The Regime: Evil Advances (2 page)

“I can tell,” Irene said. “Anything I need to worry

about?”

“Nah. Just something I have to tell you.”

“Good morning, sir,” the bodyguard said, opening Nicolae’s car door. “How’s the most successful businessman in Europe this morning?”

“Bored,” Nicolae said.

That was his typical response, but it jangled even in his own ears today. He was anything but bored now. He used to say it to indicate he was not at all satisfied with his prodigious accomplishments yet. There was so much more on the horizon, so many more battles to wage and win.

But to have the world at his feet and know it beyond doubt? Nicolae Carpathia was anything but bored. Drunk with intrigue was more like it.

The only reason he had not summoned the physician to his own home was that the clinic had all the equipment necessary for the complete physical assessment he coveted.

So far the spirit had not revealed any timetable for his ascendancy, but his entire life had aimed at this. Nicolae had assumed he would have to do it on his own, and perhaps he could have. But with these new resources, what chance did anyone else have?

Rayford told Irene all about his new first officer, the engine oil light, the maintenance record that showed metal shavings, the seeming innocuousness of it all, and how he had been fully confident he could get the craft down safely in Los Angeles.

There had been no problem, even when he lost one engine. That wasn’t common, but he had flown heavies that way before. The problem was the weather—not being able to see until they broke through a low cloud cover, committed to landing—combined with miscommunication with a US Air jet on the ground that thought it had been cleared for takeoff.

“I had to pull up and go around,” Rayford said. “And I still can’t believe I didn’t hit that plane. It’s likely we’d have lost everybody on board both craft.”

Irene sat shaking her head. “I pray for your safety, you know.”

“Well, it worked this time. I prayed too.”

She took a breath as if to speak but hesitated.

“I did,” he said. “I did everything I knew to do, but I was still sure we were going to collide, and I found myself calling out, out loud, in front of this new guy, ‘God, help me!’”

“And He did, Rafe.”

“He must have. The promises though, they were silent. Think they still count?”

She smiled. “The promises? What did you promise?”

“Church every Sunday and prayer every day.”

Irene embraced him and laughed. “And you a straight

arrow who always follows through on his commitments.” She released him and sat back. “I can tell you’re shaken and exhausted, but I’ve got something to tell you too. Maybe I’ll save it until tomorrow when you’re up to it.”

“I’m a little wired. I’ll hear it now.”

The female nurses and even some of the males seemed unable to take their eyes off Nicolae Carpathia as he made his way to the changing room at the clinic. He was used to that. Enough people had told him how attractive he was, how he had a matinee idol’s look. He was less concerned with that just now than he was with how the forty-day fast in the wilderness had affected his health.

“Remind me,” the doctor said as he prepared a stress test, “what made this exam so urgent.”

“I got lost hiking and my people did not find me for forty days.”

“I heard nothing of that. You’d think it would have made the news.”

Nicolae smiled. “I could not have my competition so encouraged. My staff would not report my death until months after it occurred.”

The doctor measured and weighed him. “Do you have a problem with fibbing, Mr. Carpathia?”

“Me? No. Why?”

“What did you eat while you were stranded?”

“Precious little.”

“What?”

“Virtually nothing.”

“Please. No small animals, plants, berries, other fruit?”

Nicolae held up both hands. “On my honor, I ate nothing. I do not recall even drinking water.”

“A man cannot live without water. Food maybe, for a while, but not water. You had to have been getting hydration from somewhere.”

“Perhaps. But as you can imagine, after a while I was delirious. In fact, I was amazed to find I had been out there for only forty days. It seemed months.”

“Would it surprise you to know that you are down only three pounds since I saw you last year?”

“Yes, that is a surprise.”

“It’s also incongruous with your story, sir.”

“I cannot fool science, can I?”

“No, sir. You cannot. And if you were literally twenty-four hours from having fasted for forty days in the elements, I would not be subjecting you to all these physical tests today. But your resting pulse is as low as a marathon runner’s, and—”

“I have run marathons.”

“But surely you did not exercise during your ordeal.”

