CHAPTER 4
Rayford had the engines started and the plane turned around when he saw Carpathia’s glow in the distance. The potentate seemed in a hurry, but he was apparently leading Suhail Akbar and Leon Fortunato, and he had to go slowly to light the way for them a few feet at a time. That would not have been as much help without the sounds of the jet engines, however, so Rayford shut down and prayed that this mostly blind threesome would veer off course before his own trio found him.
Rayford called Mac McCullum in Al Basrah to debrief him. “Can you and Albie leave for Al Hillah today?”
“We been sittin’ here like a past-due hen.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. You’re pretty hot since Greece. How are you going to get around?”
“With bluster, charm, and only at night, of course. I figure you pretty much just want to know what NC and his boys are up to.”
“Ideal would be your finding out where they’re meeting in Baghdad and bugging the place for us.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll just tell ’em I’m his new valet and can I have a few hours in the meeting room before everyone else gets there.”
“If I thought it was easy, I’d do it myself,” Rayford said.
“Albie knows everybody. If it’s gonna get done, he’ll get it done.”
Chang, Naomi, and Abdullah appeared, each laden with boxes and cases. Naomi looked ashen. Rayford opened the door and lowered the steps. “Good timing,” he said.
“We were on it all the way, Captain,” Abdullah said. “Thanks to this young genius.”
“Just showing off,” Chang said, handing cargo in and helping Naomi aboard. “I wanted to show her how David had bugged the whole place and that we could actually listen in on Carpathia.”
“So you knew he was coming,” Rayford said, letting Abdullah edge past to the pilot’s chair.
“Could we please talk about something else?” Naomi said.
That made everyone uncomfortably quiet. Rayford sneaked a peek. The pale orange silhouette was moving more quickly now. He must have abandoned Akbar and Fortunato or they were ailing anew. The pain didn’t seem to reach Carpathia. Maybe God was saving his best till last for him.
Rayford and Abdullah eschewed a formal checklist for a quick confirmation of the cockpit flow by checking the critical switch positions. “Crank ’er up,” Rayford said.
But Abdullah just sat there, craning his neck to watch the glow grow larger as it neared the plane.
“What’re you waiting on, Smitty? Let’s move out.”
“A moment, please, Captain. How far do you assume he can see?”
“About as far as he glows. Now let’s go.”
“A moment, please.”
“What are you doing, Mr. Smith?” Naomi called out. “Isn’t that Carpathia?”
“He does not know where he is going. But I do.”
“Once we start up, he can do nothing,” Rayford said. “But I’d rather he not know who we are.”
“He won’t,” Abdullah said.
Rayford leaned past Abdullah and saw Carpathia hurry across the runway about twenty feet behind the craft.
“Here we go,” Abdullah said, firing up the engines and blowing the orange glow to the ground over and over until Nicolae was just an ember in the distance.
Once in the air, Naomi leaned forward. “Can I talk to you?” she said. Rayford removed his headphones.
“Is that stuff normal for you guys?” she said.
“Nothing’s normal anymore, Naomi. You’ve been through a lot yourself.”
“I never heard a man being murdered before. And I’ve never walked by so many hurting people without a thing I could do for them. We’re isolated in Petra, and I wanted to be where the action is. But if I never see anything else like this, it’ll be all right with me. And we can do more from our computer center than anywhere I can think of.”
“I’m sorry it was hard,” Rayford said. “It was for me too.” He told her of the woman he had tried to help and of his conversation with Nicolae’s assistant.
“We’ll watch for her uncle’s name on the system,” she said. “And I suppose we’ll hear from Mr. Weser too.”
“Hope so. What a character.”
She leaned closer, and while she had to raise her voice over the engines, Naomi seemed to speak so only Rayford could hear. “Chang’s not doing well, you know.”
“Why’s that?”
“This has been his home, crazy as it’s had to have been. It’s got to be strange leaving.”
“I should think he’d be glad to be gone.”
“I wish I could have met Mr. Hassid, the one Chang talks about so much. What they did in the palace and the setup at our place . . .”
