by Mel Odom
“What side would that be?” Remington couldn’t help thinking that the mind-control Private Horgan was evidently under was something CIA Section Chief Alexander Cody would have access to. Was Felix one of Cody’s agents who hadn’t been seen before?
“Ah,” Felix said, nodding in understanding. “Paranoia. Do you know what causes paranoia, Captain?”
“I know what the business end of this 9mm pistol causes,” Remington responded. “You’re about to get that experience firsthand. I wouldn’t bet on living through it.”
“Paranoia,” Felix went on, obviously not feeling threatened at all, “is simply a discomfort that comes about when you don’t think you have control of a situation.” He waved at the war zone around them. “You’re standing in the greatest moment of paranoia in your life.”
Even Remington couldn’t argue that point.
“I’m here to help you,” Felix said smoothly. “A good friend of yours asked me to come to you.”
“Who?”
“Nicolae Carpathia.” Felix grinned.
“Carpathia?” Remington was confused. “I barely met the man over a couple videoconferences.”
“Nicolae has taken a special interest in you. He knows the kind of man you are, and the kind of man you are capable of becoming. Abu Alam’s fate is proof of that.” Felix paused, giving the Ranger captain a measuring glance. “I have to admit, when he first told me of you, I wasn’t too impressed. However, he insisted you could be of use.”
“Nobody,” Remington said, “uses me.”
“Pardon me, Captain. That isn’t at all what I intended to say. What I meant to say was that dear Nicolae insisted you were an asset worth developing. A relationship worth pursuing. You are a man who can … become so much if you’re only given the chance to follow your true nature.”
Remington was certain he didn’t like that any better. But he was stuck and didn’t know what to do. Felix had implied that he knew what had happened to Abu Alam in the basement. Even if he didn’t know the real truth, Felix could at least tie Abu Alam to Remington if anyone came looking. The media people had traded with the Arabs as well as with the Syrians.
One thing the newspeople would descend on like ravenous vultures was any story concerning improper actions of an American officer on foreign soil. Remington’s cold-blooded murder of a civilian would seize newspaper headlines and television and radio sound bites. Even though Hardin had pulled the trigger, it was Remington’s game, and he knew it. By the time the case came before the military courts and into the public eye, everyone would have forgotten that Abu Alam had to die to save the lives of the military personnel caught in Sanliurfa between a rock and a hard place.
Even if Remington managed to survive the holding action in the city, despite being critically shorthanded and facing the best that the Syrian army could throw at him, he would still be facing a court martial and probably a prison sentence. There would be no glory, no medals, and no career advancement for him. He wouldn’t have a career at all.
Despite himself, Remington lowered the weapon and listened.
“Your action against Abu Alam was justified, Captain,” Felix said gently. “Unfortunately, not everyone will understand that. Especially if they should learn of his unfortunate demise at the hands of your men. But then … not everyone is here where you are, are they? They’re not having to make the decisions you’re faced with.”
“No,” Remington said, knowing that Felix understood exactly the kind of situation he was in and the overwhelming odds he faced.
“You want to change your stance here in this city,” Felix said. “Become less of the victim and more of the aggressor. Less of the lamb and more of the lion.”
Remington’s answer was immediate. “Yes.”
“I can give you the means to do that.”
“How?”
“You still don’t have satellite reconnaissance.”
“I did.”
“I can give it back.”
“For how long? Carpathia saw fit to take that away once.”
Felix frowned. “President Carpathia is juggling a great many things at the moment.”
“I know. I’ve seen him in the news.” Remington envied the Romanian president his successes. The man appeared to be a consummate politician. He’d come from nowhere to immense power. He’d gained ground during the most trying of times. Things could not have gone better for Carpathia if he’d planned the disappearances himself. It was like he’d been standing ready, waiting for them.
“Nicolae’s work at the United Nations is progressing better than he had hoped.” Felix gestured with his hands. “May I put my arms down? I’m getting tired. I’ve done my best to put your fears to rest.”
Remington nodded but he didn’t put the M9 away. He didn’t like how the other man just assumed everything would go his way. But at the moment things couldn’t go any other way. The Ranger captain didn’t intend to shoot the man. Not yet, anyway. However, he didn’t intend to trust him yet, either.
Felix lowered his arms, placing his hands on the steering wheel so they were in plain sight. “Would it surprise you to learn that President Carpathia is going to be offered the position of secretary-general of the United Nations?”
That did surprise Remington. Despite the outstanding showing Carpathia had made at the General Assembly in New York only hours ago, no one had mentioned anything about the Romanian president taking a position within the United Nations. On the other hand, such a move didn’t seem that far-fetched in light of Carpathia’s universal acceptance by the people there, or by the media’s reaction to him.
“It’s true,” Felix went on. “The announcement will be made in two days. Mwangati Ngumo, the president of Botswana and present secretary-general, is going to announce that he is stepping down. Ngumo is going to suggest that Nicolae take his place and put the matter to a vote.”
Remington was stunned. How could Carpathia guarantee or even arrange all of that?
