The Rapture: In The Twinkling Of An Eye (2 page)

Buck’s survival instinct was on full throttle. He crouched beneath a console, surprised by the urge to sob. This was not at all what he had expected war to sound like, to look like. He had imagined himself peeking at the action from a safe perch, recording the drama in his mind.

Cameron Williams knew beyond a doubt that he would die, and he wondered why he had never married. Whether there would be remnants of his body for his father or brother to identify. Was there a God? Would death be the end?

Buck Williams realized he would be no more dead outside under the erupting Haifa night skies than he would be inside the command center. This was not bravado; it was the unique, insatiable curiosity of the journalist. He would be the lone casualty at this post who would see and know what killed him. On rubbery legs, he made his way to a door. No one seemed to notice or care to caution him. It was as if they had all been sentenced to death.

He forced open the door against a furnace blast and shielded his eyes from the whiteness of the blaze. The sky was afire. Jets screamed over the din of the inferno, and exploding missiles sent more showers of flame into the air. He stood in stark terror, amazed as the great machines of war plummeted all over the city, crashing and bouncing and rolling and burning. But these all seemed to fall between buildings and in deserted streets and fields.

Buck’s face blistered and his body poured sweat. What in the world was happening?

Nicolae Carpathia was a light sleeper, thus the quiet buzz programmed into a tiny device in his headboard woke him immediately at just after one-thirty in the morning.

He sat up, vigorously rubbed his eyes and face, and pressed the intercom button. “Gabriella?”

“Yes, sir. My apologies, but Mr. Fortunato is here and assures me you would want to be awakened.”

So it had happened. It was done.

Less than a minute later, Nicolae had dragged a wet comb through his hair and pulled on a luxurious robe. He padded to the elevator, which opened into his parlor and brought him face-to-face with his most trusted adviser.

Carpathia fought to suppress a smile. “Leon, what is it?”

“Israel is being obliterated as we speak.”

Nicolae clapped. “The Russians?” he said, as if guessing.

Fortunato nodded, smiling. “There’s evidence Libya and Ethiopia are cooperating.”

“Perfect. Dr. Rosenzweig knew exactly what I wanted and would not budge. Wonder what he is thinking now. Or whether he will ever think again. Hoarding his formula was a waste. No one could maximize the benefits as I can.”

Fortunato grimaced.

“What?” Nicolae said. He pointed to a divan. “Sit, my friend.”

Leon settled heavily onto the couch. “Don’t assume the Kremlin will bring you in on this, Nicolae. My sources tell me this offensive is as costly a single assault as they have ever attempted. The cadre I introduced you to will likely want to license you only a portion of the rights to market in certain areas.”

Nicolae sat across from Leon on a large ottoman. “And you have some illusion that this would be enough for me? Surely you are sporting.”

“I know how you feel, Nicolae; it simply may not be as easy as we’d like. Forgive me, chief, but why do you continue to grin like the Cheshire cat?”

A chuckle escaped Carpathia. “The deal has already been made, Leon.”

“Sorry?”

“You did not hear me or did not understand?”

“The latter, sir.”

“Between Jonathan Stonagal and me, we financed this operation and settled on terms before the first plane left the ground. Russia will have unlimited use of the formula for their entire expanse, as will Ethiopia and Libya, but the marketing of it throughout the rest of the world is under my purview, and they get an appropriate royalty. Seven percent.”

Leon shook his head and leaned back, squinting at Nicolae. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am. I would not make light of billions of dollars. Would you like the privilege of informing Mr.

Stonagal? It is just before seven in New York, and the old man will be on his treadmill.”

Leon sighed. “He’s the one who informed me.” “But he did not tell you of the arrangement?” Leon stood, jamming his hands into his pockets.

“Neither of you did. My role has been clarified.” “Oh, make no mistake about that, Leon. You know

more than anyone in my orbit, but you do not need to know all—neither shall you ever. You will know what

you need to know and when I feel you should know it.

Understood?”

“As I said, my role has been clarified.”

