Soul Harvest: The World Takes Sides (9 page)

“I have my assignment,” Rayford said flatly.

“I would like to know your itinerary as soon as it is set. Did you notice the name on the back?”

Rayford turned the sheet over. “Pontifex Maximus Peter Mathews, Enigma Babylon One World Faith.”

“So we bring him, too?”

“Though he is in Rome, pick him up first. I would like him on the plane when each of the other ambassadors boards.”

Rayford shrugged. He wasn’t sure why God had put him in this position, but until he felt led to leave it, he would hang in.

“One more thing,” Carpathia said. “Mr. Fortunato will go with you and serve as host.”

Rayford shrugged again. “Now may I ask you something?” Carpathia nodded, standing. “Could you let me know when the dredging operation commences?”

“The what?”

“When they pull the Pan-Con 747 out of the Tigris,” Rayford said evenly.

“Oh, yes, that. Now, Rayford, I have been advised it would be futile.”

“There’s a chance you won’t do it?”

“Most likely we will not. The airline informed us who was aboard, and we know there are no survivors. We are already at a loss for what to do with the bodies of so many victims of this disaster. I have been advised to consider the aircraft a sacred burial vault.”

Rayford felt his face flush, and he slumped. “You’re not going to prove to me my wife is dead, are you?”

“Oh, Rayford, is there any doubt?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. It doesn’t feel like she’s dead, if you know what I—well, of course you don’t know what I mean.”

“I know it is difficult for loved ones to let go unless they see the body. But you are an intelligent man. Time heals—”

“I want that plane dredged up. I want to know whether my wife is dead or alive.”

Carpathia stepped behind Rayford and placed a hand on each shoulder. Rayford closed his eyes, wishing he could melt away. Carpathia spoke soothingly. “Next you will be asking me to resurrect her.”

Rayford spoke through clenched teeth. “If you are who you think you are, you ought to be able to pull that off for one of your most trusted employees.”

Buck had fallen asleep atop the bedspread. Now, well after midnight, he couldn’t imagine he had slept more than two hours. Sitting up, gathering the covers around him, he didn’t want to move. But what had awakened him? Had he seen lights flicker in the hallway?

It had to have been a dream. Surely electricity would not be reconnected in Mount Prospect for days, maybe weeks. Buck held his breath. Now he did hear something from the other room, the low, whispering cadence of Tsion Ben-Judah.

Had something awakened him too? Tsion was praying in his own tongue. Buck wished he understood Hebrew. The prayer grew fainter, and Buck lay back down and rolled onto his side. As he lost consciousness he reminded himself that in the morning he needed one last look around Loretta’^ neighborhood—one more desperate attempt to find Chloe.

Rayford found Mac in the cockpit of the idle helicopter. He was reading.

“Finally let you go, did he?” Mac said. Rayford always ignored obvious questions. He just shook his head. “I don’t know how he does it,” Mac said.

“What’s that?”

Mac rattled his magazine. “The latest Modern Avionics. Where would Carpathia get this? And how would he know to stock it in the shelter?”

“Who knows?” Rayford said. “Maybe he’s the god he thinks he is.”

“I told you about Leon’s diatribe last night.”

“Carpathia told me again.”

“What, that he agrees with Leon about his own divinity?”

“He’s not going that far yet,” Rayford said. “But he will. The Bible says he will.”

“Whoa!” Mac said. “You’re gonna have to start from the beginning.”

“Fair enough,” Rayford said, unfolding Carpathia’s passenger list. “First let me show you this. After my training, I want you to plot our course to these countries. First we pick up Mathews in Rome. Then let’s go to the States and pick up all the other ambassadors on the way back.”

Mac studied the sheet. “Should be easy. Take me a half hour or so to plot it.

Are there spots to land in all these places?”

“We’ll get close enough. We’ll put the chopper and a fixed-wing in the cargo hold, just in case.”

“So when do we get to talk?”

“Our training session should take until about five, don’t you think?”

“Nah! I told you, you’ll be up to speed in no time.”

“We’ll need to break for a late lunch somewhere,” Rayford said. “And then we’ll still have several hours to train, right?”

“You’re not following me, Ray. You don’t need a whole day playing with this toy.

You know what you’re doing, and these things fly themselves.”

