CHAPTER 3
Ryan Whittaker was trying to help.
The streets of Rome were piled with traffic. Ryan knew the Cadillac he had just rented was somewhere among the tangled mess that he wanted to help clear. Ryan had never been more grateful for the fact that his body had little reaction to jet lag and he was able to quickly adjust to any time zone. Despite the language barrier, Ryan had made it clear to the Italian police that he wanted to help. Ryan paused, at one point, to wipe his sweaty face with the back of his hand. He glared at the cloudless sky, then turned back to the people needing help.
As he approached a mangled station wagon, he came face to face with a young woman sitting behind the wheel, who appeared to be going into shock. Her hair was dark brown and straight, and she had a slender figure. But right now her face was badly bruised, and her blue eyes were wild with pain and fear.
“My baby!” she shrieked. “My baby was in his car seat! He just...he just disappeared.”
Ryan tried to steady the woman. “Calm down,” he said. Calm down, he repeated in his mind. What a joke!
“Have you seen my baby?” the woman shrieked desperately.
Ryan spoke soothingly. “No, ma’am, but I’m sure the police will find him. They’ll be here shortly. Just hold on. Right now, you need first-aid.”
As he spoke, he laid a hand on her forehead. It felt cool and clammy. Ryan bit his lip. This was not good. The woman winced in pain. “Help me,” she whispered. “It hurts.” Ryan patted her arm.
I’ve got to do something, fast! he thought. He knew that an accident victim going into shock needed to be kept as warm as possible. Ryan tugged off his own suit jacket and put it around the woman's shoulders. She dangled limply, moaning, as he picked her up and carried her an ambulance. “My baby! Please find my baby,” she pleaded.
As he approached one of the paramedics, he thought about what had happened just moments ago. Ryan had seen a speeding car that wouldn't stop or swerve; he himself had tried to swerve out of its way, only to have that car slam into the back of his rental car. That had been the first hint that something was wrong. As he’d pulled to a stop, cars all up and down the street had crashed into one another. Ryan had barely avoided being crashed into from the side by a driverless station wagon.
As Ryan had listened to nearby radios and eavesdropped on the police officers’ agitated discussions, he had learned that millions of people all over the world had suddenly disappeared, right out of their clothes. However, at the moment, he was unable to think. All that was on his mind was to help the injured.
Gently, he helped the paramedic position the young woman on a stretcher. He patted her shoulder, then backed away as another paramedic joined the first to position the moaning woman in the back of the ambulance. He turned to a nearby police officer to report the disappearance of the woman’s child. Drops of sweat rolled down his forehead as he did so.
“What next?” he whispered, as the police officer spoke with the injured woman. “What’s going to happen now?” Ryan swallowed hard. A moment later, the paramedic gave him his jacket just before draping the woman with the gurney sheet. Ryan thanked him, then struggled back into it.
I’m going to be late, he thought, as he pulled his cellular phone out of his pants pocket. I’d better let Mr. Puccini know what’s happening!
________________________
Richard lurched forward into the cockpit. With a grab at the wheel, Richard dropped himself into the pilot’s seat.
In desperation, Richard did the only thing he knew to do in a situation like this. Clutching the wheel till his knuckles turned white, Richard leaned back in the seat, pulling on the wheel as hard as he could. This would bring it out of the nose dive.
Richard's heart pounded in his chest. He knew the chances of this succeeding were about one in two. If he couldn’t save the airplane, every passenger and crew member would be killed in a hideous crash, including himself.
“Come on,” he said aloud. “C'mon, pull up!” He gritted his teeth.
Almost as if his words had done it, Richard felt a little extra give from the wheel. The approaching ground disappeared, to be replaced by a view of the glittering stars. Richard breathed a deep sigh of relief as the plane leveled out.
With one hand still controlling the plane, Richard pressed the intercom button. Try as he might, he couldn't keep the sound of fear from his voice.
“Ladies and gentleman. As I'm sure you all know something very strange has just happened. Many people on this plane have simply disappeared, including the first officer.” He paused to take a deep breath. “I recommend everyone stay in their seats until it’s time to land.”
Although it was irregular, Richard had to give instructions to the crew too. He swallowed hard, before continuing.
“Flight attendants, walk slowly around the plane. Find out how many are here and how many are missing. If there's a constant panic, come notify me and something will be done about it.”
