"I'm lost," Rayford said.
"Oh, but you're not," Stephens said with a twisted smile. "You once were lost, but now you're found. Would you like me to remove the prosthesis again and-"
"No," Rayford and Albie said in unison. And Albie added, "Just get to the point."
Pinkerton folded his hands beneath his chin again, and his eyes seemed to bore into Albie. "How did I respond when you said, 'He is risen'?"
Albie seemed to have regained his voice and composure. "Sounded like you said, 'Who is risen indeed?' "
"That's what I said. What's your answer?"
Albie shifted and cleared his throat. "I believe the protocol is that I say, 'He is risen,' and that you respond, 'He is risen indeed.' "
"Fair enough, but my question remains. Who is risen indeed?"
So, Rayford concluded, somehow he's onto me. And yet he sat silent, knowing a moment of truth had arrived and waiting to see what would come of it.
"Humor me one more time, Commander."
Albie sighed and glanced at Rayford. Albie's phony mark sure looked real. "He is risen," Albie muttered.
"Who is risen indeed?" Stephens said, forcing another smile through the misshapen lips.
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Albie said. "I'm tired of this game."
"Christ!" Stephens whispered excitedly. "Come on, brothers! The answer to the question is 'Christ!' Christ is risen indeed! I see the marks of the believer on both your foreheads! You missed mine for the horror of the rest of my face. Now look!"
He unfastened the prosthesis from the top this time and merely peeled it back. Rayford and Albie leaned forward, and there, amidst the gore, the mark was clear. As Stephens reapplied the piece, Rayford turned and grabbed Albie's head in both hands. He cupped the back with his left hand and rubbed the forehead hard with his right. "Satisfied?" Albie said, smiling. Rayford felt like jelly. He flopped back in his chair, panting and unable to move.
"So who are you anyway?" Stephens said. Rayford leaned forward, "I'm-" "Oh, I know who you are. I knew almost immediately, though I like the new look. But who's this character?" Albie introduced himself.
Stephens leaned forward and shook his hand. He nodded to Rayford. "I've got Mr. Steele completely dumb-founded, don't I?"
"That's an understatement," Rayford said. "You and I both worked for Carpathia at the same time, Rayford, and before that your son-in-law worked for me." "Steve Plank?"
"In the flesh, or what's left of it. Crushed, chopped up, burned, and left for dead by the wrath of the Lamb earthquake. I'd been on the edge for weeks, reading Buck's stuff, realizing things about Carpathia. I decided that if Buck and other believers were right about a global earthquake, I was in at the sound of the first tremor. I was praying the prayer as the building came down."
Rayford shook his head. "But why the ruse-why work for the GC again?"
"It came to me in the hospital. No one, including me, knew who I was. When my memory returned, I made up a name and a history. That was twenty-one months ago, and all through a year of therapy and rehab, I had time to think about where I wanted to land. I wanted to take Carpathia down from the inside."
"But why not tell anyone? Everyone thought you were dead."
"The best secrets are kept between two people, providing one of them is dead. One of the most shameless stunts Carpathia pulled was how he treated Hattie Durham. I got myself into the Peacekeeping Force and kept my eye on her till I tracked her out here. I prayed this day would come. I'll follow orders, obey the rules, do my job, and you'll rescue her."
David panicked. After sitting through the surreal performance by Carpathia, Fortunato, and Viv Ivins, he was in line to leave with the others. But Carpathia stood by the door, accepting embraces, handshakes, kisses, and bowing from each director. The shameless Hickman fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Nicolae's knees, weeping loudly. The potentate rolled his eyes and gave Fortunato a look that would have put a wart on a gravestone.
When he was about sixth in line, David prayed desperately. What was he to do? In the flesh he wanted to fake whatever he had to fake in order to not be found out and jeopardize the rest of the Force. But he could not, would not, bow the knee to Antichrist. It was impossible that his breach of etiquette would go unnoticed. From what he could tell, it appeared he would be the only director who did not gush over the resurrected leader.
"God, help me!" he prayed silently. Was this the end? Should he merely bolt now and hope for the best? Or shake Carpathia's hand and say something neutraclass="underline" "Glad you're feeling better after that dying thing"? "Welcome back"?
Except for his obvious disgust with Hickman, Carpathia oozed graciousness and humility as his people poured on the sugar. "Oh, thank you. I am grateful for your partnership and support. Great days ahead. Yes.
Yes."
Now second in line, David was nauseated. Literally. His tender scalp vibrated against the bandages with every beat of his heart. He tried to pray, tried to be sensitive to what God wanted him to do. But as the director in front of him finally pulled away from a long embrace of the potentate, David stood there blankly.
Carpathia spread his arms and said, "David, my beloved David."
David could not move and sensed the turning heads of those nearby. Carpathia looked puzzled, seeming to beckon him. David said, "Pothen-potenth-Exshell-" and pitched forward. His last image before crashing to the floor, head banging the marble, was that he had vomited all over Carpathia.
"How you doing, Zeke?" Buck said.
He pictured the all-black-wearing, flabby forger huddled underground at his dad's one-pump filling station in ravaged Des Plaines. "I'm OK," came the whispered reply. "I been watchin' TV to keep from gettin' bored, and I got all kinds of food down here. Kinda dark though. And 'course there's nothing on but all this Carpathia junk."
"Have you been keeping an eye on the GC?"
"Yeah, every time I hear a car I scoot over to my monitor and watch what they do. Some of these people aren't even our real customers. They just see the pump and stop in. Then the GC car swings over from across the road and parks right in front of 'em."
"A jeep?"
"No, it's a little four door, a dark compact."
"Good."
"Why's that good, Mr. Williams?"
"Because when I come for you, I'm going to be in a white Hummer, and it'll squash a compact like a bug."
"It's not a VW, sir. It's-" "That was just an expression, Zeke." "Oh, I getcha."
"So they don't pull up in front and behind the car?" "No, there's only one GC car over there. I looked." "You did?"
"Yeah. I know I shouldn't have, but I was real bored, so I sneaked up the stairs where I was still in the dark and could see across the way. You know this road never really got rebuilt. They threw some asphalt on it a little over a year ago, but there was no real base, so it went to potholes and now it's just chunks of pavement. We don't get much traffic."
"You don't think the GC knows you're there, do you?" "Nope, and I'm real sure they don't know there's a basement. There didn't use to be. Dad and I dug it ourselves." "Where's the debris?" "Out back, through the door at the back of the service bay."
"Hmm, never noticed it. How close are the secret stairs to the underground?"
"Maybe ten feet. It's kinda hidden in the corner."
"So if I was to drive to the back of the station, I'd see a door right about in the middle of the building, a door you could get to by sneaking up the stairs and moving about ten feet along the back wall."
"Yeah."
"So if you knew exactly when I was coming, you could sneak out the back without the GC stakeout guys seeing you."