The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page A

he knew. In fact, they had probably been too close; she was too much like him.
    It wasn’t simply Raymie’s age and innocence that had allowed his mother’s influence to affect him so. It was his spirit. He didn’t have the killer instinct, the “me first” attitude Rayford thought he would need to succeed in the real world. He wasn’t effeminate, but Rayford had worried that he might be a mama’s boy—too compassionate, too sensitive, too caring. He was always looking out for someone else when Rayford thought he should be looking out for number one.
    How grateful he was now that Raymie took after his mother more than he took after his father. And how he wished there had been some of that in Chloe. She was competitive, a driver, someone who had to be convinced and persuaded. She could be kind and generous when it suited her purpose, but she was like her dad. She took care of herself.
    Good job, big shot, Rayford told himself. The girl you were so proud of because she was so much like you is in your same predicament.
    That, he decided, would have to change. As soon as they reconnected, that would change. They would be on a mission, a quest for truth. If he was already too late, he would have to accept and deal with that. He’d always been one who went for a goal and accepted the consequences. Only these consequences were eternal. He hoped against all hope that there was another chance at truth and knowledge out there somewhere. The only problem was that the ones who knew were gone.

    The Midpoint Motel on Washington Street, a few miles from the tiny Waukegan Airport, was tacky enough that there wasn’t a waiting list. Buck Williams was pleasantly surprised they had not even raised their rates for the crisis. When he saw the room, he knew why, and he wondered what two places in the world this dive was midpoint between. Whatever they were, either had to be better. There was a phone, however, and a shower, a bed, and a TV. Run-down as it was, it would suffice. First Buck called his voice mail in New York. Nothing from this Ritz character or anything else new, so he listened to his saved message from Dirk Burton, which reminded him why he had felt it so important to get to London. Buck tapped it into his laptop as he listened:
    Cameron, you always tell me this message center is confidential, and I hope you’re right. I’m not even going to identify myself, but you know who it is. Let me tell you something major and encourage you to come here as quickly as possible. The big man, your compatriot, the one I call the supreme power broker internationally, met here the other day with the one I call our muckety-muck. You know who I mean. There was a third party at the meeting. All I know is that he’s from Europe, probably Eastern Europe. I don’t know what their plans are for him, but apparently something on a huge scale.
    My sources say your man has met with each of his key people and this same European in different locations. He introduced him to people in China, the Vatican, Israel, France, Germany, here, and the States. Something is cooking, and I don’t even want to suggest what it is other than in person. Visit me as soon as you can. In case that’s not possible, let me just encourage this: Watch the news for the installation of a new leader in Europe. If you say, as I did, that no elections are scheduled and no changes of power are imminent, you’ll get my drift. Come soon, friend.
    Buck called Ken Ritz’s machine to tell him where he was. Then he tried calling west once again and finally got through. Buck was surprised at what a relief it was to hear his father’s voice, though he sounded tired, discouraged, and not a little panicky.
    “Everybody OK out there, Dad?”
    “Well, not everybody. Jeff was here with me, but he’s taken the four-wheel drive to see if he can get to the accident site where Sharon was last seen.”
    “Accident?”
    “She was pickin’ up the kids at a retreat or something,