CHAPTER FIVE

BUCK wanted to jump or shout or run somewhere, but he didn't know where to go. Knowing Chloe was alive was the best news he'd ever had, but now he wanted to act on it. He kept pushing the redial button and getting that busy signal.

Suddenly his phone rang again.

“Chloe!”

“No, sorry, Cameron, it's Verna again.”

“Verna, please! I'm trying to reach Chloe!”

“Calm down, big boy. She got through to the Weekly office again. Now, listen up. Where are you now and where have you been?”

“I'm on Michigan Avenue near Water Tower Place, or what used to be Water Tower Place.”

“How did you get there?”

“Sheridan to Lake Shore Drive.”

“OK,” Verna said. “Chloe told somebody in our office that she's the other way on Lake Shore Drive.”

“The other way?”

“That's all I know, Cameron. You're gonna need to look off the road, lakeside, the other way from where you might expect on Lake Shore Drive.”

Buck was already moving that way as he spoke. “I don't see how she could have gotten onto the lakeside if she was heading south on the Drive.”

“I don't know either,” Verna said. “Maybe she was hoping to go around everything by heading that way, saw that she couldn't, and popped a U-turn.”

“Tell anybody who hears from her that she should stay off the phone until I can connect. She's gonna have to direct me right to her, if possible.”

Any remaining doubts Rayford Steele had about the incredible and instant evil power that Nicolae Carpathia wielded were eradicated a few minutes after the Condor 216 left the ground at San Francisco International. Through the privately bugged intercom he heard one of Carpathia's aides ask, “Now, sir, on San Francisco?”

“Trigger,” came the whispered reply.

The aide, obviously speaking into a phone, said simply, “It's a go.”

“Look out the window on that side,” Carpathia said, the excitement obvious in his voice. “Look at that!” Rayford was tempted to turn the plane so he could see too, but this was something he would rather try to forget than have visually burned into his memory. He and McCullum looked at each other as their earphones came alive with startled cries from the control tower. “Mayday! Mayday! We're being attacked from the air!” The concussions knocked out communications, but Rayford knew the bombs themselves would easily take out that whole tower, not to mention the rest of the airport and who knew what portion of the surrounding area.

Rayford didn't know how much longer he could take being the devil's own pilot.

Buck was in reasonably good shape for a man in his early thirties, but now his joints ached and his lungs pleaded for air as he sprinted to Chicago Avenue and headed east toward the lake. How far south might Chloe have gotten before turning around? She had to turn around. Otherwise, how could she have gone off the road and wound up on that side?

When he finally got to the Drive, he found it empty. He knew it was barricaded from the north at the Michigan Avenue exit. It had to have been blocked from the far south end too. Gasping, he hurdled the guardrail, jogged to the middle, heard the clicking of meaningless traffic lights, and raced across to the other side. He jogged south, knowing Chloe was alive but not knowing what he might find. The biggest question now, assuming Chloe didn't have some life-threatening injury, was whether those print-outs of Bruce's personal commentaries—or worse the computer itself—might have fallen into the wrong hands. Surely, parts of that narrative were quite clear about Bruce's belief that Nicolae Carpathia was the antichrist.

Buck didn't know how he was able to put one foot in front of the other, but on he ran, pushing redial and holding the phone to his ear as he went. When he could go no further, he slumped into the sand and leaned back against the outside of the guardrail, gasping. Finally Chloe answered her phone.

Having not planned what to say, Buck found himself majoring on the majors. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? Where are you?” He hadn't told her he loved her or that he was scared to death about her or that he was glad she was alive. He would assume she knew that until he could tell her later.

She sounded weak. “Buck,” she said, “Where are you?”

“I'm heading south on Lake Shore Drive, south of Chicago Avenue.”

“Thank God,” she said. “I'm guessing you've got about another mile to go.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I'm afraid I am, Buck,” she said. “I don't know how long I was unconscious. I'm not even sure how I got where I am.”

“Which is where, exactly?”

Buck had risen and was walking quickly, there was no running left in him, despite his fear that she might be bleeding or in shock.

“I'm in the strangest place,” she said, and he sensed her fading. He knew she had to still be in the vehicle because that phone was not removable. “The airbag deployed,” she added.

