Anyway,” Gustafson said, “you could get your daughter away from whoever might be stalking her, and—”
“Sir?”
“—and you could get yourself a nice place outside D.C.”
“Stalking her?”
“Well, maybe it’s not that obvious yet, Rayford, but I sure as blazes wouldn’t want my daughter to be hearing from somebody anonymously. I don’t care what they were sending.”
“But how did you—?”
“I mean, Rayford, you’d never forgive yourself if something happened to that little girl and you had a chance to get her away from whoever is threatening her.”
“My daughter is not being stalked or threatened! What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the roses, or whatever the bouquet was. What was the deal with that?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. As far as I know, only three people, besides whoever sent those, even know she got them. How did you find out?”
“I don’t remember. Somebody just mentioned that sometimes a person has a reason to leave just as much as he has a reason to like the new opportunity.”
“But if you’re not pushing me out, I have no reason to leave.”
“Not even if your daughter is getting hassled by someone?”
“Anyone who wanted to hassle her could find her in Washington just as easily as here,” Rayford said.
“But still . . .”
“I don’t like the idea that you know all this.”
“Well, don’t turn down the job of a lifetime over an insignificant mystery.”
“It’s not insignificant to me.”
Gustafson stood. “I’m not accustomed to begging people to do what I ask.”
“So if I don’t take this, I’m history with Pan-Con?”
“You ought to be, but I suppose we’d have a tough time with a suit from you after we encouraged you to take the job of piloting the president.”
Rayford had no intention of filing a suit, but he said nothing.
Gustafson sat again. “Do me a favor,” he said. “Go to Washington. Talk to the people, probably the chiefs of staff. Tell them you’ll make the run to Israel for the peace-treaty signing. Then decide what you want to do. Would you do that for me?”
Rayford knew Gustafson would never tell him where he’d heard about Chloe’s flowers, and he figured his best bet was to pry it out of Hattie. “Yes,” Rayford said at last. “I’ll do that.”
“Good!” Gustafson said, shaking hands with both Rayford and Earl. “I think we’re halfway home. And Earl, make this run to Baltimore today Rayford’s last before the trip to Israel. In fact, he’s going to be so close to Washington, let’s get somebody else to fly his plane back so he can meet with people at the White House today. Can we arrange that?”
“It’s already done, sir.”
“Earl,” Gustafson said, “if you were ten years younger, you’d be the man for the job.”
Rayford noticed the pain on Earl’s face. Gustafson couldn’t know how badly Halliday had wanted that very job. On the way to his plane, Rayford checked his mail slot. There, among the packages and interoffice memos, was a note. It read simply, “Thanks for your endorsement on my early promotion. I really appreciate it. And good luck to you. Signed, Captain Nicholas Edwards.”
Several hours later Rayford left the cockpit of his 747 in Baltimore and was met by a Pan-Con operative who presented him with credentials that would get him into the White House. Upon his arrival, he was quickly whisked through the gate. A guard welcomed him by name and wished him luck. When he finally got to the office of an assistant to the chief of staff, Rayford made clear that he was agreeing only to fill in as pilot for the trip to Israel the following Monday.
“Very good,” he was told. “We have already begun the character and reference check, the FBI probe, and the Secret Service interviewing. It will take a bit longer to complete anyway, so you’ll be in a position to impress us and the president without being responsible for him until you’ve passed all checkpoints.”
“You can authorize me to fly the U.N. secretary-general with less clearance on me than you’d need for the president?”
“Precisely. Anyway, you’ve already been approved by the U.N.”
“I have?”
“You have.”
“By whom?”
“By the secretary-general himself.”
![img_2TF_.jpg](images/img_2TF_.jpg)
Buck was on the phone to Marge Potter at Global Weekly headquarters in New York when he heard the news. The entire world would go to dollars for currency within one year, the plan to be initiated and governed by the United Nations, funded by a one-tenth of one percent tax to the U.N. on every dollar.
“That doesn’t sound unreasonable, does it?” Marge asked.
“Ask the financial editor, Marge,” Buck said. “It’ll be gazillions a year.”
“And just how much is a gazillion?”
“More than either of us can count.” Buck sighed. “You were going to do some checking, Marge, about finding someone to help arrange these religion interviews.”
He could hear her shuffling papers. “You can catch your one-world religion guys here in New York,” she said. “They’re heading out Friday, but very few of them will be in Israel. Your temple guys will be in Jerusalem next week. We’ll try to get in touch with those two kooks you want at the Wailing Wall, but the smart money here says not to count on it.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“And where would you like us to send your remains?”
“I’ll survive.”
“No one else has.”
