Assassins: Assignment: Jerusalem, Target: Antichrist (20 page)

“Who?”

“Hannelore, it’s Buck Williams.”

“Buck!” she whispered with excitement. “No one can hear me. Where are you?”

“Ben Gurion.”

“Can you come? The doctor and Jacov will be so excited!”

“I very much want to see everyone.”

“Wait there. I will send Jacov.”

“Tell him not to say my name, Hannelore. If he must call out for me, I am using the name Greg North.”

“Greg North. He will come soon, Buck. Greg, I’m sorry. I will keep your secret from Dr. Rosenzweig. He will be so―”

“And how is Jonas?”

“Oh, Buck, I’m sorry. He has passed. Praise God he is in heaven. We’ll tell you all about it.”

Rayford grabbed his bag of cash and trotted up the tower stairs at Palwaukee Airport. Having seen two cars in the lot, he knew T had kept Bo Hanson from fleeing. Rayford’s knee protested a few steps from the top, and he limped to the door.

He had been in the tower many times and knew anyone there had heard his every footfall. T waved him in from behind the desk, and Bo looked up from a side chair as if just realizing someone was coming in. Rayford had found Bo none too bright, despite his privileged upbringing. His bleached crew cut was caked in place, and he took a deep breath, Rayford assumed, to showcase his muscular physique. The pose didn’t mask his fear.

“It’s been a while, Bo.”

He nodded. “Mr. Steeles.”

“Steele.”

“Sorry.”

“What’ve you been up to, Bo?”

“Nothin’ much. What about you?”

“Lost a dear friend recently. Two, matter of fact.”

Rayford sat, setting the bag at his feet.

“Two?” Bo said.

“One was my doctor. You met him.”

“Yeah. What happened?”

“Something he caught from Hattie.”

“Oh. I heard about her. Bad news.”

“What’d you hear?”

“It was all over the news,” Bo said. “Plane crash. Spain, I think. I lost somebody too. Ernie got burned up the other day in California.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks. Sorry about, ah, Hattie, too.”

“How much did she pay you, Bo?” Rayford said.

“Pay me?”

“To fly her out of here, concoct a story, fake her death.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You approved the flight. Your initials are on the log. You didn’t think to alter the plane’s identification, so even though the pilot never reported in, his plane was traced to your brother Sam in Baton Rouge.”

“He-
I-I
still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You fancy yourself a businessman, Bo?”

Bo looked at T. “I own part of this airport. I do all right.”

“Five percent,” T clarified.

Bo looked stricken. “I have other holdings, other interests, other concerns.”

“Wow,” Rayford said. “Impressive words. Any of those other things have names?”

“Yeah,” Bo said. “One of ‘em’s named None of Your.”

Rayford gave T a look and turned back to Bo, whose chest was heaving, his pulse visible at the neck. “I’ll bite, Bo. None of Your?”

“Yeah, it’s my business. It’s called None of Your Business. Get it? Ha! None of Your Business!”

“Got it, Bo. Good one. So you need payoffs from young women who want to disappear.”

“I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yet you haven’t denied it.”

“Denied what?”

“That you put Hattie Durham on your brother’s Quantum and got her flown out of here.”

“I deny that.”

“You do.”

“I absolutely do. I had nothing to do with that.”

“It happened, but you didn’t do it?”

“Right.”

“But now you know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t know. I guess. But I wasn’t even here.”

“Why are your initials on the log?”

“The tower guy called me. Said a guy wanted to refuel a Quantum. I said OK. If it was my brother, I didn’t know that. And if his passenger was Hattie, I didn’t know that either. I told you. I wasn’t here. I didn’t put anybody on any plane.”

“But you’ve got one heck of a memory. You know all the details of the flight you OK’d the night you weren’t here.”

“Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“Whatever you just said.”

Rayford shook his head. “You want me to prove you have a good memory?”

“I don’t know. You’re making fun of me or something, and I don’t get it.”

Rayford leaned forward and clapped Bo on the thigh. “Tell you something, Bo,” he said. “I’m a businessman too. What if I were to tell you I don’t have a problem with Hattie flying off to Europe or even pretending to be dead?”

Bo shrugged. “OK.”

“She’s a grown woman, has her own money, makes her own decisions. She doesn’t report to me. I mean, I care about her. She’s not really well. Isn’t making smart decisions these days, but that’s her right, isn’t it?”

Bo nodded solemnly.

“But, see, I need to find her.”