“Is the Rover still driveable?”

“I have no idea, Buck.”

“Chloe, you're gonna have to tell me what I'm looking for. Are you out in the open? Did you elude that cop?”

“Buck, the Range Rover seems to be stuck between a tree and a concrete abutment.”

“What?”

“I was doing about sixty,” she said, “when I thought I saw an exit ramp. I took it, and that's when I heard the bomb go off.”

“The bomb?”

“Yes, Buck, surely you know a bomb exploded in Chicago.”

One bomb? Buck thought. Maybe it was merciful she was out for all the bombs that followed.

“Anyway, I saw the squad car pass me. Maybe he wasn't after me after all. All the traffic on Lake Shore Drive stopped when they saw and heard the bomb, and the cop slammed into someone. I hope he's all right. I hope he doesn't die. I'll feel responsible.”

“So, where did you wind up then, Chloe?”

“Well, I guess what I thought was an exit wasn't really an exit. I never hit the brake, but I did take my foot off the gas. The Range Rover was in the air for a few seconds. I felt like I was floating for a hundred feet or so.

“There's some sort of a dropoff next to me, and I landed on the tops of some trees and turned sideways. The next thing I knew, I woke up and I was alone here.”

“Where?” Buck was exasperated, but he certainly couldn't blame Chloe for not being more specific.

“Nobody saw me, Buck,” she said dreamily. “Something must have turned my lights off. I'm stuck in the front seat, kind of hanging here by the seat belt. I can reach the rearview mirror, and all I saw was traffic all racing away and then no more traffic. No more emergency lights, no nothing.”

“There's nobody around you?”

“Nobody. I had to turn the car off and then back on to get the phone to turn on. I was just praying you'd come looking for me, Buck.”

She sounded as if she were about to fall asleep. “Just stay on the line with me, Chloe. Don't talk, just keep the line open so I can be sure I don't miss you.”

The only lights Buck saw were emergency flashers far in the distance toward the inner city, fires still blazing here and there, and a few tiny lights from the boats on the lake. Lake Shore Drive was dark as midnight. All the streetlights were out north of where he had seen the traffic light flashing. He came around a long bend and squinted into the distance. From the faint light of the moon he thought he saw a torn up stretch of guardrail, some trees, and a concrete abutment, one of those that formed an underpass to get to the beach. He moved slowly forward and then stopped to stare. He guessed he was two hundred yards from the spot. “Chloe?” he said into the phone.

No response.

“Chloe? Are you there?”

He heard a sigh. “I'm here, Buck. But I don't feel so good.”

“Can you reach your lights?”

“I can try.”

“Do. Just don't hurt yourself.”

“I'll try to pull myself up that way by the steering wheel.”

Buck heard her groan painfully. Suddenly in the distance, he saw the crazy, vertical angle of headlights shining out onto the sand. “I see you, Chloe. Hang on.”

Rayford assumed that McCullum assumed that Rayford was sleeping. He was slouched in his pilot's chair, chin to his chest, breathing evenly. But his headphones were on, and his left hand had depressed the intercom receiver. Carpathia was talking in low tones, thinking he was keeping his secrets from the flight crew.

“I was so excited and so full of ideas,” the potentate said, “that I could not stay seated. I hope I do not have a bruise to show for it.” His lackeys all roared with laughter.

Nothing funnier than the boss's joke, Rayford thought.

“We have so much to talk about, so much to do,”

Carpathia continued. “When our compatriots join us in Baghdad, we will get right to work.”

The destruction of the San Francisco airport and much of the Bay Area had already made the news. Rayford saw the fear in McCullum's eyes. Maybe the man would have felt more confident had he known that his ultimate boss, Nicolae Carpathia, had most everything under control for the next few years.

Suddenly Rayford heard the unmistakable voice of Leon Fortunato. “Potentate,” he whispered, “we'll need replacements for Hernandez, Halliday, and your fiancee, will we not?”

Rayford sat up. Was it possible? Had they already eliminated those three, and why Hattie Durham? He felt responsible that his former senior flight attendant was now not only in Carpathia's employ, but was also his lover and the soon-to-be mother of his child. So, was he not going to marry her? Did he not want a child? He had put on such a good front before Rayford and Amanda when Hattie had announced the news.

