CHAPTER 8

Rayford thought he had had enough sleep, catching catnaps on his long journey. He had not figured the toll that tension and terror and disgust would exact on his mind and body. In his and Amanda’s own apartment, as comfortable as air-conditioning could make a place in Iraq, Rayford disrobed to his boxers and sat on the end of his bed. Shoulders slumped, elbows on knees, he exhaled loudly and realized how exhausted he truly was. He had finally heard from home. He knew Amanda was safe, Chloe was on the mend, and Buck—as usual—was on the move. He didn’t know what he thought about this Verna Zee threatening the security of the Tribulation Force’s new safe house (Loretta’s). But he would trust Buck, and God, in that.

Rayford stretched out on his back atop the bedcovers. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. How he’d love to get a peek at the treasure trove of Bruce’s computer archives. But as he drifted off to a sound sleep, he was trying to figure a way to get back to Chicago by Sunday. Surely there had to be some way he could make it to Bruce’s memorial service. He was pleading his case with God as sleep enveloped him.

Buck had often been warmed by Chaim Rosenzweig’s ancient-faced smile of greeting. There was no hint of that now. As Buck strode toward the old man, Rosenzweig merely opened his arms for an embrace and said hoarsely, “Cameron! Cameron!”

Buck bent to hug his tiny friend, and Rosenzweig clasped his hands behind Buck and squeezed tightly as a child. He buried his face in Buck’s neck and wept bitterly. Buck nearly lost his balance, the weight of his bag pulling him one way and Chaim Rosenzweig’s vice-grip pulling him forward. He felt as if he might stumble and fall atop his friend. He fought to stay upright, holding Chaim and letting him cry.

Finally Rosenzweig released his grip and pulled Buck toward a row of chairs. Buck became aware of Rosenzweig’s tall, dark-complected driver standing about ten feet away with his hands clasped before him. He appeared concerned for his employer, and embarrassed.

Chaim nodded toward him. “You remember Andre,” Rosenzweig said.

“Yeah,” Buck said, nodding, “how ya doin’?”

Andre responded in Hebrew. He neither spoke nor understood English. Buck knew no Hebrew.

Rosenzweig spoke to Andre and he hurried away. “He’ll bring the car around,” Chaim said.

“I have only a few days here,” Buck said. “What can you tell me? Do you know where Tsion is?”

“No! Cameron, it’s so terrible! What a hideous, horrible defiling of a man’s family and of his name!”

“But you heard from him—”

“One phone call. He said you would know where to begin looking for him. But, Cameron, have you not heard the latest?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“The authorities are trying to implicate him in the murders of his own family.”

“Oh, come on! No one is going to buy that! Nothing even points in that direction. Why would he do that?”

“Of course, you and I know he would never do such a thing, Cameron, but when evil elements are out to get you, they stop at nothing. You heard, of course, about his driver.”

“No.”

Rosenzweig shook his head and lowered his chin to his chest.

“What?” Buck asked. “Not him too?”

“I’m afraid so. A car bombing. His body was barely recognizable.”

“Chaim! Are you sure you’re safe? Does your driver know how to—”

“Drive defensively? Check for car bombs? Defend himself or me? Yes to all of those. Andre is quite skilled. It makes me no less terrified, I admit, but I feel I am protected the best I can be.”

“But you are associated with Dr. Ben-Judah. Those looking for him will try to follow you to him.”

“Which means you should not be seen with me either,” Rosenzweig said.

“It’s too late for that,” Buck said.

“Don’t be too sure. Andre assured me we were not followed here. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone picked us up at this point and followed us, but for the instant, I believe we are here undetected.”

“Good! I cleared customs with my phony passport. Did you use my name when booking me a room?”

“Unfortunately I did, Cameron. I’m sorry. I even used my own name to secure it.”

Buck had to suppress a smile at the man’s sweet naiveté. “Well, friend, we’ll just use that to keep them off our trail, hm?”

“Cameron, I’m afraid I’m not too good at all this.”

“Why don’t you have Andre drive you directly to that hotel. Tell them my plans have changed and that I will not be in until Sunday.”

“Cameron! How do you think of such things so quickly?”

“Hurry now. And we must not be seen together anymore. I will leave here no later than Saturday night. You can reach me at this number.”

“Is it secure?”