“Of course not.”

“Your respiration seems normal. Your blood pressure. Sugar. Everything.”

“Then crank up that treadmill.”

Irene was nervous. Hopefully, because of what Rayford had just been through, he would be receptive to what

had happened to her. But she didn’t want to presume. She eased into it.

“I’ve told you about Jackie, the one at the park—”

“The religious nut who calls you Eye, sure.”

“She’s not a religious nut, Rafe.”

He shrugged. “That’s how you made her sound. Trying to get you to come to church, always talking about Jesus her personal Savior, that kind of stuff. Reminds me of an obnoxious friend I had when I was a kid.”

Irene’s shoulders slumped. “Forget it.”

“No, I’m sorry, babe. Go ahead. I was just saying I know who you’re talking about.”

“Well, if you think she’s a nut, you may not like what’s happened.”

“You didn’t tell her we’d visit her church, did you? Please, not that.”

“No. In fact, the truth is, Rafe, she almost pushed me too hard. It got to where I didn’t want to hear it anymore. She said her church was full of born-again Christians trying to get other people into heaven.”

Rayford stood. “See, that’s just it. They ought to worry about getting themselves to heaven and let us take care of ourselves.”

“But, no, they’re born-again—”

“Whatever in tarnation that means …”

“—so they’re already in. She says her pastor teaches straight out of the Bible.”

“Sounds boring.”

“And she wanted to know if our church taught salvation.”

“Salvation? Well, ‘course it does. Doesn’t it, Irene? I mean, isn’t that what any church is about? You get together, sing, worship, help people, learn how to be a better person, and that makes you one of the good guys. I know I’ve been lax about it, but now I’ve made these promises, so I figure you don’t have to worry about me anymore, and neither do I.”

Irene knew this wasn’t going to go down easily. “I didn’t say we would come to their church.”

“But?”

“Well, she started changing her tune a little. It must have been obvious I was uncomfortable talking about it. So she quit bringing it up.”

“That’s a relief.”

“She talked about everything but that for days, Rafe. Frankly, I started to miss it.”

“You’re kidding. All that pressure?”

“The fact is, hon, our pastor doesn’t teach straight from the Bible, and we don’t talk about salvation. All that is just sort of understood and assumed and not discussed.”

“My kind of place.”

“Anyway, she told me she cared about me and said the last thing she wanted to do was offend me or push me away, so would I just take a brochure and think about it.”

“I’ve seen those. Weird.”

“This one wasn’t.”

“Uh-oh.”

Nicolae was invigorated by the stress test, which he could tell impressed the doctor. It appeared the man had something to say but was apparently saving it until all the results were in. For now he shuttled his patient off to the optical wing.

Besides all the typical tests, a young female aide supervised Nicolae’s eye-chart exam. She lowered the cumbersome mechanism to his eyes and had him look through clear holes as she flashed the chart on the wall. It bore eight lines of increasingly smaller type from top to bottom.

“What is the smallest line you can read?” she said.

Nicolae moved the apparatus from his eyes and turned to face her.

“Through the holes,” she said. “I’ll try different lens strengths in a moment.”

“No need,” he said. And without looking back at the wall, Nicolae recited the entire chart from top to bottom, then added, ” ‘Not to be copied without permission. All rights reserved.’”

“Where’d that come from?” the aide said.

“The very last line.”

She moved to the wall and squinted. “That type can’t be larger than four points. This is a trick. You’re from the company that makes the charts.”

“I assure you I am not.”

“How’d you do that?”

“It is a gift, young lady.”

She eyed him warily. “I’m finding this hard to believe. You’ve never seen this chart before?”

“I would have remembered.”

“I have no doubt. You realize that besides being able to memorize fifty-six letters in perfect order in just seconds, being able to read all the lines puts your vision at, like, twenty-ten. And being able to read that copyright line would make you, like, twenty-five. That means you can read from twenty feet away what the normal person can read from five feet away.”

“Is that so?” Carpathia flashed her his best smile, and he could see its effect.