Rubbing the front of his uniform, Richard took a deep breath. “I'm not sure what happened, but I'm about to contact anyone I can to find out if this was an isolated incident, or if it's happened in other places as well.”
Richard shut off the intercom and bit his lower lip. He had to focus, to control his emotions; as the pilot, it was his responsibility to keep the passengers calm and get them to New York in one piece. Minutes passed as he took deep breaths, admonishing himself to calm down and relax. He wiped his face with his cotton handkerchief, then stuffed it into his pants pocket. The cushion creaked underneath him as he shifted position. At least, they were safe for the moment.
A tap on his shoulder startled him; he whirled around to see Monica standing behind him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Richard nodded. “That’s OK. Are the passengers all right?”
Monica sighed. “As well as they can be, for the moment.” She paused. “And you?”
Richard shook his head. He pressed his lips into a tight line. “I’ll manage. I’ve got to keep myself together, so I can get the plane safely to New York.” He paused. “Would you get me some coffee, Monica?”
“Certainly.” Monica left the cockpit, a pleased gleam in her eyes. In spite of his churning emotions, it occurred to Richard that his newest flight attendant might be a coffee lover. He smiled at the thought, then sighed. What a night this was turning out to be!
________________________
“Gloria! Gloria! Wake up!”
The voice penetrated Gloria's sleep. For a moment, Gloria wondered for a moment where she was and who was talking to her. Then the memories came floating back.
“Gloria! Wake up!” The voice sounded frantic.
Slowly, Gloria forced herself to respond. She couldn't believe how much effort it took just to sit up. The mattress sagged and creaked as, yawning, she pushed herself up on her elbow. Her eyelids felt like they were pasted shut. That coffee must have put me to sleep, she thought, rubbing her eyes. But why? It’s supposed to wake you up! Maybe it has the opposite effect on angels. She yawned.
No sooner did she open her eyes than a flood of lamplight hurt them, forcing her to close them again. When Christina shook her shoulder, Gloria re-opened them. An enormous yawn escaped from her throat.
“Uh, Christina,” she said, confused. “Is something wrong?” Despite the overwhelming urge to close her eyes again, she forced them to stay open; with much effort, she managed to focus on Christina’s blurred image.
Christina's red-rimmed eyes were wide with terror, and she was shaking. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Very!”
Propping herself on one elbow, Gloria looked Christina in the eye. Whatever the problem was, Christina needed to calm down. Gloria had learned from her one year’s worth of experience as an angel that the only way to calm a human down was to stay calm oneself. She glanced down at the nightgown Christina had loaned her.
“What's wrong?” she asked slowly.
“Jessica’s missing!” Christina exclaimed.
Gloria sat up straight, despite an overpowering sleepiness that made her want to lie down and close her eyes once more. “Are you sure?” She yawned as she spoke.
“Yes!” Christina exclaimed.
Gloria rose to her feet. Christina was near hysterics. “I’ve looked all over the nursery, and all upstairs. The baby gate is closed, so she can't be downstairs. I think she's been kidnapped!”
Fear surged in the angel’s heart. Father, what shall I do? Gloria silently prayed. Out loud, she said, “Christina, you call the police. I’ll search through Jessica's room to see if there’s any clues as to what happened. OK?”
Christina nodded, tears flowing down her cheeks. Gloria couldn’t endure seeing her new friend so upset. Impulsively, she reached out and embraced Christina in a tight hug. The distraught woman laid her head on Gloria’s shoulder and sobbed.
At last, Christina wiped her face and stood up. “I’m going to call 911.” She rushed out of the room.
Putting on her borrowed house shoes, Gloria left her guest room and entered Jessica’s. For a long moment, she just stood next to the crib, staring down at the tousled baby blanket. So, this is the emergency Tess said was going to happen! she thought, rubbing her fingers down one of the smooth crib bars. “God,” she whispered, “did someone break into the Daly home and steal Jessica?”
“Yes and no.”
A startled Gloria whirled around to find Tess facing her. “Hello, Tess.” She exhaled a deep breath. “Oh, Tess, something terrible has happened. Jessica’s missing! She's disappeared!”
“Yes.” Tess paused, clasping her hands together. “And so have millions of other people, all over the world.”
“What???” Gloria gaped at her supervisor.
“The Bible predicted this mass disappearance, Angel Girl.” The overhead light flooding the bedroom caused Tess’s brooch to glisten as the supervisor angel glanced at the crib. “Millions of Christians were caught up in it, as well as all babies and small children. The church called it the Rapture.”