“It’s the latest technology. No one can tap into it. Just don’t put my name next to that number, and don’t give that number to anyone else.”

“Cameron, where will you begin looking for Tsion?”

“I have a couple of ideas,” Buck said. “And you must know, if I can get him out of this country, I’ll do it.”

“Excellent! If I were a praying man, I’d pray for you.”

“Chaim, one of these days soon, you need to become a praying man.”

Chaim changed the subject. “One more thing, Cameron. I have placed a call to Carpathia for his assistance in this.”

“I wish you hadn’t done that, Chaim. I don’t trust him the way you do.”

“I’ve sensed that, Buck,” Rosenzweig said, “but you need to get to know the man better.”

If you only knew, Buck thought. “Chaim, I’ll try to communicate with you as soon as I know anything. Call me only if you need to.”

Rosenzweig embraced him fiercely again and hurried off. Buck used a pay phone to call the King David Hotel. He booked a room for two weeks under the name of Herb Katz. “Representing what company?” the clerk said.

Buck thought a moment. “International Harvester,” he said, deciding that that would have been a great description of both Bruce Barnes and Tsion Ben-Judah.

Rayford’s eyes popped open. He had not moved a muscle. He had no idea how long he had slept, but something had interrupted his reverie. The jangling phone on the bedside table made him jump. Reaching for it, he realized his arm was asleep. It didn’t want to go where he wanted it to. Somehow he forced himself to grasp the receiver. “Steele here,” he gargled.

“Captain Steele? Are you all right?” It was Hattie Durham.

Rayford rolled onto his side and tucked the receiver under his chin. Leaning on his elbow, he said, “I’m all right, Hattie. How are you?”

“Not so good. I’d like to see you if I could.”

Despite the closed curtains, the brilliant afternoon sun forced its way into the room. “When?” Rayford said.

“Dinner tonight?” she said. “About six?”

Rayford’s mind was reeling. Had she already been told of her lessened role in the Carpathia administration? Did he want to be seen in public with her while Amanda was away? “Is there a rush, Hattie? Amanda’s in the States, but she’ll be back in a week or so—”

“No, Rayford, I really need to talk to you. Nicolae has meetings from now until midnight, and their dinner is being catered. He said he didn’t have a problem with my talking with you. I know you want to be appropriate and all that. It’s not a date. Let’s just have dinner somewhere where it will be obvious that we’re just old friends talking. Please?”

“I guess,” Rayford said, curious.

“My driver will pick you up at six then, Rayford.”

“Hattie, do me a favor. If you agree this shouldn’t look like a date, don’t dress up.”

“Captain Steele,” she said, suddenly formal, “stepping out is the last thing on my mind.”

Buck settled into his room on the third floor of the King David Hotel. On a hunch he called the offices of the Global Community East Coast Daily Times in Boston and asked for his old friend, Steve Plank. Plank had been his boss at Global Weekly what seemed eons ago. He had abruptly left there to become Carpathia’s press secretary when Nicolae became secretary-general of the United Nations. It wasn’t long before Steve was tabbed for the lucrative position he now held.

It was no surprise to Buck to find that Plank was not in the office. He was in New Babylon at the behest of Nicolae Carpathia and no doubt feeling very special about it.

Buck showered and took a nap.

Rayford felt as if he could use another several hours’ sleep. He certainly didn’t intend to stay out long with Hattie Durham. He dressed casually, just barely presentable enough for a place like Global Bistro, where Hattie and Nicolae were often seen.

Of course, Rayford would not be able to let on that he had known about Hattie’s demotion before she did. He would have to let her play the story out with all her characteristic emotion and angst. He didn’t mind. He owed her that much. He still felt guilty about where she was, both geographically and in her life. It didn’t seem that long ago that she had been the object of his lust.

Rayford had never acted on it, of course, but it was Hattie whom he was thinking of the night of the Rapture. How could he have been so deaf, so blind, so out of touch with reality? A successful professional man, married more than twenty years with a college-age daughter and a twelve-year-old son, daydreaming about his senior flight attendant and justifying it because his wife had been on a religious kick! He shook his head. Irene, the lovely little woman he had for so long taken for granted, the one with the name of an aunt many years her senior, had known real truth with a capital T long before any of them.

