CHAPTER 4

Rayford heard Carpathia’s people setting up for his broadcast. “Is there any way anyone will be able to tell we are airborne?” Carpathia asked.

“None,” he was assured. Rayford wasn’t so sure, but certainly, unless Carpathia made some colossal error, no one would have a clue precisely where in the air he was.

At the sound of a knock on the cockpit door, Rayford shut off the hidden button and turned expectantly. It was a Carpathia aide. “Do whatever you have to do to shut down all interference and patch us back through to Dallas. We go live on satellite in about three minutes, and the potentate should be able to be heard everywhere in the world.”

Yippee, Rayford thought.

Buck was on the phone with Loretta when Verna Zee slipped behind the wheel. She slung her oversized bag onto the seat behind her, then had trouble fastening her seat belt, she was shaking so. Buck shut off the phone. “Verna, are you all right? I just talked with a woman from our church who has a room and private bath for you.”

A mini traffic jam dissipated as Verna and Buck’s coworkers wended their way out of the small parking lot. Headlights provided the only illumination in the area.

“Cameron, why are you doing this for me?”

“Why not? You lent me your phone.”

“But I’ve been so awful to you.”

“And I’ve responded in kind. I’m sorry, Verna. This is the last time in the world we should care so much about getting our own way.”

Verna started the car but sat with her face in her hands. “You want me to drive?” Buck asked.

“No, just give me a minute.”

Buck told her of his urgency to locate a vehicle and try to find Chloe.

“Cameron! You must be frantic!”

“Frankly, I am.”

She unlatched her seat belt and reached for the door handle. “Take my car, Cameron. Do whatever you have to do.”

“No,” Buck said. “I’ll let you lend me your car, but let’s get you settled first.”

“You may not have a minute to spare.”

“All I can do is trust God at this point,” Buck said.

He pointed Verna in the right direction. She sped to the edge of Mt. Prospect and slid up to the curb in front of Loretta’s beautiful, rambling, old home. Verna did not allow Buck to even take the time to make introductions. She said, “We all know who each other is, so let’s let Cameron get going.”

“I arranged for a car for you,” Loretta said. “It should be here in a few minutes.”

“I’ll take Verna’s for now, but I sure appreciate it.”

“Keep the phone as long as you need it,” Verna said, as Loretta welcomed her.

Buck pushed the driver’s seat all the way back and adjusted the mirror. He punched in the number he’d been given for Nicolae Carpathia and tried to return that call. The phone was answered by an aide. “I’ll tell him you returned his call, Mr. Williams, but he’s conducting an international broadcast just now. You might want to tune it in.”

Buck whipped on the radio while racing toward the only route he could imagine Chloe taking to escape Chicago.

“Ladies and gentlemen, from an unknown location, we bring you, live, Global Community Potentate Nicolae Carpathia.”

Rayford swung around in his chair and propped open the cockpit door. The plane was on autopilot, and both he and his first officer sat watching as Carpathia addressed the world. The potentate looked amused as he was being introduced and winked at a couple of his ambassadors. He pretended to lick his finger and smooth his eyebrows, as if primping for his audience. The others stifled chuckles. Rayford wished he had a weapon.

On cue, Carpathia mustered his most emotional voice. “Brothers and sisters of the Global Community, I am speaking to you with the greatest heaviness of heart I have ever known. I am a man of peace who has been forced to retaliate with arms against international terrorists who would jeopardize the cause of harmony and fraternity. You may rest assured that I grieve with you over the loss of loved ones, of friends, of acquaintances. The horrible toll of civilian lives should haunt these enemies of peace for the rest of their days.

“As you know, most of the ten world regions that comprise the Global Community destroyed 90 percent of their weapon hardware. We have spent nearly the last two years breaking down, packaging, shipping, receiving, and reassembling this hardware in New Babylon. My humble prayer was that we would never have had to use it.

“However, wise counselors persuaded me to stockpile storehouses of technologically superior weapons in strategic locations around the globe. I confess I did this against my will, and my optimistic and overly positive view of the goodness of mankind has proven faulty.

“I am grateful that somehow I allowed myself to be persuaded to keep these weapons at the ready. In my wildest dreams, I never would have imagined that I would have to make the difficult decision to turn this power against enemies on a broad scale. By now you must know that two former members of the exclusive Global Community executive council have viciously and wantonly conspired to revolt against my administration, and another carelessly allowed militia forces in his region to do the same. These forces were led by the now late president of the United States of North America Gerald Fitzhugh, trained by the American militia, and supported also by secretly stored weapons from the United States of Great Britain and the formerly sovereign country of Egypt.

