"Will you do me a favor?" she said. "Would you give
272
Tim LaHaye & Jerry B. Jenkins it to me in the bad arm? It's numb and I won't feel it. And I so hate needles."
"I can do that," he said, sounding as relieved as she hoped. He slid forward on his chair.
She lowered her head and extended her bad arm.
He left his chair and knelt before her, taking her wrist in his hand. "I hope you know this is anything but personal
"This is," she said, swiping the gun from his belt with her good hand and firing it point-blank into his face. It a hole in his cheek, and a spray of blood and gore the wall behind him. His face went ashen, his wide as he dropped to his seat, the syringe rolling
Marilena held the gun on him, wondering how it was she had missed his brain. He was clearly still struggling, gasping, incongruously reaching for fragments on the floor. He moaned, then lurched, the syringe and diving toward her.
As Marilena fired again.and again, hitting him in the and shoulder, he fell full force upon her, driving
The needle deep into her chest. It hung there as she stood he crumpled, and she emptied the revolver into him. She dropped the weapon and reached for the empty
slowly pulling it from her body, knowing all the that she was too late. Too late.
As she dropped back onto the couch, the phone rang. Was there still hope? Could she get to it and talk whoever it was into getting to her in time to counteract the dose? Marilena tried to rock forward but she could move only an inch. Both arms were paralyzed now and her vision was going black.
Her throat constricted and she fought for air, feeling her body go rigid. Her feet shot out, as if to catch her as her brain told her she was falling. But she had not moved, could not move, desperate as she was.
The machine finally picked up, and Marilena fought to remain conscious through the cheery greeting and tone. Finally... finally, "Yes, this is the vicar again, eager to chat with you. I'll be at the church as promised."
"Help!" she rasped, as if some miracle could make him hear her without the phone. "Help me!"
"Very good then; I'll look for you soon, ma'am." Click.
"God," Marilena said silently, feeling her soul spiraling. "God. God. Receive me. Please. God."
TWENTY
CARPATHIA awoke in a private room, part of a latial suite on the top floor of the InterContinental in Bucharest. The sun streamed through the
He heard a faint knock. "Aunt Viv?" he called out. ``Yes. Are you awake?"
He hurried to the door. "Can we order breakfast like promised?"
"I need to talk to you first."
"I am hungry."
"You need to hear this, Nicky."
"What?"
"It's about your mom. You'd better sit down."
He sighed. "First, I do not need to sit down. Second, I
Want you to call me Nick from now on. I am not a baby." "Of course you're not. I--"
274 275
276
"And third, you said I would not be seeing my mother
again. Is that still true or not?"
"It's true."
"Good. Then I do not care what else. Let us eat." "No, now you must hear this." "All right! What?" "She died yesterday."
"Died? How? You said that doctor guy was going to take her somewhere, and I would never have to worry about her again. Did he kill her?"
"Yes."
"Hmm. Guess we do not have to hide from her or worry about her anymore then, right?"
Aunt Viv nodded. "How does it make you feel?" "Hungry. I told you."
"But she was your mother."
"And now she is dead. What is the difference if I was not going to see her again anyway?"
"Well, just because someone has been a problem doesn't mean we won't miss them."
He began dressing. "You are going to miss her?" "Of course."
"Good. At least someone will."
"You won't miss her, Nicky? Nick."
He pursed his lips and shook his head. "What is to miss?"
"She loved you."
He shrugged. "Everybody does."
Viv told Nicky that she would be his legal guardian from then on and that they would be moving to Bucharest.
He Was having none of it. "What about Star Diamond?" "You can get another horse someday." "No, I want him."
"There's nowhere for him here in the city."
"Then let us move back to Cluj."
"The association doesn't want us to return to the cottage. Your mother died there."
He stared at her. "It is what I want, Aunt Viv."
She sighed and went to make a phone call. When she returned she told him his teacher would not still be at the school either. "You might as well get a fresh start here."
But he knew better. Not everything was clear in his mind, but of some things he was certain. He was special. He was somebody. For some reason, people did what he wanted. When he locked eyes with Viv and spoke in his tone, she didn't argue.
"I want to live in the cottage, and I want to go to my school.
I do not care who the teacher is."
"That's final then?" she said.
He nodded, and she returned to the phone. He tiptoed her and waited by the door. She was arguing. i:"Then you tell him, Reiche .... No, of course I didn't
T that. He wouldn't understand. Crime scene would
Be just words to him The place doesn't have to be
Why can't it just be cleaned up?... I'll be i:here by the phone."
Nick moved away from the door, and when she returned, Viv said, "We're seeing what can be done."
He smiled. He knew what would happen. What always happened. Things were taken care of. Anything to keep him from becoming upset. "I have been reading about humanism," he said.
"You have?"
He nodded. "It would be a great cover."
"How so?" she said.
"We do not want people to know what we are really all about, right?"
"Right, Nick. Because they wouldn't understand." "And would not agree and would worry about us." "Right."
"But they understand humanism, even if most people do not like it. There is a Young Humanists group in Luxembourg. I want to join."