Chunks of ice and hailstones as big as golf balls forced Buck to cover his head with his jacket as the earth shook and resounded, throwing him to the ground. Facedown in the freezing shards, he felt rain wash over him. Suddenly the only sound was the fire in the sky, and it began to fade as it drifted lower. After ten minutes of thunderous roaring, the fire dissipated, and scattered balls of flame flickered on the ground. The firelight disappeared as quickly as it had come. Stillness settled over the land.

As clouds of smoke wafted away on a gentle breeze, the night sky reappeared in its blue-blackness and stars shone peacefully as if nothing had gone awry.

Buck turned back to the building, his muddy leather jacket in his fist. The doorknob was still hot, and inside, military leaders wept and shuddered. The radio was alive with reports from Israeli pilots. They had not been able to get airborne in time to do anything but watch as the entire Russian air offensive seemed to destroy itself.

Miraculously, not one casualty was reported in all of Israel. Otherwise Buck might have believed some mysterious malfunction had caused missile and plane to destroy each other. But as he interviewed the shaken men and women who had monitored the thing on computer screens, they told another story.

A young female Israeli soldier, in heavily accented but precise English, told him, “It was a firestorm, along with rain and hail and an earthquake. That is what saved us from destruction.”

It was the story of a lifetime, and Buck quickly appropriated a jeep and raced throughout the country, interviewing leaders, civilians, soldiers. Dotting the landscape for as far as he drove were hundreds and thousands of chunks of burning, twisted, molten steel that had smashed to the ground in Haifa, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Jericho, even Bethlehem—leveling ancient walls but not so much as scratching one living creature.

That was beyond Buck’s comprehension; he simply could not make it compute.

As dawn broke several hours later, special task forces competed with buzzards and vultures for the flesh of the enemy dead, scrambling to bury them before their bones were picked clean and disease threatened the nation.

Buck was greatly relieved to find that Dr. Rosenzweig had escaped unscathed. “Had I not been here and seen it myself, I would not have believed it,” he told the scientist. “It will take more than I have in me to make my readers buy it either.”

Rosenzweig seemed strangely quiet.

“What is it, Doctor?” Buck said.

“Well, it is just that I feel strange broaching this subject, as an agnostic at best, but would you allow me to introduce you to some scholars who might have an interesting take on this?”

Rosenzweig introduced Buck to university professors who pointed out passages from the Bible that talked about God destroying Israel’s enemies with a firestorm, an earthquake, hail, and rain. Buck was stunned to read Ezekiel 38 and 39 about a great enemy from the north invading Israel with the help of Persia, Libya, and Ethiopia. More stark was that the Scriptures foretold of weapons of war used as fire fuel and enemy soldiers eaten by birds or buried in a common grave.

Buck wasn’t prepared to become religious, he told himself, but he certainly became a different person and a different journalist. Nothing would ever again be beyond his belief.

And if there was one person he wanted to talk to about all this, it was his Chicago colleague Lucinda Washington.

Nicolae Carpathia sat behind the office desk at his estate in Bucharest, fully aware that steepling his fingers beneath his chin was a power cliche. Leon Fortunato squirmed in the chair across from him. Whether Leon had ever noticed that Carpathia’s chair sat on a platform an inch and a half above the floor, Nicolae could not tell. The perch allowed Carpathia to subtly tower over any guest.

Nicolae was amused that Leon had been out of sorts ever since getting the drift that he was not as close to Carpathia as he had clearly come to believe. Nicolae’s allowing his adviser to inform him of the Russian attack on Israel, then revealing that he himself had helped finance it, seemed to have crushed Fortunato’s spirit. And, naturally, that was the point.

Fortunato was an asset, but there was always value in keeping everybody in one’s orbit in their proper position. Leon could be useful but only if he knew and kept his place. The Roman was a strange combination of character traits. He could be obsequious yet also diplomatic. He was deferential but also sensitive to his station. Carpathia would have to start rebuilding the fragile ego while not softening the sting of the latest establishment of rank. Especially with the bizarre, otherworldly malfunction of the assault on Israel.