“While I should never have to defend my reputation as an antiwar activist, I am pleased to inform you that we have retaliated severely and with dispatch. Anywhere that Global Community weaponry was employed, it was aimed specifically at rebel military locations. I assure you that all civilian casualties and the destruction of great populated cities in North America and around the world was the work of the rebellion.

“There are no more plans for counterattacks by Global Community forces. We will respond only as necessary and pray that our enemies understand that they have no future. They cannot succeed. They will be utterly destroyed.

“I know that in a time of global war such as this, most of us live in fear and grief. I can assure you that I am with you in your grief but that my fear has been overcome by confidence that the majority of the global community is together, heart and soul, against the enemies of peace.

“As soon as I am convinced of security and safety, I will address you via satellite television and the Internet. I will communicate frequently so you know exactly what is going on and will see that we are making enormous strides toward rebuilding our world. You may rest assured that as we reconstruct and reorganize, we will enjoy the greatest prosperity and the most wonderful home this earth can afford. May we all work together for the common goal.”

While Carpathia’s aides and ambassadors nodded and clapped him on the back, Rayford caught Amanda’s eye and resolutely shut the cockpit door.

Verna Zee’s car was a junky old import. It was rattly and drafty, a four-cylinder automatic. In short, it was a dog. Buck decided to test its limits and reimburse Verna later, if necessary. He sped to the Kennedy and headed toward the Edens junction, trying to guess how far Chloe might have gotten from The Drake in heavy traffic that would now be impassable.

What he didn’t know was whether she would take Lake Shore Drive (which locals referred to as the LSD) or the Kennedy. This was more her bailiwick than his, but his question soon became moot. Chicago was in flames, and most of the drivers of cars that clogged the Kennedy in both directions stood on the pavement gaping at the holocaust. Buck would have given anything to have had the Range Rover at that moment.

When he whipped Verna’s little pile of junk onto the shoulder, he found he wasn’t alone. Traffic laws and civility went out the window at a time like this, and there was almost as much traffic off the road as on. He had no choice. Buck had no idea whether he was destined to survive the entire seven years of the Tribulation anyway, and he could think of only one better reason to die than trying to rescue the love of his life.

Ever since he had become a believer, Buck had considered the privilege of giving his life in the service of God. In his mind, regardless of what really killed Bruce, he believed Bruce was a martyr to the cause. Risking his life in traffic may not have been as altruistic as that, but one thing he was sure of: Chloe would not have hesitated had the shoe been on the other foot.

The biggest jam-ups came at the bridge overpasses where the shoulders ended and those fighting to go around stalled traffic had to take turns picking their way through. Angry motorists rightfully tried to block their paths. Buck couldn’t blame them. He would have done the same in their places.

He had stored the number of the phone in the Range Rover and continued to redial every chance he got. Every time he first heard a hint of the message “The mobile customer you have called—”, he disconnected and tried again.

Just before the initial descent into San Francisco, Rayford huddled with Amanda. “I’m gonna get that door open and get you off this plane as soon as possible,” he said. “I’m not going to wait for the postflight checklist or anything. Don’t forget, it’s imperative that whatever flight you find is off the ground before we are.”

“But why, Ray?”

“Just trust me, Amanda. You know I have your best interests in mind. As soon as you can, call me on my universal cell phone and let me know Chloe and Buck are all right.”

Buck left the expressway and picked his way through side streets for more than an hour until reaching Evanston. By the time he got to Sheridan Road along the lake, he found it barricaded but not guarded. Apparently every law enforcement officer and emergency medical technician was busy. He thought about ramming one of the construction horses, but didn’t want to do that to Verna’s car. He stepped out and moved the horse enough to drive through. He was going to leave the opening there, but someone hollered from an apartment, “Hey! What are you doing?”

Buck looked up and waved in the direction of the voice. “Press!” he shouted.

“All right, then! Carry on!”

To make himself look more legitimate, Buck took the time to get out of the car and replace the barrier before driving on. He saw the occasional police car with lights flashing and some uniformed men standing at side streets. Buck merely put on his emergency flashers and kept going. No one stood in his way. No one drew down on him. No one so much as shined a light at him. To Buck it seemed as if they assumed that if he had gone to the trouble of getting so deep into a prohibited area and was now proceeding with such confidence, he must be all right. He could hardly believe how clear the sailing was with all the arteries leading into Sheridan Road blocked off. The question now was what he would find on Lake Shore Drive.

