Assassins: Assignment: Jerusalem, Target: Antichrist

  The three would rendezvous with Dwayne and improvise. Either in the process of getting into the car or by some scheme along the way, Rayford and Dwayne would ditch Samuel Hanson and let him fend for himself. He was the one with a plane. They could sort out their differences back in the States.

  Rayford wanted to surprise Hattie and Samuel as early in the day as possible, so he and Dwayne took the first available rental car. With a quick farewell to Trudy, who was to load all their bags into her car, they were off. Dwayne bubbled with ideas of how to outwit Samuel.

  “Are you sure you want to insert yourself this far into a Tribulation Force operation?” Rayford said.

  “Are you kiddin’ me? I’ve been itchin’ for some action ever since I got saved. Now listen, we can ditch this boy soon’s we get in the car. You could tell him to step outside with you for a minute because, like, you’ve got a private message for him. Like from his brother. You get out and walk him behind the car, and then you tell him you forgot the note in the car. You jump back in, I take off, and there we go.”

  “Could work,” Rayford said.

  “Or how ’bout this one?” Dwayne said, following Rayford’s directions as he sped through town. “When you first bring ’em to the car, I get out all mannerly and such and we do the formal introductions. I open the door for the lady and get her inside. Then I give this Hanson character a big ol’ Oklahoma shove. He’ll roll twenty feet, but it won’t hurt him. By the time his head clears, we’ll be long gone.”

  Rayford studied a city map and the note from Bo. “They’re using the names James Dykes and Mae Willie. Sometimes you have to wonder. . . .”

  “Here’s another idea,” Dwayne said, but Rayford cut him off.

  “No offense, Dwayne, but I don’t much care how we do it, as long as we get it done.”

  “You gotta have a plan.”

  “We have plenty. If it doesn’t feel right for me to invite him out of the car, you know what to do.”

  “You got it, pardner.”

  By now David was despairing. It was midmorning in New Babylon, and he and Mac were huddled in Mac’s office. David had programmed his own secure phone to dial Rayford’s every sixty seconds and to leave a digital message that simply read ABORT and gave David’s number.

  “If I’d known it was gonna be this way,” Mac said, “I could’ve flown to France and intercepted him myself by now.”

  David, feeling helpless, brought up on his computer phone calls between Leon and his intelligence enforcement chief, Walter Moon, the day before, the day of, and the day after the announcement of Hattie’s death. When David finally hit pay dirt and heard something that would help Rayford, he felt even worse.

  “This’ll make your day, Mac,” he said. “Listen to this. It’s Leon and Moon.”

  “What’s your plan on the Durham situation, Wally?”

  “It’s done, Commander. She made it so easy. How long we been looking for that—”

  “Too long. Now what’s done? What did you do?”

  “Like we said, we got rid of the pilot. He was usin’ the name Dykes, but we traced the plane to Sam Hanson out of Louisiana.”

  “By got rid of . . .”

  “You want to know or you want to not know? Let’s just say Sam’s had his last bowl o’ gumbo. We put the filly in the Brussels lockup. She was usin’ the name Mae Willie, so we booked her under that so she could hide out even inside if she wanted. I know the big boss—’scuse me, the Excell—, His Excellency doesn’t want anything noisy.”

  “Right, and anyway, who’d believe she’s Hattie Durham? She’s been reported dead.”

  “And she’s the one who did it. We could leave her in Belgium forever.”

  “And we’re taking advantage of this how?”

  “We informed the pilot’s only living kin, his brother, in a note that looks like it’s from Sam, that Sam would be holing up in France for a while, so don’t expect to hear from him. We figure the brother will eventually get suspicious or run out of patience and come looking for him. We just hope her Judah-ite friends will find her through the brother first, because we have a surprise for them.

  “I’m listening.”

  “We’ve got a look-alike staying at the apartment, claiming to be Dykes. He plays coy but then promises to take any snoops to Hattie. They wind up in the same situation as the Cajun, if you get my drift.”

  “Excellent, Wally.”

