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

  “However, Gheorghe Vasile has long been a statesman and leader who has given his heart and soul to our motherland, and I hope he resists to the end any attempt by the cowardly minority party to force him from power.”

  That elicited immediate denials on the parts of the leaders and the rank and file of the Romanian People’s Party, who pointed out that they would never stoop to such tactics, that such acts had never been their hallmark, and that thinking people would realize the lunacy of their even wanting to take credit for such.

  A couple of hours before Vasile’s press conference, Viv Ivins entered the office where Leon and Nicolae sat staring at the TV. “Mr. Stonagal on the line for you, sir,” she said.

  Nicolae pushed the speaker button, dismissed Ms. Ivins, and winked at Leon. “Jonathan! How good to hear from you! How are things in New York?”

  “You know perfectly well I’m not in New York! We’re about to land here, and I want to see you.”

  “I am in my office all afternoon. I will look forward to seeing you.”

  “Come and meet me at the airport!”

  “You are breaking up, Jonathan. I will see you here this afternoon then?”

  “At the airport!”

  “I think I have lost you, Jonathan. If you can hear me, know that I am honored by your visit and look forward to seeing you here.”

  “Meet me at the airport, Nicolae! I know you can hear me!”

  “I seem to have lost him, Leon. I hope he got my message. It will be good to see him, will it not?”

  “It will!” Leon exulted, covering his mouth.

  A few minutes later Leon’s phone rang, and he answered to Vasile himself.

  “Will you stop at nothing, Mr. Fortunato?”

  Nicolae waved at Leon and pantomimed taping his mouth shut. “He is likely recording,” he mouthed.

  “Who’s calling, please?” Leon said.

  “You know well who this is.”

  “Your voice sounds familiar. You sound like the president of Romania. Is this President Vasile?”

  “You know it is.”

  “What an honor to hear from you, sir. To what do I owe the privilege?”

  “I think you know that too.”

  “Well, just let me say, I’ve been watching the news, and I can’t imagine what you must be going through. Is there anything I or any member of Nicolae Carpathia’s team can do for you? Anything at all?”

  Nicolae was holding his stomach and looked nearly apoplectic with glee, making it difficult for Leon to maintain his composure. He could hear Vasile’s frustrated breathing.

  “I was so sorry—we all were here, Dr. Carpathia included—to hear of the loss at your son’s horse farm. But tell me, are the grandchildren all right? That was horrifying for the whole country, let alone Grandfather, eh? I’ll bet that’ll be a precious reunion.”

  “Let me talk to Carpathia.”

  “I’m sorry, sir?”

  “You heard me, Fortunato. Put him on.”

  “I’m afraid he’s unavailable at the moment, Mr. President.”

  “It is rather urgent. Are you not right there with him?”

  “Oh no, sir, you’ve reached me in my own apartment downtown. You know this is my cell number. You might call his assistant, Ms.—”

  “Give me that number!”

  Carpathia pretended to clap and laugh aloud.

  Fortunato passed along the number, and within seconds, the office phone rang, Viv buzzed Nicolae, and he picked up, indicating that Leon should listen in on the other phone.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President. A surprise but an honor to hear from you on what must be a very difficult day for you.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Of course I do not.”

  “Do we have to go through this charade, Carpathia?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, I get it. We do. Very well.” And here Vasile’s voice fell into a singsong of script, like a child forced to render an apology he doesn’t own. “Dr. Carpathia, I am about to announce my resignation from the office of president of the Republic of Romania.”

  “Oh no! Sir, surely you are not letting terrorists intimidate you. Even as a man of peace, I would gladly serve on a committee authorized to retaliate against such—”

  “Please, Carpathia. Let me get through this. I’ll make clear to the public and to my colleagues in the houses of government that the crises of last night and this morning have not spurred this action and that in fact I do not believe our worthy adversaries, the People’s Party, would ever have anything to do with something like this.

  “It is simply that the time has come. I am tired. I am persuaded we need new blood. I do not wish to wait until the next election. I am going to go to the people and to my colleagues and urge them to accept you as my choice to first fulfill what’s left of my term and then to be free to run for reelection in the normal course.”

  “Oh, Mr. President, I am honored, deeply flattered, moved that you would think of me in this way—especially given our less-than-amicable history. But I simply could not accept. The legal ramifications, the havoc you would wreak on our constitution, the inability of the people to officially ratify something like this . . .”

  “You’re going to take it, right? I mean, this is all so much prosti, is it not? You don’t need to do this for my benefit.”

  “Balderdash? Not at all, sir. It is just too much for a young, inexperienced man to take in.”

  “Oh yeah, right. So I’ll make my announcement, and you’ll be ready for the media onslaught?”

  “I will be ready.”

  “I just hope you’re prepared for the hue and cry, not to mention the lawsuits.”

  “I have a plan for that too, Gheorghe.”

  “Somehow I thought you might. Will you be available to appear with me at my press conference at two?”