Frustrated was too mild a word for the way Rayford felt as he landed the Condor 216 in San Francisco and taxied to a private jetway. There he sat with the unenviable task of carrying Antichrist himself wherever he wanted to go. Carpathia had just told bald-faced lies to the largest audience that had ever listened to a single radio broadcast. Rayford knew beyond doubt that shortly after takeoff toward New Babylon, San Francisco would be devastated from the air the same way Chicago had been. People would die. Business and industry would crumble. Transportation centers would be destroyed, including that very airport. Rayford’s first order of business was to get Amanda off that plane and out of that airport and into the Chicago area. He didn’t even want to wait for the jetway to be maneuvered out to the plane. He opened the door himself and lowered the telescoping stairs to the runway. He motioned for Amanda to hurry. Carpathia made some farewell small talk as she hurried past, and Rayford was grateful that she merely thanked the man and kept moving. Ground personnel waved at Rayford and tried to get him to pull the stairs back up. He shouted, “We have one passenger who needs to make a connection!”

Rayford embraced Amanda and whispered, “I checked with the tower. There’s a flight to Milwaukee leaving from a gate at the end of this corridor in less than twenty minutes. Make sure you’re on it.” Rayford kissed Amanda and she hurried down the steps.

He saw the ground crew waiting for him to pull the stairs back up so they could get the jetway into position. He could think of no legitimate reason to stall, so he simply ignored them, walked back into the cockpit, and began postflight checks.

“What’s going on?” his copilot asked. “I want to switch places with your guy as soon as I can.”

If you only knew what you were walking into, Rayford thought. “Where are you headed tonight?”

“What possible business is that of yours?” the young man said.

Rayford shrugged. He felt like the little Dutch boy with his thumb in the dike. He couldn’t save everyone. Could he save anyone? A Carpathia aide poked his head into the cockpit. “Captain Steele, you’re being summoned by the ground crew.”

“I’ll handle it, sir. They’ll have to wait for our postflight check. You realize that with a new plane there’s a lot we need to be sure of before we attempt a trans-Pacific flight.”

“Well, we’ve got McCullum waiting to board, and we’ve got a full flight crew waiting besides. We’d kind of like to have some service.”

Rayford tried to sound cheery. “Safety first.”

“Well, hurry it up!”

While the first officer double-checked items on his clipboard, Rayford checked with the tower on the status of the outbound flight to Milwaukee. “Behind schedule about twelve minutes, Condor 216. It shouldn’t affect you.”

But it will, Rayford thought.

Rayford stepped into the cabin. “Excuse me, sir, but isn’t Mr. Fortunato joining us for the next leg of the flight?”

“Yes,” an aide said. “He left Dallas half an hour after we did, so he shouldn’t be long.”

He will be if I can help it.

Buck finally hit the brick wall he knew would be inevitable. He had bounced over a couple of curbs and couldn’t avoid smashing one traffic barrier where Sheridan Road jogged to meet Lake Shore Drive. All along the Drive he saw cars off the road, emergency vehicles with lights flashing, and disaster relief specialists trying to flag him down. He floored Verna Zee’s little car, and no one dared step in front of him. He had most of the lanes open all the way down the Drive, but he heard people shouting, “Stop! Road closed!”

The radio told him that gridlock within the city proper had ground all fleeing traffic to a halt. One report said it had been that way since the moment of the first blast. Buck wished he had time to scan the exits that led to the beach. There were plenty of places where a Range Rover might have left the road, crashed, or been hidden. If it became clear to Chloe that she could not have made any decent time by heading to the Kennedy or the Eisenhower from The Drake, she might have tried the LSD. But as Buck got to the Michigan Avenue exit that would have taken him within sight of The Drake, he would have had to kill someone or go airborne to go any farther. The barricade that shut down Lake Shore Drive and the exit looked like something from the set of Les Misérables. Squad cars, ambulances, fire trucks, construction and traffic horses, caution lights, you name it, were stretched across the entire area, manned by a busy force of emergency workers. Buck came to a screeching halt, swerving and sliding about fifty feet before his right front tire blew. The car spun as emergency workers danced out of the way.

Several swore at him, and a woman police officer advanced, gun drawn. Buck started to get out, but she said, “Stay right where you are, pal!” Buck lowered the window with one hand and reached for his press credentials with the other. The policewoman would have none of that. She thrust her weapon through the window and pressed it to his temple. “Both hands where I can see ’em, scumbag!” She opened the door, and Buck executed the difficult procedure of getting out of a small car without the use of his hands. She made him lie flat on the pavement, spread-eagle.

