"I had an employee stationed at-"
"I'm sorry! It's not that I don't care, but I can't help you! Understand?"
"She would have known how to avoid sun- or heatstroke."
"Good. Now, good-bye."
"She was at sector 53."
"Well, you don't want to hear about five-three," the doctor said, turning back to his patient.
"What about it?"
"Lots of lightning victims. Big bolt there."
"Where would the victims have been taken?"
The doctor was finished talking with David. He nodded to an assistant. "Tell him."
A young man in scrubs spoke with a French accent. "No specific place. Some came in here. Some were treated in that sector. Some inside."
David started on the cart but soon abandoned it to jog down the line of victims. This would be impossible. How could he tell who was who? Annie was in uniform, and while he was sure he could recognize her, with only shoes peeking out from sheets soaked to cool patients, he would have to check each face. And he would be interfering with the medical treatment.
As he trotted along in the heat, David reached in his belt for his water bottle and found it empty. His throat was parched, and he knew his thirst trailed by several minutes his real need for water. When had he last taken a swig? When had he eaten? When had he slept?
The huge screens showed Viv Ivins, Leon Fortunato, and Nicolae Carpathia moving the pilgrims along, cooing to them, blessing them, touching them. The waves of heat from the asphalt made David's uniform cling to him like a single, damp weight. He stopped and bent to catch his breath, but his throat felt swollen, his mouth unable to produce saliva, his windpipe constricted. Dizzy. Annie. Light-headed. Hot. Annie. Spinning. Thirst. Hands red.
David pitched forward, his cap sliding off and tumbling before him. His mind told him to reach for it, but his hands stayed planted above his knees. Break your fall! Break your fall! But he could not. His arms would not move. His face would take the brunt of it. No, he could tuck his chin.
The top of his head smacked the pavement, the jagged asphalt digging through his hair to his scalp. He shut his eyes in anticipation of the pain, and white streaks shot past his eyes. Hands still on his knees, his seat in the air, he slowly, slowly rolled sideways and crashed onto his hip. He opened his eyes and saw his own blood trickle past his face, quickly coagulating in a pool on the baked pavement. He tried to move, to speak. Unconsciousness pursued him, and all he could think of was that he was next in a long line of victims.
"You want me to fly while you make your call?" Albie said.
"Maybe you'd better," Rayford said. They switched places as he punched in Hattie's number. She answered in a hoarse, panicked whisper on the first sound.
"Rayford, where are you?"
"I don't want to say, Hattie. Talk to me. Where are you?"
"Colorado."
"Specifically."
"Pueblo, north end, I think."
"GC has you?"
"Yes. And they're going to send me back to Buffer." Rayford was silent. "Don't leave me hanging, Rayford. We go back too far."
"Hattie, I don't know what to say."
"What?!"
"What do you want me to do?"
"Come get me! I can't go back to Belgium! I'll die there."
"What do you expect me to do?"
"The right thing, Ray."
"In other words, jeopardize my life and expose the Force to-"
Click.
Rayford couldn't tell whether she hung up because he had insulted her or because she heard someone coming. He told Albie the conversation.
"What are you going to do, my friend?"
Rayford stared at Albie in the emerging light and shook his head. "That woman has caused us no end of grief." "But you care for her. You've told me before."
"I have?"
"Bits and pieces. Maybe Mac told me."
"Mac doesn't know her."
"But he knows you, and you talk, no?"
Rayford nodded. "We know they let her out of Buffer, thinking she-"
"Buffer?"
"Belgium Facility for Female Rehabilitation."
"Ah, I'd better remember that."
"Anyway, we know they were hoping she would lead them to us at the gala in Jerusalem, but she-"
"Excuse me, Rayford, but do you want me to set a course over the old safe house or just head directly for Palwaukee?"
"Depends on whether I decide to go to Colorado." "Your choice, but if I may say so, I expected you to be more decisive. I am just playacting, yet I appear more of a leader than you are. Your people admire and respect you-it's obvious." "They shouldn't. I-"
"You've reconciled with them, Rayford. They forgave you. Now become their leader again. What are you going to do about this Hattie Durham? Decide. Tell me, tell the people in the Strong Building, and do it." "I don't know, Albie."
"You'll never know. Just weigh your options, consider the pros and cons, and pull the trigger. Either way, the old safe house is fewer than ten minutes out of the way. Start with a small decision."
"Let's have a look at it."
"Good for you, Rayford."
"Don't patronize me, Albie. We're in a GC chopper. We won't look suspicious anyway."
"But you've made a decision. Now think aloud about the more important one. Are we going to Colorado?"
"I was saying, rather than lead the GC to us, she went straight there. Her family is gone, but maybe she thought she could hook up with friends in Colorado. Who knows? I couldn't even tell you whether her confounding the GC was a stroke of genius or dumb luck, but I'd lean toward the latter."
"So she may be leading you to them rather than the other way round."
Rayford turned away from Albie and looked out the window, praying silently. It hadn't been that many years since his lust for Hattie Durham had almost cost him his marriage. He took the blame for that, but since then she had been nothing but trouble. He and the others in the Tribulation Force had loved her and counseled her, provided for her, pled with her to receive Christ. But she would not be persuaded, and she pulled dangerous stunts that compromised the safety of the Force. For all he knew, she was the reason the GC had finally discovered the safe house.
Rayford's phone chirped. "Hattie?"
"I heard footsteps. They've got me in a small room in a bunker about an hour south of Colorado Springs."
"I'm a long way from there." "Oh, thank you, Rayford. I knew I could count-" "I haven't decided what I'm going to do, Hattie." "Of course you have. You won't leave me here to be sent back to prison or worse. What do I have to do, promise to become a believer?" "Not unless you mean it." "Well, if you don't come for me, you can kiss that idea good-bye."
Rayford slapped his phone shut and sighed. "What an idiot!"
"Her?" Albie said. "Or you for considering what you're considering?"
"Her! This is such a transparent attempt by the GC to lure one of us out there. Once they get me, they hold me ransom for information on the rest of the Force. Who they really want, of course, is Tsion. The rest of us are irritants. He's the enemy."
"So your choice is between this Miss Durham and Tsion Ben-Judah? You want my vote?"
"It's not that easy. We want her for the kingdom, Albie. I mean, we all really do."
"And you think if you abandon her now, she'll never believe."
"She said as much."
"This may sound cold, and I admit I'm new to this, but it's her choice, isn't it? You're not making the decision for her."
"Going out there would be the dumbest thing I've ever done. They've caught her, detained her, threatened totake her back to prison, and yet they leave her with her phone. I mean, come on."
Albie scanned the horizon. "Then your decision is easy."
"I wish."
"It is. Either you don't go, or you consider all your resources."
"What does that mean?"
"There's one it seems you've forgotten. Maybe two."
"I'll bite."
"Assign David Hassid to find out exactly where they have her and have him send through an order from a bogus commander to keep her there until further notice. You call her back and tell her you're not coming. Make her and whoever is listening in believe it. You just show up, surprise attack, just when both she and the GC think you have abandoned her."