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

called out to the pilot. The pilot had shushed her, causing her to peek back at Buck.
He dragged his fingers through his longish blonde hair and forced a groggy smile.
“Trouble, ma'am?”
“It's my Harold,” she said. Buck had helped the old man put his herringbone wool
jacket and felt hat in the overhead bin when they boarded. Harold was a short,
dapper gentleman in penny loafers, brown slacks, and a tan sweater-vest over a shirt
and tie. He was balding, and Buck assumed he would want the hat again later when
the air-conditioning kicked in.
“Does he need something?”
“He's gone!”
“I'm sorry?”
“He's disappeared!”
“Well, I'm sure he slipped off to the washroom while you were sleeping.”
“Would you mind checking for me? And take a blanket.”
“Ma'am?”
“I'm afraid he's gone off naked. He's a religious person, and he'll be terribly
embarrassed.”
Buck suppressed a smile when he noticed the woman's pained expression. He
climbed over the sleeping executive on the aisle, who had far exceeded his limit of
free drinks, and leaned in to take a blanket from the old woman. Indeed, Harold's
clothes were in a neat pile on his seat, his glasses and hearing aid on top. The pant
legs still hung over the edge and led to his shoes and socks. Bizarre, Buck thought.
Why so fastidious? He remembered a friend in high school who had a form of
epilepsy that occasionally caused him to black out when he seemed perfectly
conscious. He might remove his shoes and socks in public or come out of a
washroom with his clothes open.
“Does your husband have a history of epilepsy?”
“No.”
“Sleepwalking?”
“No.”
“I'll be right back.”
The first-class lavs were unoccupied, but as Buck headed for the stairs he found
several other passengers in the aisle. “Excuse me,” he said, “I'm looking for
someone.”
“Who isn't?” a woman said.
Buck pushed his way past several people and found lines to the washrooms in
business and economy. The pilot brushed past him without a word, and Buck was
soon met by the senior flight attendant. “Sir, I need to ask you to return to your seat
and fasten your belt.”
“I'm looking for—”
“Everybody is looking for someone,” she said. “We hope to have some information
for you in a few minutes. Now, please.” She steered him back toward the stairs, then
slipped past him and took the steps two at a time.
Halfway up the stairs Buck turned and surveyed the scene. It was the middle of the
night, for heaven's sake, and as the cabin lights came on, he shuddered. All over the
plane, people were holding up clothes and gasping or shrieking that someone was
missing.
Somehow he knew this was no dream, and he felt the same terror he had endured
awaiting his death in Israel. What was he going to tell Harold's wife? You're not the
only one? Lots of people left their clothes in their seats?