Oh, there were more millions where those lost on the operation had come from. But having come away from the fiasco without access to Chaim Rosenzweig’s precious fertilizer formula, Carpathia had come to a hard realization. Seething, he deduced that his promised place at the top of the world would not be established on a foundation of wealth.

No, it would have to be built on diplomacy. Or what appeared to be diplomacy. In truth, his rise must be fueled by power.

“I have an assignment for you, my friend,” Nicolae began.

Leon tilted his head back slightly and pressed his lips together, touching the knot of his tie, then pulling from his pocket a tiny leather note-card holder. “At your service, sir.”

“You are troubled, Leon.”

The heavier, older man sighed and shifted in his seat. “I simply prefer no surprises.”

“Such as my part in the recent dustup in Israel.”

“Yours and Mr. Stonagal’s, yes, sir.”

Carpathia covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes. “We need to clarify Mr. Stonagal’s role as well, Leon.”

“Clarify?”

“You must know that while he was in on this with me and he chose not to inform you, that was at my request. In reality, he serves me as you do.”

“He serves you? Don’t his financial resources outweigh even—?”

“Mine, yes. But surely you must understand that he is, in essence, a supplier.”

Fortunato appeared genuinely surprised. “Is that so? I thought the new golden rule was that he—”

“—who has the gold makes the rules, yes. That is hardly novel or original, and the fact is, neither is it true. My wealth potential is unlimited, and I expect to have not just access to but also ownership of Stonagal’s fortune one day.”

“Indeed?”

“If you do not believe that, Leon, perhaps you would rather be working for him.”

Fortunato shook his head, and Carpathia saw sadness in his eyes. “Make no mistake, Nicolae. I have hitched my wagon to your star, and though you apparently don’t appreciate that, I am willing to prove myself to you.”

Carpathia studied the man. This couldn’t be working more perfectly. “You realize that this room—in fact the entire estate—is surveillance-proof.”

Leon appeared depressed. “Of course, sir. I oversaw that personally.”

“And so what we say here stays here.”

Leon nodded.

“Let us walk, shall we? And then plan to join me for dinner. What would you like?”

Nicolae rose and allowed Leon to help him don his jacket, then buzzed Viv Ivins and asked her to send their food order to the kitchen. When they arrived back, their meals would be served.

As they strolled the grounds of the rolling acreage that looked out over the vast Romanian capital, Nicolae was reminded of their first get-acquainted walk and how he had sensed king-making potential in the unprepossessing Italian with so many contacts.

At the highest point on the property, Nicolae suddenly stopped and turned to face Fortunato. Carpathia’s two primary bodyguards held back about fifty yards, and four others lingered at their posts farther away on all sides.

“I want to be the next president of the republic—”

“I know. I am putting together a team of—”

“—but I have decided I do not want to wait for the next election.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you do, Leon. You once told me, on these very grounds, that you would do anything I asked, even to the ultimate degree.”

Fortunato raised his eyebrows. “Surely you’re not suggesting—”

“I am not suggesting anything. I am telling you that I want Vasile out and me in. Can you or can you not get that done?”

“I will do my best.”

“Your best had better be success.”

“You will have my whole heart, sir, but understand-- I assumed you would campaign and be elected in the traditional way, and I fully expected you to win in a landslide.”

Nicolae sat gingerly on an outcropping of rock and put his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his hands. “That whole idea bores me, and it would take too long. The time is now.”

“There is the matter of protocol, the law, the succession format.”

“I am not interested in the obstacles, Leon. I am interested only in the outcome.”

“Gheorghe Vasile is a proud man, Nicolae. He will not surrender easily.”

“I do not care how easily he goes. I merely want this to be his idea, with his blessing, his urging of the government and the people to not only accept it but also ratify it.”

“But how?”

Carpathia looked knowingly at Fortunate “Do I have to do everything? You want me to plot this and effect it?”

“No, I—it’s just that I—”

“You are so enamored of Stonagal; do you realize Jonathan holds the paper on Vasile’s businesses?”

“Well, that’s fortunate and could be strategic, but—”