Rayford nodded. “You going to be able to do the same thing—monitor this place—from Petra now?”
“With Chang, yes. It’s going to be wonderful to have him in our shop.”
“Is he going to be competition?”
“Hardly. I’ll just let him do what he wants. He likes the technical stuff, keyboarding and inside the box, more than managing people. But he can teach if he wants to.”
Rayford’s phone chirped. It was George Sebastian. “Been trying to get hold of you. Your phone down?”
“Had it off for the palace mission. I was going to report in when I knew you guys were up. It’s still early there, isn’t it?”
“We’ve got a situation.”
“Why are you whispering? Where are you?”
“Outside.”
“What time is it there?”
“Just before five in the morning. We can’t find Chloe.”
It hit Buck that the figure on the periscope had been Chloe, so where was she? It was just like her to be out without a walkie-talkie or a phone, which he attributed to strategy rather than impetuousness. He would have a hard time convincing anyone else of that, though.
He and George had split up, fully armed and in constant touch with each other. George had found the empty GC personnel carrier—which had to be some sort of a decoy—but no GC or Chloe. Buck hoped he wouldn’t have to call for more help and further expose his people or their location.
Two hours later, when the sun left Buck and George with no choice but to retreat inside, they had covered two square miles with nothing to show for it. In the compound, everybody was up, worried, praying, and eager to be brought up to speed. Ming Toy took Kenny and George’s daughter, Beth Ann, to her place “for as long as is necessary.”
George and Priscilla set up a command center in the workout room. Ree Woo sat at a small folding table in the corner, digging through files to see if any of their aliases had been underused or uncompromised.
Buck admitted he was going to be of little help. “I’m paralyzed.”
“Snap out of it,” George said. “You do Chloe and us no good that way.”
Buck glared at him, knowing he was right. “Easy for you to say, Sebastian. It’s not your wife out there.”
Priscilla looked away. George let his papers fall on a table and approached Buck. He put a hand on each arm of Buck’s chair and leaned close to his face. “I’m only gonna say it once. If it was my wife out there, I wouldn’t be sitting in here with my hands in my lap. I owe your wife big time. She risked her life for me in Greece. I can only imagine how you feel. Not knowing anything is worse than knowing the worst, but we know nothing. Maybe you’re just a little mad at her because she didn’t seem to follow protocol and skipped a lot of steps here.
“Maybe you’re feeling guilty about being angry with her because you’re scared to death she’s into something over her head. I don’t blame you. I don’t. I’m telling you, we need everybody on this, especially somebody with your brain. Now, you want to find her so we can get her back safe and sound, or you want to assume the worst and start grieving now?”
“George!” Priscilla scolded.
“I’m not trying to be a hard case,” George said. “It’s just that there’s nothing we can do outside in the daylight unless we know the coast is clear and we’ve got someone with a good disguise and alias. Meanwhile, we’ve got to rest and strategize, and we don’t need Buck sitting here feeling sorry for hims—”
“All right, George, I got it! Okay?”
“You and I are all right then?”
“Of course.”
“I mean, you think I was out there in the middle of the night for my health?”
“Not so good news,” Ree said. “Chloe’s ‘Chloe Irene’ and Mac’s ‘Howie Johnson’ are no good after Greece. Hannah’s ‘Indira Jinnah’ might still be okay, but only she can use it and she’s too far away. Rayford and Abdullah’s Middle Eastern brothers IDs may still be okay, but Abdullah is staying in Petra and Rayford will need R and R when he gets here.”
“Don’t be so sure,” George said. “He’ll go till he drops.”
“Tell me about it,” Buck said.
“Has Albie’s ‘Commander Elbaz’ been exposed yet?” Ree asked.
Buck nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Too far away too,” George said. “What else have we got?”
“One more. Ming’s guy persona, ‘Chang Chow.’”
“Let’s not risk Ming,” Buck said.
“Why not?” George said. “She’s still got the uniform. She can cut her hair and—”
“Hey!” Ree said. “You’re talking about my fiancée.”
“So?”
