Free Assassins: Assignment: Jerusalem, Target: Antichrist by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page A
Authors: Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins
kind of speed and range?”
“Oh, fast as a heavy but probably needs one more top-off before going overseas. How far you figure your escapee’s going anyway?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her to think she can march into Carpathia’s office and personally give him what for. Well, there’ll be no catching or intercepting that craft, will there?”
“Nope. What is it, almost one? That thing’s been airborne, I assume at maximum speed, an hour and a half. Even with twenty minutes on the east coast for landing, fuel, and takeoff, it’s still gonna be too far away by now.”
“You got enough information that I could radio the craft?”
“Think about it, Rayford. Whoever’s flying that plane is not going to answer unless he knows who’s calling.”
“Maybe I could spin him a yarn, urge him to put down in Spain due to a fuel irregularity or something that turned up here or wherever he refueled.”
“You’re dreaming, Ray. And I’d like to be.”
“Thanks for nothing, friend.”
“You’re going to have to go round her up yourself or turn some of your contacts onto her over there.”
“I know. I appreciate it, T. I’ll try to get out to the strip for some co-op business tomorrow.”
“Today, you mean?”
“Sorry,” Rayford said.
“I might bring a couple of people from our house church. We want to get behind this thing in a big way.”
For all Rayford knew, Hattie had the power to blow the lid off the co-op, too.
Mac McCullum had a full morning. After tipping his cap to Annie Christopher as he passed her office in the hangar, he arrived at his own office to three messages. The first was a list generated by Leon Fortunato’s secretary, outlining personnel authorized on the flight to Botswana in three days. The supreme commander, his valet, an assistant, a cook, and two servers would make up the GC contingent. Two aides would accompany President Ngumo of Botswana. “Note that the Supreme Commander has decreed that the plane shall be stationary while the Botswanians are aboard.”
The list also included captain and first officer in the cockpit, with an asterisk after the latter. At the bottom of the page the asterisk referred to a note: “The Supreme Commander believes you will be pleased by the resolution of this matter.”
Mac was. The second document was a note from Personnel regarding the application of Abdullah Smith for Condor 216 first officer. Not only had he been ranked high in every technical aspect save verbal acuity (“Somewhat laconic” read the summary), but he had also been judged “an outstanding citizen, loyal to the Global Community.”
Fortunato himself had scribbled in the margin, “Congratulations on a wonderful find, Mac. Smith will make a great contribution to the cause! S. C. L. F.”
If you only knew, Mac thought.
Mac’s third missive was from David Hassid. “Important message for you, Captain,” it read. “In person, please.”
Mac and David had learned to appear impersonal and professional in front of staff. Their difference in age helped. The entire GC complex, though ostensibly anti-military because of Carpathia’s avowed pacifism, was pseudomilitary in its organizational structure. Mac felt comfortable with the chain of command, having spent so much of his life in uniform. And David often deferred to Mac’s counsel because David had come to the GC from the private sector. Now the two were on equal footing in separate branches, and it appeared their occasional face-to-faces attracted no attention.
David’s secretary ushered Mac into David’s office. “Captain,” David said, shaking his hand.
“Director,” Mac said, sitting.
When the secretary left, David said, “Get this,” and turned around his laptop so Mac could read it. The captain squinted at the screen and read Rayford’s account of the previous day’s activities at the safe house in Illinois. “Oh, man,” he said, “that doctor. The girl lives, the doctor dies. Beat
“Oh, fast as a heavy but probably needs one more top-off before going overseas. How far you figure your escapee’s going anyway?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her to think she can march into Carpathia’s office and personally give him what for. Well, there’ll be no catching or intercepting that craft, will there?”
“Nope. What is it, almost one? That thing’s been airborne, I assume at maximum speed, an hour and a half. Even with twenty minutes on the east coast for landing, fuel, and takeoff, it’s still gonna be too far away by now.”
“You got enough information that I could radio the craft?”
“Think about it, Rayford. Whoever’s flying that plane is not going to answer unless he knows who’s calling.”
“Maybe I could spin him a yarn, urge him to put down in Spain due to a fuel irregularity or something that turned up here or wherever he refueled.”
“You’re dreaming, Ray. And I’d like to be.”
“Thanks for nothing, friend.”
“You’re going to have to go round her up yourself or turn some of your contacts onto her over there.”
“I know. I appreciate it, T. I’ll try to get out to the strip for some co-op business tomorrow.”
“Today, you mean?”
“Sorry,” Rayford said.
“I might bring a couple of people from our house church. We want to get behind this thing in a big way.”
For all Rayford knew, Hattie had the power to blow the lid off the co-op, too.
Mac McCullum had a full morning. After tipping his cap to Annie Christopher as he passed her office in the hangar, he arrived at his own office to three messages. The first was a list generated by Leon Fortunato’s secretary, outlining personnel authorized on the flight to Botswana in three days. The supreme commander, his valet, an assistant, a cook, and two servers would make up the GC contingent. Two aides would accompany President Ngumo of Botswana. “Note that the Supreme Commander has decreed that the plane shall be stationary while the Botswanians are aboard.”
The list also included captain and first officer in the cockpit, with an asterisk after the latter. At the bottom of the page the asterisk referred to a note: “The Supreme Commander believes you will be pleased by the resolution of this matter.”
Mac was. The second document was a note from Personnel regarding the application of Abdullah Smith for Condor 216 first officer. Not only had he been ranked high in every technical aspect save verbal acuity (“Somewhat laconic” read the summary), but he had also been judged “an outstanding citizen, loyal to the Global Community.”
Fortunato himself had scribbled in the margin, “Congratulations on a wonderful find, Mac. Smith will make a great contribution to the cause! S. C. L. F.”
If you only knew, Mac thought.
Mac’s third missive was from David Hassid. “Important message for you, Captain,” it read. “In person, please.”
Mac and David had learned to appear impersonal and professional in front of staff. Their difference in age helped. The entire GC complex, though ostensibly anti-military because of Carpathia’s avowed pacifism, was pseudomilitary in its organizational structure. Mac felt comfortable with the chain of command, having spent so much of his life in uniform. And David often deferred to Mac’s counsel because David had come to the GC from the private sector. Now the two were on equal footing in separate branches, and it appeared their occasional face-to-faces attracted no attention.
David’s secretary ushered Mac into David’s office. “Captain,” David said, shaking his hand.
“Director,” Mac said, sitting.
When the secretary left, David said, “Get this,” and turned around his laptop so Mac could read it. The captain squinted at the screen and read Rayford’s account of the previous day’s activities at the safe house in Illinois. “Oh, man,” he said, “that doctor. The girl lives, the doctor dies. Beat