  “No, sir, I do not believe that would be a good idea. Let us allow this to all play out in a normal fashion, which I realize—due to its unique nature—is highly unlikely. You may say that you have approached me with this idea, but it is your wish that the will of the people prevail.”

  “The will of the people.”

  “Correct, Mr. President.”

  “You are beyond words, Carpathia.”

  “Well, thank you, sir.”

  Not half an hour after Nicolae got off the phone with Vasile, Stonagal and his entourage stormed into the house.

  “You have an impeccable sense of timing, Jonathan,” Carpathia said. “Let us—you and Leon and I—meet privately, and I will bring you up-to-date on all that is going on.”

  “I have crucial team members who should be in on this, Nicolae. It’s important that they hear for themselves—”

  “They will hear what you and I want them to hear, Jonathan. And I do not have a lot of time now, because shortly after two this place will be overrun by the international press, wanting to know whether I will accept President Vasile’s invitation to succeed him.”

  “You’re convinced he’s going to make that invitation? Last time I talked to him he promised me anything if I would intercede and buy him at least another week.”

  “The deed will be done today, Jonathan. In fact, it is already done. The rest is just playacting.”

  “Well then, you had better bring me up to speed.”

  “After you,” Nicolae said, sweeping an arm toward the elevator that led to his office.

  THIRTEEN

  BY THE TIME they finished their meeting, Leon could tell that Jonathan Stonagal was aghast. On top of everything else, he had been assigned to somehow wrangle Carpathia, in his current role as a member of the lower house of Parliament in the Romanian government, an invitation to speak to the General Assembly of the United Nations.

  Fortunato sat amazed at his boss in action, laying out for Stonagal how it was going to be, how he needed introductions to heads of state all over the world during the next forty-eight hours, and how he also wanted in on the secret mee
tings of the world’s leading financiers. “This has gone on long enough,” Carpathia told him, “your seeing me as your man for the future and pretending that you and your secret-society cohorts are the kingmakers. I have engineered this myself, with no small contribution from my man Fortunato here. So regardless of the financial backing and political skulduggery you may have effected on my behalf, I will soon be a head of state and shall expect to be treated that way.”

  It was clear Jonathan’s wheels were turning. Fortunato decided the octogenarian had likely never been treated this way and didn’t appear eager to start enduring it now. To his credit, while his jaw was set and his temples throbbed, he held his tongue.

  “You have an assignment, Mr. Stonagal,” Carpathia said. “You may use one of our phones, but I suggest you get on it.”

  “An invitation to speak at the U.N.”

  Nicolae nodded. “Do we need to rehash everything I have said?”

  “I just want to be sure I have it.”

  “Oh, you have it. Your hearing aids are working; are they not?”

  “I do not need to be insulted, Nicolae.”

  “And I do not need to be stalled, sir. I need to be able to say, by two o’clock here, that I have the invitation in hand. And then I am prepared for a bit of a world tour with you.”

  “I have pressing business in the States.”

  “It will have to wait. Now call whomever you have to call at the U.N.”

  “It’s five o’clock in the morning in New York!”

  “Is it? You will be rousing someone early then; will you not?”

  President Gheorghe Vasile’s resignation hit Romania like a tidal wave. And his suggestion that he be replaced by Nicolae Carpathia rocked all of Europe, especially when the young politician appeared at first to decline.

  Within an hour after Vasile’s press conference, Carpathia was coaxed out onto his lawn and in front of the microphones and cameras of all the major news organizations in the world. He appeared thoroughly stunned.

  “First I want to wish President Vasile well in whatever he chooses to do. Let me add my voice to the many within our government on all sides of the political landscape in urging him to reconsider. Should these efforts fail—and of course only President Vasile can make this decision—I would urge him to follow our constitution and protocol by allowing his number-two man to succeed him. If I were to seek the office, I prefer to do it at election time next year.

  “I have recently been extended an honor superseded only by President Vasile’s confidence in me, and that is to address a meeting of the General Assembly of the United Nations. Those who know me—and I realize they were relatively few until this fifteen minutes of fame was thrust upon me—know that I have long been an aficionado of that august body. I have studied the history of the U.N. and have gratefully accepted their invitation. I look forward to sharing with them—and with the world—my stand on peace among all nations. This is something from which I will never waver.

  “Already many within the government have asked me to accept the presidency, including several who would otherwise stand in the line of succession. To be honest, this alone nearly persuades me. Let me say this: I would only even entertain this possibility if I was guaranteed that the people of Romania would have the freedom, as soon as possible, to ratify the same. It would be, in effect, a yes-or-no vote on one candidate. If the will of the people is that I should not be in office, I would retreat from it immediately.

  “The presidency is not something I am seeking, at least at this time. But if it is the will of my president, my colleagues, and—primarily—the people, knowing full well my determination to push for peace in all matters, then I will reluctantly consider this and study the possibilities with my closest advisers. Should I decide to accept, I pledge to undertake the role with total commitment and enthusiasm.”