“But I’m not threatening them, Marge. I’m helping them broadcast their message.”
“Whatever that is.”
“You see why we need a story on them?”
“It’s your life, Buck.”
“Thank you.”
“And you’d better get to this Cardinal Mathews on your way here. He’s shuttling back and forth between the one-faith meetings in New York and the Cincinnati archdiocese, and he’s heading to the Vatican for the papal vote right after the treaty signing next Monday.”
“But he will be in Jerusalem?”
“Oh, yes. There’s some rumor floating around that in case he’s the next pope he’s making contacts in Jerusalem for some major shrine or something. But the Catholics would never leave the Vatican, would they?”
“You never know, Marge.”
“Well, that’s for sure. I hardly get time to think about these things, being gofer for you and everyone else around here who can’t do his own legwork.”
“You’re the best, Marge.”
“Flattery will get you, Buck.”
“Get me what?”
“It’ll just get you.”
“What about my rabbi?”
“Your rabbi says he’s refusing all news contacts until after he presents his findings.”
“And when is that?”
“Word just came today that CNN is giving him an hour of uninterrupted time on their international satellite. Jews will be able to see it all over the world at the same time, but of course it will be in the middle of the night for some of them.”
“And when is this?”
“Monday afternoon, after the signing of the treaty. Signing is at 10 a.m. Jerusalem time. Rabbi Ben-Judah goes on the air for an hour at two in the afternoon.”
“Pretty shrewd, going on while the world’s press elite is crowding Jerusalem.”
“All these religious types are shrewd, Buck. The guy who’ll probably be the next pope will be at the treaty signing, schmoozing the Israelis. This rabbi thinks he’s so all-fired important that the treaty signing will be upstaged by the reading of his research paper. Be sure I’m right on my TV schedule there, Buck. I want to be absolutely certain I miss that one.”
“Aw, c’mon, Marge. He’s going to tell you how to spot the Messiah.”
“I’m not even Jewish.”
“Neither am I, but I’d sure want to be able to recognize the Messiah. Wouldn’t you?”
“You want me to get serious and tell you the truth one time here, Buck? I think I’ve seen the Messiah. I think I recognize him. If there’s really supposed to be somebody sent from God to save the world, I think he’s the new secretary-general of the United Nations.”
Buck shivered.
![img_2TF_.jpg](images/img_2TF_.jpg)
Rayford was priority listed as a first-class passenger for the next flight to Chicago out of Baltimore. He called Chloe to let her know why he would be later than expected.
“Hattie Durham’s been trying to reach you.”
“I’ve been on my cell. What does she want?”
“She’s trying to set up a meeting with you and Carpathia before you become his pilot.”
“I’m going to fly him round-trip to Tel Aviv. Why do I have to meet him?”
“More likely he feels he has to meet you. Hattie told him you were a Christian.”
“Oh, great! He’ll never trust me.”
“Probably wants to keep an eye on you.”
“I want to talk to Hattie in person, anyway. When does he want to see me?”
“Tomorrow.”
“My life’s getting too busy all of a sudden. What’s new with you?”
“Something more from my secret admirer today,” she said. “Candy this time.”
“Candy!” Rayford said, spooked by the fears Leonard Gustafson had planted. “You didn’t eat any of it, did you?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“Just don’t touch that stuff till you know who it’s from.”
“Oh, Dad!”
“You never know, hon. Please, just don’t take any chances.”
“All right, but these are my favorites! They look so good.”
“Don’t even open them until we know, OK?”
“All right, but you’re going to want some too. They’re the same ones you always bring me from New York, from that one little department-store chain.”
“Windmill Mints from Holman Meadows?”
“Those are the ones.”
That was the height of insult. How many times had Rayford mentioned to Hattie that he had to get those mints from that store during layovers in New York. She had even accompanied him more than once. So Hattie wasn’t even trying to hide that she was sending the mysterious gifts. What was the point? It didn’t seem to fit as vengeance for the cavalier way he had treated her. What did it have to do with Chloe? And was Carpathia aware of—or even behind—something so pedestrian?
Rayford would find out, that was sure.
![img_2TF_.jpg](images/img_2TF_.jpg)
Buck felt alive again. His life had been in such turmoil since the disappearances, he had wondered if it would ever settle back into the hectic norm he so enjoyed. His spiritual journey had been one thing, his demotion and relocation another. But now he seemed back in the good graces of the brass at Global Weekly, and he had used his instincts to trade for what he considered the top-breaking stories in the world.
He sat in his new makeshift home office, faxing, e-mailing, phoning, working with Marge and with reporters at Weekly, and making contacts for himself as well. He had a lot of people to interview in a short time, and all the developments seemed to be breaking at once.