Tilting her head, Gloria furrowed her eyebrows in puzzlement. “But why? Why would God take them away? Where did they go? Are they dead?”
“In answer to your second question, they went to Heaven,” Tess explained. “But they’re not dead. They have new bodies, imperishable bodies. Bodies that can live in Heaven as well as on Earth.” She paused. “Not only did God catch up every living Christian, and every small child, He resurrected every deceased believer, and every baby and young child who was dead. They’re all assembled before God’s throne, right now.”
The supervisor angel paused. “In answer to your first question: the reason God took them to Heaven. The Father has to turn His focus back to Israel, and get the world ready for the return of Jesus to this earth. There’s going to be a period of time predicted in the Bible that’ll be worse than any that’s ever been.” Sorrow darkened Tess’s face; she furrowed her eyebrows. “It’s going to be so bad that every person on this planet would die if the Father didn’t cut it short. It’s called the Tribulation, and it will last seven years.”
“And God took His church to save it from this--this Tribulation?” Gloria cocked her head as she spoke.
Tess nodded. “Yes, He did. And to shift His focus back to His chosen people--the Jews.” She paused. “It will start when an agreement has been signed, allowing Israel to rebuild her temple. An evil man called the Antichrist will set up that agreement.” She paused for a moment, gazing at the empty crib. “Things have been building up to this for decades, Gloria, but the events of September 11th sped them up considerably. When that terrorist attack happened, it not only devastated the lives of the people affected by it--people such as Christina and Ryan--it set in motion worldwide events that have since led to what’s now about to happen.” Sorrow welled in her dark eyes.
Gloria winced. “Uh, Tess, is--is this the event that Sam warned Andrew and Adam about?”
“Yes.” Tess shifted her gaze toward Gloria, as a serious expression welled in her eyes. “And now, you know what your assignment is, baby. Your job is to help Christina accept the truth, so she can turn to Jesus and be saved. Horrendous events are going to take place, killing the majority of people now alive. Christina and her husband have got to accept Jesus as their Savior--accept the Father’s love--so they’ll be ready for what’s coming.”
Gloria nodded. “What about Monica? And Andrew? Do they know?”
“They will, after I leave you.” Tess nodded. “First I must tell Andrew, then my next stop is the airplane Monica’s working on. I must tell her, too. Richard is Andrew’s assignment, and Ryan is Monica’s.”
Tess handed Gloria a Bible. She opened it to a passage toward the back. “Read this, Gloria. And when you’re finished, read the Book of Revelation and First Corinthians Chapter 15. Then read the books of Daniel, Zechariah, and Joel--as you know, they’re in the Old Testament.” She paused. “And when you’re done, give it to Christina--she’s going to need it. There’s not a Bible in this whole house.” With a shake of her head, she pursed her lips in evident displeasure.
Nodding, Gloria took the book. She read a passage in First Thessalonians, then riffled through the book till she came to First Corinthians. Silently, she read the chapter Tess had mentioned. She riffled through the pages in the Book of Revelation, scanning chapter after chapter as her computer-like mind took in every detail. She then followed it up with the three Old Testament books Tess had recommended.
“I can’t believe it!!”
Soft footfalls signaled Christina’s return. Laying the Bible on a coffee table, Gloria turned toward the door, as a distraught Christina rushed through the open doorway. Tess, Gloria noticed, had disappeared.
“I can’t believe it!” Christina choked back sobs as she shook her head violently. “First I had to wait and wait, because I kept getting nothing but busy signals for the longest time. Then, when I finally got through, the police sergeant who took my call told me that he couldn’t send anyone to me now, that he’s getting a flood of calls like mine.”
Gloria winced. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You’re sorry?” Christina sniffled. “That darn police sergeant--I can’t believe he would take my predicament so lightly!” With a frustrated moan, she pounded the dresser with both fists, then took a deep, shuddering breath.
Gloria bit her lip. How could she make clear to Christina what had happened without disclosing her identity? The Father had forbidden her to do that until the time was right. She ran her fingers along the frame of her glasses as she pondered her dilemma. Silently, she prayed for guidance.
“Uh, Christina, is it possible that Jessica might have been caught up--by God in Heaven?”
Christina whirled around and gaped at her. “What do you mean?”
