Soul Harvest: The World Takes Sides (32 page)

“But I—”

“Let’s get started, ma’am,” the older guard said. “We’re on a schedule.”

Hattie sat up. Her pregnancy was beginning to show. “I would appreciate it if you gentlemen would excuse me while I dress.”

Buck followed the guards into the hall. The younger said, “So, what did you fly up here?”

“Oh, one of the little jets that survived the quake.”

The other asked, “How was the flight from Baghdad?”

Buck thought Rayford had told him Baghdad Airport was unusable. Relieved they hadn’t asked more about the plane, he wondered if he was being tested. “We flew out of New Babylon,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe how fast the rebuilding is going.”

“Long flight?”

“Very. But of course we stopped every so many hours to pick up another dignitary.” Buck had no idea how many, when, or where, and he hoped they wouldn’t ask.

“What’s that like? All those muckety-mucks on the same plane?”

“Another day, another dollar,” Buck said. “Pilots stay in the cockpit or in our quarters anyway. We don’t get involved in the pageantry.”

Buck knew he had already been inside long enough to worry Ken Ritz. No way these guys were taking him or Hattie to either airport, regardless of how he misled them. He was surprised they hadn’t already offered them a poisoned drink.

Apparently they had orders to make it neat and clean and quiet. There could be no witnesses.

When the older guard knocked on Hattie’s door, Buck caught sight of Ken with a janitor down the hall, both carrying brooms. Buck engaged the guards in conversation, hoping Ken could get out of sight quickly. Though Ken was wearing a clinic cap like the janitor, there was no hiding his features.

“So what kind of a vehicle did you guys get issued?” Buck said. “Anything that’ll get us through this terrain faster than a rented sedan?”

“Not really. A minivan. Rear-wheel drive, unfortunately. But we can get you to
DIA
with no trouble.”

“Where are they sending us, anyway?” Buck said.

The younger guard pulled a sheet from his pocket. “I’ll give you this in a few minutes in the other room, but it says Washington Dulles.”

Buck eyed the man. He knew one thing for sure: There weren’t even plans to rebuild Dulles. It had been obliterated in the war, and the earthquake had wiped out Reagan National. Reagan had an operable runway or two, Rayford had told him, but Dulles was a pile of debris.

“I’ll be another second,” Hattie called out. The guard sighed.

“What’s in the other room?” Buck said.

“A debriefing. We give you your orders, make sure you’ve got everything you need, then we head to the airport.”

Buck didn’t like the idea of the other room. He wished he could talk to Ritz.

Buck couldn’t tell if the GC men were carrying side arms, but they were purported to have Uzis in holsters strapped at their ribs in the back. He wondered if he was going to die trying to save Hattie Durham.

Rayford didn’t want Fortunato to know he was not yet in Denver, in case GC

forces there had already reported his arrival. If Denver was tipped off that the real Rayford was still in the air, Buck would be exposed, and neither he nor Hattie would have a chance. Rayford sat on the runway in Kansas as helpless as he had ever felt.

“You’d better get heading back, Mac. Fortunato thinks you were visiting friends, right?”

“I am, aren’t I?”

“How does he contact you?”

“Has the tower call me, and then we switch to frequency to talk privately.”

Rayford nodded. “Safe trip.”

“All right, ma’am,” the guard said through Hattie’s door. “Time’s up. Now let’s go.” Buck heard nothing from Hattie’s room. The guards looked at each other. The older turned the doorknob. It was locked. He swore. Both yanked weapons from their jackets and banged loudly on the door, commanding Hat-tie to come out.

Other women peeked from their rooms, including one from each end of the hall.

The younger guard waved his Uzi at them and they ducked back in. The older burped four shots at Hattie’s door, blowing the latch and lock housing to the floor and causing screams down the hall. The receptionist came running, but when she appeared in the corridor, the younger guard sprayed a fusillade that ripped from her waist to her face. She dropped loudly onto the marble floor.

The older guard rushed into Hattie’s room as the younger spun to follow him.

Buck was between them. He wished he’d had some defense or assault training.

There must be some strategic response to a man in your face carrying an Uzi.

