Armageddon: The Cosmic Battle Of The Ages (20 page)

“No way she’s in Louisiana.”

“You just heard it!”

“Think, Buck. They want us to believe she’s in Louisi-ana. They moved her from San Diego to keep away from a raid. They wouldn’t be announcing where they took her.”

Buck knew Rayford was right. “She’s at a prison though, isn’t she? They’re not faking that.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past them.”

“Ray, I can’t fly to Petra and leave her here. If I stay somewhere closer to back east, at least I’d have a chance to.”

“But how are we going to find out where she is?”

“I’d never forgive myself if I jetted off to safety and left her to die alone. I don’t know how you could either.” “I’m not about to, if you must know.”

“C’mon, Dad, we’re in this thing together. Don’t be holding out on me.”

“I’ve got a call in to Krystall to see if she’s heard anything. Problem is, it’s four in the morning over there, and she doesn’t think anybody has a clue anyway. The people who would know are in Al Hillah, and we have no access to them. It’s going to look pretty suspicious if Krystall starts asking them about Chloe.”

It was the middle of the evening in Illinois, and Chloe was surprised to have been left alone for hours. She had been right about solitary. The stairs led below ground, and she had been ushered into a small cell with no cot, no sink, no toilet, no chair, no bench, no nothing. Including no light or window. The duct tape had been removed from her mouth, and when the solid metal door was shut, she was in pitch darkness.

A small square hole in the door opened and was filled with Jock’s face. “I’m going to let you get some rest,” he said, “and I’m going to get some too. Think about anything you can tell me that will benefit you, because when I come back, we’re going to see if we need to give you an injection to help you open up. Your little she-nanigans today bought you this. You’re not going to like it in there if you’re claustrophobic or afraid of the dark.”

Chloe was both, but she was not about to admit it. She feared she would panic or go mad, but as she heard Jock’s footsteps retreat, she was overcome with a sense of peace. “Thank you, Lord,” she said. “I need you. I’m willing to die, but I don’t want to shame you. I need you to override the truth serum. Don’t let me give away any-thing or anybody, and keep me strong so I won’t worry so much about myself. Help me keep my mind, my focus, and my priorities. And be with Kenny and Buck and Dad.”

Just thinking about them brought a sob to her throat. Chloe pressed her back against the wall and lowered her-self to the cold floor. “God, please, bring to mind Scrip-tures you want me to hear right now. Don’t let hunger or fatigue or fear keep me from remembering. You know who I am and who I’m not. I just want to be what you want me to be. You know better than I that you’re work-ing with imperfection here.”

She lay on her side with no heart palpitations from the closed-in space or the darkness. That alone was evidence that God was hearing her. She began rehearsing in her mind her memory verses, starting as far back in the Bible as she could remember. But when she stalled, she pan-icked. “Lord, keep my mind fresh. Don’t let me forget. I want to be quoting you when I see you.”

Her mind became a jumble.
How will I remember? What if my mind goes blank?
“Lord, please.”

And suddenly, light. Was she dreaming? She blinked. The rusted, filthy chamber was bright enough to make her shield her eyes. A vision? A dream? A hallucination?

Then a voice. Quoting her favorite verses. She repeated them, word for word. “Is this your answer, God? You’ll speak them and I’ll repeat them? Thank you! Thank you!”

Loud banging on the door. “Keep it down in there!”

“Yes, peace, be still.” That voice came from the corner!

Chloe pulled her hands from her eyes and jumped at a figure, sitting, a finger to his lips.

“Is it you, Lord?” she said, breathless.

“No one can see God and live,” he whispered. “Then who are you?”

“He sent me.”

“Praise God.”

“Yes, please.”

“Can anyone else see you?”

“Tomorrow. Not until then.”

“You’ll remind me of what God has promised?”

“I will.”

“You make me want to sing.”

“Do so.”

“Sing with me.”

“I am not here to sing but to speak. You sing.”

Chloe began singing.

“`When we walk with the Lord in the light of his word,

what a glory he sheds on our way!