“Nicolae will become the secretary-general to the United Nations,” Felix said. “No force in this world can keep that from happening.”
The sincerity and certainty of the man’s words swept over Remington with conviction. Slowly, he holstered the weapon. “If Carpathia is becoming secretary-general, why would he be interested in me?”
“Because he has plans, Captain. Huge plans. Wonderful plans.” Felix stared at Remington and smiled. “But plans require people to put them into effect and to keep them moving. Nicolae wants you to be part of those plans and part of that movement.”
“How?”
“Nicolae plans to revamp the Security Council,” Felix said. “As secretary-general, Nicolae is going to ask for unilateral disarmament among the member nations.”
“That will never happen.”
Felix’s smile grew wider. “All around the world, Captain Remington, people are afraid. They fear the disappearances, but they also fear each other. And they fear the primitive sides of themselves and others that will lash out in the coming darkness. They are ready to listen to a calm voice that will lead them out of the darkness. Nicolae has that voice.”
Remembering the way Carpathia had conducted himself in the media interviews and how much airtime he was getting, Remington doubted there was a person left in the world who didn’t know who the Romanian president was. Carpathia had also made great inroads into world politics.
If it was true that Carpathia was about to close the deal on the position of secretary-general of the United Nations, how far could the man go? The possibilities were staggering.
“You believe Nicolae can do this, don’t you?” Felix asked.
“It’s not possible,” Remington stated. He shook his head. No matter how much the media idolized the man, the steps Felix was describing were too big, too different from anything that had ever gone on before.
“But it is possible,” Felix said softly. “Not just possible. It will happen. The nations of the world will lay down their arms and let Nicolae assume leadershi
p of a one-world peacekeeping force. He will guide them all into times of peace and prosperity that the world has never before seen.” He paused, smiling. “Nicolae has the power, Captain Remington. You’ve seen it in him.”
Thinking back on all those press conferences, Remington knew that Carpathia did have that kind of power. No one had ever seen a man like him.
“Nicolae wants you to be part of that coming empire,” Felix said.
Empire. Remington liked the sound of that. “Why?”
Felix shrugged. “Because he has talked with you and he liked you. He said the two of you had kindred spirits. He admires the way you desire responsibility for the leadership of others. That is a natural thing for a man gifted with your vision and your abilities. He said all you need is someone in power who could recognize that in you.”
Remington accepted that, thinking it was high time someone saw those qualities in him.
“When Nicolae calls his army together,” Felix said, “he wants men who can be leaders. He wants you. And in order to have you, you must survive your present situation. He wants you to achieve the glory that is your due.”
“I have a plan to strike back against the Syrians,” Remington said, wanting to share what he had developed. “I know how to buy time for the people here, maybe convince the Joint Chiefs that we can hold Sanliurfa.”
“Nicolae will help you,” Felix said. “First through me, then through public support of your efforts here. Everything will come together. But sacrifices will have to be made.”
“I’ll make them,” Remington said.
“You will,” Felix told him, flashing a confident smile. “Abu Alam was only the first of many. The way will be costly, but your efforts and those sacrifices will take you to those things you most desire in this world.” He paused. “Let me help you. Let Nicolae help you.”
Remington hesitated only an instant. “All right.”
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0639 Hours
“You have to remember that I’m still studying everything I can about the Tribulation.” Corporal Joseph Baker sighed regretfully. “I’m embarrassed to tell you that I’m lacking several of the books that would help me in researching these times. During the years I stepped away from God, after I lost my family, I let many things go.”
“Losing your wife and child like that,” Goose said, “had to have been hard.”
Baker nodded. “It was, First Sergeant, but I should have been stronger. My faith should have been stronger. I was brought up in the Lord, and I should have stayed there. But I was weak.”
Goose remembered how he berated God over Chris’s disappearance, and how he continued to have his doubts about whether the Rapture really occurred or whether God cared about him. “It’s not easy.”
Baker looked at him, started to object, then obviously remembered that Goose had been through similar circumstances. The big corporal nodded. “It’s not easy. I don’t think it’s supposed to be.”
“Letting go?” Goose was surprised at how tight and hoarse his voice got. Talking like this disturbed him, like the end of the world was at hand. Like there was no way Chris would be returned to him.
“Believing,” Baker said. “If believing was easy, everyone would believe. There would have been no one left behind when the Rapture occurred.”
“Why would God make believing hard?”
“That’s the point,” Baker said. “God makes faith easy. Jesus shed His blood to save us so that we would know everlasting life. That’s all we have to believe. Nothing else. All we need is belief the size of a mustard seed. But even that little thing seems beyond most people.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “So simple a belief was beyond me for a time. Satan makes believing hard. God offers us a world beyond this one, a world of wonders that we can only begin to imagine. Eternal life. Constant happiness. No one who lives here can imagine such things. Moreover, Satan dwells here, in this world that we think we know and understand. Satan exerts his influence here in this place, and many believe in the evil that the Great Deceiver shows them and calls truth. But this place, First Sergeant, this is the real illusion.”