  Mac shook his head. “You keeping Tsion informed? Rayford’s walking into a hornet’s nest, and those people over there, particularly his daughter, ought to be prepared, in case he never comes back.”

  David nodded and reached for his phone, but it was ringing. He zeroed in on the caller ID. “It’s him!”

  Mac leaned over to listen in, and David hit the button. “Captain Steele, where are you, man? I’ve been trying to call you for—”

  “Excuse me, sir. This is Mrs. Dwayne Tuttle. You can call me Trudy. My husband and Captain Steele left me to arrange for hotel rooms and take care of the luggage. I saw this phone in the captain’s bag, and I’m sorry but I turned it on out of curiosity. Well, just dozens and dozens of messages have been scrollin’ by, all with your number and this abort message, and I thought I ought to call.”

  “Ma’am, thank you. Where is Rayf—Captain Steele right now?”

  “He and my husband are on their way to try to find Miss Durham.”

  “Does your husband have a phone?”

  “Sure, but last time I talked to him his battery died.”

  “Is there any way we can reach them?”

  “I have the address where they’re going, if you’d like to call the young lady.”

  Mac grabbed the phone. “Ma’am, this is Mac McCullum. Remember meeting me in Africa?”

  “Yes, sir, how are you feel—”

  “Trudy, listen to me and do exactly what I say. It’s a matter of life and death. Do you know that town?”

  “Just from the airport to here.”

  “Get yourself a map at the desk and have them tell you the fastest way to Hattie’s address. Drive there as fast as you can. If anyone tries to stop you, don’t let them and explain later. At all costs, you must tell Captain Steele to abort. He’ll take it from there.”

  “Abort, yessir.”

  “Any questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then do it right now, Trudy. And call us to let us know what happens.”

  Dwayne drove past the address on Rue Marguerite and stopped a block and a half away.

  “Seedy little dump, idn’t it?” Dwayne said.

  “It’s perfect, really,” Rayford said. “I’m impressed. This may be the best choice they made in the whole fiasco. Let’s watch awhile and see if she comes or goes.”

  Rayford got antsy after ten minutes when only two people left the building, neither Hattie. “If I’m not back in five minutes, come looking for me.”

  “They armed?”

  “Doubt it. If Sam’s as bright as his brother, he wouldn’t know which end to aim. Hattie would worry about breaking a nail.”

  Still, Rayford wished he was carrying the weapon Albie had described. He could never shoot Hattie, and he wouldn’t risk the consequences for a small-time goon like Bo Hanson’s brother. This shouldn’t be that risky, he decided. Hattie would let him in. If she didn’t, he had a story in mind to use on Sam Hanson.

  The three-story building had three sets of ten mailboxes built into the wall in the lobby, which was neither manned nor secured. Rayford was surprised they had not chosen a building with at least a buzz-in system. He found “Dykes, J.” on the box numbered 323 and mounted the stairs.

  Each floor was reached by a series of four sets of steps in a square pattern. By the time Rayford reached the top floor, he was winded and his knee ached. Apartment 323 was on the front side of the building at the left end. He could have been watched from the time he stepped onto the property. Sam and Hattie could have even seen the car cruise by.

  R
ayford gathered himself and found the button in a metal box in the middle of the apartment door. His push resulted in a resounding two-tone ring that could have been heard in any flat on that floor. Rayford thought he heard movement, but no one answered. As he reached for the button again, he distinctly heard someone. He guessed they were pulling on a pair of pants. “Take your time,” he called out. “No rush.”

  He imagined someone tiptoeing to the door and listening. There was no peephole. Rayford hoped whoever it was was listening to tell if he had retreated. He pushed the button quickly, giving them an earful.

  A male voice: “Who is it?”

  “Tom Agee.”

  “Who?”

  “Thomas Agee.”

  “Don’t know that name.”

  “I’m a friend of the woman who lives here.”

  “No woman here. Just me.”

  “Mae Willie doesn’t live here?”

  Silence.

  “May I speak with Mae, please? Tell her it’s a friend.”

