Left Behind: A Novel Of Earth's Last Days (39 page)

Then Bruce outlined, as Rayford had done, the plan of salvation from beginning to end. Buck grew nervous, anxious. He wanted a break. He interrupted and asked if Bruce wanted to know a little more about him. “Sure,” Bruce said.

Buck told of his own history, concentrating most on the Russia/Israel conflict and the roughly fourteen months since. “I can see,” Bruce said at last, “that God is trying to get your attention.”

“Well, he’s got it,” Buck said. “I just have to warn you, I’m not an easy sell. All this is interesting and sounds more plausible than ever, but it’s just not me to jump into something.”

“Nobody can force you or badger you into this, Mr. Williams, but I must also say again that we live in perilous times. We don’t know how much pondering time we have.”

“You sound like Chloe Steele.”

“And she sounds like her father,” Bruce said, smiling.

“And he, I guess, sounds like you. I can see why you all consider this so urgent, but like I say—”

“I understand,” Bruce said. “If you have the time right now, let me take a different tack. I know you’re a bright guy, so you might as well have all the information you need before you leave here.”

Buck breathed easier. He had feared Bruce was about to pop the question, pushing him to pray the prayer both Rayford Steele and Chloe had talked about. He accepted that that would be part of it, that it would signal the transaction and start his relationship with God—someone he had never before really spoken to. But he wasn’t ready. At least he didn’t think he was. And he would not be pushed.

“I don’t have to be back in New York until Monday morning,” he said, “so I’ll take as much time tonight as you’ll give me.”

“I don’t mean to be morbid, Mr. Williams, but I have no family responsibilities anymore. I have a core group meeting tomorrow and church Sunday. You’re welcome to attend. But I have enough energy to go to midnight if you do.”

“I’m all yours.”

Bruce spent the next several hours giving Buck a crash course in prophecy and the end times. Buck had heard much of the information about the Rapture and the two witnesses, and he had picked up snippets about the Antichrist. But when Bruce got to the parts about the great one world religion that would spring up, the lying, so-called peacemaker who would bring bloodshed through war, the Antichrist who would divide the world into ten kingdoms, Buck’s blood ran cold. He fell silent, no longer peppering Bruce with questions or comments. He scribbled notes as fast as he could.

Did he dare tell this unpretentious man that he believed Nicolae Carpathia could be the very man the Scriptures talked about? Could all this be coincidental? His fingers began to shake when Bruce told of the prediction of a seven year pact between Antichrist and Israel, of the rebuilding of the temple, and even of Babylon becoming headquarters for a new world order.

Finally, as midnight came, Buck was overcome. He felt a terrible fear deep in his gut. Bruce Barnes could have had no knowledge whatever of the plans of Nicolae Carpathia before they had been announced on the news that afternoon. At one point he thought of accusing Bruce of having based everything he was saying on the
CNN
report he had heard and seen, but even if he had, here it was in black and white in the Bible.

“Did you see the news today?” Buck asked.

“Not today,” Bruce said. “I’ve been in meetings since noon and grabbed a bite just before you got here.”

Buck told him what had happened at the U.N. Bruce paled. “That’s why we’ve been hearing all those clicking sounds on my answering machine,” Bruce said. “I turned the ringer off on the phone, so the only way you can tell when a call comes in is by the clicking on the answering machine. People are calling to let me know. They do that a lot. We talk about what the Bible says may happen, and when it does, people check in.”

“You think Carpathia is this Antichrist?”

“I don’t see how I could come to any other conclusion.”

“But I really believed in the guy.”

“Why not? Most of us did. Self-effacing, interested in the welfare of the people, humble, not looking for power or leadership. But the Antichrist is a deceiver. And he has the power to control men’s minds. He can make people see lies as truth.”

Buck told Bruce of his invitation to the pre-press conference meeting.

“You must not go,” Bruce said.

“I can’t not go,” Buck said. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said. “I have no authority over you, but let me plead with you, warn you, about what happens next. The Antichrist will solidify his power with a show of strength.”

“He already has.”