“She at least ought to be consulted.”
“No, Ree,” George said. “I thought we’d just drag her in here, hold her down, and cut her hair.”
“Cool down, boys,” Priscilla said. “Nobody knows who I am. I could be given an alias and—”
“No you don’t,” George said.
“Shoe’s on the other foot now, eh?” Buck said. “Prospect of sending your wife out there—”
“Stop it!” George said. “I’m just saying she’s inexperienced and not all that healthy.”
“Ming is not very physical,” Ree said. “Not trained in weapons.”
“Don’t give me that,” Buck said. “She worked at Buffer.”
“Handling inmates at a women’s prison is not like rescuing one of our people from the local GC.”
“We wouldn’t be looking for her to do that anyway,” George said. “Buck and I and maybe you, Ree, would have to go get Chloe. We need Ming, or somebody, just to find out where she is.”
Chloe had caught sight of two more GC vehicles, both moving, to the south as she was in the middle of her loop around the compound. As she watched, both trucks stopped and more than half a dozen troops disembarked from each. It became clear that they were walking a carefully planned grid to check for hidden encampments. And the underground safe house was in their path. They may have looked bored to Buck through the periscope a few hours before, but something had sent them for reinforcements.
These guys were serious. They had metal detectors, probes, and what appeared to be Geiger counters. Chloe debated whether she had time to race back to the compound to alert the others. If she erred, she could lead these guys right to her door.
Determined to distract them and knock them off course, she started moving again. She had to make them see her without appearing to want that. She moved stealthily, but with a purpose.
Rather than take a right at the edge of the property and circle back to the entrance, Chloe continued west on the south side. When she heard at least one of the vehicles heading her way, she broke into a trot, then a jog, then a full run. She was not going to outrun a truck, but maybe she could go where it couldn’t.
The Uzi, light as it was, weighed her down. Unless she believed she could take on an entire platoon or two of GC with it, it made more sense to ditch it and come back for it later. She would never be able to explain a weapon like that. With the sound of a truck, and maybe two of them, just a block south and closing fast, Chloe detoured and flung the Uzi and her ski mask behind some trees. She picked up her pace and sprinted about a quarter of a mile, succeeding in getting both trucks to bear down on her.
Chloe was out of sight of the underground complex and decided the best approach was indifference, so she kept her head down and kept running. The lead truck pulled up beside her, but she didn’t even turn to look. From the passenger-side window a young woman called out, “Need a lift?”
“No thanks.”
“Get in.”
“No thanks. I’m good.”
“We want to ask you a few questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“C’mon, stop and let us talk to you.”
“Talk to me anyway.”
“Where you from?”
“About six miles west.”
“That was underwater from the tsunami not that long ago.”
“How well I know.”
“What’re you doing down here?”
“Running.”
“How’d you get here?”
“Ran.”
“Where you going?”
“Home.”
“What’s your name?”
“Phoebe.” It sounds biblical.
“Phoebe what?”
“Phoebe Evangelista.”
“Ethnic?”
“Husband is.” He’s a WASP.
“Have any ID?”
“Not on me.”
“Okay, ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to stop and let us talk with you a minute.”
“No thanks. You can follow me home if you want.” I’ll run as far from the underground as I can until I drop.
“I need to know your original region and see your mark.”
“I’m not taking off my hood or my gloves in this weather after working up a sweat.”
“What, you’ve got marks both places?”
Chloe waved her off and kept running. The truck veered off the road in front of her and stopped. Chloe swerved around it and kept going. She heard doors opening and boots on pavement. Soon armed GC in full uniform flanked her, a man on each side, keeping pace.
“Okay,” one said, “fun’s over. Stop or we’ll have to put you in the truck. Come on now, ma’am, you know we can take you down, and there’s no need for that.”
Chloe kept running. The man on her right tossed his weapon to the one on the left, and the next thing she knew he had both arms around her neck and was drawing his knees up into the middle of her back. He had to weigh two hundred pounds. She staggered and fell. He shifted his weight just before she hit the ground and drove her face into the dirt. Chloe knew she had been scraped deep, and blood ran down her forehead. He slid up and pressed his knee behind her neck, pulled her hands behind her, and handcuffed her.
