The Regime: Evil Advances (11 page)

To Irene’s surprise, Rayford hadn’t resisted. It was clear he was still impressed that she took the time to do this, and it had been a long time since he had been there. “Dad doesn’t know whether I’m there or not,” he would say. “And all Mom wants to talk about is getting him saved.”

“Well, you know that’s on my heart too,” Irene said.

Rayford said, “Yes, I know that’s on your heart too,” he said, mimicking her voice.

It was all Irene could do to keep from lashing out at him.

At the home Rayford’s mother went on the offensive. “Well,” she said, “glad you could find time in your busy schedule to visit the woman who raised you.”

“Your memory seems good today, Mom,” he said.

“It’s hard to forget a son who forgets his mother.”

“I haven’t forgotten you, Mom. I could never do that. Now let’s not fight. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Sure, but for how long? And for how long will this salve your conscience? It’ll probably be another month or more before I see you again.”

“I am flying a lot—and a lot farther—these days. I thought that would make you proud.”

“Proud of a son who is gone too much to see his mother? What about your own family? You see them much either?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll bet you don’t. I’ll bet you’re off doing your own thing when you are home.”

Rayford shot Irene a glance, and she felt accused of talking out of school. She shook her head.

“Why don’t you go see Dad?” Rayford said. “I’d better stay here awhile.”

“Yes, you had better,” his mother said. “You owe me.”

“I know. I owe you a lot, Mom.”

“Now you’re patronizing me.”

“I can’t win.”

Today an aide approached Irene in the hall. “You coming to see Mr. Steele?”

“Yes. Is he all right?”

“He’s been asking for you.”

“For me, personally?”

“By name, ma’am.”

Irene hurried. She found Mr. Steele watching for her, a serious sense of purpose in his eyes. “Hi, Dad,” she said, pulling a chair next to his bed. But he reached for her and took her hand in both of his, pulling her close.

She stood and leaned awkwardly over him as he talked softly, earnestly, his face close to hers. Irene fought to ignore his bad breath. He jumped into the middle of a conversation as if they had never left it.

“Irene,” he said, “I think I know why I’ve felt so empty.”

“You do?”

“I thought for a long time that it was because my son wouldn’t take over my business.”

“He wanted his own career, Dad.”

“I know. He’s a pilot now. And that’s good. Not a lot of people can do that. But the way he turned me down. So mean. I don’t know what I did to make him hate me so.”

“He doesn’t hate you, Dad! He really doesn’t. He loves you.”

“Well, maybe. But it’s all right. I think I got over that. I’m proud of him, so I must be over it; don’t you think?”

“Sounds like it.”

“So I had to figure what else made me feel so empty, and I think you were right. I don’t think I ever got the God thing right.”

“The God thing?”

“It was never personal for me. It was just something

I did. Something I was raised in, felt comfortable with. But it never really meant anything to me. There had to be more. I mean, if there’s really a God, there has to be more.”

“He loves you.”

“I know. You told me that. And it keeps coming back to me. Every so often when I can concentrate, that echoes in my mind and I don’t know what to make of it. Jesus died for the sins of the world, but does that make me a sinner? I’ve never been perfect, Lord knows. But I never felt like a sinner before either. Maybe I do now.”

“Do you?”

“Well, sure. I must be. Everybody must be. Otherwise, what’s Jesus dying for? That’s what’s got me so off-kilter. I can’t get my mind around it. I always saw God as a concept, a belief system, something you do on Sundays, and all that. But if He loves me, I ought to love Him. I don’t love God, Irene.”

“Why not, Dad?”

“I don’t know. I guess I should. Sure. If His Son died for my sins. That proves He loves me.”

“I couldn’t say it better myself. You should pray, Dad.”

“I have.”

“And what did you say?”

“Just that I’m sorry and that I don’t get it and could He explain it to me somehow.”

“Explain what?”

“What it all means. What He’s all about. What more there is if He really loves me.”

“And what does He say?”

“He sent me you.”

“Then listen to me. Are you listening, Dad?”

“I’m listening.”

“Tell God you know you’re a sinner and that you need His forgiveness and that you needed Jesus to die for your sins. Receive Him into your life and you’ll be assured of heaven.”