Two other officers joined the first and roughly frisked Buck.

“Any guns, knives, needles?”

Buck went on the offensive. “Nope, just two sets of IDs.”

The cops pulled a wallet out of each of his back pockets, one containing his own papers, the other the documents of the fictitious Herb Katz.

“So, which one are you, and what’s the deal?”

“I’m Cameron Williams, publisher of Global Community Weekly. I report directly to the potentate. The phony ID is to help me get into unsympathetic countries.”

A young, slender cop pulled Buck’s real ID wallet from the hands of the woman officer. “Let me just have a look at this,” he said with sarcasm. “If you really report to Nicolae Carpathia, you’d have level 2-A clearance, and I don’t see—oops, I guess I do see level 2-A security clearance here.”

The three officers huddled to peer at the unusual identification card. “You know, carrying phony 2-A security clearance is punishable by death—”

“Yes, I do.”

“We aren’t even going to be able to run your license plate, with the computers so jammed.”

“I can tell you right now,” Buck said, “that I borrowed this car from a friend named Zee. You can check that for sure before you have it junked.”

“You can’t leave this car here!”

“What am I gonna do with it?” Buck said. “It’s worthless, it’s got a flat tire, and there’s no way we’re gonna find help for that tonight.”

“Or for the next two weeks, most likely,” one of the cops said. “So, where were you goin’ in such an all-fired hurry?”

“The Drake.”

“Where have you been, pal? Don’t you listen to the news? Most of Michigan Avenue is toast.”

“Including The Drake?”

“I don’t know about that, but it can’t be in too good a shape by now.”

“If I walk up over that rise and get onto Michigan Avenue on foot, am I gonna die of radiation poisoning?”

“Civil Defense guys tell us there’s no fallout readings. That means this must have been done by the militia, trying to spare as much human life as possible. Anyway, if those bombs had been nuclear, the radiation would have traveled a lot farther than this already.”

“True enough,” Buck said. “Am I free to go?”

“No guarantees you’ll get past the guards on Michigan Avenue.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Your best bet is with that clearance card. I sure hope it’s legit, for your sake.”

Rayford couldn’t stall the ground crew any longer, at least by merely ignoring them. He pulled the stairs in as if to receive the jetway, but did not fully move them out of the way, knowing that the jetway would never connect. Rather than stay and watch, he returned to the cockpit and busied himself. I don’t even want fuel before Amanda’s plane is off the ground.

It was a full fifteen minutes before Rayford’s usual copilot switched places with his temporary one, and a full flight service crew entered the plane. Every time the ground crew radioed Rayford that they were ready to begin refueling, he told them he wasn’t ready. Finally, an exasperated laborer barked into his radio, “What’s the holdup up there, chief? I was told this was a VIP plane that needed fast service.”

“You were told wrong. This is a cargo plane, and it’s a new one. We’ve got a learning curve in the cockpit, plus we’re switching crews. Just hold tight. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

Rayford breathed a sigh of relief twenty minutes later when he discovered that Amanda’s plane was en route to Milwaukee. Now he could refuel, play it by the book, and settle in for the long flight over the Pacific.

“Some plane, huh?” McCullum said as he checked out the cockpit.

“Some plane,” Rayford agreed. “It’s been a long day for me, Mac. I’d appreciate a good, long snooze once we get her on course.”

“My pleasure, Cap. You can sleep the night away for all I care. You want me to come in and wake you for initial descent?”

“I’m not quite confident enough to leave the cockpit,” Rayford said. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

It suddenly hit Buck that he had taken a huge risk. It wouldn’t be long before Verna Zee learned that he had, at least at one time, been a full-fledged member of New Hope Village Church. He had been so careful about not taking a leadership role there, not speaking in public, not being known to very many people. Now, one of his own employees—and a long-standing enemy at that—would have knowledge that could ruin him, even cost him his life.

He called Loretta’s home on Verna’s phone. “Loretta,” he said, “I need to speak with Verna.”

“She’s quite distraught just now,” Loretta said. “I hope you’re prayin’ for this girl.”

“I certainly will,” Buck said. “How are you two getting along?”

“As well as can be expected for two complete strangers,” Loretta said. “I’m just tellin’ her my story, as I assumed you wanted me to.”

Buck was silent. Finally, he said, “Put her on, would you, Loretta?”

She did, and Buck got straight to the point. “Verna, you need a new car.”

“Oh no! Cameron, what happened?”

