CHAPTER 13
Rayford felt twenty years younger and wished he were piloting his own chopper. But George was doing fine. Abdullah sat next to him, scanning the sky and the ground with a serious, worried look. Buck sat next to Chaim on the long side bench, his head back, mouth open, sound asleep.
“You must be exhausted too, Dr. Rosenzweig,” Rayford said.
“For the first time today, yes, and you know I was up most of last night.”
“I heard. God has stood by you, hasn’t he?”
“Captain, I confess I am famished! It is as if I have been fueled by the energy of the angels to whom God gave charge over me.”
“Did you see them, sir?”
“Me? No. But you know Miss Durham saw Michael the archangel.”
Rayford nodded. There would be time to tell his own story. “Abdullah?” he said, and the Jordanian turned. “Were there any foodstuffs in what we loaded?” He had been heating something over a flameless stove just before they left Mizpe Ramon.
“There were! Yes!” Abdullah was shouting and enunciating.
“I can hear, Smitty. I’ve been healed.”
“Really!?” He leaned back and quit shouting, but still talked loudly enough to be heard above the din of the craft. “I have pita bread warm in an insulated box, along with sauce for the dipping.”
“You sound like a waiter in a swanky restaurant.”
“How would I know?”
Chaim leaned in. “That sounds like milk and honey to me.”
Abdullah unbuckled himself and squeezed back between them, kneeling to retrieve the box. He pivoted and opened the lid, revealing a stack of nearly twenty round pitas about ten inches in diameter, steam rising.
The aroma permeated the helicopter and woke Buck. Big George even reached back without looking. Rayford slapped a couple of pitas into his open palm. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” the pilot said, though he hadn’t said a word for an hour. All dug in, tearing at the chewy bread with their teeth.
“Lord, you know we are grateful!” Chaim said, his mouth full, and the others amened.
Abdullah was still kneeling by the box when he nudged Rayford and nodded outside. The sky was full of Operation Eagle choppers and GC craft, both fixed-wings and whirlybirds. Below, the streets were jammed with fleeing vehicles, careening around corners, bouncing over curbs and torn-up streets, pursued by GC vehicles with flashing lights.
The others turned to peer out. “How are we doing on fuel?” Chaim asked.
“Several hours’ worth,” George reported.
“Captain Steele,” Chaim said, “could we remain in this area and monitor this?”
Rayford told George to find a friendly altitude, and they hovered in a wide-box pattern. A GC chopper moved in behind them at one point and summoned them with an all-frequency transmission. “Civilian chopper, you are advised to leave Israel airspace immediately.”
“Captain,” George said, “what frequency can they hear me on?”
Rayford told him and asked what he had in mind.
“I just think I should be courteous, don’t you?”
“Don’t antagonize them.”
Everybody in the chopper laughed at that, and Rayford realized how absurd it was. The GC couldn’t be any more antagonized.
George switched to the frequency Rayford suggested. “GC chopper, this is the civilian bird. Over which part of your populated city did you plan to send our flaming wreckage?”
“Civilian, you are violating a curfew established by Potentate Carpathia himself.”
“I don’t recognize the authority.”
“Repeat, Carpathia! His Excellency himself!”
“I recognize the name, GC. I repeat, I don’t recognize the authority.”
Abdullah’s eyes were alive. “You Americans are crazy brave!”
The radio crackled again. “By authority of the Global Community and its risen potentate and lord, His Excellency Nicolae Carpathia, you are commanded to land at once in the first available area and surrender yourself, your passengers, your cargo, and your craft.”
“No thanks,” George said.
“That is not a request, civilian. That is an order sanctioned by the potentate.”
“Sorry, GC, but we’re on a mission from the real risen Lord, and we have both human and edible cargo we don’t wish to surrender.”
“Repeat?”
“The part about the people or the pita bread?”
“Be forewarned, civilian chopper, we are fully armed and prepared to destroy your craft if you do not comply immediately.”
“Right now?”
“Affirmative.”
“Just a minute.”
“You request time to comply?”
“No, I just need a minute.”
“You have sixty seconds.”
“I can’t have a minute?”
“Fifty-five seconds, civilian.”
“Let me make sure I get over the busiest streets here, GC, in case I’m not as invulnerable as I think I am.”
“Coming up on forty-five seconds. Put that chopper down.”
“We’re eating and we have no airsick bags. If we have to use evasive measures, we could make a mess.”
“Final warning. Thirty seconds.”
“We won’t be hearing from you again, then?”
“Negative.”
“Not at all?”
“Correct.”
“Not one word?”
“Twenty seconds.”
“That’s two words.”
Rayford had to wonder if George was as scared as he was. The big man obviously believed they were safe because Chaim was aboard, and Rayford had more than enough reason to trust God. But when he saw the GC chopper back off to where a missile explosion would not damage the shooting craft, he believed they were about to be fired upon. “Buckle in, Smitty,” he shouted.