  It was becoming more and more difficult for Irene to maintain her resolve. She did not want to become unattractive to Rayford. She always regretted overreacting, and Jackie—though younger—had wisely counseled her that badgering her husband would more likely drive him away than draw him in.

  Sunday morning she could hear that Raymie was already up and getting ready. Amazing. On school days she often had to be sure he was out of bed. But never on Sunday. How Irene wished she’d had that love for God and for church and everything associated with it when she had been his age.

  “Rayford?” she said quietly, and he mumbled a response, his head still buried in his pillow. “You know Raymie would really love for you to go with us today, what with your London trip coming up and all.”

  No response.

  “So I’ll just tell him no?”

  He grunted again, then rolled onto his side, pulling the blankets over his face. “I’ve got to fix that four-wheeler tire,” he managed. “But I’ll be here for lunch with you guys, and the Bulls are on after that.”

  It was all Irene could do to keep from suggesting that he fix the ATV tire during halftime of the game and just once force himself to do something he didn’t want to do for the sake of his son. But no. She wasn’t going to do that. She was not going to get Rayford back to church, especially to New Hope, by nagging him.

  Pastor Billings had often said that sometimes it took real defeat in people’s lives to bring them to God. “Sometimes they have to come to the end of themselves.”

  As Irene got ready for church, she wondered what might make that happen in Rayford’s life. He was more distant, testier than ever. Clearly he was not happy, and she didn’t know what to do to fix that. She sensed it was caused by the distance between him and God, but she also knew that no one could bridge that gap but Rayford himself.

  Raymie’s Sunday school class met during the first morning service, so to be sure she could sit with him during the sermon, Irene volunteered to assist Jackie in teaching her primary girls class. She and Raymie would meet in their favorite pew after that.

  The little girls were so precious, and Jackie was a natural with them. They seemed bright and happy and curious, and because they were so young, they drank in the Bible stories and lessons. Irene was struck that the class seemed bigger this week and mentioned that to Jackie.

  “Yes,” her friend said. “At least three new girls. And Dooley said the men’s pancake breakfast yesterday was packed. There was a story in the Herald about church attendance being on the rise. Did you see it?”

  Irene shook her head. Interesting though. More and more people interested in church and her husband less so. What could she do but pray for him? It wasn’t like her to take such a passive approach, but enough people had warned her against pushing him that she had to take their word for it that it would do more harm than good.

  When Irene reached the fifth pew, aisle end, organ side, Raymie was already there. How long, she wondered, would he unashamedly sit with his mother in church? She guessed not another whole year. How old had she been when she decided that being seen with her parents was the worst embarrassment she could imagine? With his being her baby, that was going to be hard to take. It seemed only last week he had been born, and already she knew puberty was coming on. Irene could only hope and pray that even if Raymie endured the usual healthy stages of starting to separate from his parents, he would not lose his tender heart toward God.

  “What’d you learn about today?” she whispered.

  “The rich young ruler,” he said. “Do you think Jesus really meant for him to get rid of everything he had, or was He just testing the guy?”

  “I don’t know,” Irene said. “But either way the rich man failed, didn’t he? He got to keep all his stuff, but he had to be miserable. He didn’t really want the Kingdom of God. He wanted to serve himself.”

  “Kind of like Dad.”

  Irene flinched. She hadn’t thought of that, maybe because she had never seen Rayford as particularly wealthy, and he certainly wasn’t a ruler. “How so?”

  Raymie shrugged. “It just seems like everything is about him. I mean
, he’s not nasty about it or anything. It’s just that what he wants comes first, and then if he’s got time for anybody else, then maybe he’ll . . . I don’t know.”

  “Your dad can be a very kind and gentle man, Raymie.”

  “I know. I remember. Maybe he just liked Chloe best. Now that she’s away, he’s different.”

  Now there was something Irene had never put together. “First of all, Raymie, I’ve never once heard your dad compare you with Chloe or say he liked either of you best. I believe he loves you both deeply and to the same degree. It might interest you to know that Chloe assumed your dad liked you best because you were a boy.”

  “Really?”

  Irene nodded. But the idea of Rayford’s biggest change coming with the departure of Chloe . . . now that was something to consider. When Chloe had been around, the emphasis had been on her. And she and Rayford had been partners in this antichurch, anti-God thing. Now Rayford had to be more creative, and he had no compatriot. But was it also possible that what was beginning to look like middle-age angst was just a man deeply missing his daughter? Irene could certainly be sensitive to that. She herself ached for Chloe, especially because there had risen between them some sort of rift that seemed to change their relationship—she hoped not forever.

  After all the usual preliminaries—call to worship, prayer, singing, special music, offering, and announcements—it was finally time for Pastor Billings’s sermon.

  Irene had come to appreciate the humility that exuded from her new pastor. She had attended many churches in her life, and most had pastors barely able to conceal their egos. Here Vernon Billings had built a small but growing congregation that had to have two morning services—not because they were so huge but rather because their sanctuary was so small—and he was respected by the congregation. Yet he seemed to put the spotlight on everyone else who worked in the church. He never failed to acknowledge those who helped out.