"Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 1 - Left Behind" - читать интересную книгу автора (LaHaye Tim)

As he hurried back to his seat, his mind searched its memory banks for anything he
had ever read, seen, or heard of any technology that could remove people from their
clothes and make them disappear from a decidedly secure environment. Whoever
did this, were they on the plane? Would they make demands? Would another wave
of disappearances be next? Would he become a victim? Where would he find
himself?
Fear seemed to pervade the cabin as he climbed over his sleeping seatmate again.
He stood and leaned over the back of the chair ahead of him. “Apparently many
people are missing,” he told the old woman. She looked as puzzled and fearful as
Buck himself felt.
He sat down as the intercom came on and the captain addressed the passengers.
After instructing them to return to their assigned seats, the captain explained, “I'm
going to ask the flight attendants to check the lavatories and be sure everybody is
accounted for. Then I'll ask them to pass out foreign entry cards. If anyone in your
party is missing, I would like you to fill out the card in his or her name and list
every shred of detail you can think of, from date of birth to description.
“I'm sure you all realize that we have a very troubling situation. The cards will give
us a count of those missing, and I'll have something to give authorities. My first
officer, Mr. Smith, will now make a cursory count of empty seats. I will try to
contact Pan-Continental. I must tell you, however, that our location makes it
extremely difficult to communicate with the ground without long delays. Even in
this satellite age, we're in a pretty remote area. As soon as I know anything, I'll
convey it to you. In the meantime, I appreciate your cooperation and calm.”
Buck watched as the first officer came rushing from the cockpit, hatless and
flushed. He hurried down one aisle and up the other, eyes darting from seat to seat
as the flight attendants passed out cards.
Buck's seatmate roused, drooling, when an attendant asked if anyone in his party
was missing. “Missing? No. And there's nobody in this party but me.” He curled up
again and went back to sleep, unaware.
The first officer had been gone only a few minutes when Rayford heard his key in
the cockpit door and it banged open. Christopher flopped into his chair, ignored the
seat belt, and sat with his head in his hands.
“What's going on, Ray?” he said. “We got us more than a hundred people gone with
nothing but their clothes.”
“That many?”
“Yeah, like it'd be better if it was only fifty? How the heck are we gonna explain
landing with less passengers than we took off with?”
Rayford shook his head, still working the radio, trying to reach someone, anyone, in
Greenland or an island in the middle of nowhere. But they were too remote even to
pick up a radio station for news. Finally he connected with a Concorde several miles
away heading the other direction. He nodded to Christopher to put on his own
earphones.
“You got enough fuel to get back to the States, over?” the pilot asked Rayford.
He looked at Christopher, who nodded and whispered, “We're halfway.”
“I could make Kennedy,” Rayford said.
“Forget it,” came the reply. “Nothing's landing in New York. Two runways still
open in Chicago. That's where we're going.”
“We came from Chicago. Can't I put down at Heathrow?”
“Negative. Closed.”
“Paris?”