Gloria glanced at the Bible, then turned toward Christina. “I mean, she might have been caught in the Rapture. The Bible predicts it, you know.”
Christina put her face in her hands. “Oh, please, Gloria, don’t make jokes with me now! God would never take an innocent baby away like that, now would He?” She slapped her arms against her sides. “Something’s happened to my Jessica, and I’ve got to find out what!” She moaned. “Where is she? Where’s my Jessica?” She shook her head a second time.
Gloria picked up her Bible and opened it to one of the passages she had just read. “Read this, Christina, and see if it’s not a possibility.”
“Where’d you get this?” Christina stared down at the Bible. “Richard and I don’t have any copies of this book!”
“A friend of mine gave it to me.” Gloria held it out. “You can have it, Christina. I have another.”
Christina reluctantly took the Bible from her new friend and read the passage in First Thessalonians silently. Handing it back, she said, “I’ll think about it.” She sighed. “I’m in shock, Gloria--I can’t think straight just yet. The sergeant said he’d send an officer as soon as he could.” She moaned. “Poor Richard! This is going to be such a shock for him! How am I going to tell him?” She whirled and rushed out of the room.
Gloria shook her head, gazing at the ceiling. “Please, God,” she begged, “help Christina and Richard. Help them to accept the truth. Help me to assist them to face facts.” She took a deep breath and left the room.
________________________
Ryan hurried as quickly as he could make his sore body go. He was already 15 minutes late for his appointment--he did not want to be any later, if he could help it! He rushed through the front door of the office complex where Antonio Puccini worked.
Although the building was beautiful inside and out, Ryan had no time to enjoy it. Nor was he in any condition to do so. All he cared about was reaching Puccini’s office.
The better part of his morning had been spent helping people the best he could. In one case, he'd helped a teenager get his car out of a jammed parking lot. In another, he’d given first aid to some injured people at the scene of the crash of a privately owned airplane. That didn’t even count the pile-up on the street he'd been a part of when people started disappearing.
Now, muscles he hadn't even known he had were sore from over-use. He wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up in his bed, and take a nice long nap, then wake up and discover that none of this had happened. But it had happened, and he still had to keep his appointment with his potential boss, Antonio Puccini, even though he was tardy.
Ryan hated the suit he was wearing. When he had disembarked from the jet liner, it had looked immaculate; now it looked rumpled, and blood stains covered its front. Instinctively, he reached up to loosen his tie. His sore shoulder protested.
Great, he thought. I'm gonna make a great impression. I'm almost too sore to move, I'm exhausted, and I look awful in a suit. Especially one in this condition! He grimaced as he glanced at his watch. And I’m late!
Less than five minutes later, Ryan entered a reception room, where he was greeted by a rather attractive young woman dressed professionally with her dark hair swept up into a bun. An open book of crossword puzzles, Ryan noticed, lay on the polished mahogany desk before her. “Mr. Whittaker?” she asked.
Ryan looked at her. She looked as pained emotionally as he felt physically. Despite his dislike for being called Mr. Whittaker, for a moment Ryan's compassion made him want to reach out and hold her, letting her cry out all her pain. Still, he knew he was here to interview for a profession, and had to behave professionally. Yet, he couldn't keep the compassion from reaching his eyes.
“Yes, ma'am?” he responded.
“President Puccini's office is this way.” She rose to her feet. “I gave him your message. He said to tell you it’s all right--right now, everything’s in chaos.” She circled around her desk to approach him.
Inserting his hands into his pockets, Ryan smiled his thanks. He noticed that her accent was not Italian, but rather a mix between Greek and American. That seemed out-of-place. He hadn't heard a non-Italian accent for the whole time he'd been there. Of course, he had only been in Rome for a few hours, so there hadn’t been much time to get to know the people there.
The young woman motioned for him to follow her. Ryan did. She led him down a hallway lined with closed doors. The hallway seemed to curve, as if in a half-circle. At the end of the hall, the two entered an elevator.
Inside, the woman pushed the button for the top floor. Looks like we’re gonna be in here for a while, Ryan thought.
“So...” He paused. “Where were you this morning?” He hadn't asked anyone that question since the previous September.
The woman's eyes brimmed with tears, and she turned away. “I'd...” She choked through a lump in her throat. “I'd rather not talk about it.” She twisted her watch around her wrist, backward and forward.