  Rayford heard the unmistakable sliding action on a semiautomatic pistol. He considered a break for the stairs, but the door opened abruptly to reveal a muscular young man with one hand behind his back. He was barefoot and bare chested, wearing only jeans.

  Rayford decided on a bold approach. “May I come in?”

  “Who’d you say you were looking for?”

  “You heard me or you wouldn’t have opened the door. Now where is she?”

  “I told you, it’s just me here. What do you want with her?”

  “Who? The one who doesn’t live here?”

  “State your business or hit the street.”

  “Are you Samuel Hanson?”

  The man leveled his eyes. “Name’s Jimmy Dykes.”

  “Then you are Samuel Hanson. Where’s Hattie Durham?”

  The man started to shut the door. “Buddy, you’re lost. There’s nobody here by that—”

  Rayford stepped forward and the door stopped at his foot. “If I’m in the wrong place, how did I know yours and Hattie’s real names? Now I need to speak with her.”

  “Dykes” seemed to be considering it.

  “You’re not GC, are you?”

  “I’m a friend of Hattie’s,” Rayford said, loudly enough so Hattie might hear him.

  “You’re not really Tommy Agee, either, are you?”

  “We all have to be careful, Samuel. I’m Rayford Steele. I bring you greetings from your brother, Bo.”

  Samuel had still not moved. “Hi, back. Hattie’s not here, but I can take you to her. C’mon in while I get dressed.”

  Samuel pushed the door open wider and Rayford stepped in. As the door was swinging shut, Rayford heard footsteps flying up the stairs. Samuel headed for another room, and as he turned his back, Rayford saw him move a handgun from back to front.

  Samuel set the weapon on the table, still blocking Rayford’s view of it with his body. He grabbed a shirt and had one arm in it when frenzied banging on the door and ringing of the bell made both men start.

  Rayford hoped it was Hattie. He ignored Samuel’s look and swung the door open. Trudy?! His life shifted into slow motion as he desperately tried to remember her undercover name. He turned to look back at Samuel, who tore his shirt straightening his arm to reach for the gun.

  Trudy screeched, “Abort!” and reached as if to pull Rayford from the room, but he knew neither of them could run from that weapon. The incongruity alone of Trudy showing up with an abort message told him that whoever this man was, he would kill them.

  Trudy bounded down the stairs, and Rayford imagined taking a .45 bullet in the back and another in the top of the head. Trudy would be slain before she reached the first floor. Rayford simply could not let this man follow him out of the room unimpeded.

  He turned from the slowly closing door and charged the man, who had just fought through his shredded shirt and had grabbed the handle of the weapon. One stride from him and accelerating, Rayford saw him lift the already cocked firearm and slip his index finger onto the trigger.

  Rayford didn’t want to take his chances wrestling a man with a gun. He could cover the man’s hand with both of his, but he didn’t like the odds. Instead he marshaled his adrenaline and left his feet, throwing himself at the gunman with his fists drawn into his chest, elbows akimbo, like a cornerback taking out a receiver who just got his fingers on the ball.

  Rayford’s man didn’t fumble, but he did go flying. Rayford had caught him in the neck with one of his forearms, driving his body back as his head jerked forward. As his momentum carried him back, the man’s bare feet hit the floor and a small table caught him behind his knees.

  His feet flew straight up as the back of his head smashed through the front window. He lay there stunned, the gun in his hand, finger on the trigger, as Rayford scrambled toward the door. His feet were moving so fast he could hardly gain purchase on the floor. He felt as if he were in a nightmare, being chased by a monster, and running in muck.

  He yanked the door open and peeked back as he fled. The gunman’s head still stuck in the broken window. His torso had wound up lower than his feet, and his kicking and squirming only made it harder for him to get up.

  It did not stop him from firing off two rounds, however, deafening, ugly explosions almost simultaneous with shattering wood and flying wallboard.

  Rayford crashed down the steps three and four at a time, nearly overtaking Trudy, who was moving as fast as she could one step at a time. When Rayford reached the second floor, he grabbed the banister and, despite his protesting knee, swung into the middle of the staircase. He dropped to the floor as Trudy reached the last step.