Carpathia chuckled. “Please do not put Ms. Durham in the same category as our late friends. Hernandez was expendable. Halliday was a temporary necessity. Let us replace Hernandez and not worry about replacing Halliday. He served a purpose. The only reason I asked you to replace Hattie is that the job has passed her by. I knew that her clerical skills were suspect when I brought her on. I needed an assistant, and of course I wanted her. But I will use the excuse of her pregnancy to get her out of the office.”

“Did you want me to handle that for you?” Fortunato said.

“I will tell her myself, if that is what you mean,” Carpathia said. “I would like you to handle finding new secretarial personnel.”

Rayford fought for composure. He did not want to give anything away to McCullum. No one could ever know Rayford could hear those conversations. But now he was hearing things he never wanted to hear. Maybe there was some advantage to knowing this stuff, and perhaps it might be useful to the Tribulation Force. But life had become so cheap that in a matter of hours he had lost a new acquaintance, Hernandez, and a dear old mentor and friend, Earl Halliday. He had promised Earl he would communicate with Earl's wife should anything happen. He did not look forward to that.

Rayford shut off the intercom. He flipped the switch that allowed him to speak to his first officer through the headphones. “I think I will take a break in my quarters,” he said. McCullum nodded, and Rayford made his way out of the cockpit and into his chamber, which was even more lavishly appointed than his area on the now-destroyed Global Community One. Rayford removed his shoes and stretched out on his back. He thought about Earl. He thought about Amanda. He thought about Chloe and Buck. And he worried. And it all started with the loss of Bruce. Rayford turned on his side and buried his face in his hands and wept. How many close to him might he lose today alone?

The Range Rover was lodged between the trunk and lower branches of a large tree and the concrete abutment. “Turn those lights off, hon!” Buck called out. “Let's not draw attention to ourselves now.”

The wheels of the vehicle pressed almost flat against the wall, and Buck was amazed that the tree could sustain the weight. Buck had to climb into the tree to look down through the driver's-side window. “Can you reach the ignition?” he asked.

“Yes, I had to turn the car off because the wheels were spinning against the wall.”

“Just turn the key halfway and lower the window so I can help you.”

Chloe seemed to be dangling from the seat belt. “I'm not sure I can reach the window button on that side.”

“Can you unlatch your seat belt without hurting yourself?”

“I'll try, Buck, but I hurt all over. I'm not sure what's broken and what isn't.”

“Try to brace yourself somehow and get loose of that thing. Then you can stand on the passenger's-side window and lower this one.” But Chloe was so hopelessly entangled in the strap that it was all she could do to swing her body around and turn the ignition switch halfway. She pulled herself up with her right hand to reach the window button. When the window was open, Buck reached down with both hands to try to support her. “I was so worried about you,” he said.

“I was worried about me too,” Chloe said. “I think I took all the damage to my left side. I think my ankle's broken, my wrist is sprained, and I feel pain in my left knee and shoulder.”

“Makes sense, from the looks of things,” Buck said. “Does it hurt if I hold you this way so you can put your good foot down on the passenger's-side window?”

Buck lay across the side of the nearly upended Range Rover and reached way down in to put one forearm under Chloe's right arm and grab her waistband at the back with the other. He lifted as she pushed the seat belt button. She was petite, but with no foundation or way to brace himself it was all Buck could do to keep from dropping her. She moved her feet out from under the dashboard and stood gingerly. Her feet were on the passenger's-side door, and her head now was near the steering wheel.

“You're not bleeding anywhere?”

“I don't think so.”

“I hope you're not bleeding internally.”

“Buck, I'm sure I'd be long gone by now if I were bleeding internally.”

“So you're basically all right if I can get you out of there?”

“I really want out of here in a bad way, Buck. Can we get that door open, and can you help me climb?”

“I just have one question for you first. Is this how our married life is going to be? I'm going to buy you expensive cars, and you're going to ruin them the first day?”

“Normally that would be funny—”

“Sorry.”

