The Rapture: Evil Advances / Before They Were Left Behind Read online

  Now he whirled to face her. “No! I don’t! And the truth is I am hardly more devout today than I was a month ago. There is nothing for me in religion, mine or yours! I pray! I pray Allah will return my children to me, will soften your heart, change your mind, make you see your error. But he does not listen.”

  “Do me this favor,” Yasmine said softly, and he was impressed that indeed she did not seem to fear approaching him. “While you are pondering all this, reread my letters. Consider my God. And in the meantime, maintain your personal discipline for your own sake, even when God seems far from you.”

  Abdullah was speechless. How could he argue with this woman? She made him so angry! He waved her off with the back of his hand.

  “What?” she said. “You are dismissing me?”

  He scowled at her and snapped off another wave, as if he could not stand the sight of her another second.

  “You have nothing more to say to me?” she said, not seeming disappointed for herself but as if perhaps she was pleasantly surprised.

  Abdullah turned away and marched toward the door to the corridor that led to his quarters.

  “Very well,” he heard her whisper. “I shall pray for you.”

  That made him slam the door, but he also had the feeling that he had seen her for the last time. And when he reached his cot, he collapsed in tears.

  Predictably, Rayford’s altruistic errand—rounding up expensive toys for Raymie—took much longer than necessary. With the crowds, the forms to fill out, the upselling by each salesperson, and the time it took to load the stuff onto a borrowed trailer, by the time he returned home Raymie had long been asleep.

  But these had been no-occasion gifts, Rayford’s language of love. Surely Raymie would know how much Rayford cared for him when he saw the bounty in the garage in the morning. Unfortunately, Rayford would be gone before dawn, picking up Hattie Durham on the way to O’Hare. But maybe he would be able to reach Raymie by phone later in the day, and he could set a date for them to play like real men with the boy’s new gear.

  “Are you asleep, Irene?” he said, peeking into the dark master bedroom.

  “I was,” she mumbled. “What’s wrong? What took so long?”

  “Oh, you know. Nothing’s wrong. I’d just like someone to see what I bought.”

  She sighed loudly. “I’ve seen that stuff in the stores, Rafe.”

  “Fine, just forget it!”

  But with his slamming around, Irene must have given up on rolling back into the syrupy river of sleep. “Oh, all right,” she said. “Show me.”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “Seriously, Rayford, I want to see it. I know you’re trying.”

  He tossed Irene her robe and led her down to the cold garage, flipping on the light.

  “Wow,” she said, and he could tell she wasn’t faking it. “He’s got to love those.”

  “You think?”

  “Sure. But you know—”

  “Yeah, I know. They’re not going to make up for me not being around. Soon as I get back tomorrow night, we’ll do something together.”

  “He’ll be so glad.”

  “I hope.”

  “He will. And he would be even without all this. He just wants you.”

  “I know.”

  __

  Rayford pulled away from the house before dawn, his BMW gliding into Hattie Durham’s apartment-complex parking lot twenty minutes later. One thing he could say for her: she never made him wait. It was all he could do to keep his eyes on the road—she looked so good. The first couple of times he had picked her up he had leaped out and opened the door for her.

  But she insisted he not do that. “It’s quaint and you’re chivalrous, Captain,” she said. “But really, it’s a new day, and you make me feel conspicuous.”

  “You sure you won’t resent me, see me as boorish if I don’t?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Hattie was typically perky for an early morning too. That’s what made her so good with the passengers. Rayford knew she had the same complications and disappointments in her life that most people did, but she seldom brought them onto the plane with her.

  And while she gazed at him when she spoke and frequently touched his arm, he stared straight ahead and did not return her touch. On their way from the O’Hare parking garage to the airport, he maintained an appropriate distance. And while they exhibited a professional air in front of the other personnel, something would happen on the flight that day that would affect their ride home.

  SIX

  WHEN LEON FORTUNATO reported back to his boss regarding the meeting with Romanian president Gheorghe Vasile, Carpathia seemed so giddy it was as if he had been there himself.

  “So he left in a huff, did he?” Nicolae said.

  Fortunato nodded. “Insisted on forty-eight hours.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I agreed. Should I not have?”

  “I thought you were a better negotiator, Leon. I would have responded with silence to see if he voluntarily reduced that. And if he did not, I would have countered with twenty-four. In fact, perhaps you should call and tell him you ran into a roadblock on this end and that twenty-four hours is the best you can do. I assume you traded private phone numbers.”

  “We did.”

  “Good. Do it.”

  Leon flinched. “Right here? Right now? In front of you?”

  “What is the matter? Stage fright?”

  “Well, I do better when I’m alone.”

  “Get over it. I am here and I want to be in on it.”

  “Should I put him on speakerphone?”

  “No. He would be able to tell. I can listen in with my own earpiece. Go ahead. On one hand you are telling him that you are just my mouthpiece, but on the other you are exerting control. Okay?”

  “As you wish.”

  Leon fished the tiny card with Vasile’s pencil-scribbled private cell number from his pocket.