Ryan understood. After a few moments of silence the elevator stopped and the doors opened. The young woman walked briskly down the carpeted hallway, till she stopped in front of another door. She rapped her knuckles on the door, then swung it open.
“Mr. Whittaker is here to see you, sir,” she announced. Pushing the door wide open, she turned on her heel to walk away, leaving Ryan looking into the office.
Antonio Puccini sat in an ornate high-backed chair behind a desk across the elegant room. Silk drapes covered the window behind him. Unlike just about everyone Ryan had seen that day, Puccini looked calm, normal, almost happy. He sat with his arms folded on his desk. Another man, whom Ryan recognized as the Israeli foreign minister, stood next to the desk, hands in his pants pockets. Elijah Dayan, Ryan thought. What’s he doing here?
“I’ve got to go, Antonio,” the man said. “I’ll be in touch with you later.” Puccini nodded, and the foreign minister left, nodding a greeting at Ryan. Puccini leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly.
Ryan fought a surge of irritation as he gazed at the prime minister. What kind of man was this Puccini, anyway? Here they were, in the grip of an international tragedy of horrendous magnitude, and Puccini was smiling!
“Mr. Whittaker,” Puccini greeted. Ryan found himself looking into Puccini’s eyes. They were an odd color, brownish-gold, with a touch of green that made them interesting. Still, it was the look in his eyes that had shivers running up and down Ryan's spine.
“Good morning, President Puccini,” Ryan responded. He glanced down at his suit. “I apologize for my disheveled appearance, sir, and for being late. I, uh, ran into an emergency this morning.” He smiled apologetically.
“I know.” Puccini nodded. “I suspected you were caught in it when Miss Crossman gave me your message.”
Puccini motioned for Ryan to sit down. Ryan did so.
________________________
“This isn’t a coffee assignment, Miss Wings!”
Monica whirled from the coffee pot to find Tess standing behind her, a stern expression etched on her face. “Tess!” she said, startled. “Uh, Mr. Daly asked me to make him some coffee, so...”
“So you thought you’d have some, too.” Monica blushed; Tess knew her too well. Tess put her hands on her hips. “Well, Angel Girl, you’re going to have to control that coffee love of yours for now, because this is a serious situation!”
“Serious? How?” Monica turned to plug in the coffee pot, then pivoted to face her supervisor once more. An uneasy feeling rose in her.
“Very serious.” Andrew appeared next to Monica, a concerned expression etched on his normally cheerful face. “Tess told me everything, just a few minutes ago.” He paused. “This is what Sam warned Adam and me about.”
“What--?” Monica turned to Tess, confused. “You mean, about the disappearance of the passengers on this plane?”
“Yes. Listen.” Tess nodded toward the wall that divided the galley and the cockpit. Monica approached the wall and cocked her ear, pressing it against the wall’s smooth surface.
On the other side, Richard spoke into his radio.
“This is Pan-World 2-niner heavy. We are declaring an emergency. Does anyone copy?” There was silence for several moments. Richard tried again. “Pan-World 2 niner heavy is declaring an emergency. Any aircraft that copy, please respond.”
After a brief crackling sound, there was a voice on the radio.
“Pan-World 2-niner heavy, this is Concord 06. Are you having a mechanical emergency?”
Maybe it‘s only on my flight that people have disappeared, Richard thought. Out loud, he responded, “Negative.”
This time, the voice on the other end sounded uneasy. “Missing passengers?” Richard winced. This was the confirmation he had hoped he wouldn’t receive!
“Affirmative. First officer, too. How did you know?” Although Richard knew that it must have happened on other flights, he didn't want to think about that. The other pilot's words kept him from denying it any longer.
“Passengers missing here too. Missing airplane staff, as well. It's happened all over, even on the ground.”
The words, "even on the ground," was much more than Richard wanted to hear. He could literally hear his heart thumping. Christina, he thought. I hope she and Jessica are all right!
Richard wasn't sure what to say next. It was the first time in a long time Richard didn't know what to say. Biting back a groan, he removed his cap and rubbed his hair, front to back. Where is that coffee, Monica? I need it! He sighed and shook his head.
Well, he thought, I’m going to tell Christina about this when I get home. He gritted his teeth--if only he was near New York City right now! He glanced at the empty seat next to him. Looks like I’m going to have to replace Timothy, too! He pursed his lips.
In the galley, Monica turned toward Tess, as shock surged through her. “You mean---!”
