by Tim LaHaye
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The Indwelling: The Beast Takes Possession
Copyright © 2000 by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins. All rights reserved.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
LaHaye, Tim F.
The indwelling : the beast takes possession / Tim LaHaye, Jerry B. Jenkins.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-8423-2928-6 (hc)
ISBN 978-0-8423-2929-3 (sc)
1. Steele, Rayford (fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Rapture (Christian eschatology)—
Fiction. I. Jenkins, Jerry B. II. Title.
PS3562.A315 I54 2000
813′.54—dc21 00-020562
Repackage first published in 2011 under ISBN 978-1-4143-3496-7.
Table of Contents
Tyndale House Novels by Jerry B. Jenkins
FORTY-TWO MONTHS INTO THE TRIBULATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
TEST YOUR PROPHECY IQ
THE TRUTH BEHIND THE FICTION
TEST YOUR PROPEHCY IQ—ANSWER
Tyndale House Novels by Jerry B. Jenkins
Riven
Midnight Clear (with Dallas Jenkins)
Soon
Silenced
Shadowed
The Last Operative
The Brotherhood
The Left Behind® series (with Tim LaHaye)
Left Behind®
Tribulation Force
Nicolae
Soul Harvest
Apollyon
Assassins
The Indwelling
The Mark
Desecration
The Remnant
Armageddon
Glorious Appearing
Kingdom Come
The Rising
The Regime
The Rapture
Left Behind Collectors Edition
Rapture’s Witness (books 1–3)
Deceiver’s Game (books 4–6)
Evil’s Edge (books 7–9)
World’s End (books 10–12)
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To our agent, Rick Christian, who recognized the value of the idea and the potential of the partnership and introduced us to each other
FORTY-TWO MONTHS INTO THE TRIBULATION
The Believers
Rayford Steele, midforties; former 747 captain for Pan-Continental; lost wife and son in the Rapture; former pilot for Global Community Potentate Nicolae Carpathia; original member of the Tribulation Force; an international fugitive in exile; fleeing Israel, site of the assassination of Carpathia
Cameron (“Buck”) Williams, early thirties; former senior writer for Global Weekly; former publisher of Global Community Weekly for Carpathia; original member of the Trib Force; editor of cybermagazine The Truth; fugitive in exile on assignment in Israel
Chloe Steele Williams, early twenties; former student, Stanford University; lost mother and brother in the Rapture; daughter of Rayford; wife of Buck; mother of fourteen-month-old Kenny Bruce; CEO of the International Commodity Co-op, an underground network of believers; original Trib Force member; fugitive in exile, safe house, Mount Prospect, Illinois
Tsion Ben-Judah, late forties; former rabbinical scholar and Israeli statesman; revealed belief in Jesus as the Messiah on international TV—wife and two teenagers subsequently murdered; escaped to U.S.; spiritual leader and teacher of the Trib Force; cyberaudience of more than a billion daily; fugitive in exile at safe house
Mac McCullum, late fifties; pilot for Carpathia; New Babylon
David Hassid, midtwenties; high-level director for the GC; New Babylon
Annie Christopher, early twenties; Global Community corporal, Phoenix 216 cargo chief; in love with David Hassid; New Babylon
Leah Rose, late thirties; former head nurse, Arthur Young Memorial Hospital, Palatine, Illinois; on assignment in Brussels from safe house
Tyrola (“T”) Mark Delanty, late thirties; owner/director Palwaukee Airport, Wheeling, Illinois
Mr. and Mrs. Lukas (“Laslos”) Miklos, midfifties; lignite-mining magnates; Greece
Abdullah Smith, early thirties; former Jordanian fighter pilot; first officer, Phoenix 216; New Babylon
The Enemies
Nicolae Jetty Carpathia, mid-thirties; former president of Romania; former secretary-general, United Nations; self-appointed Global Community potentate; assassinated in Jerusalem; lying in state at GC palace complex, New Babylon
Leon Fortunato, early fifties; Carpathia’s right hand and assumed successor; GC supreme commander; New Babylon
The Undecided
Hattie Durham, early thirties; former Pan-Continental flight attendant; former personal assistant to Nicolae Carpathia; imprisoned in Belgium
Dr. Chaim Rosenzweig, late sixties; Israeli botanist and statesman; discoverer of a formula that made Israeli deserts bloom; former Global Weekly Person of the Year; apparent stroke victim; Jerusalem
PROLOGUE
From Assassins
Buck had ducked under a scaffold at the sound of the gun. A tidal wave of humanity swept past him on both sides, and he saw glee on some faces. Converts from the Wailing Wall who had seen Carpathia murder their heroes?