Desperate to stall them, Chloe let herself go limp. “Have it your way,” one of the men said. He grabbed the cuffs to drag her toward the truck. She purposely kept her face down, letting sand and pebbles and pavement tear at her face.
On her stomach next to the truck, she could not be lifted by the handcuffs without wrenching her shoulders out of place, which the GC almost did. “There’s an easier way,” a young guard said, “if that’s what she wants.”
He grabbed her feet and bent her legs up to where he could bind her ankles to the handcuffs with a plastic band. He tossed her into the truck.
Chloe was sure she had cracked a rib. During the twenty-five-minute ride to the local GC headquarters, Chloe began to pray. “God, give me strength. Let me die before I give away anything. Be with Kenny and Buck and Dad.”
She remembered George regaling them with stories about how he had said absolutely nothing to his captors in Greece. If only she had that kind of fortitude. She would rather banter, anger them, mislead them. Was it better to sit and take it or to shoot back, to let them know she was no pushover?
Torture. Could she handle that? “With your strength, God. Let me trade my body for the ones I love.”
At headquarters she was uncuffed, searched, and again asked her name and home region. Chloe said nothing. She gingerly pressed a palm against her face and felt the abrasions on her forehead and cheeks.
“She already told us. Phoebe Evangelista, American.”
“Then there ought to be a –6 somewhere under that blood. Get a wet cloth and wash that off.”
Someone held Chloe by the back of her head and dragged the cloth across her face. She cried out.
“I don’t see anything. Doesn’t mean it’s not there. We running her name and description?”
“Yeah. Nothing so far.”
“Jock will be in at nine. Get her cleaned up and in a jumpsuit. And fingerprinted.”
Chloe was tempted to go limp again and make the GC undress her, hose her down, and dress her, but she did what she was told. She came out of the shower with her face stinging, changed into the dark green jumpsuit, and clenched her fists.
When she was led to the photo area and printing station, she kept her hands balled. Chloe looked so different from the girl who had been at Stanford six years before, she wasn’t worried about her photo giving anything away.
A matronly Mexican guard reached for Chloe’s hand and said, “Right first, please.”
Chloe shook her head.
“Come on, honey. You don’t want to fight me. You’re going to get yourself fingerprinted, so you might as well just let me do it.”
Chloe shook her head again.
“I’m going to do this, so how’s it going to happen? Do I have to get a couple of guys in here to hold you down? Because if I do, here’s what I’m going to use.”
The woman showed Chloe an ugly adjustable metal cord similar to the tool dogcatchers use at the ends of poles to snag puppies. “I wrap this about three inches above your wrist. When it tightens, your hand comes open. I don’t know who you are or why you’re in here, but you don’t want to endure this.”
Chloe shook her head again, and the woman spoke into her radio, asking for help. Chloe resisted the two young men, but as the matron had said, it was hardly worth the effort. When that metal loop tightened around her arm, her fingers popped open, and the GC had fingerprints that were sent via the Internet to their databases all over the world.
“We also read your eyes with the camera, honey. If you’ve ever had a driver’s license, been to college, gotten married, anything, we’ll find a match.”
Chloe only hoped the GC were as shorthanded as everyone else. Maybe it would take long enough that Buck and George and the rest could bust her out. Who am I kidding?
Rayford had hoped for a day or two of rest before jetting back to San Diego, but he had no choice but to leave Petra as soon as he could refuel. He was stunned to find Mac McCullum waiting for him.
“Got the word from Buck,” Mac said. “Thought Tsion and Chaim ought to know so they could get the folks here praying. Albie’s already got a contact on the Al Hillah thing, so he doesn’t need me. I’ll be your pilot.”
“Mac, I can’t ask you to—”
“You didn’t. I volunteered. Now unless you’re gonna be a mule and pull rank on me, saddle up.”