Abdullah leaped into his seat while Rayford secured the food box. Buck looked as focused as Rayford, but Chaim seemed bemused. “We belong to God,” the old man said. “His will be done.”
Mac hadn’t had this much fun since he was a schoolkid and his pet snake found his sister’s room. He bounced along Jerusalem streets with a truckload of Israeli believers and two nurses from America. The scene reminded him of the Keystone Kops. Operation Eagle drivers simply would not be stopped. They swung around barricades, over boulders, through earthquake residue, and past GC Peacekeeper vehicles.
Back in Texas when Mac was a kid, you could drive a farm vehicle at twelve. By the sixth grade, he was driving tractors and combines, pickups and dump trucks. And now he had drawn a new personnel transport from France, driven in by an International Commodity Co-op volunteer who had ridden back to get another.
This was a fancy rig with power and the ability to be driven in automatic or manual. The former would come in handy on the open road, once they got south of the city, but in the chaos in which he now found himself, Mac enjoyed the six-speed stick. Even more, he was entertained—though that seemed too light a word for it under the circumstances—by the spectacle of the freshly healed GC personnel thumbing their noses at the Micah-Nicolae agreement and trying to get in the way of the exodus of a million people.
Nearly all the Operation Eagle vehicles were four-wheel drive and could pick their way around any obstacle. When the road filled with stopped cars and trucks, those in the back just swung out and around and made their own routes and paths. GC Peacekeepers and Morale Monitors—the former in uniform, the latter wearing their badges and bright orange sashes—tried to direct traffic, stop civilian cars, check papers, and inform everyone they were violating the martial-law curfew. They were ignored, and Mac wondered how God was doing it. He saw a lot of weapons but heard little gunfire. No one allowed himself to be pulled over, and when GC vehicles blocked the path of a civilian car or truck, the latter just backed up and went around.
Mac wondered why the GC didn’t shoot or ram these vehicles, but he figured he’d learn when he was singled out. For now, Leah was asking an Israeli in the passenger seat if she could switch places with him so she could talk to Mac.
“We going to make it?” she asked.
He shot her a glance. She was pale and her eyes darted about the scene around them. “Looks like it,” he said. “You see any of ours who are not making it?”
She shook her head and fastened her seat belt, then sat with her hands balled into fists in her lap. “Uh, Mr. McCullum, Hannah is wondering why we’re going to Petra, she and I, I mean. Obviously there’s no need for medical personnel there, and neither of us is an Israeli.”
“Me either,” Mac said. “Obviously we’re takin’ these people to their new home. Chloe’s got shipments of building materials and such that will need to be processed. Maybe you can help coordinate that while we’re gettin’ the last of the refugees delivered. That’s gonna take a while.”
“Okay.”
“That a problem?”
“No, it’s just that—”
“You’re not gonna tell me it’s not what you signed up for. I mean, we all do what we gotta d—”
“No, I know, it’s fine. It’s just that being at Petra is going to be real hard on Hannah with what happened, you know.”
“I was there.”
“So you see.”
“Have her join me up here, would ya?”
“She can hardly talk, Mr. McCullum.”
“I don’t need her to talk. I need her to listen.”
Rayford leaned as far to his right as he could and kept an eye on the GC chopper behind them. They apparently cared not a whit about who or what was below.
“Everybody secure?” he said. “Prepare for incoming.” The pursuing craft was directly in line with them in a can’t-miss situation. Rayford considered barking evasive maneuvers at George, but it would be futile. The GC flew a smaller, more agile bird. Even if George eluded the first fusillade, it would be only a matter of time.
“They’re firing!” Rayford hollered, and buried his face between his knees. He had seen the orange bursts and the white tracers and expected the instantaneous ravaging of metal and Plexiglas and fuel tanks, the gush of cold air, the ball of flame, and the free fall.
He felt the blazing, screaming bullet tips shoot past between him and Buck and Chaim, and the white-hot streaks made him look up. The ammunition flashed through the bird, and the force of the air pushed George’s head to the left and Abdullah’s to the right as both involuntarily ducked and covered their ears. But there had been no damage to the back or front of the chopper.
Rayford stared as the shots found the tail rotors of a GC craft ahead of them and sent it spinning to the ground. He shuddered and realized he was gripping the seat so tightly his fingers had locked into position.
“Why are you so fearful? How is it that you have no faith? Be of good cheer! Do not be afraid.”
Rayford turned slowly to see Michael next to him again. “You all see him this time, don’t you?” he said.
“We saw him,” Chaim said. “Praise God.”
“I heard him,” Abdullah said, turning. But again, Michael was already gone.
Mac saw the flashing lights in his side rearview mirrors. “You’re not going to stop, are you?” Hannah asked quietly.
