Armageddon: The Cosmic Battle Of The Ages by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page A

business? Creative solutions for getting to where a deal makes sense?”
    Sahib nodded. “Yes, Mr. Mazda.”
    “Your handgun, please.”
    Sahib produced a .44 revolver.
    Mainyu Mazda hefted it and turned it over in his hands. “My old friend and I are twenty thousand Nicks apart, and he is the solution. What is the bounty on unmarked citizens again, Sahib?”
    “Twenty thousand.”
    “That makes fifty. And we don’t even have to do the job.”
    He pointed the barrel between Albie’s eyes and pulled the trigger.
     
     
    Her cell, Chloe thought, was in a strange location. It con-sisted of a cage in the corner of a larger room. A metal shelf protruded from the wall. Her bed, she imagined. And a combination sink and toilet stood in plain sight. It was what wasn’t there that concerned her. Nothing was mov-able or removable. There wasn’t so much as a toilet seat, a blanket, or a pillow. No reading material. Nothing.
    Faint from hunger, Chloe crawled onto the shelf and lay on her side, facing the door. She was supported by woven strips of metal about four inches wide that might have given a bit if she weighed a hundred more pounds. Not even the formerly ubiquitous Nigel was anywhere to be seen. The outer room was bright enough, the sun streaming through the windows and bars. But the room was otherwise drab, all tile and linoleum and steel in institutional greens.
    Chloe wanted to call out, to tell someone she was hun-gry, but her pride overcame her discomfort. She sat up quickly when she heard the door open, and a man in a custodial-type uniform hurried in. Cleaning bottles hung from his belt next to his cell phone. He carried a rag and had another in his back pocket.
    “Oh, hi,” he said. “Didn’t know we had somebody in custody.”
    “You’re not supposed to,” she said, dying to be charming.
    “Pardon?”
    “I just wandered in here. Locked myself in like an idiot.”
    He laughed, a smile radiating. “And you had the bad fortune of wearing a jumpsuit today that makes you look like an inmate too. Unlucky.”
    “Yeah, that’s me,” she said.
    “Maybe they locked you up for your taste in clothes, huh?”
    “Must have.”
    “Well, I’m just getting a bucket over here. Best of luck to ya.”
    “Thanks.”
    He grabbed a bucket from the corner under a sus-pended TV set and headed back toward the door. Then he stopped and turned on his heel. “They gave you your phone call, didn’t they?”
    “Oh, sure. I’ve been treated like a queen. I called Santa Claus.”
    He set the bucket down and moved to within a few feet of the cage. He looked over his shoulder at the door, then turned back and lowered his voice. “No, I’m seri-ous. That’s the one thing I don’t like here. I mean, people get what they deserve, not taking the mark and all, like you. I’m not so naive as to think there’d still be a trial for that after all these years, but what ever happened to one phone call? I mean, this is still America, isn’t it?”
    “Not the one I remember.”
    “Me either. Hey, you wanna make a phone call?”
    “What?”
    “You gotta promise not to tell. I’d be in a lot of trouble.”
    “What, with your phone?”
    “Sure. Here.” He slid it from his belt and angled it so it would fit between the wires of the cage. “But just one, and you gotta make it quick. Then hide it. Or slide it across the floor like I dropped it or something. I’ll come back for it in a while.”
    “You’re serious?”
    “Sure. What’s the harm? Go ahead. Knock yourself out. Pretty little thing like you. I’ll be back.”
    Chloe’s hands shook as she went to a corner with her back to the door.
How dumb do they think I am? Thing probably doesn’t even work, and if it does, not from here.
She didn’t care. It was worth a try. She had to talk with someone. She didn’t dare risk calling the safe house, assuming this was a setup and that any call would be traced.
    Chloe dialed her dad’s phone number. He had to be back in