  She moaned as she ran as if certain she was about to be shot. Rayford felt a tingling in his back as if he, too, expected a bullet to rip through him.

  Trudy had left her car idling, the door open, directly in front of the apartment building. Dwayne had noticed it and pulled up behind it, clearly puzzled. He looked up as Rayford and his wife hurried toward him, and he called out, “What the . . . ?”

  “Go!” Rayford waved at him. “We’ll catch up with you!”

  Rayford ran to the driver’s side and Trudy opened the passenger door as shots came from the third floor. As soon as Rayford heard her door shut, he floored the accelerator and threw dirt and stones as the car fishtailed down the street.

  His instincts had saved them, he knew, but as his heart shoved blood through him faster than ever, Rayford was unable to feel gratitude for that presence of mind. He knew God had been with him, protected him, helped spare him. But all Rayford felt was a resurgence of the rage that had plagued him for months.

  This, all of it, started and ended with Nicolae Carpathia. He wanted to murder the man and he would, he decided, if it was the last thing he did on earth. And he didn’t care if it was. He would spend whatever he had to for that weapon from Albie, and regardless what it took, he would be where he needed to be when the time came.

  Trudy, gasping, wrestled her seat belt on. As Rayford followed Dwayne through the narrow streets, she fished around on the floor and came up with his phone. “Is—is—is there a sp—sp—speed dial number for Mac McCu—”

  “Two.”

  She punched it and Rayford heard it ring, then Mac’s voice. “Mrs. Tuttle?”

  “M—m—mission accomplished!” Trudy said, and she handed Rayford the phone as she burst into tears.

  CHAPTER 17

  David was spent.

  He and Mac had listened to Rayford’s debriefing as the two cars zipped through Le Havre on their way back to the hotel. All agreed that if they had not been followed they were safe briefly at the hotel under their aliases, but that they should leave the country as soon as possible. Rayford had used both his phony and his real name with “Samuel,” who, of course, turned out to be a GC plant. Provided he hadn’t bled to death from window injuries, he would have already spread the word that Rayford was in France.

  That made it unlikely that Rayford could get ou
t of the airport through customs. Fortunately, he had separated from the “Hills” as they passed through customs and was not linked to their party on the computer.

  “We can’t help you from here,” David told him.

  “I’ll stay in touch,” Rayford said. “But I’m not going straight home.”

  Buck left Israel without visiting the Wailing Wall. Neither had he reported to Tsion the details of his encounter with Chaim Rosenzweig. He wanted to do that in person, knowing Tsion would be as heavyhearted as he was. How they had grown to love Chaim! It wasn’t enough to say that you couldn’t make a person’s decision for him. The believers who loved Chaim wanted to do just that.

  Buck enjoyed a warm reunion with Lukas Miklos and his wife. In her broken English, Mrs. Miklos told Buck with relish, “Laslos loves the intrigue. He tells me day and night for week, remember our friend be Greg North, not you-know-who.”

  Laslos had done his homework. He had made his lignite business so profitable that he was stockpiling profits and planned to sell the operation to the Global Community just before trading restrictions were predicted to go into effect.

  Laslos showed Buck an expansive site at a new location where he would house trucks and loading equipment to ship commodities to co-op locations. His new concern would look like a GC-sanctioned shipping business, but it would be ten times larger than it appeared and would be the hub of co-op activity in that part of the world.

  Buck also visited Laslos’ underground church, a vast group of believers led by a converted Jew whose main dilemma was how large the body had grown. Buck flew back to the States encouraged by what he had seen in Greece but saddened by the lack of spiritual movement on Chaim Rosenzweig’s part.

  At home he found Tsion and Chloe skittish about a decision they had come to about Leah. Buck thought it a great idea, but they wondered whether they should have proceeded without consulting Rayford. Due to the near disaster with Rayford and the complexity of the communications between Force members from all over the world, Tsion suggested putting one person in charge of centralized information. Leah immediately volunteered, saying she found herself looking for things to do between preparing meals. Chloe had spent hours with her, bringing her up to speed on the computer, and Leah said she had never felt more fulfilled.