With nothing in his repertoire, he planted his right foot, stepped quickly with his left, and drove his fist square into the young guard’s nose with all he could muster. He felt the crush of cartilage, the cracking of teeth, and the ripping of flesh. The guard must have been in midstride when Buck hit him, because the back of his head hit the • floor first.

The Uzi rattled on the marble, but the strap wound up tucked under him. Buck turned and ran toward the last room to his left, where he’d seen a panicky face peek out a moment before. Swimming in his mind in slow motion were the curtains blowing from the open window in Hat-tie’s room, the riddled body of the receptionist, and the whites of the eyes of the guard when Buck drove his nose so deep into his head that it was flush with his face.

Blood dripped from Buck’s hand as he ran. He glanced back as he raced into the room at the end. No sign of the older guard yet. A pregnant Hispanic woman shrieked as he flashed into her room. He knew he looked awful, the sore on his cheek still fiery, his hand and shirt covered with the blood from the young guard’s face. The woman covered her eyes and trembled.

“Lock that door and stay under the bed!” Buck said. She didn’t move at first.

“Now or you’ll die!”

Buck opened the window and saw he would have to turn sideways to get out. The screen wouldn’t budge. He backed up and lifted his leg, driving it through. The momentum carried him out and down into some bushes. As he regained his footing, bullets ripped through the door behind him, and he saw the woman cower under her bed. He raced along the side of the building past Hat-tie’s open window. In the distance, Ken Ritz was helping her into the back of the car. The Global Community minivan sat between Buck and the sedan.

Buck felt as if he were in a dream, unable to move faster. He made the mistake of holding his breath as he ran and soon had to gasp for air, his heart cracking against his ribs. As he neared the van he shot a look back as the guard leaped from the window he had escaped through. Buck ducked around the other side of the van as bullets drilled the chassis. A block ahead, Ritz waited behind the wheel.

Buck could stay put and be massacred or held hostage, or he could take his chances and run to the car.

He ran. With every step he feared the next sound would be a bullet crashing into his head. Hattie was out of sight on the seat or the floor, and Ken leaned right and disappeared as well. The passenger door flew open and beckoned like a spring in the desert. The more Buck ran, the more vulnerable he felt, but he dared not look back.

He heard a sound, but not gunfire. Duller. The van door. The guard had jumped into the van. Buck was within fifty yards of the car.

Rayford dialed Buck’s phone. It rang several times, but Rayford did not want to hang up. If a GC man answered, Rayford would bluff him until he found out what he wanted to know. If Buck answered, Rayford would allow him to talk in code in case he was in front of people who shouldn’t know who was on the other end. The phone kept ringing.

Rayford hated helplessness and immobility more than anything. He was tired of games with Nicolae Carpathia and the Global Community. Their sanctimony and sympathy drove him wild. “God,” he prayed silently, “let me be Carpathia’s out-and-out enemy, please.”

A petrified female voice answered the phone. “What!” she shouted.

“Hattie? Don’t let on, but this is Rayford.”

“Rayford! Buck’s pilot scared me to death outside my window but then helped me get out! We’re waiting for Buck! We’re scared he’s going to be killed!”

“Give me that phone!” Rayford heard. It was Ritz. “Ray, he looks fine, but he’s got a guy shootin’ at him. As soon as he gets to the car, I’m gone. I may have to hang up on you.”

“Just take care of them!” Rayford said.

A few steps from the car, expecting to be leveled, Buck had heard nothing more.

No shots, no van. He stole one last look as the GC man clambered out of the van.

He dropped into a crouch and began firing. Buck heard a huge blast next to him as the right rear tire was blown. He dove for the open door, grabbing the handle and trying to get a foot inside. The back windshield blew through the car in pieces.

Buck tried to keep his balance. His left foot was on the floorboard, his right on the pavement. His left hand gripped the chassis and his right the door handle. Ken had leaned over onto the passenger’s seat again to escape the bullets, and before Buck could pull himself in, Ken blindly floored the accelerator. The door swung open, and to keep from flying out Buck swiveled and sat on Ritz’s head. Ken screamed as the car spun, flat tire flapping and good tires peeling rubber. Buck tried to keep out of the firing line too, but he had to get off Ken’s painful head.

Ken let go of the wheel and used both hands to fight his way out from under Buck. He sat up to get his bearings and wrenched the wheel left, not in time to miss the corner of a building. The right corner panel tore and crumpled high.