“I want to go to heaven.”

“Of course you do.”

Rayford entered.

“Son,” Mr. Steele said.

“Hi, Dad,” Rayford said, and he and Irene traded places.

“Irene here’s been telling me about God and Jesus.”

“I’ll bet she has. You just try to rest. Don’t get so worked up.”

“I’m not worked up.”

“I can tell you are. Now relax. You need a nap?”

“I’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead. I’ll sleep in heaven. Sleep will be heaven.”

“I’m sure it will. Listen, Dad, work’s going well. I’m flying longer routes, seeing more places. Wish you could go with me sometime.”

“Don’t make me laugh. You didn’t invite me when I was healthy. And now you know I can’t go, so it’s easy to invite me.”

“You see right through me; don’t you, old man?”

“Always have. Always will. So you’re a pilot. My son is a pilot.”

“I’m your son, Dad,” Rayford said, glancing at Irene.

“I know. ‘Course I know. Who doesn’t know that?”

Within a minute, Mr. Steele had drifted off again.

On the way home, Rayford was stony. “You’re using them to get to me,” he said at last.

“I wouldn’t do that, Rafe.”

“You think I’m dumb enough to believe my mother came up with that guilt trip without a little input from you?”

“I didn’t say a word, Rayford. I swear.”

“And you have to badger my dad with religion when he’s fast fading? The man was with us there for a few minutes. We could have really communicated with him, logged some memories in his brain, shown him pictures of the kids, brought him up to date. But no, you’ve got Scripture verses you’re trying to slam him with.”

“I didn’t quote any Scripture. And besides, he brought that discussion up on his own.”

“Oh, I am so sure.”

All Irene could do was pray she had gotten through to the old man before he lost touch with reality again.

“Mom, I’m trying everything I know how to find a way out there for Christmas,” Cameron Williams said.

“Oh, Cam, don’t go to any trouble. I know you’re busy and money is tight. Maybe you can see me on spring break.”

He hesitated. Didn’t she know she was not expected to last that long?

She must have read his worry in the silence. “I’m going to beat this thing, Cam. I’m fine. I’m not even feeling any pain yet. They say that comes with the treatment, which is worse than the disease.”

“I want to be there with you and for you, Mom. I’m working on it.”

“Really, hon, you just concentrate on what you’re doing. We can talk by phone. Daddy’s taking good care of me, and Jeff’s got the business under control. And you know Sharon. She’s praying for me.”

“I know that’s true.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get at this point. The grand-kids want to know if I’m going to go bald. They’re fascinated by that.”

“I’ll bet.”

“And of course, I am. Already choosing wigs.”

“Go blonde, Mom.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Cameron was in the student newspaper office that evening when a call came for him from the
Boston Globe
. After pleasantries and congratulations on all his awards, the woman said, “Are you going to be around over the holidays?”

He told her of his hope to get to see his mother.

“I’m sorry to hear that for two reasons,” she said. “First, for your mother. We’ll keep a good thought for her.”

“Thanks.”

“And second, the
Globe
is honoring promising young journalists, and we’d like you to be our guest

at a banquet. You’ll get to meet our top people, take home a plaque, that kind of thing. We’d fly you here and put you up overnight, make it a nice deal. There are a dozen being invited, so it’s a special opportunity.”

“I’d love to,” Cameron said. “Of course I would. Could I get back to you?”

“Sure. But don’t delay. We’ll want to fill your slot if you can’t make it.”

“Let me ask you this,” he said, “at the risk of impertinence. If I chose to drive, would you still reimburse me for a plane ticket?”

“You’re in New Jersey. That would be less than two hundred fifty miles. Sure. We could do that.”

“Maybe that could go toward my little collection to see if I can get to Tucson to see my mother after that. Listen, count me in.”

“You’re sure? You don’t need to get back to me?”

“No, I’m honored. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Nicolae Carpathia, to no one’s surprise, proved a quick study in politics. Having never run for any office, he soon became the favorite to unseat the incumbent Emil Tismaneanu in the lower parliament. Carpathia, through Fortunato and Planchette, of course, hired the best public relations firm in Bucharest and assembled a crack team of youthful idealists, who were soon persuaded that Nicolae was the answer to all of Romania’s ills.