Tess nodded. “Yes, I do mean. The Rapture has occurred; every child of God has been taken to Heaven. Not only born-again Christians, living and dead, but all babies and young children, too. Mr. and Mrs. Daly’s baby were included in that number.” She nodded toward the wall a second time, then turned to Andrew. “And your assignment is sitting in that cockpit, Angel Boy.” She clasped her hands as she spoke.
“Mr. Daly?” Monica glanced toward the coffee pot as she spoke, then glanced at Andrew. The angel of death nodded his acceptance of the assignment.
Tess nodded. “And your assignment, Monica, is in Italy as we speak. Ryan Whittaker.” Monica nodded her acquiescence.
________________________
“Did you have a good flight, Mr. Whittaker?” The Italian president leaned back in his chair.
Ryan nodded. “Yes, thank you. My brother-in-law was the pilot.” Shifting position in the unyielding hard-backed chair, he folded his hands in his lap. Curiosity about Elijah Dayan’s visit welled up in him, but out of politeness, he said nothing. If it was anything newsworthy, he would learn of it from CNN soon enough.
Antonio's eyebrows raised slightly as he chuckled. He slowly widened his lips in a smirk, but no smile accompanied them in his eyes. “Flying runs in the family, eh?”
Ryan nodded again. Why did he feel uneasy about talking to this man?
Antonio seemed to notice Ryan's hesitancy. His gaze became sympathetic. “You do not feel like talking, after what happened this morning.”
Ryan couldn't meet Antonio's eyes. He stared down at his hands. Was that why he wasn’t feeling talkative around Antonio? Because of the disappearances? No, that wasn't right. He'd wanted to talk to the secretary. In spite of himself, Ryan found himself nodding again.
“Would you rather talk about the possibility of being my pilot?” Antonio asked.
“Yes sir,” Ryan said, almost too enthusiastically. Flying was his passion...that and the outdoors.
“Very well then,” Antonio said. “When did you get your pilot's license?”
Ryan still remembered that day well. “It was when I was 15 years old,” he said. “I was in high school.” Ryan chuckled. “The only kid in school with a pilot's license. I got that even before I got my driver’s license.”
A smile creased Antonio‘s lips, but his eyes remained expressionless. “And then you joined the Air Force, and when your stint ended, you became a commercial pilot.”
Ryan nodded. “Yes. I'll confess, though, I never encountered a disaster such as happened this morning.” He bit his lip.
Antonio nodded agreement. “No, I am sure you did not. What happened this morning was an emergency like no other. Yet I am told you have a history of handling crises with courage. Yes, I know you were not in the cockpit this morning, but I have also been told you administered first-aid to a number of people on the road when it happened.” Ryan nodded, wondering who had informed Puccini of his role in that morning's events. All he himself had told Puccini’s secretary was that he’d been held up by an emergency. “I am sure that is why your appearance is a little--shall we say, rumpled?”
Ryan nodded, then glanced down at his suit, biting his lip. Antonio chuckled. “Do not feel ashamed, Ryan. What you did this morning makes you a hero.”
Antonio leaned forward. “You are the man I need, Whittaker, so you are hired. You will be the pilot for my private plane. How soon can you start?”
“With all due respect, President--Puccini--” Ryan began.
“Please call me Antonio,” Antonio interrupted.
“Antonio,” Ryan corrected. “With all due respect, sir, I haven’t learned enough about this job to accept it on the spot.”
Antonio looked surprised. “I am sorry,” he said, but it didn't seem like he meant it as an apology, more as a conversation filler. “I did not realize that you were...” Antonio searched for a word for a moment and said, “...uninformed.”
Ryan bit his lip. And just who would have informed me? he wondered.
Antonio cracked his knuckles. “All right, I will fill you in on the job description.” He paused. “As president of Italy and of the European Union, I have a busy schedule. I have to travel quite a bit, even now, and events are shaping up that will soon require me to travel even more. Even though I have recently appointed a prime minister who will handle many of the tasks of government--including forming a new goverment--I am still very busy. I need a steady, dependable pilot who is on call at all times, who has steady nerves and a cool head, who knows how to handle himself in emergencies, and who can be trusted to be ready to fly at any time of the day or night. The benefits are excellent, I assure you, and the pay is generous. I understand you are single.”
Ryan nodded. Silently, he wondered what Puccini would be doing that would be keeping him so busy. Even though he was the elected head of the Italian government, the prime minister would be the one to set Italy's national policy as well as to form a cabinet. Could it be that Puccini intended to take some of those jobs over? he wondered.