"I'm sure that could be arranged. You know what they believe?"
"I told you, Aunt Viv. I have been reading about it."
"Yes, but I didn't know how much you were able to glean from--"
"When I say I have read about something, that means I understand it. You should know that by now. I read it in two languages."
"That does not surprise me."
"Then stop asking such stupid questions."
"I'm sorry,", she said.
He liked when she was sorry. And when people said that, or when they asked forgiveness, he knew it was customary to say, "It is okay." But he never did. There was power in not giving people everything they wanted.
When Mr. Planchette called back, Nick didn't eavesdrop. He knew what was coming, and he was right. Viv
Tim LaHaye & Jerry B. Jenkins
reported: "It may take a couple of weeks, but we think the cottage will be ready for us. And you can return to your school."
Nick just looked out the window and nodded.
Two weeks later, when Viv unlocked the cottage, Nick walked in and held up a hand. The place was different. It smelled of bleach and disinfectant and fresh wood.
"My mother was not the only person to die in here," he said.
Viv seemed to freeze.
Nick shut his eyes. "The doctor is dead too, am I right?" "Yes."
"They killed each other."
"Yes."
"Excellent," he said.
Ray Steele might as well have been on one of the coasts, as far as he felt from Illinois. But he was only one state
The sprawling Purdue campus had opened his eyes his mind to all sorts of possibilities and potential. The best part was that when he looked in the mirror, he saw a man. Not a wo
rk in progress, not an overgrown kid on his way to maturity. A man. Six foot four and hundred and twenty pounds of muscled, in-shape, square-jawed man.
It used to be, when he imagined how he might look
y, that he sucked in his gut and thrust out his chin
278 279
281
as he tried to affect a look. Now it came naturally. Ray had always thought it was guys who ogled girls. Now that his face and body had matured, he realized the looking went both ways. He drew stares and glances, double takes. And he worked hard at exuding a quiet confidence, a diffident air. He wasn't always sure he was pulling it off, because he was too aware of the effort, but he was clearly the most attractive and popular guy outside the scholarship athletes and frat brothers.
He wasn't a fraternity type of guy, much as he wanted to be. Frat boys came from money, and they sure weren't part of ROTC. Ray had been stunned to find that the military component of his education-- for as wise as it seemed and as strategic to his futurel was met with scorn by people who seemed to matter.
Within a month of arriving on campus, he had learned to fulfill his ROTC obligations--excel at them actually-- but not talk about them. That had taken some adjustment. He worked at being friendly, getting to know the men and women--as the administration referred to all students--of his dorm and in his classes. That traditionally entailed trading family stories, backgrounds, where you grew up, your major, your plans, your emphases.
Ray's, of course, were Belvidere, Illinois; only child; son of self-made, hardworking parents; high school sports star (resigned to intramurals now); studying liberal arts with some mechanical subjects thrown in; aiming to be a commercial pilot; and active in ROTC.
That last had an unusual effect on people. Even if they expressed intrigue or interest, Ray was astuxe enough to
280
Tim LaHaye & Jerry B. Jenkins
that it was not because they were impressed. It was because they couldn't believe it. Anything connected with the military, with discipline and uniformity and the stablishment, was viewed with suspicion by the modern
:ollegian. Some couldn't hide their views. Their expressions and tone said it all, and for others, their comments ldly drove the point home.
why in the world would you want to be in ROTC?" one said. "I Thought that was for nerds, AV techies, Boy
scouts.."
Ray defended his choice at first, trying to sell doubters in the advantages. There was the scholarship, the disci- iline, the future. But no one was buying. No one but ther ROTCs, as they were known. Soon ROTC was rayford Steele's dirty little secret. Inside he didn't feel
ashamed. He was surprised more people didn't take advantage of it. It was the perfect vehicle to help secure s future. But he learned quickly to quit talking about it.
Ray had also developed a rift to explain why he was of in a fraternity. While he wasn't a rich kid, he wanted be. In fact, besides the freedom and sense of power flying gave him, that was the reason he wanted to"be a commercial pilot. Bad-mouthing frat brothers for being materialistic only spotlighted his own socioeconomic shortcomings, so he instead became dismissive. "I was shed by all the houses," he'd say. "Couldn't decide. ,anyway, I'm the type of person who gives his all once he's committed, andI don't have the time to be the kind of fraternity brother I would want to be."
"Well, aren't we impressed with ourself?" Katherine-
282
call-me-Kitty Wyley had responded with a smile. She had giggled at his name. "You'll forgive me if I just call you Ray."
He shrugged. He thought Rayford--which he had kept a secret until collegenmade him sound older, but whatever.
Kitty, a freshman, had been a cheerleadernblonde and perkyin a northern Indiana high school and was majoring in business. They met at a mixer the third week of his junior year. Ray had been unimpressed at first. She had that stereotypical cheerleader look, accessorized by impeccable style. From her shoes to her socks to her jeans to her tops, hair, nose, makeup, everything--here was a girl who apparently invested in me-time. She reminded him too much of the high school girls who had ignored him as an underclassman and angled for dates when he was a senior and big man on campus. How long must it take for someone to be so put-together? Well, he supposed it was better than the alternative. The New York wannabes wore severe shoes and all-black outfits, cut their hair blunt and short, and disdained makeup. Katherine-call-me-Kitty was at least easier to abide than those.