Goose straightened his leg and tried to find a comfortable position for his throbbing knee. His eyes felt grainy and he knew the three hours of sleep he’d managed before Baker had come to him wouldn’t be enough to get him through the coming day.
They sat at a table in the back of the small coffee shop Baker had suggested. The windows facing the street were stripped of their glass, victims of one Syrian attack or another. The owner and his wife prepared breads and coffee in the back using a bricked wood oven that the man’s father had built nearly forty years ago.
Before the Syrians had invaded, the coffee shop had also offered pizza, a concession to foreign tourists. Without electricity, meats and soft cheeses quickly spoiled. But the traditional menu was basically unchanged. The family who owned the coffee shop made their breads on a daily basis. The flour was from stockpiled stores. They used milk and eggs from the goat and chickens they kept penned out in a small lot behind the building.
Normally the family—the husband, wife, and three small children who had vanished—lived in the upstairs portion of the shop, but lately the times weren’t normal. During the nights, the husband and wife now slept in the cellar below the shop. On good nights, when they felt the military holding the city was in control of things, they slept on the floor of the shop, where they could watch their possessions better. They wouldn’t leave, Baker had said, because they wouldn’t desert the city until they had their children back—or knew that they would never return.
“I hope you find peace concerning your own son,” Baker said to Goose.
“I do too,” Goose said. He tried not to say anything more, but he couldn’t help himself. His anger at God was too strong. “Taking Chris like that, if that is what happened—”
“The Rapture did occur, First Sergeant. That is the cornerstone of the rest of your belief, and the building block to the peace with God that you seek.”
Goose nodded and breathed out slowly, striving to control himself. He tried to speak, then had to try again. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“That God would take the children?”
“Yes.”
Baker shook his head. “I disagree. I think it makes perfect sense. God cherishes the innocence of children. So He reached down and removed them from harm’s way. Every good general would do that for a civilian population, and God is preparing for the final battles against the Great Deceiver.”
“But He took them from us,” Goose said. “He took my son from me.” Goose could feel tears threatening to fall, and he held them back by sheer willpower.
“Do you truly blame God for this?”
“Yes,” Goose replied without hesitation. “Who else is there to blame?”
“Satan.”
“Satan didn’t take my son.”
“No,” Baker said agreeably, “and aren’t you glad that Satan didn’t? Have you ever thought about what Chris’s life would be like right now if he were still here with us? How terrified and vulnerable he would be?”
For the first time, Goose realized the truth of that. Chris was safely out of the line of fire from the greatest enemy mankind had ever known and struggled to deny. He was safe; he was with God. Forever.
Pain threatened to bring back the tears at that thought.
“So you see?” Baker asked.
“I still don’t want to accept it. I miss my son. Chris was safe back at Fort Benning.”
“Was he?”
“Yes. I’ve talked with Megan.” Actually, now that he thought about it, Goose hadn’t been able to talk to her for days. Phone communications had been spotty. Few military men had been able to get in touch with their families. “Things are confused at the post, just like the things we’ve seen on television, but everyone there is safe, including my stepson, Joey.”
�
��Things there are safe for now. The world isn’t going to get better. Cataclysmic events lie ahead of us. Many people will perish.” Baker sipped his coffee. He glanced at the bread on the small plate in front of Goose. “You need to eat, First Sergeant.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat anyway.”
Reluctantly, knowing he would need his strength, Goose turned his attention to the bread. Despite the primitive conditions, it was good.
“The time has come for the world as we know it to end,” Baker said. “That was written in the Bible more than two thousand years ago. We weren’t told all of the details of God’s plans for battle, but we were told some of them.”
“Seven years, right?” Goose asked. “That’s how long the Tribulation will last before there’s an end to everything?”
“Yes. God took the children and raptured His church to get them out of harm’s way. A soldier protects those who cannot protect themselves.”
“Bill Townsend was a soldier,” Goose pointed out. “He vanished. We could have used him here.” I could have used him here. Goose immediately felt selfish, but he also knew he was right. “There were a lot of good soldiers among the missing men that we could use now.”
“Bill and those others earned their places in heaven, First Sergeant. You can’t begrudge them that. They knew the Lord better than we did before the world changed so much for the rest of us.”
“I don’t begrudge them that. But I wish they were here.”
“Those of us who were left behind,” Baker said, “we have to learn to fight our own battles. We must come to our beliefs truly and without holding back. Many people—if not most—who were left behind will not survive these next seven years.” He paused. “You saw the dead children in Glitter City? And the bodies of the children who were killed in the SCUD attack launched on this city?”
The images of the small corpses flooded Goose’s mind. He remembered that one of the first tasks Baker had volunteered for when they had reached Sanliurfa was the comfort crew. Those men had prepared mass graves to empty the city of the dead. They had taken the dead from their loved ones, gathered broken, gory corpses, and buried them with as much honor and dignity as possible under the circumstances. Baker had served prominently among those teams.