Buck directed Chloe to use her good foot as a base and her good arm to push as he pulled open the door. The bottom of the door scraped on the abutment, and Buck was struck with how relatively little other damage there was to the vehicle, from what he could see in the dim light. “There should be a flashlight in the glove box,” he said. Chloe handed it up to him. He looked all around the vehicle. The tires were still good. There was some damage to the front grille, but nothing substantial. He turned off the flashlight and slid it into his pocket. With much groaning and whimpering, Chloe came climbing out of the car, with Buck's help.

As they both sat on the upturned driver's side, Buck felt the heavy machine moving in its precarious position.

“We have to get you down from here,” he said.

“Let me see that flashlight for a second,” Chloe said. She shined it above her. “It would be easier to go two feet up to the top of the abutment,” she said.

“You're right,” he said. “Can you make it?”

“I think I can,” she said. “I'm the little engine who could.”

“Tell me about it.”

Chloe hopped to where she could reach the top of the wall with her good hand, and she asked Buck to push until she had most of her weight atop the wall. When she made the last thrust with her good leg, the Range Rover shifted just enough to loosen itself from the wickedly bent tree branches. The tree and the Range Rover shuddered and began to move. “Buck! Get out of there! You're going to be crushed!”

Buck was spread-eagled on the side of the Range Rover that had been facing up. Now it was shifting toward the abutment, the tires scraping and leaving huge marks on the concrete. The more Buck tried to move, the faster the vehicle shifted, and he realized he had to stay clear of that wall to survive. He grabbed the luggage rack as it moved toward him and pulled himself to the actual top of the Range Rover. Branches snapped free from under the vehicle and smacked him in the head, scraping across his ear. The more the car moved, the more it seemed to want to move, and to Buck that was good news—provided he could keep from falling. First the car moved, then the tree moved, then both seemed to readjust themselves at once. Buck guessed that the Range Rover, once free of the pressure from the branches, had about three feet to drop to the ground. He only hoped it would land flat. It didn't.

The heavy vehicle, left tires pressed against the concrete and several deeply bowed branches pushing it from the right side, began slipping to the right. Buck buried his head in his hands to avoid the springing out of those branches as the Range Rover fell clear of them. They nearly knocked him into the wall again. Once the Range Rover was free of the pressure of the branches, it lurched down onto its right side tires and nearly toppled. Had it rolled that way, it would have crushed him into the tree. But as soon as those tires hit the ground, the whole thing bounced and lurched, and the left tires landed just free of the concrete. The momentum made the left side of the vehicle smash into the concrete, and finally it came to rest.

Less than an inch separated the vehicle from the wall now, but there the thing sat on uneven ground. Damaged branches hung above it. Buck used the flashlight to illuminate the violated car. Except for the damage to the font grille and the scrapes on both sides, one from concrete and one from tree branches, the car looked little the worse for wear.

Buck had no idea how to reset an airbag, so he decided to cut it off and worry about that later if he could get the Range Rover to run. His side ached, and he was certain he had cracked a rib when the Rover had finally hit. bottom. He gingerly climbed down and stood under the tree, the branches now blocking his view of Chloe.

“Buck? Are you all right?”

“Stay right where you are, Chloe. I'm gonna try something.”

Buck climbed in the passenger side, strapped himself behind the wheel, and started the engine. It sounded perfect. He carefully watched the gauges to make sure nothing was empty, dry, or overheated. The Rover was in automatic and four-wheel drive. When he tried to go forward it seemed he was in a rut. He quickly switched to stick shift and all-wheel drive, gunned the engine, and popped the clutch. Within seconds he was free of the tree and out onto the sand. He took a sharp right and moved back up next to the guardrail that separated the sand from Lake Shore Drive. He drove about a quarter of a mile until he found a spot he could slip through the guardrail and turn around. He headed back up toward the overpass where Chloe stood, favoring one foot and holding her left wrist in her other hand. To Buck she had never looked better.

He pulled up next to her and ran around to help her into the car. He fastened her seat belt and was on the phone before he got back into the car. “Loretta? Chloe is safe. She's banged up a little, and I'd like to get her checked out as soon as possible. If you could call around and find any doctor in the church who has not been pressed into service, I'd sure appreciate it.”