Carpathia soundly defeated Tismaneanu in a pair of debates hosted by the University of Romania, after which Leon Fortunato insisted it was time to “start turning the screws.”

Nicolae sat with him and Planchette and Viv Ivins in the mansion late one night. “How do you mean?” Nicolae said.

“He will be loath to debate you again, so resounding

was the response for you and against him. So now you go widely public with your insistence on another debate. He cannot accede to it without committing political suicide. You will box him into a corner. He has to refuse, but he will be desperate to save face. That will produce some kind of a foolish response, and you will capitalize on all the momentum.”

The three men nodded, but Viv appeared stony.

“What is it?” Carpathia said. “You do not like the idea?”

“I agree it’s good strategy,” she said. “I just worry about Tismaneanu’s desperate measures. He may spread a falsehood, or worse, a damaging truth.”

“I have no skeletons, Viv,” Nicolae said. “What could he possibly say to embarrass me?”

“I can think of three things.”

“Do not keep us in suspense.”

“Women, Ion, and Corona.”

The men glanced at each other.

Fortunato nodded. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Come on!” Nicolae said. “On the first matter, I am discreet. On the second, raising the Ion issue will make him look more than desperate. Tismaneanu has zero evidence, and I would immediately respond with a threat to sue for defamation. He will look terrible, especially when the educational trust fund for Ion’s son is revealed.”

“That is all in place and ready to go?” Leon said.

Nicolae looked to Planchette, who blanched. “It will be,” he said.

“What has been the holdup?” Nicolae said.

Reiche shrugged. “Ion’s wife did not seem impressed, and you told no one else.”

Nicolae stood. “Reiche! What if she went to the press, telling them I promised something and never delivered?”

“She wouldn’t. She’s a simple widow—”

“She is a grieving, angry mother, man! And I believe she suspects me. Get on that first thing in the morning and leak it to the press. Very subtly. If we can get something out about that that appears not to have come from us, it will preclude Emil trying to use Ion’s death against me. Now, Viv, what could he say about Corona? The satellite failures are on them, not me.”

“You invested in a failed effort. And you have said yourself that you have about a 50 percent chance of defaulting on a huge loan.”

Nicolae sat back. “And of course Tismaneanu knows all this.”

“Of course.”

“We need to preclude his using that against us too. But how?”

“Take advantage of our relationship with Mr. Stonagal,” Reiche said. “Get him to cover the loan, make the debt appear to go away through some sort of personal agreement between you two. Then if Tismaneanu claims you are deep in debt, risking a default or bankruptcy despite your lavish lifestyle—sorry, but a case could be made for that—you can somehow prove you are thoroughly solvent and Stonagal can vouch for it.”

Nicolae let his head fall back, his face pointed to the ceiling and his eyes shut, as if sleeping. “Tell me

something, Reiche,” he said, his voice strained due to the position of his neck. “Did you know Stonagal owns the majority of Intercontinental?”

“Of course. Mr. Stonagal and I go back a long—”

“A long way, yes, I know. He is the angel behind your organization; is he not?”

“One of many, yes.”

“The primary one, no?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, with him you need none of all the others combined; am I right?”

“Yes.”

Nicolae lowered his head and stared at Planchette. “Stonagal also owns the laboratory from whence came the sperm from my mercenary fathers, implanted in my mother and resulting in me.”

“Who told you that?”

“Tell me I am wrong.”

“You are right, but it would behoove you not to reveal to Mr. Stonagal that you know that. If he even suspected you might have gotten that information from me—”

“You need not worry about Mr. Stonagal, Reiche. You need worry about me.”

“That’s not fair, Nicolae. Who has been more loyal to you than I?”

“Keeping from me the truth of my origin? That is your idea of loyalty? Not telling me that Stonagal carried the paper on my hundred-million-dollar loan all along? Why would you have kept that from me, Reiche?”

“I thought you knew!”

“You thought no such thing. Are you also aware that Stonagal is behind a huge move to reduce the world’s currency to just three denominations?”