  It was obvious the president knew who was calling. “Fortunato?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. I’m afraid that—”

  “Hold a moment so I can take this outside.”

  Carpathia raised his eyebrows and covered his mouth with his hand, obviously to keep from laughing.

  A few seconds later Leon heard wind interfering with Vasile’s transmission. “Now you listen here, sir. I’m not prepared to give my answer before forty-eight hours have passed, but I can tell you right now that I’m leaning toward exposing you and Carpathia and even Stonagal if need be. The people of Romania will not stand by and allow these strong-arm tactics. Now I am of a mind to—”

  “Wait just one minute here, Gheorghe,” Fortunato said, eliciting a wave and a huge smile from Nicolae, apparently for brashly calling the head of state by his first name. “You don’t tell me how it’s going to be; I tell you. I have run into a roadblock here on your request for forty-eight hours. Twenty-four is the limit, and—”

  “Twenty-four? Why, I—”

  “Twenty-four, and you are in no position to be exposing anybody. You are the one vulnerable, sir, and unless you want the international community to know of the duplicity within your—”

  Click.

  Leon slapped his phone shut as Nicolae applauded. “He hung up on you, Leon! He hung up on you! Nice work!”

  “And so,” Leon said, hiding his racing heart, “what do you do if he does not comply within the time frame?”

  “Oh, he will. Trust me. He will. We have him, Leon. He is ours.”

  A few minutes later Carpathia’s intercom chirped, and Viv Ivins said, “Mr. Stonagal for you, sir.”

  Nicolae pushed a button that put Jonathan on speakerphone. “How are you, my friend? I have Leon here with me, and we are wondering what time it is in New York.”

  “Same as it always is in relation to your neck of the woods. Now what in blazes do you think you’re doing?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. You think you can
use a thug to threaten a government chief and not have it get back to me?”

  “I was not under the impression that I reported to you, Jonathan.”

  “Well, you do when my name—not to mention my money—is invoked. And how dare you seek the presidency without my knowledge, let alone my blessing and that of the others?”

  Fortunato had rarely seen Nicolae shaken. The younger man covered well. In measured tones he said, “Jonathan, you had better take a deep breath and think about whom you are talking to.”

  Stonagal swore. “I know whom I’m talking to, son. Now you listen to me. We have a meeting of the council coming up, and at that time—”

  “When?”

  “What?”

  “When is your secret meeting with your underground brotherhood? Are you deaf or do we not have a good connection?”

  “Whom do you think you’re talking to, Nicolae?”

  “Someone I will not be speaking to for long if you do not answer me.”

  “Three weeks.”

  “I will be in office by then.”

  Stonagal was sputtering. “This is all premature, Nicolae. Now don’t screw this up. We can set things in motion that guarantee you the presidency in the next election.”

  “Sorry, I am not waiting that long.”

  “But I . . . but you . . . we can’t—”

  “That is the problem, Jonathan. You cannot do anything. I will die from boredom before the next election. And why should I wait when we have what we need on this guy? You know we do.”

  “But why complicate things in such a dangerous way when we can grease the skids and—”

  Carpathia stood. “Because I am not an employee, Jonathan! Anytime you want to pull your half of the money out and try to use it for more control over someone else, feel free.”

  “All right, calm down. Surely you must know that while I own only half a share in what we’re doing with Vasile, there are seas of money necessary for global initiatives under my control elsewhere. It would behoove you not to run too far ahead of me. The other financiers need to be on board when you come to your rightful place of leadership.”

  “We all understood that that begins here in Romania.”

  “Of course, but—”

  “But nothing! If I have to start here, I want to start now, this week.”

  “Vasile will never go for it.”

  “He has no choice.”

  Stonagal paused. “And how will you allow him to save face?”

  “That is the least of my worries.”

  Irene kept checking her watch. For an hour after a late dinner, she had succeeded in keeping Raymie from the garage. Yes, she told him, the gifts were there, and, yes, his father had promised to take him out on one of them that very evening. But no, he could not see them until Rayford arrived home. And he was late. Late enough that she had tried his cell and, failing to reach him, called Pan-Con. The flight had landed on time.

  She waited thirty more minutes, then called Rayford’s cell again.

  “Hi, hon,” he said, and she heard restaurant noises.

  “Rayford, tell me you didn’t forget.”

  “Of course I didn’t. What time is it? Oh no! On my way.”

  “Where are you?”

  “An hour away.”

  “An hour! Raymie won’t have time to do anything tonight.”

  “You didn’t show him the stuff, did you? At least I get to see the look on his face.”

  “You might find that mixed. He doesn’t just want to see the stuff, Rafe. He wants to enjoy it with you. Now where are you?”

  “Oh, well, we had a snafu on the flight. We were shorted some dinners so the staff didn’t get to eat. I thought I should take them out before we headed home.”

  “How thoughtful of you.”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, you’re extremely thoughtful, Rayford.”

  “Why are you being sarcastic, Irene?”

  “I can’t imagine. So, you’re out to dinner with your whole crew.”

  “Yeah! Well, some of them just headed straight home. But whoever wanted to come along came along.”