“It’s only a flat tire, Verna, but it’s going to be impossible to get fixed for several days, and I don’t think your car is worth worrying about.”

“Well, thanks a lot!”

“How ’bout I replace it with a better car?”

“I can’t argue with that,” she muttered.

“I promise. Now, Verna, I’m going to abandon this vehicle. Is there anything you need out of it?”

“Nothing I can think of. There is a hairbrush I really like in the glove box.”

“Verna!”

“That does seem a little trivial in light of everything.”

“No documents, personal belongings, hidden money, anything like that?”

“No. Just do what you gotta do. It would be nice if I didn’t get in trouble for this.”

“I’ll leave word with the authorities that when they get around to it they can tow this car to any junkyard and trade whatever the yard gives them for it for the towing fee.”

“Cameron,” Verna whispered, “this woman is one strange, old bird.”

“I don’t have time to discuss that with you now, Verna. But give her a chance. She’s sweet. And she is providing shelter.”

“No, you misunderstand. I’m not saying she isn’t wonderful. I’m just saying she’s got some really strange ideas.”

As Buck scrambled over an embankment to bring Michigan Avenue into view, he fulfilled his promise to Loretta that he would pray for Verna. Exactly how to pray, he didn’t know. Either she becomes a believer, or I’m dead.

All Buck could think of as he came into sight of the dozens of bombed-out buildings along Michigan Avenue and knew that they continued almost the entire length of the Magnificent Mile, was his experience in Israel when Russia had attacked. He could imagine the sound of the bombs and the searing heat of the flames, but in that instance the Holy Land had been miraculously delivered from damage. There was no such intervention here. He hit the redial button on Verna’s phone, forgetting that he had last called Loretta, not the cell phone in the Range Rover.

When he did not get the usual recording about the “mobile customer you have called,” he stood still and prayed Chloe would answer. When it was Loretta, he was speechless at first.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

“I’m sorry, Loretta,” he said. “Wrong number.”

“I’m glad you called, Buck. Verna was about to call you.”

“About what?”

“I’ll let her tell you.”

“Cameron, I called the office. A few people are still there, monitoring things and promising to lock up when they’re finished. Anyway, there were a couple of phone messages for you.”

“From Chloe?”

“No, I’m sorry. There was one from Dr. Rosenzweig in Israel. Another was from a man claiming to be your father-in-law. And another from a Miss White, who says she needs to be picked up at Mitchell Field in Milwaukee at midnight.”

Miss White? Buck thought. Crafty of Amanda to keep hidden how connected our little family has become.

“Thanks, Verna. Got it.”

“Cameron, how are you going to pick anyone up in Milwaukee without a vehicle?”

“I’ve still got a few hours to figure that out. Right now that much time seems like a luxury.”

“Loretta has offered her car, provided I’m willing to drive,” Verna said.

“I hope that won’t be necessary,” Buck said. “But I appreciate it. I’ll let you know.”

Buck didn’t feel much like a journalist, standing in the midst of the chaos. He should have been drinking it all in, impressing it upon his brain, asking questions of people who seemed to be in charge. But no one seemed in charge. Everyone was working. And Buck didn’t care whether he could translate this into a story or not. His magazine, along with every other major media outlet, was controlled, if not owned, by Nicolae Carpathia. As much as he strived to keep things objective, everything seemed to come out with the spin of the master deceiver. The worst part was, Nicolae was good at it. Of course, he had to be. It was his very nature. Buck just hated the idea that he himself was being used to spread propaganda and lies that people were eating like ice cream.

Most of all though, right now, right here, he cared about nothing but Chloe. He had allowed the thought to invade his mind that he might have lost her. He knew he would see her again at the end of the Tribulation, but would he have the will to go on without her? She had become the center of his life, around which everything else revolved. During the short time they had been together, she had proved more than he ever could have hoped for in a wife. It was true they were bound in a common cause that made them look past the insignificant and the petty, which seemed to get in so many other couples’ way. But he sensed she would never have been catty or a nag anyway. She was selfless and loving. She trusted him and supported him completely. He would not stop until he found her. And until he knew for sure, he would never believe her dead.

Buck dialed the number in the Range Rover. How many dozens of times had he done this now? He knew the routine by heart. When he got a busy signal, his knees nearly buckled. Had he dialed the right number? He’d had to punch it in anew because redial would have given him Loretta’s home again. He stopped dead on the sidewalk, mayhem all around him, and with fingers shaking, carefully and resolutely punched in the numbers. He pressed the phone to his ear. “The mobile customer you have called—” Buck swore and gripped Verna’s phone so tightly he thought it might break. He took a step and pulled his arm back as if to fire the blasted machine into the side of a building. He followed through but hung onto the phone, realizing it would be the stupidest thing he had ever done. He shook his head at the word that had burst from his lips when that cursed recording had come on. So, the old nature is still just under the surface.