“Well, consider this--if ever you decide to get married, you will be more than able to support a family. Comfortably. In style.”
Ryan leaned back to consider the offer. It sounded good. He could think of no ostensible reason to turn it down, yet something about Antonio made him uneasy.
“All right,” he finally said. “I accept the position. When do you want me to start?”
“As soon as you can get your things moved from your New York apartment.” Antonio rose to his feet. “That will not take long, I know.”
As Puccini accompanied Ryan to the door, Ryan took a deep breath as a feeling of nausea rose in him. I hope I’ve made the right decision, he thought. But there’s no turning back now. He paused to shake Puccini’s hand, then departed.
________________________
Richard was frustrated. It was all he could do to refrain from shoving his fist through the jet-liner’s windshield. As he wiggled impatiently on his chair, the cushion creaked underneath his weight.
He’d just had two conversations with different airport towers, and both airports were closed. Now he was forced to look for a smaller airport or somewhere else safe to land--and in the middle of the night, no less! He took another sip from the now-cold coffee, sitting on a tray next to him since Monica had brought it to him some time earlier. He leaned back in his chair for the umpteenth time, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. He glared at the stars that glittered in the distance. If only it were daylight!
Monica walked into the cockpit. “Excuse me, Captain Daly,” she said.
Richard didn’t take his eyes away from the instruments that showed their position. “Yes?” he said briskly.
“The emergency exit ramp is ready to be inflated once you find a landing spot.”
Richard nodded slightly. “Thank you,” he said, hoping his tone would indicate that he wanted her to go away. Taking the hint, Monica left the cockpit. With a sigh, Richard wiped his face with his handkerchief, then rubbed his forehead. He would have to use his instruments to make sure he found a safe spot, since it was too dark to fly by sight. He could only hope it would be possible to do so.
He flew the plane in a circle around the city several times, looking for an ideal place to land. Every airport was crammed full and closed. Smoke from crashes everywhere wafted into the air, blocking the stars. After long minutes, he barely managed to make out a huge grassy area in Central Park. Perfect to land on, he thought.
Richard didn’t know if it was legal to land in Central Park or not, but at a time like this it didn’t really matter. Just about every law in the book went out the window when it came to people’s safety in situations like this. If the plane stayed in the air much longer, it would run out of fuel. He made the announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you are not already in your seats, please seat yourself and buckle in. We are about to begin initial decent.”
Richard hesitated, but then decided the passengers deserved to be as well-informed as possible. “I regret to inform you that no airport has room enough for a bird this size, but I’m going to attempt a landing at Central Park. Do not panic. An exit ramp will be provided for your use.”
Once again, he hesitated. Somehow, saying, “And thank you for flying Pan-World Airways,” didn't seem to be an appropriate way to end his words to the passengers. Richard wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, he just switched off the intercom.
Richard began the process of landing the plane. When the plane landed with a jolt, he knew that he had made it safely.
About 20 minutes later, Richard stood at the top of the emergency escape slide, clasping his flight bag. All of his passengers had left for their destinations. It was his turn to leave the plane.
Richard jumped upward, kicking his legs into the air. Less than a second later, his rear connected with the slide. The jolt made it feel like his stomach jumped into his throat. He slid down the ramp.
If there was anything he hated as much as falling, it was sliding. Both created the same lack of control over his body. Somehow, he suspected that his dream from the night before and this tragedy were connected.
It was a fleeting thought, and Richard quickly dismissed it. In the next instant, his body jolted as his feet hit the ground. He lost his balance.
Falling again, Richard thought briefly, extending his arms to catch himself. “Ooof!” he grunted.
Richard shook his head as he picked himself off the ground. He rubbed his hands on his uniform to wipe off the dew. Everyone had left the grassy area; only Richard was left. Taking a deep breath, he rose his feet and scanned the park to get his bearings.
After a moment’s thought, he noticed that there was a wooded area of the park between him and the road that would take him home. The way he saw it, he'd have to walk. But it would be worth it. Worth it to see his Christina. He picked up his flight bag and broke into a brisk stride. It’s fortunate I have good night vision, he thought, wryly.
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As he strolled through the office complex’s front entrance, Ryan shook his head. He couldn't believe that he'd been hired on the spot like that. He’d gone from a recently unemployed pilot, to a volunteer in the worst tragedy ever known to man, to a private pilot for a politician who was quickly becoming the most powerful man in the world.