  “Just hurry, will you?”

  Rayford rang off and signaled for the waiter.

  “Gotta go?” Hattie said.

  “Yeah.”

  “And am I your whole crew?”

  He sighed. “Yep.”

  “At least I’m those who decided to come along.”

  “Right.”

  “That was a little white lie, wasn’t it?” she said, grinning.

  Rayford nodded. But it hadn’t been a white lie at all. It had been a big, black, ugly thing, and he would just have to remind himself that Irene’s knowing the truth would be more hurtful than not.

  The drive home was one of the longest of his life, because he still had to drop Hattie off, and his rationalizations were not helping him feel better. At the very least he could have called Irene. And he could have asked to talk with Raymie. But nothing had happened with Hattie. And he had told mostly the truth, hadn’t he? They had been shorted some meals, and both he and Hattie had been hungry. Sure, they could have stopped for fast food, and, yes, he had forgotten his promise. At least temporarily.

  But Raymie was a good kid. He’d understand. And he would be forgiving.

  SEVEN

  LEON WAS PROUD of himself, believing his plan was foolproof. Even if his scheme to intimidate the president of Romania fell apart at some juncture, he was certain nothing could lead back to him or to Nicolae Carpathia.

  Fortunato began in a seedy area on the east side of Bucharest, where blue-collar workers and their families were crammed into housing units too small for even half of them. Bars teemed with customers, and hooligans of all ages milled about on street corners. Leon cruised through the district to the unit where his contact lived. As he parked on the crowded street and emerged from his vehicle, Leon recognized the man’s girlfriend marching down the steps, clearly agitated.

  “Do me a favor and shoot him,” she said. “Would you?”

  “Sure thing, Ecaterina,” Leon said. Family, friends, acquaintances, and lovers were always complicators in these matters.

  He found Stefan Marin slouched on a sagging couch, nursing a beer.

  “What’s her problem?” Leon said.

  “Money. What else?”

  “Could you use three grand?”

  “In U.S. dollars? Could I!”

  “That’s almost forty thousand in the old lei.”

  “Trust me, I know.”

  “Easy job, but it has to be done right.”

  “I’ll do anything for three thousand, long as it’s not perverted.”

  Fortunato smiled. “That never stopped you before. But no, this is conventional, straightforward. Just find the man called Teodor, who drives the Vasile grandchildren to school and serves as their security. Offer him eight thousand dollars for merely saying that someone has asked him for the kids’ daily itinerary. That’s all he has to do and all you have to do.”

  “Sounds bănuitor.”

  “There’s nothing to be suspicious of, but fine, I’ll find someone else.”

  “No, no. I need the money.”

  “Of course you do. Now rehearse it for me.”

  “I got it. But how do we know he follows through? And if he does, how does he get his money?”

  “He has to make the call in front of you. He tells his supervisor what you tell him to say; you give him the cash. Simple as that.”

  “He doesn’t have to tell me anything? give up anything about the kids?”

  “No. He can tell his superior that someone he didn’t know approached him and offered him money and that he told them to get lost, that he’s loyal and just thought the boss should know. And this has to be done tonight.”

  “How do you know I won’t skip with the money?”

  “You disappear with the eight thou, you’ll be dead before you see Ecaterina again. Or she’ll be.”

  “Don’
t worry. You can trust me.”

  “Of course I can. I know where you live. I know where she lives. I even know where your mother lives.”

  “My mother?”

  “You don’t have a mother? Everybody’s got a mother.”

  “I’ve never mentioned my mother.”

  “Is that so? Then how do I know Paraschiva Marin lives 3.1 miles from here and works six days a week in the lace factory?”

  Stefan seemed to freeze. “There is no reason to involve her in any of this. She does not know what I do. And she does not need to.”

  “You continue to do your job for me; I forget what I know about your mother. A churchgoer. Devout.”

  “A saint.”

  “May God keep her safe. May you keep her safe, Stefan.”

  By the time Raymie arrived home from school the next day, Rayford had the new four-wheeler and the new snowmobile loaded onto a trailer and was ready to head out to the forest preserve to try them out. It was not lost on Rayford that the boy’s enthusiasm seemed to be directed at the machines, not at his father. And he well knew that this did not really counter Irene’s contention that Raymie wanted Rayford, not toys. Rayford had alienated his son by all the broken promises and lack of attention, so he knew this was Raymie’s way of being polite and avoiding the issue.

  Unfortunately for Rayford, that would not last. Because the outing soured shortly after they unloaded the equipment. The snow was too deep for the four-wheeler, and Raymie was too young and too small to handle the snowmobile. He had to sit behind Rayford and hang on while Dad had all the fun, racing about.

  And it was fun. The thrill of flying had nearly left Rayford after years in the cockpit, carefully maneuvering heavy craft from city to city. He was still at the top of his game, and there was just enough of an edge from the load of responsibility and accountability he felt for the passengers. But the chance to open the snowmobile wide and lean into turns, making Raymie squeal, reminded Rayford of the person he had once been.