“Yes, but it appears that all these long-range agreements he has been conceded will take months or years to effect. Now he has to show some potency. What might he do to entrench himself so solidly that no one can oppose him?”

“I don’t know.”

“He undoubtedly has ulterior motives for wanting you there.”

“I’m no good to him.”

“You would be if he controlled you.”

“But he doesn’t.”

“If he is the evil one the Bible speaks of, there is little he does not have the power to do. I warn you not to go there without protection.”

“A bodyguard?”

“At least. But if Carpathia is the Antichrist, do you want to face him without God?”

Buck was taken aback. This conversation was bizarre enough without wondering if Bruce was using any means necessary to get him to convert. No doubt it had been a sincere and logical question, yet Buck felt pressured. “I see what you mean,” he said slowly, “but I don’t think I’m going to get hypnotized or anything.”

“Mr. Williams, you have to do what you have to do, but I’m pleading with you. If you go into that meeting without God in your life, you will be in mortal and spiritual danger.”

He told Buck about his conversation with the Steele’s and how they had collectively come up with the idea of a Tribulation Force. “It’s a band of serious-minded people who will boldly oppose the Antichrist. I just didn’t expect that his identity would become so obvious so soon.”

The Tribulation Force stirred something deep within Buck. It took him back to his earliest days as a writer, when he believed he had the power to change the world. He would stay up all hours of the night, plotting with his colleagues how they would have the courage and the audacity to stand up to oppression, to big government, to bigotry. He had lost that fire and verve over the years as he won accolades for his writing. He still wanted to do the right things, but he had lost the passion of the all-for-one and one-for-all philosophy as his talent and celebrity began to outstrip those same colleagues.

The idealist, the maverick in him, gravitated toward such ideas, but he caught himself before he talked himself into becoming a believer in Christ just because of an exciting little club he could join.

“Do you think I could sit in on your core group meeting tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Bruce said. “I think you’d find it interesting and I personally believe it would help convince you, but it is limited to our leadership team. Truth is, I’ll be going over with them tomorrow what you and I are talking about tonight, so it would be a rerun for you anyway.”

“And church Sunday?”

“You’re very welcome, but I must say, it’s going to be the same theme I use every Sunday. You’ve heard it from Ray Steele and you’ve heard it from me. If hearing it one more time would help, then come on out and see how many seekers and finders there are. If it’s anything like the last two Sundays, it will be standing room only.”

Buck stood and stretched. He had kept Bruce long past midnight, and he apologized.

“No need,” Bruce said. “This is what I do.”

“Do you know where I can get a Bible?”

“I’ve got one you can have,” Bruce said.

The next day the core group enthusiastically and emotionally welcomed its newest member, Chloe Steele. They spent much of the day studying the news and trying to determine the likelihood of Nicolae Carpathia’s being the Antichrist. No one could argue otherwise.

Bruce told the story of Buck Williams, without using his name or mentioning his connection with Rayford and Chloe. Chloe cried silently as the group prayed for his safety and for his soul.

Buck spent Saturday holed up in the otherwise empty Chicago bureau office, getting a head start on his article on the theory behind the disappearances. His mind continually swirled, forcing him to think about Carpathia and what he would say in that piece about how the man seemed to be a perfect parallel to biblical prophecy. Fortunately, he could wait on writing that until after the big day Monday. Around lunchtime, Buck reached Steve Plank at the Plaza Hotel in New York. “I’ll be there Monday morning,” he said, “but I’m not inviting Hattie Durham.”

“Why not? It’s a small request, friend to friend.”

“You to me?”

“Nick to you.”

“So now it’s Nick, is it? Well, he and I are not close enough for that familiarity, and I don’t provide female companionship even to my friends.”

“Not even for me?”

“If I knew you would treat her with respect, Steve, I’d set you up with Hattie.”

“You’re really not going to do this for Carpathia?”

“No. Am I uninvited?”

“I’m not going to tell him.”

“How are you going to explain it when she doesn’t show?”

“I’ll ask her myself, Buck, you prude.”

Buck didn’t say he would warn Hattie not to go. He asked Steve if he could get one more exclusive with Carpathia before starting his cover story on him.