Buck tried to drive carefully so as not to exacerbate Chloe's pain. However, he knew the shortest way home. When he got to the huge barrier at Michigan Avenue on the LSD, he swung left and went up over the embankment he had previously walked. He saw Verna's now deceased automobile and ignored the waves and warnings of the cops he had talked to not so long ago. He sped up Lake Shore Drive, went around the barriers at Sheridan, followed Chloe's directions to Dempster, and was soon back into the northwest suburbs.

Loretta and Verna were watching from the window as he pulled into the drive. Only then did he smack himself in the head and remember. He jumped out of the car and raced around to the back. Fumbling with the keys, he opened the back latch and found, strewn all over, Bruce's pages. The computer was there too, along with the phones Chloe had bought. “Chloe,” he said, and she turned gingerly. “As soon as we get you inside, I'd better get back to Carpathia.”

Rayford was back in the cockpit. As the night wore on, the cabin grew more and more quiet. The conversation deteriorated into small talk. The dignitaries were well fed by the crew, and Rayford got the impression they were settling in for the long haul.

Rayford awakened with a start and realized his finger had slipped off the intercom button. He pressed it again and still heard nothing. He had heard more than he wanted to hear already anyway. He decided to stretch his legs.

As he walked back through the main cabin to watch one of the televisions in the back of the plane, everyone except Carpathia ignored him. Some dozed and some were being attended to by the flight crew, who were clearing trays and finding blankets and pillows. Carpathia nodded and smiled and waved to Rayford. How can he do that? Rayford wondered. Bruce said the Antichrist would not be indwelt by Satan himself until halfway into the Tribulation, but surely this man is the embodiment of evil.

Rayford could not let on that he knew the truth, despite the fact that Carpathia was well aware of his Christian beliefs. Rayford merely nodded and walked on. On television he saw live reports from around the world. Scripture had come to life. This was the Red Horse of the Apocalypse. Next would come more death by famine and plagues until a quarter of the population of the earth that remained after the Rapture was wiped out. His universal cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Few people not on that plane knew his number. Thank God for technology, he thought. He didn't want anyone to hear him. He slipped deeper into the back of the plane and stood near a window. The night was as black as Carpathia's soul.

“This is Rayford Steele,” he said.

“Daddy?”

“Chloe! Thank God! Chloe, are you all right?”

“I had a little car accident, Dad. I just wanted you to know that you saved my life again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got that message you left at The Drake,” she said. “If I had taken the time to go to our room, I probably wouldn't be here.”

“And Buck's OK?”

“He's fine. He's late returning a call to you-know-who, so he's trying to do that right now.”

“Let me excuse myself, then,” Rayford said. “I'll get back to you.”

Rayford strode back to the cockpit, trying not to appear in a hurry. As he passed Fortunato, Leon was handing a phone to Carpathia. “Williams from Chicago,” he said. “It's about time.”

Carpathia made a face as if he felt Leon was overreacting. As Rayford reached the cockpit, he heard Carpathia exalt, “Cameron, my friend! I have been worried about you.”

Rayford quickly settled in and set his earphones. McCullum looked at him expectantly, but Rayford ignored him and closed his eyes, pressing the secret button.

“I am curious about coverage,” Carpathia was saying. “What is happening there in Chicago? Yes—yes—devastation, I understand—yes. Yes, a tragedy—”

Sickening, Rayford thought.

“Cameron,” Carpathia said, “would it be possible for you to get to New Babylon within the next few days? Ah, I see—Israel? Yes, I see the wisdom of that. The so-called holy lands were spared again, were they not? I would like pooled coverage of high-level meetings in Baghdad and New Babylon. I would like to have your pen on it, but Steve Plank, your old friend, can run the point. You and he can work together to see that the appropriate coverage is carried in all our print media....”

Rayford would be eager to talk to Buck. He admired his son-in-law's moxie and ability to set his own agenda and even gracefully decline suggested directives from Carpathia. Rayford wondered how long Carpathia would stand for that. For now, he apparently respected Buck enough and was, Rayford hoped, still unaware of Buck's true loyalties.

“Well,” Carpathia was saying, “of course I am grieving. You will keep in touch then, and I will hear from you from Israel.”