Rayford had always been a churchgoer and would have called himself a Christian. But to him church was a place to see and be seen, to network, to look respectable. When preachers got too judgmental or too literal, it made him nervous. And when Irene had found a new, smaller congregation that seemed much more aggressive in their faith, he had begun finding reasons not to go with her. When she started talking about the salvation of souls, the blood of Christ, and the return of Christ, he became convinced she was off her nut. How long before she had him traipsing along behind her, passing out literature door-to-door?

That was how he had justified the dalliance, only in his mind, with Hattie Durham. Hattie was fifteen years his junior, and she was a knockout. Though they had enjoyed dinner together a few times and drinks several times, and despite the silent language of the body and the eyes, Rayford had never so much as touched her. It had not been beyond Hattie to grab his arm as she brushed past him or even to put her hands on his shoulders when speaking to him in the cockpit, but Rayford had somehow kept from letting things go further. That night over the Atlantic, with a fully loaded 747 on autopilot, he had finally worked up the courage to suggest something concrete to her. Ashamed as he was now to admit it even to himself, he had been ready to take the next, bold, decisive step toward a physical relationship.

But he had never gotten the words out of his mouth. When he left the cockpit to find her, she had nearly bowled him over with the news that about a quarter of his passengers had disappeared, leaving everything material behind. The cabin, which was normally a black, humming, sleep chamber at four o’clock in the morning, quickly became a beehive of panic as people realized what was happening. That was the night Rayford told Hattie he didn’t know what was happening any more than she did. The truth was that he knew all too well. Irene had been right. Christ had returned to rapture his church, and Rayford, Hattie, and three-fourths of their passengers had been left behind.

Rayford had not known Buck Williams at that time, didn’t know Buck was a first class passenger on that very flight. He couldn’t know that Buck and Hattie had chatted, that Buck had used his computer and the Internet to try to reach her people to see if they were OK. Only later would he discover that Buck had introduced Hattie to the new, sparkling international celebrity leader, Nicolae Carpathia. Rayford had met Buck in New York. Rayford was there to apologize to Hattie for his inappropriate actions toward her in the past and to try to convince her of the truth about the vanishings. Buck was there to introduce her to Carpathia, to interview Carpathia, and to interview Rayford—Hattie’s captain. Buck was merely trying to put a story together about various views of the disappearances.

Rayford had been earnest and focused in his attempts to persuade Buck that he had found the real truth too. That was the night Buck met Chloe. So much had happened in so short a time. Less than two years later, Hattie was the personal assistant and lover of Nicolae Carpathia, the Antichrist. Rayford, Buck, and Chloe were believers in Christ. And all three of them agonized over the plight of Hattie Durham.

Maybe tonight, Rayford thought, he could finally have some positive influence on Hattie.

Buck had always been able to awaken himself whenever he wanted. The gift had failed him very infrequently. He had told himself he wanted to be up and moving by 6:00 p.m. He awoke on time, less refreshed than he had hoped, but eager to get going. He told his cabbie, “The Wailing Wall, please.”

Moments later, Buck disembarked. There, not far from the Wailing Wall, behind a wrought-iron fence, stood the men Buck had come to know as the two witnesses prophesied in Scripture.

They called themselves Moishe and Eli, and truly they seemed to have come from another time and another place. They wore ragged, burlap-like robes. They were barefoot with leathery, dark skin. Both had long, dark gray hair and unkempt beards. They were sinewy with bony joints and long muscled arms and legs. Anyone who dared get close to them smelled smoke. Those who dared attack them had been killed. It was as simple as that. Several had rushed them with automatic weapons, only to seem to hit an invisible wall and drop dead on the spot. Others had been incinerated where they stood, by fire that had come from the witnesses’ mouths.

They preached nearly constantly in the language and cadence of the Bible, and what they said was blasphemous to the ears of devout Jews. They preached Christ and him crucified, proclaiming him the Messiah, the Son of God.

The only time they had been seen apart from the Wailing Wall was at Teddy Kollek Stadium, when they appeared on the platform with Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah, a recent convert to Christ. News coverage broadcast around the world showed these two strange men, speaking in unison, not using microphones and yet being heard distinctly in the back rows. “Come nigh and listen,” they had shouted, “to the chosen servant of the most high God! He is among the first of the 144,000 who shall go forth from this and many nations to proclaim the gospel of Christ throughout the world! Those who come against him, just as those who have come against us before the due time, shall surely die!”