Rayford leaned close. “Who’s not following whom?” he said. “You and I are away from the shelter today, training until 1700 hours. Is that understood?”

Mac smiled sheepishly. “Oh. You learn the whirlybird by late lunch at around one, and we’re still on leave until five.”

“You catch on quick.” ‘

Rayford took notes as Mac walked him through every button, every switch, every key. With the blades at top speed, Mac feathered the controls until the bird lifted off. He went through a series of maneuvers, turning this way and that, dipping and climbing. “It’ll come back to you quick, Ray.”

“Let me ask you something first, Mac. You were stationed in this area, weren’t you?”

“For many years,” Mac said, slowly flying south.

“You know people, then.”

“Locals, you mean? Yeah. I couldn’t tell you if any of them survived the earthquake. What are you looking for?”

“Scuba equipment.”

Mac glanced at Rayford, who did not return his gaze. “There’s a new one for the middle of the desert. Where do you want to go diving? In the Tigris?” Mac grinned, but Rayford shot him a serious look and he paled. “Oh, sure, forgive me, Rayford. Man, you don’t really want to do that, do you?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more, Mac. Now do you know somebody or not?”

“Let ‘em dredge the thing, Ray.”

“Carpathia says they’re gonna leave it alone.”

Mac shook his head. “I don’t know, Ray. You ever scuba dive in a river?”

“I’m a good diver. But no, never in a river.”

“Well, I have, and it’s not the same, believe me. The current isn’t much calmer at the bottom than the top. You’ll spend half your time keeping from getting sucked downstream. You could wind up three hundred miles southeast in the Persian Gulf.”

Rayford was not amused. “What’s the story, Mac? You got a source for me?”

“Yeah, I know a guy. He was always able to get anything I wanted from just about anywhere. I’ve never seen scuba stuff around here, but if it’s available and he’s still alive, he can get it.” “Who and where?”

“He’s a national. He runs the tower at the airstrip down at Al Basrah. That’s northwest of Abadan where the Tigris becomes the Shatt al Arab. I wouldn’t begin to try to pronounce his real name. To all of his, ahem, clients, he goes by Al B. I call him Albie.”

“What’s his arrangement?”

“He takes all the risks. Charges you double retail, no questions asked. You get caught with contraband stuff, he’s never heard of you.”

“Try to reach him for me?”

“Just say the word.”

“That’s what I’m saying, Mac.”

“Quite a risk.”

“Being honest with you is a risk, Mac.”

“How do you know you can trust me?”

“I don’t. I have no choice.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You’d feel the same way if the shoe was on the other foot.”

“True enough,” Mac said. “Only time will prove I’m not a rat.”

“Yeah,” Rayford said, feeling as reckless as he had ever been. “If you’re not a friend, there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

“Uh-huh, but would a fink make a dangerous dive with you?”

Rayford stared at him. “I couldn’t let you do that.” “You can’t stop me. If my guy can get a suit and a tank for you, he can get them for me, too.” “Why would you do that?”

“Well, not just to prove myself. I’d like to keep you around awhile. You deserve to know if your wife’s in the drink. But that dive’s gonna be dangerous enough for two, let alone solo.”

“I’ll have to think about that.”

“For once, quit thinking so much. I’m goin’ with you and that’s that. I gotta figure some way to keep you alive long enough to tell me what the devil has been going on since the disappearances.”

“Put her down,” Rayford said, “and I’ll tell you.” “Right here? Right now?”

“Right now.”

Mac had flown a few miles to where Rayford could see the city of Al Hillah. He banked left and headed for the desert, landing in the middle of nowhere. He shut the engine down quickly to avoid sand damage. Still, Rayford saw grains on the back of his hands and tasted them on his lips.

“Let me get behind the controls,” Rayford said, unstrapping himself.

“Not on your life,” Mac said. “Next you’re gonna try startin’ her up and liftin’

off. I know you can do it and it’s not that dangerous, but Lord knows nobody else around here can explain things to me. Now out with it, let’s go.”

Rayford hopped out and landed in the sand. Mac followed. They strolled half an hour in the sun, Rayford sweating through his clothes. Finally Rayford led the way back to the helicopter, where they leaned against the struts on the shade side.