“Can’t help you.”

“Don’t be too sure. I need to talk to her, give her some news she has to hear in person. Now what am I gonna do, Bo? How am I gonna find her?”

“I dunno. I told you.”

“You told me you were a businessman who did all right. How much of a businessman are you, Bo? This much of one?” Rayford bent and unzipped his bag.

Bo leaned and peered into it. He looked up at Rayford, then at T.

“Go ahead,” Rayford said. “Grab a bundle. They’re real. Go on.”

Bo grabbed a wrapped stack of twenties and pressed his thumb against the end, letting the bills flap in succession.

“You like?” Rayford said.

“‘Course I like. How much you got?”

“See for yourself.”

Bo bent to the bag in earnest and opened it wide. “I could use some of this.”

“Badly enough to tell me what I need to know?”

He still had his nose in the bag. “Nothing like the smell of cash. What do you need to know?”

“I want to fly to Europe tomorrow and find Hattie Durham alive and well within an hour after I hit the ground. Know anybody who can help me with that?”

“Maybe.”

Rayford grabbed two handfuls of bundles from the bag and began setting them on the desk one by one. When three bundles were laid out, he said, “Would that buy me some information?”

“A little.”

“Like what?”

“France.”

“City?”

“More.”

Rayford set another bundle.

“Coast.”

“You drive a hard bargain. North or south?”

“Yes.”

With every question, Rayford added cash. Finally he narrowed it to a city on the English Channel. “Le Havre.”

“You’ve got a lot of money sitting there,” Rayford said, “but every bill goes back into the bag without an exact address, who she’s with, and what might otherwise surprise me. You write it down, I leave this money with T―”

“Hey, you’re welshin’!”

“―and when I find her, I tell him, and you get the dough. But you’ve got to write it down.”

“It’s already written down,” Bo said, and he produced it from his wallet. Everything Rayford needed was hand printed in tiny letters. “You’ll keep me out of this, right?”

“That I promise,” Rayford said. “Now there is the matter of silence.”

“Silence?”

“You haven’t proven good at it, have you?”

“Guess not.”

“I’m not good at it either.”

“You said you’d keep me out of this.”

“I assume you meant to not tell whoever is with Hattie, or Hattie herself.”

“That is what I meant.”

“But my complete silence can be bought.”

“Silence from who?”

“The GC, of course. Defrauding an insurance company by a fake death or even causing rescue workers to search under false pretenses is an international class X felony under Global Community law. It is punishable by life imprisonment. As a citizen, I am bound to report any knowledge of a felony.”

“I’ll deny it.”

“I have a witness.” He nodded to T, who was staring down at the desk.

“You takin’ his side, Delanty? You’re scum.”

T said, “This is between you and―”

“Forget it,” Bo said. “I’ll take my chances. This is ex-, extor-, blackmail.”

“Bo,” Rayford said, “can you reach that phone? You’d better call and report this extortion, and be sure to tell them what it is I’m blackmailing you over. You know, the felony.”

Bo snorted and folded his arms.

“Oh, are you through with the phone?” Rayford said. “I need to report a crime.”

“You wouldn’t dare. You’re hidin’ out yourself.”

“They accept anonymous reports, don’t they, T?” T did not respond. “Let’s find out.” Rayford lifted the receiver and began to push buttons.

“All right! Hang it up!”

“Are we businessmen again, Bo? Ready to negotiate?”

“Yes!”

“How about I make it easy on you? How about I not let it cost you a penny you don’t have yet? How’s that?”

Bo shrugged.

“For instance, you don’t have this yet.” Rayford swept the bundles of cash off the desk and into the bag in one motion.

“Awright, fine! I’ll just tell whoever I need to, you’ll never find Hattie Durham.”

“Now, you see, Bo, I had considered that. It’s just a little shortsighted. I’m holding the cards now. If Hattie’s gone for any reason, you’re an international fugitive. Believe me, I’ve been there, and you don’t want that.”

Rayford thrust out his hand. “Nice doing business with you, Bo.”

And Beauregard Hanson, intellect that he was, shook Rayford’s hand. “Hey!” he said, yanking it away. “It wasn’t nice doing business with you, you-you stupid guy!”

Bo slammed the door, marched down the stairs, slammed the tower door, slammed his car door, threw dirt and gravel as he spun out of the parking lot, raced out the gate, and ran out of gas. Rayford watched from above as he tried to flag down a ride.