The witnesses had not stayed on the platform or even in the stadium for that first big evangelistic rally at Kollek Stadium. They slipped away and were back at the Wailing Wall by the time the meeting was over. That coming together in a huge stadium was reproduced dozens of times in almost every country of the world over the next year and a half, resulting in tens of thousands of converts.

Enemies of Rabbi Ben-Judah did try to “come against” him during those eighteen months, as the witnesses had warned. It seemed others had gotten the point and had repented of their intentions. A lull of three to four weeks since any threats on his life had been a pleasant respite for the indefatigable Ben-Judah. But now he was in hiding, and his family and his driver had been slaughtered.

Ironically, the last time Buck had been at the Wailing Wall to watch and hear the two witnesses, he had been with Rabbi Ben-Judah. They had come back later the same night and dared approach the fence and speak to the men who had killed all others who had gotten that close. Buck had been able to understand them in his own language, though his digital recording of the incident later proved they had been speaking in Hebrew. Rabbi Ben-Judah had begun reciting the words of Nicodemus from the famous meeting of Jesus by night, and the witnesses had responded the way Jesus had. It had been the most chilling night of Buck’s life.

Now, here he was, alone. He was looking for Ben-Judah, who had told Chaim Rosenzweig that Buck would know where to start looking. He could think of no better place.

As usual, a huge crowd had gathered before the witnesses, though people knew well enough to keep their distance. Even the rage and hatred of Nicolae Carpathia had not yet affected Moishe and Eli. More than once, even in public, Carpathia had asked if there was not someone who could do away with those two nuisances. He had been informed apologetically by military leaders that no weapons seemed capable of harming them. The witnesses themselves continually referred to the folly of trying to harm them “before the due time.”

Bruce Barnes had explained to the Tribulation Force that, indeed, in due time God would allow the witnesses to become vulnerable, and they would be attacked. That incident was still more than a year and a half away, Buck believed, but even the thought of it was a nightmare to his soul.

This evening the witnesses were doing as they had done every day since the signing of the treaty between Israel and Carpathia: They were proclaiming the terrible day of the Lord. And they were acknowledging Jesus Christ as “the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, and the Prince of Peace. Let no other man anywhere call himself the ruler of this world! Any man who makes such a claim is not the Christ but the Antichrist, and he shall surely die! Woe unto anyone who preaches another gospel! Jesus is the only true God, maker of heaven and earth!”

Buck was always thrilled and moved by the preaching of the witnesses. He looked around the crowd and saw people from various races and cultures. He knew from experience that many of them understood no Hebrew. They were understanding the witnesses in their own tongues, just as he was.

Buck edged a quarter of the way into the crowd of about three hundred. He stood on tiptoes to see the witnesses. Suddenly both stopped preaching and moved forward toward the fence. The crowd seemed to step back as one, fearing for its life. The witnesses now stood inches from the fence, the crowd keeping about a fifty-foot distance with Buck near the back.

To Buck it seemed clear the witnesses had noticed him. Both stared directly into his eyes, and he could not move. Without gesturing or moving, Eli began to preach. “He who has ears to hear, let him hear! Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for He is risen, as He said.”

Believers in the crowd mumbled their amens and their agreement. Buck was riveted. Moishe stepped forward and seemed to speak directly to him. “Do not be afraid, for I know whom you seek. He is not here.”

Eli again: “Go quickly and tell His disciples that Christ is risen from the dead!”

Moishe, still staring at Buck: “Indeed He is going before you into Galilee. There you will see Him. Behold, I have told you.”

The witnesses stood and stared silently for so long, unmoving, it was as if they had turned to stone. The crowd grew nervous and began to dissipate. Some waited to see if the witnesses would speak again, but they did not. Soon only Buck stood where he had stood for the last several minutes. He couldn’t take his eyes off the eyes of Moishe. The two merely stood at the fence and stared at him. Buck began to advance on them, coming to within about twenty feet. The witnesses didn’t move. They seemed not even to be breathing. Buck noticed no blink, no twitch. In the fading twilight, he carefully watched their faces. Neither opened his mouth, and yet Buck heard, plain as day in his own language, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”