He told Mac his life story, starting with the kind of family he was raised in-decent, hardworking, but uneducated people. He had shown a proclivity for math and science and was fascinated by aviation. He did well in school, but his father could not afford to send him to college. A high school counselor told him he should be able to get scholarships, but that he needed something extra on his resume.

“Like what?” Rayford had asked her.

“Extracurricular activities, student government, things like that.”

“What about flying solo before I graduate?”

“Now that would be impressive,” she admitted.

“I’ve done it.”

That helped him earn a college education that led to military training and commercial flying. All the while, he said, “I was a pretty good guy. Good citizen—you know the drill. Drank a little, chased a little. Never anything illegal. Never saw myself as a rascal. Patriotic, the whole bit. I was even a churchgoer.”

He told Mac he had been smitten with Irene from the beginning. “She was a little too goody-goody for me,” he admitted, “but she was pretty and loving and selfless. She amazed me. I asked, she accepted, and though it turned out she was a lot more into church than I was, I wasn’t about to let her go.”

Rayford told of how he broke his promise to be a regular churchgoer. They’d had fights and Irene had shed tears, but he sensed she had resigned herself to the fact that at least in this one area, I was a creep who couldn’t be trusted. I was faithful, a good provider, respected in the community. I thought she was living with the rest of it. Anyway, she left me alone about it. She couldn’t have been happy about it, but I told myself she didn’t care. I sure didn’t.

“When we had Chloe, I turned over a new leaf. I believed I was a new man. Seeing her born convinced me of miracles, forced me to acknowledge God, and made me want to be the best father and husband in history. I made no promises. I just started going back to church with Irene.”

Rayford explained how he realized that “church wasn’t that bad. Some of the same people we saw at the country club we saw at church. We showed up, gave our money, sang the songs, closed our eyes during the prayers, and listened to the homilies. Every once in a while a sermon or part of one offended me. But I let it slide. Nobody was checking up on me. The same things offended most of our friends. We called it getting our toes stepped on, but it never happened twice in a row.”

Rayford said he had never stopped to think about heaven or hell. “They didn’t talk much about that. Well, never about hell. Any mention of heaven was that everybody winds up there eventually. I didn’t want to be embarrassed in heaven by having done too many bad things. I compared myself with other guys and figured if they were going to make it, I was too.

“The thing is, Mac, I was happy. I know people say they feel some void in their lives, but I didn’t. To me, this was life. Funny thing was, Irene talked about feeling empty. I argued with her. Sometimes a lot. I reminded her I was back in church and she hadn’t even had to badger me about it. What more did she want?”

What Irene wanted, Rayford said, was something more. Something deeper. She had friends who talked about a personal relationship with God, and it intrigued her.

“Scared me to death,” Rayford said. “I repeated the phrase so she could hear how wacky it sounded, ‘personal relationship with God?’ She said, of all things, ‘Yes. Through his Son, Jesus Christ.’” Rayford shook his head. “Well, I mean, you can imagine how that went down with me.”

Mac nodded. “I know what I would have thought.”

Rayford said, “I had just enough religion to make me feel all right. Saying words like God or Jesus Christ out loud, in front of people? That was for pastors and priests and theologians. I resonated with people who said religion was private. Anybody who tried to convince you of something from the Bible or ‘shared his faith’ with you, well, those guys were right-wingers or zealots or fundamentalists or something. I stayed as far away from them as I could.”

“I know what you mean,” Mac said. “There was always somebody around trying to ‘win souls for Jesus.’”

Rayford nodded. “Well, fast forward a whole bunch of years. Now we’ve got Rayford Junior. I had the same feeling when he was born as I had with Chloe. And I admit I had always wanted a son. I figured God must be pretty pleased with me to bless me that way. And let me tell you something I’ve told precious few other people, Mac. I was almost unfaithful to Irene while she was pregnant with Raymie. I was drunk, it was at a company Christmas party, and it was stupid. I felt so guilty, not because of God I don’t think, but because of Irene. She didn’t deserve that. But she never suspected, and that made it worse. I knew she loved me. I convinced myself I was the scum of the earth and I made all kinds of bargains with God. Somewhere I had this idea he might punish me. I told him if I could just put this behind me and never do it again, would he please not let our unborn baby die. If anything had been wrong with our baby, I don’t know what I would have done.”