Ray had initially shrugged at her barb. "I don't mean to sound impressed with myself," he said. "I guess it's a golden rule kind of thing. I wouldn't want to be a frat brother unless I could be the type I would want to have in the house."
"Well," she said, bringing him a drink, despite that she was still three years from the legal drinking age and he a year away, "if you're not impressed with yourself,
Ray couldn't deny he enjoyed her attention, not to mention being seen with the cutest girl in the place. But something, he feared, was damaged inside him. He couldn't trust anyone, especially someone trying
tocompliment him. If Kitty saw a picture of him from before his face had cleared up, before his jaw had become defined, before his musculature had caught up with his height, what would she think? She'd be on to else, he was sure.
"Does it bother you that I'm in a sorority?" Kitty said.
"Hardly. It's admirable. I can only assume you're to it."
"But we traditionally date only fiat guys."
If only Ray had the courage to speak his mind. What
Did that have to do with him? They had just met! What
Was she saying, that he would have to join a fraternity to qualify to see her? What made her think he had an of interest?
""Well, there you go," he said, wondering where, he ad dredged up that gem. What else was there to say except what he was thinking? There was no call for despite her impudence. Must be nice to assume guy is dying to take you out. Kitty looked like special, but she sure came across shallow.
It took Ray almost a month to realize that he had
Stumbled upon an irresistible formula. He hadn't meant to do it. The whole thing had. been a product of his deep
spawned by the way he had been treated in high
school. As a good-looking senior leader he had been the same person inside that he had been when he was an acne-plagued underclassman. But how he was viewed and treated had been as different as chess and tiddlywinks.
Somehow his disdain for Kitty Wyley's manipulative approach made him come across mysterious, aloof. Despite his appearance and carriage and presence, Ray was still just twenty years old. It took him a while to recognize that the very reason Kitty was pursuing him was because he didn't seem to care. He wasn't going to join a fraternity just to qualify for her attention. Inside he loathed the thin-sliced depth of her character, but somehow his disdain had merely made him appear unattainable to her.
Kitty made that plain when they ran into each other again a little over three weeks later. She broke away from a cadre of guys and girls who looked like her, and Ray felt their stares as she approached.
"Ray Steele!" she said. Kitty set her books down and reached for him with both hands. At first he didn't know what to do. He set down his own bag, and she took his hands in hers. "Our house is having a cookout Friday night, and I'd love for you to come."
He cocked his head. "Sure I can get in without a frat pin?"
"Don't be silly. If I invite you, you'll be welcome."
"I'd have to come a little late. There's a ROTC dance that night."
"And you have to go?"
Tim LaHaye & Jerry B. Jenkins
"I have a date."
"Oh!" she whined. "You'd rather be with me, wouldn't you, Ray?"
Actually, no. Irene, the ROTC freshman with the archaic name, might not turn heads like Kitty, but she didn't put on airs either. She had been an army brat, living in bases all over the world before her dad was killed in combat. She wasn't even in ROTC for a military car
eer. Irene was just comfortable with the type of people who joined because she had been raised around them. "I'll try to come, if I can come late," Ray said. "Promise me," Kitty said. "I'll be there."
"And your date is not invited."
That seemed to go without saying.
"And while everyone will know you're not in a house," Kitty added, "let's not talk about ROTC, hm?"
In spite of himself, Ray nodded. He should have just told her off, ended the relationship--if anyone could even call it that--right there. He was anything but phony. She was inviting Rayford (but she wouldn't call him that), a non-frat guy (which everyone would know S,O there was no reason to dwell on it) and a ROTC plebe (which neither he nor Kitty would mention), and he was to dump his previous date as soon as he could.
That all added up to why Rayford should run from this girl, but he stood there like a dolt, agreeing to every caveat. Was she that special? Hardly. Talk about skin- deep. Maybe he enjoyed the power, but he wasn't being true to himself, at least not to the man he wanted to be.
284 285
287
Over the next few days, not only did he try to talk himself out of going, but he also discussed it withmof all people--Irene. She was a smallish brunette, pleasant- enough looking, and fun. Her history allowed her to talk easily with all the other men and women in ROTC. Rayford was not attracted to her in even a preliminarily romantic way. They had simply been chatting about how there were so many more men than women in ROTC that girls from outside the corps would have to be invited to the dance.
"I don't really know anyone I'd want to bring," he had said.
"Me either."
"We could go together," he said. "Not worry about it." "Yeah, okay."
And that was it. That was why Ray didn't feel so committed and why he felt he could even talk to her about making it an early evening.
They sat in the ROTC lounge Thursday afternoon, slouching on the couch, feet on the coffee table. "Sorority cookout," Irene said. "It doesn't sound like you."
"It's not. But I've been ignoring this girl almost to the point of rudeness, and she did ask."