“I’ll see what I can do, but you can’t even do a small favor and you want another break?”

“He likes me, you said. You know I’m going to do the complete piece on the guy. He needs this.”

“If you watched TV yesterday, you know he doesn’t need anything. We need him.”

“Do we? Have you run into any schools of thought that link him to end-times events in the Bible?”

Steve Plank did not respond.

“Steve?”

“I’m here.”

“Well, have you? Anybody that thinks he might fill the bill for one of the villains of the book of Revelation?”

Steve said nothing.

“Hello, Steve.”

“I’m still here.”

“C’mon, old buddy. You’re the press secretary. You know all. How’s he going to respond if I hit him with that?”

Steve was still silent.

“Don’t do this to me, Steve. I’m not saying that’s where I am or that anybody who knows anything or who matters thinks that way. I’m doing the piece on what was behind the disappearances, and you know that takes me into all kinds of religious realms. Nobody anywhere has drawn any parallels here?”

This time when Steve said nothing, Buck merely looked at his watch, determined to wait him out. About twenty seconds after a loud silence, Steve spoke softly. “Buck, I have a two-word answer for you. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Staten Island.”

“Are you tellin’ me that—?”

“Don’t say the name, Buck! You never know who’s listening.”

“So you’re threatening me with—”

“I’m not threatening. I’m warning. Let me say I’m cautioning you.”

“And let me remind you, Steve, that I don’t warn well. You remember that, don’t you, from ages ago when we worked together and you thought I was the toughest bird dog you’d ever sent on a story?”

“Just don’t go sniffing the wrong brier patch, Buck.”

“Let me ask you this then, Steve.”

“Careful, please.”

“You want to talk to me on another line?”

“No, Buck, I just want you to be careful what you say so I can be, too.”

Buck began scribbling furiously on a yellow pad. “Fair enough,” he said, writing, Carpathia or Stonagal resp. for Eric Miller? “What I want to know is this: If you think I should stay off the ferry, is it because of the guy behind the wheel, or because of the guy who supplies his fuel?”

“The latter,” Steve said without hesitation. Buck circled Stonagal. “Then you don’t think the guy behind the wheel is even aware of what the fuel distributor does in his behalf.”

“Correct.”

“So if someone got too close to the pilot, the pilot might be protected and not even know it.”

“Correct.”

“But if he found out about it?”

“He’d deal with it.”

“That’s what I expect to see soon.”

“I can’t comment on that.”

“Can you tell me who you really work for?”

“I work for who it appears to you I work for.”

What in the world did that mean? Carpathia or Stonagal? How could he get Steve to say on a phone from within the Plaza that might be bugged?

“You work for the Romanian businessman?”

“Of course.”

Buck nearly kicked himself. That could be either Carpathia or Stonagal. “You do?” he said, hoping for more.

“My boss moves mountains, doesn’t he?” Steve said.

“He sure does,” Buck said, circling Carpathia this time. “You must be pleased with everything going on these days.”

“I am.”

Buck scribbled, Carpathia. End times. Antichrist? “And you’re telling me straight up that the other issue I raised is dangerous but also hogwash.”

“Total roll in the muck.”

“And I shouldn’t even broach the subject with him, in spite of the fact that I’m a writer who covers all the bases and asks the tough questions?”

“If I thought you would consider mentioning it, I could not encourage the interview or the story.”

“Boy, it didn’t take long for you to become a company man.”

After the core-group meeting, Rayford Steele talked privately with Bruce Barnes and was updated on the meeting with Buck. “I can’t discuss the private matters,” Bruce said, “but only one thing stands in the way of my being convinced that this Carpathia guy is the Antichrist. I can’t make it compute geographically. Almost every end-times writer I respect believes the Antichrist will come out of Western Europe, maybe Greece or Italy or Turkey.”

Rayford didn’t know what to make of that. “You notice Carpathia doesn’t look Romanian. Aren’t they mostly dark?”

“Yeah. Let me call Mr. Williams. He gave me a number. I wonder how much more he knows about Carpathia.” Bruce dialed and put Buck on the speakerphone. “Ray Steele is with me.”