Young and nubile, she had been eyeing him. His peripheral vision was good too. It was a strange thing about women, though. While he appreciated good looks and was attracted to lithe bodies, he had no desire for a real relationship. The truth was, beyond their ability to satisfy him physically, women bored him. There was

no doubt of his sexual preference, but in every other respect he found men much more fascinating. Nicolae loved to psyche men out, read them, size them up, decide whether they were worthy of respect or disdain, deference or condescension. Women, on the other hand, were playthings.

While he assumed this young woman was ripe for the picking, he had little need to pursue this class of pleasure. He had long had his choice of women of any socio-economic class or age. And he never wanted them more than once.

Now this was weird. Rayford sat on the couch across from Irene in the wee hours of the morning, his head in his hands. It had been one thing to acknowledge that maybe, yes, he had needed help from the Almighty in the face of death—and he still intended to make good on his end of the bargain. But her story? Oh, please.

“So you got saved?”

“I’m not entirely sure what to call it, Rayford. I got convinced; I’ll tell you that. The little brochure and all the things Jackie had been talking about—even when she was coming on too strong—all kind of pushed me to look in our Bible. Do you remember that we have one?”

“Somebody gave us one for our wedding, didn’t they?”

“You’re kidding, right?” she said.

“No. What? I know we have one. Where’d we get it?”

“I can’t believe you forgot.”

“So sue me, Irene. And pray tell.”

“You got it for me for our first anniversary.”

“I did? I did, didn’t I?”

She nodded. “I read a lot in the New Testament, Rafe. It can be confusing in a lot of places, but on this subject, it’s really quite clear.”

“This subject?”

“Salvation.”

“Do we have to talk about this?” He could tell that had pierced her.

“It’s only the most important thing that’s ever happened to me, Rayford. I should think, especially in light of what you’ve just been through—”

“I prayed and God helped me, Irene. I’m not ready to become a Holy Roller and dance in the aisles of the church. Next you’ll be expecting me to speak in tongues or get healed or something.”

She stared at him. “How did we jump from this to that?”

“You’re just sounding a little severe is all,” he said. “I’m a Christian. I believe in God. I’m going to be better about going to church whenever I’m in town, and I will pray. Okay?”

She nodded. “It’s a start,” she said, holding the brochure out to him. “Would you just read this and think about it?”

He pointedly ignored it.

“There’s more, Rafe. We need to acknowledge that we’re sinners and that we can’t get to God on our own. We have to—”

“Now, see? That’s what I’m talking about. Nothing I ever say or do is quite enough, is it? Do we have to become extremists? Do you want to become known as a fundamentalist? Wars are fought over this stuff, Irene. Terrorist attacks are blamed on it.”

“What?”

“What’s the difference between a zealous Christian and a zealous terrorist who believes God or Allah or whoever has told him to bomb buildings or kill people?”

“Rafe!”

“What? Tell me. What’s the difference?”

“Well, for one thing, have you ever heard of a terrorist attack by a born-again Christian, claiming God told him to do it?”

“Have you ever heard of the Crusades?”

“The Crusades? Rayford, come on! That’s like comparing true Christians to Hitler or the Ku Klux Klan.”

“That’s what people are going to think of you, Irene.”

“You’re tired. You should get some sleep, and we can talk more about this later.”

He stood. “You’re right. I should get some sleep. But do we have to talk more about this?”

“It’s important to me.”

“I can see that. I’d like it to be just a little less important to you. Can’t you get involved with something-- anything--without it consuming you? Remember your Tupperware phase?”

“I made some money.”

“Of course you did. You were a Tupperware dream. You going to become a nun now?”

“Rayford, we’re not even Catholic.”

“Okay, a saint then?”

“Go to bed.”

At the end of the day the doctor sat across from Nicolae, seeming to study him. The young man couldn’t wait to be lauded for his physicality, and he wished the doctor would get on with it. He had places to go, people to see.

“We test everyone here,” the doctor said. “Men and women of all ages, shapes, and sizes. This is where our Olympic athletes are screened. You should see the numbers produced by marathoners, sprinters, decathletes.”