“If I hadn’t been laid off in the aftermath of the 9-11 crisis, I’d still be piloting a commercial jet liner,” he muttered. “And I wouldn’t have been talking with Puccini today.” He shook his head. “I’m not so sure I wouldn’t be better off going back to my old job, if I could. But I don’t know why.” He shrugged. “Well, I’ve got to find a hotel to spend the night in.”
Ryan hadn't been surprised to learn that Puccini would be holding a press conference soon, one that would be shown live on international T.V. Ryan had no intention of missing that.
His shoes clicked on the sidewalk as he strode down the crowded sidewalk toward his rented Cadillac. When he neared the car, he frowned. Ryan felt an uneasy feeling in his gut about Puccini. Something about the guy was just...off. Ryan couldn't put his finger on it, but it was true.
Then there was that secretary. Ryan was sure her eyes would haunt him for days. He'd seen lots of people in despair and clinging for something--anything--to give them support. Why then, did this girl especially touch him?
His mind drifted to his loved ones. He had no way of knowing whether Christina, Richard, or baby Jessica were alive or dead. Whether they were still on earth or who knows where after vanishing, Ryan had no idea.
That thought disturbed Ryan. The idea that he might no longer have his sister, best friend, and niece was almost too much for him. Maybe that was why he accepted the job. At least he’d have something in his life to make it worth living even if Christina, Jessica, and Richard were gone. Losing his mother in 9-11 had been horrible in itself, as losing Nicole had been for Richard. The thought of now having lost his sister and her family--he didn’t even want to think about that!
Enough, he almost said aloud. Don't think like that. They’re fine. He removed his car keys from his pants pocket.
Ryan's thoughts returned to Puccini. He was such a kind man, so warm and open, yet something about him just gave Ryan the creeps. Ryan wasn't sure what, but he had a feeling, deep down, that trouble lay ahead.
As he slid behind the steering wheel, he set his jaw in determination. Somehow, he was going to telephone his sister as soon as he checked into a hotel. He just had to make sure she was all right!
________________________
Richard crossed the huge, empty park, swinging the flight bag at his side. As he trudged toward the far edge, deep sorrow and loneliness welled up in his heart.
He'd never known a time in his life when he'd felt so alone, so hurt. With the exception of the occasional passenger approaching and thanking him--for what, he didn't know--Richard had been alone for over an hour. And it was dark. He could scarcely even see the stars above him because of the thick clusters of trees.
He hated walking through any kind of park when he wasn't with Christina, Ryan, or someone else he cared about. And the fact that it was practically pitch-black didn't help matters either. A cool breeze caressed his cheek.
Richard hated walking through open spaces in the dark. He focused so intently on the street lamp straight ahead, he failed to see the bush that came up to his knees before he bumped into it.
Richard’s pants ripped on the sharp edges of the bush. He scraped his knees and lower legs as he fell. It was that horrid nightmare--he was living it all over again!
Only when his stomach landed on the bush with a thump was he able to concentrate on anything but the horrible sensation of falling. That awful out-of-control feeling made Richard's heart leap into his throat. He swore violently.
The physical sensation of falling was replaced with the prickly feeling of a bush underneath him. Richard swore again.
Not wanting to risk veering off his track and getting lost--something that was completely possible in a place this size in the middle of the night--Richard stood up, backed up a few steps, and ran forward.
Just as it seemed the bush would be tripping him again, Richard leapt into the air and forward--only to fall, once more. He was getting sick and tired of falling! The flight bag slipped out of his hand.
As Richard landed on his stomach, a sharp pain shot through his left ankle. He winced and cried out in pain. He swore again, as he rocked back and forth, clutching his throbbing foot for five minutes.
Biting his lip, Richard removed his shoe as best he could with as little pain as possible. He felt his foot through his sock. It had already swollen to nearly twice its normal size. Richard let out a string of profanities.
With a determination stronger than his anger, Richard slid his shoe back on, but didn't tie the laces. Pressing his palms against the dewy-wet blades of grass, he shifted position. Slowly, he rose to his feet. Putting his weight on his swollen foot was painful, but Richard did it. One thought was driving him forward as, gritting his teeth, he picked up his flight bag.
I’ve gotta get home to Christina!
END OF CHAPTER 3