While we do his good will, he abides with us still,

and with all who will trust and obey.”’

“Shut up in there!”

Chloe sang louder. “`Trust and obey, for there’s no other way to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.”’

“If I have to open this door, you’re going to wish I hadn’t!”

“`Then in fellowship sweet we shall sit at his feet….”’

That brought knocking-it sounded like with a stick -and Chloe laughed aloud. “They don’t like my voice,” she told her new friend.

“Or the words,” he said, and she laughed all the more.

“You going crazy in there?”

“No! Do you have any requests?”

“Only that you knock it off!”

“Sorry!” And she began again.

“`Standing on the promises of Christ my King,

through eternal ages let his praises ring;

glory in the highest I will shout and sing,

standing on the promises of God.”’

“All right!” The small door flew open. The room went dark again. “You got a light in there?”

“Sure! The light of God.”

“I’m serious! What’ve you got in there?” “Just the light of his presence.”

“If Jock gets back and finds you with something in there, you’ll regret it.”

“Regret the chance to surprise him? I don’t think so. Do you know how to sing harmony? Sing with me.

`Standing on the promises that cannot fail …”’

The guard slammed the door.

RAYFORD
HAD
only an inkling of what Buck must be going through. It had to be different for a husband than for a father. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” he told his son-in-law. “I have arranged with Lionel to leave us a two-seater. It’s fast, but it holds only so much fuel. We’ll have to take on more en route, maybe in Cypress. We’ll help get every-one else out of here; then we can sit at the airstrip for all I care. Fly to the Midwest somewhere, the South. Wher-ever you think we’d be closest to Chloe.”

“And do what?”

“We can take that little satellite TV and keep in touch with Mac and Otto and Krystall, see if we can get a clue,” Rayford said.

“You just want to be on the same continent when she dies, is that what you’re telling me?”

“Well, uh, no-”

“Dad, think about it. I don’t fly planes. You don’t have a backup pilot. Neither of us is military. You’ve got a two-seat plane for two guys, so there’s no thought of springing Chloe and bringing her along.”

Rayford sat and held his head in his hands. “I don’t know what else to do, Buck. I’m not leaving the States with her still in custody. But unless we find out where she is, I’m not putting a crew on it either.”

“Where’re we going to go?”

“How about Wisconsin, where Zeke was? He tells me the GC never nose around. It’s fairly central, so if we do get word, we can be on our way quick.”

Jock led Chloe to a dimly lit room about a hundred paces from her cell. “It’s just you and me tonight, ma’am. No playing off the other cop, no bright lights in your eyes, no pressure.”

But when she saw where she was supposed to sit, a steel chair bolted to the floor with leather straps on the legs and armrests, she said, “No, it won’t be just you and me, Jock.”

“What do you mean?”

“You alone cannot strap me into that chair.”

“I think I could, but you wouldn’t like it.”

“And I’d make you wish you hadn’t done it alone.

I’m not getting strapped down for any reason unless I’m overpowered. Uh-uh.”

“How about we try this the easy way?” he said. “How about we just talk awhile and see if you need restraining?”

“No truth serum?”

“Not if you cooperate.”

“I can tell you right now I won’t.”

“I can’t persuade you to rethink this, be nice, help yourself?”

“No sir. For one thing, I have to use the ladies’ room, and I won’t even be sitting, let alone strapped in, until then.” Jock sighed and walked her farther down the hall. “As you can imagine,” he said, “there’s no window in a prison john. The only way out is the way in, and I’ll be waiting.”

Mac was on the phone to Rayford from high over the Atlantic in the middle of the night. “When is Weser going to be at the palace?”

“By eight A.M. their time.”

“I’m guessing top priority is anything on Chloe.”

“Right.”

“And then Carpathia’s plans.” “Exactly.”

“I’ll try him a half hour after he’s supposed to have gotten there. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

Chloe emerged from the dingy Stateville bathroom to find Jock with three guards, a woman and two men.

“So it’s not just the two of us, Jock?”