“Take more’n that to stop me now.” The GC behind him started in on their PA system. “I don’t want to talk to them,” he said. “I want to talk to you. Did you lose a loved one today?”
“Of course. Didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Then you should understand.”
“That’s why I don’t, Hannah. I’m not sayin’ this is easy. But did you see David fold up and hibernate when he lost his fiancée? No, ma’am. I know you and David were close, but what do you think he’d want? Do I hafta remind you that Rayford lost two wives and a son? That Tsion lost his whole family? I’m not discountin’ it, and I’m not sayin’ you don’t have a reason for wanting to stay away from Petra. But David was my boss and my friend, and this is no picnic for me either.”
“I know.”
“We’re all going to need some grieving time, and we won’t likely get it until we head back to the States. Meanwhile, we need you, Hannah. We don’t have the luxury of grieving the way we used to. Too many people countin’ on us. Now there may be nothin’ for you and Leah to do inside Petra, but you know well as I do that none of us helpers are guaranteed safety. Who knows what kinda walkin’ wounded we might have showin’ up to drop people off?”
She nodded. “Mac, um, you’d better pull over.”
“Ma’am?”
She pointed past him, out his window. A guard hung out the passenger side of a GC vehicle with a submachine gun pointed at Mac.
“Well,” George said, “that was just about the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Do we keep testing our luck or do we get on to Petra?”
“If you think that was luck,” Rayford said, “maybe—”
“Just an expression, Cap. I know good and well what that was.”
“Let’s stay here and watch,” Abdullah said, craning his neck to see the chopper that had fired on them.
“No need to be in the middle of everything,” Rayford said. “Get someplace where we can observe without unduly drawing more fire.”
Chang phoned Tsion early in the afternoon Chicago time and walked him through how to broadcast live over international television from right where he was. “Is your monitor somewhere that you can stand behind it and survey the room?”
“Yes.”
“Have someone sit where you’re going to sit, and see what you can see past them. Anything that would be a clue to your whereabouts, get rid of it.”
Tsion asked Ming to sit in his chair at the keyboard, and he squeezed between the back of the monitor and the wall. On the opposite wall a clock would give away what time zone they were in. “Chang,” Tsion said, “let me get rid of the clock, and then the background will be a blank wall.”
“Good. And then, can you tell me how long your message—wait, sir?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why not just change that clock to Carpathian Time and let people wonder where you are?”
“Interesting.”
Ming broke in. “Won’t they see it as an obvious trick, Chang?”
“They might if we made it prominent,” he said. “Put it in the corner of the shot, and I’ll make sure it’s out of focus. People will think they have discovered something unintended.”
“My message will be short, Chang,” Tsion said. “Just enough to encourage the believers before you transmit Chaim’s salvation message audio.”
“Excuse me, Dr. Ben-Judah, but I’m getting something on my Phoenix 216 bug. Stand by.”
“You go and get back to me later.”
Mac held up a finger to the GC as if requesting a moment before he pulled over. He had speed-dialed Rayford. “Permission to fire upon the GC before they shoot out our tires.”
“Denied, Mac. Just elude. Let God work.”
“He can work through your nine millimeter, can’t he?”
“You still have that?”
“Sorry.”
“Just don’t stop,” Rayford said.
“Even with a flat?”
“Call back if they flatten your tire.”
Mac stopped in the middle of the road with the GC next to him, but he refused to roll down his window. The GC pulled in front of Mac. When the passenger got out, Mac backed up and pulled around the vehicle, and the pursuit began again. When the GC got close, Mac slammed on the brakes. “Sorry, friends!” he yelled. “Shoulda told y’all to buckle up!”
The GC stopped within inches of Mac’s bumper and they both jumped out, shouting and waving weapons. Mac took off again, and as soon as they jumped back in and accelerated, he swung left, popped a U-turn, and swung in behind them.
Apparently Carpathia still suspected the Knesset Building and thought his own plane was most secure. Chang followed an indication on the audiometer from the patch to the bugs there, and sure enough, it sounded as if workers were setting up for yet another meeting in the first-class cabin.
A couple of stewards were speaking in an Indian dialect, so Chang quickly fed it through a filter David had recommended and an immediate interpretation came up as captions.
“They will not destroy the rebel airstrip, then?”
“It appears the GC will use it for its own purposes. They will take out the buildings and clear it of the enemy, of course, but then they will fly in their own troops, who will be trucked to Petra to head off the fleeing insurgents. They will try to—shh, they are coming.”
“Mr. Akbar, sir.”
“Pakistani?”
“No, apologies, Director.”
“Speak English?”
“Yes, English.”
“This will be a small gathering, just the potentate, Reverend Fortunato, Mr. Moon, Ms. Ivins, and myself.”
“Oh, thank you, sir. We had already made room for too many, had we not?”