Ken straightened the car and tried to put some distance between them and the shooter.

The car was not cooperating. More bullets narrowly missed Ritz, and Buck saw his demeanor change. Ken went from scared to mad in a flash.

“That’s it!” Ritz hollered. “I’ve been shot at for the last time!”

To Buck’s horror, Ritz swung the car around and raced toward the guard. Buck peeked over the dashboard as Ritz pulled his 9mm automatic from an ankle holster, braced his left wrist between the outside mirror and the chassis, and fired.

The guard scrambled to the other side of the van. Buck hollered for Ken to head for the airport.

“No way!” Ken said. “This guy’s mine!”

He skidded to a stop about fifty feet from the van and leaped from the car. He squatted, the Beretta in two hands, squeezing shots off just above ground level.

Buck screamed for Ritz to get back in the car as the GC man turned and ran toward the building. Ritz fired off three more shots and one hit the guard in the foot, •ending his leg shooting up in front of him and flipping him backwards. “I’ll kill you, you—”

Buck ran from the car and grabbed Ritz, dragging him back. “No way he’s alone!”

Buck said. “We’ve got to go!”

They jumped into the car, and Ken spun the wheel with the accelerator on the floor. A huge cloud of dust boiled up behind them as they bounced and shimmied across the earthquake-ravaged terrain toward Stapleton.

“If we can get out of sight,” Buck said, “they think we’re headed toward
DIA
.

Why couldn’t he get that van started?”

Ritz reached under his seat and pulled out a distributor cap, wires dangling.

“This might have somethin’ to do with it,” he said.

The car protested noisily. Buck put a hand on the ceiling to keep from hitting his head as they bounced along. With his other he reached across Ritz and buckled him in. Then he buckled himself in and saw his phone slide by his feet.

He grabbed it and saw it was in use. “Hello?” he said.

“Buck! It’s Ray! Are you safe?”

“We’re on the way to the airport! We’ve got a blown rear tire, but all we can do is go till we stop.”

“We’ve also got a gas leak!” Ritz said. “The gauge is dropping fast!”

“How’s Hattie?” Rayford asked.

“Hanging on for dear life!” Buck said. He wanted to buckle her in but knew it would be impossible in her condition, especially with the bouncing. She lay in the backseat, feet pressed against the door, one hand holding her stomach, the other pushing against the back of the seat. She was pale.

“Hold on! “Ritz hollered.

Buck looked up in time to see a tall dirt mound they would not be able to avoid.

Ritz neither slowed nor tried to stop. He kept the pedal to the floor and steered for the center of the dirt. Buck braced himself with his feet and reached back to try to keep Hattie from flying forward upon impact. When the car dived into the dirt pile, Hattie slammed into the back of the front seat and nearly pushed Buck’s shoulder from the socket. The phone flew from his hand, cracked into the windshield, and skidded to the floor.

“Call me when you can!” Rayford shouted, hanging up. He taxied the Challenger 3

to the end of the runway.

“Scuba to Albie,” he said. “Albie, do you copy?”

“Go ahead, Scuba.”

“Get back to base and find out what they know. The cargo is safe temporarily, but I’m going to need some kind of a story when I show up.”

“Roger that, Scuba. Consider a Minot.”

Rayford paused. “Good call, Albie. Will do. Need everything you can give me
ASAP
.”

“Roger.”

Brilliant, Rayford thought. He had long ago told Mac of an experience while he was stationed in Minot, North Dakota. His jet fighter malfunctioned, and he had to abort a training mission. He would tell Fortunato that’s what had happened to the Challenger, and Leon wouldn’t know the difference. Mac would vouch for whatever Rayford said. The biggest problem was that by the time he got back, Leon would know of the fiasco in Denver and would suspect Rayford’s involvement.

What he needed was leverage to keep himself alive. Was Hattie important enough to Carpathia that he would keep Rayford around until he knew where she was?

Rayford had to get back to Baghdad to know what had become of Amanda. There was no guarantee Carpathia wouldn’t have him killed as an example to the rest of the Tribulation Force.

“She’s overheating!” Ritz said.

“I’m overheating too!” Hattie wailed. She sat up and braced herself with a hand on each of the front headrests. Her face was flushed, her forehead sweaty.