He was mad at himself. How, in such dire circumstances, could he have dialed the wrong number?

Though he knew he would hear that recording again and that he would hate it as never before, he couldn’t keep himself from hitting the redial button yet again. Now the line was busy! Was it a malfunction? Some cruel cosmic joke? Or was somebody, somewhere, trying to use that phone?

There was no guarantee it was Chloe. It could be anyone. It could be a cop. It could be an emergency worker. It could be someone who found her wrecked Range Rover.

No, he would not allow himself to believe that. Chloe was alive. Chloe was trying to call him. But where would she call? No one was at the church. For all he knew, no one was still at the Global Community Weekly office. Did Chloe know Loretta’s number? It would be easy enough to get. The question was whether he should try calling the places she might have called, or just keep redialing her number in hopes of catching her between calls.

The senior flight attendant of a crew that was two-thirds as many people as the entire passenger list rapped on the cockpit door and opened it as Rayford taxied slowly down the runway. “Captain,” she said as he lifted the headphone from his right ear, “not everyone is seated and buckled in.”

“Well, I’m not going to stop,” he said. “Can’t you handle it?”

“The offending party, sir, is Mr. Carpathia himself.”

“I don’t have jurisdiction over him,” Rayford said. “And neither do you.”

“Federal Aviation Administration rules require that—”

“In case you haven’t noticed, ‘federal anything’ means nothing anymore. Everything is global. And Carpathia is above global. If he doesn’t want to sit down, he can stand. I’ve made my announcement, and you have given your instructions, right?”

“Right.”

“Then you go get strapped in and let the potentate worry about himself.”

“If you say so, Captain. But if this plane is as powerful as a 777, I wouldn’t want to be standing when you accelerate—”

But Rayford had replaced his earphones and was getting the plane into position for takeoff. As he awaited instructions from the tower, Rayford surreptitiously slipped his left hand beneath the seat and depressed the intercom button. Someone was asking Carpathia if he didn’t want to sit down. Rayford was aware of McCullum looking at him expectantly, as if he had heard something through his earphones that Rayford had not. Rayford quickly released the intercom button and heard McCullum say, “We have clearance, Cap. We can roll.” Rayford could have begun gradually and slowly picked up enough speed to go airborne. But everybody enjoyed a powerful takeoff once in a while, right? He throttled up and took off down the runway with such speed and power that he and McCullum were driven back into their seats.

“Yeehah!” McCullum cried. “Ride ’em cowboy!”

Rayford had a lot to think about, and taking off for only the second time in a new aircraft, he should have remained focused on the task at hand. But he couldn’t resist pressing that intercom button again and hearing what he might have done to Carpathia. In his mind’s eye he pictured the man somersaulting all the way to the back of the plane, and he only wished there was a back door he could open from the cockpit.

“Oh, my goodness!” he heard over the intercom. “Potentate, are you all right?”

Rayford heard movement, as if others were trying to unstrap themselves to help Carpathia, but with the plane still hurtling down the runway, those people would be pinned in their seats by centrifugal force.

“I am all right,” Carpathia insisted. “It is my own fault. I will be fine.”

Rayford turned off the intercom and concentrated on his takeoff. Secretly, he hoped Carpathia had been leaning against one of the seats at the time of the initial thrust. That would have spun him around and nearly flipped him over. Probably my last chance to inflict any justice.

No one paid attention to Buck anyway, but still, he didn’t want to be conspicuous. He ducked around a corner and stood in the shadows, punching the redial button over and over, not wanting a second to pass between calls if Chloe was using her phone. Somehow, in the brief moment it took between hearing that busy signal and hanging up and punching redial again, his own phone rang. Buck shouted, “Hello! Chloe?” before he had even hit the receive button. His fingers were shaking so badly he nearly dropped the phone. He pushed the button and shouted, “Chloe?”

“No, Cameron, it’s Verna. But I just heard from the office that Chloe tried to reach you there.”

“Did somebody give her the number of this phone?”

“No. They didn’t know you had my phone.”

“I’m trying to call her now, Verna. The line is busy.”

“Keep trying, Cameron. She didn’t say where she was or how she was, but at least you know she’s alive.”

“Thank God for that!”