“No problem. You know what everybody likes. Have it out and available. And don’t forget Ms. Ivins’s fondness for ice.”
“A thousand thank-yous for reminding me, sir. ‘More ice, please,’ she says constantly. Water for you and Mr. Moon, juice for Mr. Fortunato, and—”
“Reverend Fortunato.”
“Oh yes, humble apologies.”
“I do not care. But you do not want to make that mistake in front of His Excellency.”
“Or the Most High Reverend Father, ha!”
Chang heard Suhail Akbar chuckle. “Make yourselves scarce once everything is in place.”
Chang formatted the program to record and then switched back to Chicago. “Ready?” he said.
“I am,” Tsion said. “How do I look?”
“Scared.”
“I do not wish to look scared.”
“Can’t help you there, Doctor. We’re pirating the only show in town all over the world. If anyone is watching TV, listening to radio, or surfing the Net, you’re what they’re going to get.”
“That sets my mind at ease!”
“Just trying to explain your nerves, sir.”
“Say when.”
“Now.”
“I am on?” Tsion said. “Seriously?”
But Chang didn’t dare answer for fear of his voice being traced. He held his breath, grateful Tsion had not used his name.
“Greetings,” Tsion said. “It is a privilege for me to address the world through the miracle of technology. But as I am an unwelcome guest here, forgive me for being brief, and please lend me your attention . . .”
Chang checked in on the Phoenix. It sounded as if everyone was there and settling in. “Commander Moon, get someone to turn off that television. Wait! Who is that?”
“You know who that is, Excellency,” Leon said. “That’s the heretic, Tsion Ben-Judah.”
“More than a heretic,” Carpathia said. “He is behind this Micah, thus the plague of sores. So now he consolidates the Orthodox Jews with him. How did he get a television network?”
“That is GCNN, Potentate.”
“Well, get him off there!” Carpathia raged. “Walter!”
The TV in the Phoenix went silent, and Carpathia exploded. “I mean get him off the air, you imbecile. Call whom you have to call, do what you have to do! We have overcome the plague and now we will look like buffoons, allowing the enemy on our own network!”
Moon was on the phone, his voice shaky, sounding to Chang as if he feared Carpathia would put him to death if Tsion was aired a minute longer. Moon swore and demanded to be put through to the head of broadcasting. “No excuses!” he cried. “Pull the plug! Now!”
“Give me that phone!” Carpathia said. “Cut the feed! Cut the signal!” It sounded as if the phone was flung across the cabin. “Turn it on! Let me see!”
Moon: “I’m sure they’ve at least gone to black, Excellen—”
“Turn it on! Ach! Still there! What is it with you people? Suhail, come here. Right here!”
“Excellency.”
“No restrictions on curfew enforcement.” Carpathia spoke so quickly that his words ran together and Chang had to strain to understand. “Shoot to kill at the Mount of Olives, at Masada, on—”
“Those locations have been cleared, Highn—”
“Do not interrupt, Suhail! Every civilian plane destroyed and—”
“We have suffered casualties on the ground from crashing planes, sir—”
“Do you hear me? Do you understand what I am saying? Do I need to have you executed the way I will execute Walter if this Ben-Judah is not off the air when again I look at the screen!?”
Moon wailed, “What more can I do, Excellency?”
“You can die!”
“No!”
“Suhail, a weapon.”
“Please, sir!”
“Now, Suhail!”
Scuffling. BLAM! A scream.
“Hold out your other hand, Walter!”
“Please!”
BLAM! More screaming. More shots, fresh cries with each. The banging of shoes against seats and tables as Moon, Chang assumed, frantically tried to crawl to safety. More rapid shots in succession, wailing like a terrified baby, finally a last shot, and silence.
“You’re doing the right thing, Nicolae,” Viv Ivins said. “You should kill them all and start over.”
“Thank you, Viv.”
Fortunato: “I worship you, risen master.”
“Shut up, Leon. Suhail, put a fresh clip in this.”
Sounds of the snapping in of more ammunition.
Fortunato: “I bow in respectful silence to your glory. Oh, for the privilege of kissing your ring.”
“Now give it to me, Suhail.”
“As you wish, Excellency, but I will execute anyone you wish. I have always carried out your directives.”
“Then do what I say!”
“Anything, Potentate.”
“I want dead insurrectionists! Run them down. Crash their vehicles. Blow their heads off. As for Petra, wait until we know for certain Micah is there, then level it. Do we have what we need to do that?”
“We do, sir.”
“In the meantime, someone, anyone, get—Ben-Judah—off—the—air!”
“I will pray him off, Your Worship,” Fortunato said.
“I will kill you if you do not shut up.”
“Quieting now, Highness. Oh!”
“What!?”
“The water! The ice!”
Chang jumped up and turned on the faucet over his sink.
Blood.