Jacov pulled to the curb at Ben Gurion and leaped from the Mercedes.

“Greg!” he exulted, bear hugging Buck. As soon as they were in the car he said, “How are you, my brother?”

“Worried about Chaim. And eager to check in on you all.”

“Hannelore told you about Jonas.”

Buck nodded. “What happened?”

“Well, tell me, have you seen the horsemen?”

“No.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to. Frightful things. They were rampaging through our neighborhood while Jonas was in the security booth. You know it.”

“Sure.”

“A house burned across the street and a man driving past was overcome by smoke. He passed out and the car struck the booth. Chaim was most distressed. He did not believe we could see the creatures. He still thinks we are lying, but he laments Jonas’s death. He says over and over, ‘I thought he was one of you. I thought he would be protected.’ And he has now gone from being very close, studying Dr. Ben-Judah’s messages every day, to crying out at all times of the day and night, ‘It’s not true, any of it, is it? It’s lies, all lies.’

“And, Buck, he has done something strange. We know he is old and eccentric, yet he is still brilliant. But he has purchased a wheelchair. Motorized. Very expensive.”

“Does he need it?”

“No! He has recovered from the locust sting. He fears the current plagues like a man possessed, sitting by the window, watching for the vapors. Will not go out. Spends a lot of time in his workshop. You remember it?”

Buck nodded. “But the chair?”

“He rides around the house in it, and when he gets bored on one floor, he calls me and a valet, and we must carry it to another floor for him. Most heavy.”

“What’s it all about?”

“It is as if he is practicing with it, Buck. He was not good at first, always bumping things. Could not back up, could not turn around. Would get into impossible positions, then get angry, and finally call us to help him pull it free. But he has become proficient at it. He never has to back up and start over. He can go through narrow places, turn around in a confined place, quite remarkable. He is accomplished on every floor. He entertains himself, I think.”

“What’s he doing in the shop, Jacov?”

“No one knows. He locks himself in there for hours at a time, and we hear filing, filing, filing.”

“Metal?”

“Yes! And we see the tiny shavings, but we never see what has been filed. He has never been good with his hands. He is a brilliant man, creative, analytical, but not one who spent time working with his hands. He still reads botany and writes for the technical journals. And he is studying biblical history.”

Buck shot Jacov a double take as they pulled onto Chaim’s street. “You’re not serious.”

“He is! He compares texts against the Bible and against what Tsion teaches. He and Tsion have corresponded.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here. Tsion is very concerned for him, believes he is close.”

“I thought he was too, Buck. We believers surrounded him after you left. But then he watches the news and finds himself so disappointed in Carpathia. He feels betrayed, feels Israel has been betrayed. He cannot get through to Nicolae, is always stopped short by his commander.”

” Fortunato.”

“Yes. Most troubling. You will be alarmed at how he has aged, Buck, but it will lift his spirits to see you,”

“Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. Wait, yes. Do not mention strokes.”

“Strokes?”

“You know, when the body―”

“I know what a stroke is, Jacov. Why would I ever mention such a thing?”

“He seems to have become obsessed with the subject.”

“Of strokes.” Buck let the statement hang in the air. “Whatever for?”

“He is beyond us, Buck. We have given up understanding him. A distant relative has had a stroke, and he has seen pictures of the man. A pitiful change. He must fear that for himself. That is not like him. You know.”

The Global Community palace complex had become depressing. About 15 percent of the employees had been killed by smoke, fire, or sulfur. Carpathia publicly blamed Tsion Ben-Judah. Newscasts carried sound bites of the potentate averring, “The man tried to kill me before thousands of witnesses at Teddy Kolleck Stadium in Jerusalem more than a year ago. He is in league with the elderly radicals who spew their hatred from the Wailing Wall and boast that they have poisoned the drinking water. Is it so much of a stretch to believe that this cult would perpetrate germ warfare on the rest of the world? They themselves clearly have developed some antidote, because you do not hear of one of them falling victim. Rather, they have concocted a myth no thinking man or woman can be expected to swallow. They would have us believe that our loved ones and friends are being killed by roving bands of giant horsemen riding half horses/ half lions, which breathe fire like dragons. Of course, the believers, the saints, the holier-than-thous can see these monstrous beasts. It is we, the uninitiated―in truth, the uninoculated―who are blind and vulnerable. The Ben-Judah-ites cannot persuade us with their exclusivistic, intolerant, hateful diatribes, so they choose to kill us!”