Soul Harvest: The World Takes Sides by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page B

for it. After two bites of a rolled up pastry stuffed with ground lamb and seasonings, he whispered to Mac, “I can see and I can smell and yet somehow, even here, hunger is the best seasoning.”
    On the way back, Mac pulled to the side of a dusty field and turned off the engine. “I wanted to know you were all right, Albie,” he said. “But this is also a business mission.”
    “Splendid,” Albie said. “How can I help?” “Scuba gear,” Mac said.
    Albie furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “Scuba,” he said simply. “You need everything? Wet suit, mask, snorkel, tanks, fins?”
    “All that, yes.”
    “Weights? Ballast? Lights?”
    “I suppose.”
    “Cash?”
    “Of course.”
    “I’ll have to check,” Albie said. “I have a source. I have not heard from him since the disaster. If the stuff is to be had, I can get it. Let’s leave it this way: If you do not hear from me, return in one month and it will be here.”
    “I can’t wait that long,” Rayford said quickly.
    “I cannot guarantee any sooner. Even that long seems very fast to me at a time like this.” Rayford couldn’t argue with that. “I thought this was for you, Mac,”
    Albie added.
    “We need two sets.”
    “Are you going to make a career of diving?”
    “Hardly,” Mac said. “Why? You think we should rent instead?”
    ” Could we ?” Rayford said.
    Albie and Mac looked at Rayford and burst into laughter. “No rental on the black market,” Albie said.
    Rayford had to grin at his own naivete, but laughing seemed a distant pleasure.
    Back at the airport Rayford and Mac each manned a shovel while a dump truck brought in a gravel base for the runway. Before they knew it, several hours had passed. They sent someone for Albie.
    “Can you get a message to New Babylon?” Mac said.
    “It will require a relay, but both Qar and Wasit have been on the air since this morning, so yes, is possible.”
    Mac wrote the instructions, asking that a dispatch go to Global Community radio base informing them that Steele and McCullum were engaged in a cooperative volunteer airport rebuilding project and would return by nightfall.

    It was nearly nine-thirty Tuesday morning, Central Standard Time, when Buck was jolted awake. The day was bright and sunny, yet he had slept soundly since that brief dream in the middle of the night. A constant sound had played at the edges of his consciousness. But for how long? As his eyes grew accustomed to the light, he realized the noise had been with him for some time.
    It seemed to come from the backyard, from beyond the Range Rover. He padded to the window and opened it, pressing his cheek against the screen and looking as far that way as he could. Maybe it was emergency workers, and he and Tsion would have power sooner than they thought.
    What was that smell? Had a catering truck pulled up for the workmen? He threw on some clothes. The light was on in the hallway. Had it not been a dream after all? He skipped down the stairs in his bare feet. “Tsion! We have power! What’s happening?”
    Tsion came from the kitchen with a skillet full of food and began scooping it onto a plate at the table. “Sit down, sit down, my friend. Are you not proud of me?”
    “You found food!”
    “I did more than that, Buck! I discovered a generator, and a big one!”
    Buck bowed his head and said a brief prayer. “Did you eat, Tsion?”
    “Yes, go ahead. I could not wait. I could not sleep in the middle of the night, so I tiptoed in and took your flashlight. I did not rouse you, did I?”
    “No,” Buck said, his mouth full. “But later I thought I dreamed I saw lights in the hallway.”
    “It was not a dream, Buck! I lugged that generator out of the cellar and into the backyard myself. It took me forever to fill it with gas and clean the spark plug and get it fired up. But as soon as I hooked it to the cable in the basement, lights came on, the refrigerator came on, everything started happening. I am sorry to have