Though part of him was horrified at what had happened, Buck enjoyed the rush of it. He desperately wanted to convince his own family of the truth. His father and brother would hear none of it, however, and if he had not been busy with challenging, exciting work, that fact alone would have driven him crazy.
Buck had just a few days to get his work done before and after the treaty signing. It seemed his whole life was on fast-forward now, trying to cram as much into seven years as he could. He didn’t know what heaven on earth would be like, though Bruce was trying to teach him and Rayford and Chloe. He longed for the Glorious Appearing and the thousand-year reign of Christ on the earth. But in his mind, until he learned and knew more, anything normal he wanted to accomplish—like investigative reporting and writing, falling in love, getting married, maybe having a child—all had to be done soon.
Chloe was the best part of this new life. But did he have the time to do justice to a relationship that promised to be more than anything he had ever experienced? She was different from any woman he had known, and yet he couldn’t put a finger on that difference. Her faith had enriched her and made her a new person, and yet he had been attracted to her before either of them had received Christ.
The idea that their meeting might have been part of some divine plan boggled his mind. How he wished they had met years before and had been ready together for the Rapture! If he was going to get any time with her before starting his trip to Israel, it would have to be that very day.
Buck looked at his watch. He had time for one more call, then he would reach Chloe.
![img_2TF_.jpg](images/img_2TF_.jpg)
Rayford dozed with his earphones on in first class. Images from the news filled the screen in front of him, but he had lost interest in reports of record crime waves throughout the United States. The name Carpathia finally roused him. The United Nations Security Council had been meeting several hours every day, finalizing plans for the one-world currency and the massive disarmament plan the secretary-general had instituted. Originally, the idea was to destroy 90 percent of weapons and donate the remaining 10 percent to the U.N. Now each contributing country would also invest its own soldiers in the U.N. peacekeeping forces.
Carpathia had asked the president of the United States to head up the verification committee, a highly controversial move. Enemies of the U.S. claimed Fitzhugh would be biased and untrustworthy, making certain they destroyed their weapons while the U.S. hoarded its own.
Carpathia himself addressed these issues in his customarily direct and sympathetic way. Rayford shuddered as he listened. Undoubtedly, he would have trusted and supported this man if Rayford hadn’t been a Christian.
“The United States has long been a keeper of the peace,” Carpathia said. “They will lead the way, destroying their weapons of destruction and shipping to New Babylon the remaining 10 percent. Peoples of the world will be free to come and inspect the work of the U.S., assuring themselves of full compliance and then following in like manner.
“Let me just add this,” the secretary-general said. “This is a massive, major undertaking that could take years. Every country could justify month after month of procedural protocol, but we must not let this occur. The United States of America will set the example, and no other country will take longer than they do to destroy their weapons and donate the rest. By the time the new United Nations headquarters is completed in New Babylon, the weapons will be in place.
“The era of peace is at hand, and the world is finally, at long last, on the threshold of becoming one global community.”
Carpathia’s pronouncement was met with thunderous applause, even from the press.
Later, on the same newscast, Rayford saw a brief special on the new Air Force One, a 777 which would be delivered to Washington’s Dulles Airport and then flown to New York to await its official maiden voyage under the control of “a new captain to be announced shortly. The new man has been culled from a list of top pilots from the major airlines.”
In other news, Carpathia was quoted as saying that he and the ecumenical council of the meeting of religious leaders from around the world would have an exciting announcement by the next afternoon.
![img_2TF_.jpg](images/img_2TF_.jpg)
Buck reached the assistant to Archbishop Peter Cardinal Mathews in Cincinnati. “Yes, he’s here, but resting. He leaves tomorrow morning for New York for the final meeting of the ecumenical council, and then he’ll be on to Israel and the Vatican.”
“I would come anywhere, anytime, at his convenience,” Buck said.
“I’ll get back to you with an answer, one way or the other, within thirty minutes.”
Buck phoned Chloe. “I’ve got only a few minutes right now,” he said, “but can we get together, just the two of us, before the meeting tonight?”
“Sure, what’s happening?”
“Nothing specific,” he said. “It’s just that I’d like to spend some time with you, now that you know I’m available.”
“Available? That’s what you are?”
“Yes, ma’am! And you?”
“I guess I’m available too. That means we’ve got something in common.”
“Did you have plans this evening?”
“Nope. Dad’s going to be a little late. He was interviewed at the White House today.”
“He’s taking the job then?”
“He’s going to make the maiden voyage and then decide.”
“I could have been on that flight.”
“I know.”
“Pick you up at six?” Buck said.
“I’d love it.”