Rayford was more grateful than he could express. In the air Mac told him, “You can think, pray, sleep, or talk. I’ve got this baby on a path to San Diego, and I’m looking forward to seeing those people again and meeting some new ones. My prediction is that Chloe will be there waiting for us.”
“I was with you right up until that last,” Rayford said. “I’ve got a bad, bad feeling about this. If Buck and George don’t find her soon, or if they find out the GC has her, we’ve got to get those people out of there.”
“And take them where?”
“Petra is the only place I know anymore.”
“Chloe ain’t gonna give the GC a thing. Unless they saw her coming out of the underground, what’ve they got?”
“She had to be in the area. Unless she can convince them she came from somewhere else, she sure gives them a place to start looking.”
Rayford buried his head in his hands and tried to sleep. No dice. All he could do was pray. Chloe had been Daddy’s girl from day one. She loved school, was inquisitive, single-minded, stubborn. She was the last person in the family to come to Christ, and Rayford had no illusions that he was responsible for that. He had taught her to believe only in what she could see and smell and touch.
Chloe always wanted to be in the middle of the action, and if someone wouldn’t put her there, she’d put herself there. He wanted to resent her for it, especially now, but he was overwhelmed with worry and fear. All he wanted was to know she was safe and back with Buck and Kenny. He knew that no matter what happened, they would be reunited someday, and that it would be less than a year from now. But somehow that wasn’t as comforting as he thought it might be.
They were destined to be with Christ when they died, and should they survive, they would be with him on earth for a thousand years. But the prospect of dying was still a fearful thing. It was likely that any of the Tribulation Force who died during the next year would be martyrs to the cause of Christ, but their loved ones would still mourn them, still miss them. Worst of all, Rayford realized, he didn’t want to think about how his loved ones might die.
The suffering might be short-lived, but no one wants to think of his beloved going through anything terrifying or torturous or agonizing. “Father,” Rayford said, “let this be a mission of relocation at worst. I have no reason more valid than anyone else to deserve special treatment, to have my daughter supernaturally protected. You don’t need her; you don’t need any of us. But we have pledged ourselves to you and trust you know what you’re doing.”
Jock turned out to be a tall, heavy man with a uniform that may once have fit him but now encased him like a sausage. He had his underlings bring Chloe from a small cell to a slightly larger room. He pointed to a chair and she sat directly across from him at a metal table.
Jock dropped an accordion file on the table and took off his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair. He sat wearily and let out a loud sigh. “So, Phoebe Evangelista. Where’d you come up with that one?”
Chloe stared at him. She detected an Australian accent and noticed the number 18 on his forehead. On the back of his right hand was a tattoo of Nicolae Carpathia’s face.
“Mind if I smoke?”
Chloe raised her eyebrows and nodded.
“Well, what do I care whether you mind or not? I’ve got a lot of work to do today, young lady, and you’re keeping me from it.”
“Go do it,” Chloe said.
“So, she talks,” Jock said, pulling a small cigar from his pocket. “I thought you were going to be one of those name-rank-and-serial-number types, minus the last two. Well, you are my work, and you’ve been a bad girl. You’ve been lying to my people, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You want to fess up, or you want me to tell you what we found?”
Chloe shrugged.
“We’re not getting a thing out of you, are we?”
“No.”
“Took a while, but we got it. Besides being short of people, our systems are crashing, and—”
“You’re breaking my heart.”
Jock reached for his file. “Yeah, well, from what we found, I can imagine. I have good news and bad news this morning, Mrs. Williams. Which would you like?”
So, there it was. In a matter of hours, the prints or the eye reading had given her away. “Nothing you can say will be good news.”
“Don’t be rash. We’re reasonable people, much as you and yours would like to think otherwise and persuade all the sheep who follow that kook Ben-Judah.”
Tsion has more brains in his eyebrows than any ten GCs I’ve ever met.
“I have a proposition for you, ma’am.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Sure you do.”
“Let me guess. My freedom for a few leads?”
“Well, you can play high-and-mighty all you want, Mom, but I’d think you’d be open to hearing me out when the benefit to you deals with your own child.”