“Could have been. When you’re all strapped in and not happy, look in the mirror. At least by telling me up front, you saved wasting my time trying to talk you into anything and then having to rassle you into the chair.”

As Chloe walked down the hall, the woman grabbed her right hand and twisted it up behind her, while one of the men did the same with her left. She thought about protesting; she had made it clear to Jock she wasn’t going easy. As soon as they entered the small room, the third guard bent and scooped her off the floor by her ankles. The wrenching pressure on her shoulders made her cry out, but within seconds she was strapped in the chair.

The guards left, leaving a hypodermic with Jock. He shut the door and approached. “Last chance,” he said. “You’re not going to tell the truth without this?”

Chloe’s pulse sprinted until she noticed her friend from solitary sitting in Jock’s chair. “I’m not going to tell you the truth with it,” she said.

“Oh, this has broken stronger subjects than you,” Jock said.

He began by inserting a receptacle in a vein in her forearm. He did it with such precision it was clear he had experience. Chloe felt no pain, and he deftly taped it in place. Then he inserted a tube that ran to his side of the desk.

Jock sat and Chloe’s new friend stood behind him. She fought a grin, peeking at him over Jock’s head. “What are you looking at?” Jock said.

“Nobody you know,” Chloe said. There was some truth, if he wanted it.

Jock inserted the hypodermic into the tube. “When I push the plunger, it will inject 15 cc’s of serum, half an ounce, into your veins. You should feel little more than a relaxed mood. You probably know how this stuff works. It counteracts a chemical in your brain that inhib-its overfrankness. But, of course, that is precisely what I want from you.”

“I can’t wait to hear what I have to say.”

“Say enough, and it’s life rather than death for you.”

“Oh, Jock, I think someone else here needs truth serum more than I do.”

“You doubt me?”

“You know as well as I do that no matter what I say, I still die.”

“Not necessarily.”

“You’re a liar. I know that, and that’s the truth, and if I’m not mistaken, you haven’t even injected me yet.”

“No, but enough of this. Here we go.”

Chloe’s visitor motioned from behind Jock like a music director, and Chloe began to hum. Then she sang quietly. ”

`There shall be showers of blessing;

 this is the promise of love.

There shall be seasons refreshing,

 sent from the Savior above.”’

“The serum doesn’t act that quickly, so don’t assume you’re singing the truth.”

“`Showers of blessing,

showers of blessing we need.

Mercy drops round us are falling,

but for the showers we plead.”’

“Nice tune.”

“Thanks. Nice lyrics too.”

Within a few minutes, Chloe felt the effects of the serum. It was strange. A sense of well-being, of trust, that she could feel free to say anything, anything at all. If she didn’t know better, she would want to help this man by answering his questions. No harm would come to her, and everything would be all right.

Except that she knew better. She looked past Jock.

“How long will you be with me?” she said.

“As long as necessary,” the invisible man said.

“Hm?” Jock said. “As long as this takes. I got some rest. I can hang in here as long as you can.”

“Bet you can’t.”

“Try me.”

Chloe smiled. “I think you’ll find me very trying.” “How are you feeling?”

“Mellow.”

“Good. That’s progress. What is your name?” “Chloe Steele Williams, and proud of it.”

“What is your father’s name?”

“Rayford Steele.”

“And your husband?”

“Cameron Williams. I call him Buck.”

“Do you have a child?”

“Yes.”

“What is his name?”

“His name is very special to Buck and me, because he was named after two dear, dear friends and compatriots who died.”

“And what were their names?”

“If I answer that, you will know the name of my son.”

“And why should I not know the name of your son?”

“The less you know about him, the harder it will befor you to gain access to him.”

“I have told you we mean your son no harm.”

“That is a lie.”

“Anyway, you mentioned his name to your father on the phone. Kenny.”

Jock pushed the hypodermic plunger again, and maybe it was psychological, but Chloe seemed to feel an immediate rush. Strange, but the stuff did seem to be making her tell the truth, even if the answers were not what Jock wanted.

He was more red-faced than usual. Was she making him mad? She hoped so.