By the time Buck looked to the stage, the potentates were leaping off, the drapery was flying into the distance, and Chaim appeared catatonic, his head rigid.
Carpathia lay on the platform, blood running from his eyes, nose, and mouth, and—it appeared to Buck—from the top of his head. His lapel mike was still hot, and because Buck was directly under a speaker tower, he heard Nicolae’s liquid, guttural murmur, “But I thought . . . I thought . . . I did everything you asked.”
Fortunato draped
his stocky body over Carpathia’s chest, reached beneath him, and cradled him. Sitting on the stage, he rocked his potentate, wailing.
“Don’t die, Excellency!” Fortunato bawled. “We need you! The world needs you! I need you!”
Security forces surrounded them, brandishing Uzis. Buck had experienced enough trauma for one day. He stood transfixed, with a clear view of the back of Carpathia’s blood-matted skull.
The wound was unmistakably fatal. And from where Buck stood, it was obvious what had caused it.
“I did not expect a gunshot,” Tsion said, staring at the television as GC Security cleared the stage and whisked Carpathia away.
Two hours later GC CNN confirmed the death and played over and over the grieving pronouncement of Supreme Commander Leon Fortunato. “We shall carry on in the courageous spirit of our founder and moral anchor, Potentate Nicolae Carpathia. The cause of death will remain confidential until the investigation is complete. But you may rest assured the guilty party will be brought to justice.”
The news media reported that the slain potentate’s body would lie in state in the New Babylon palace before entombment there on Sunday.
“Don’t leave the TV, Chloe,” Tsion said. “You have to assume the resurrection will be caught on camera.”
But when Friday became Saturday in Mount Prospect and Saturday night approached, even Tsion began to wonder. The Scriptures had not foretold of death by projectile. Antichrist was to die from a specific wound to the head and then come back to life. Carpathia still lay in state.
By dawn Sunday, as Tsion gloomily watched mourners pass the glass bier in the sun-drenched courtyard of the GC palace, he had begun to doubt himself.
Had he been wrong all along?
Two hours before the burial, David Hassid was called in to Leon Fortunato’s office. Leon and his directors of Intelligence and Security huddled before a TV monitor. Leon’s face revealed abject grief and the promise of vengeance. “Once His Excellency is in the tomb,” he said, his voice thick, “the world can approach closure. Prosecuting his murderer can only help. Watch with us, David. The primary angles were blocked, but look at this collateral view. Tell me if you see what we see.”
David watched.
Oh, no! he thought. It couldn’t be!
“Well?” Leon said, peering at him. “Is there any doubt?”
David stalled, but that only made the other two glance at him.
“The camera doesn’t lie,” Leon said. “We have our assassin, don’t we?”
Much as he wanted to come up with some other explanation for what was clear, David would jeopardize his position if he proved illogical. He nodded. “We sure do.”
“The second woe is past. Behold, the third woe is coming quickly.”
Revelation 11:14
Monday of Gala Week
Leah Rose prided herself on thinking under pressure. She’d been chief administrative nurse in a large hospital for a decade and had also been one of few believers there the last three and a half years. She had survived by her wits and eluded Global Community Peacekeeping Forces until finally having to flee and join the Tribulation Force.
But on the Monday of the week that would see the assassinations of the two witnesses and the Antichrist, Leah had no clue what to do. In disguise and under her alias, Donna Clendenon, she believed she had fooled authorities at the Belgium Facility for Female Rehabilitation (BFFR, or Buffer). She had passed herself off as Hattie Durham’s aunt.
A squinting guard, whose nameplate read CROIX and whose accent was unmistakably French, asked, “And what makes you think your niece is incarcerated here?”
“You think I’d come all the way from California if I had any doubt?” Leah said. “Everybody knows Hattie is here, and I know her alias: Mae Willie.”
The guard cocked his head. “And your message can be delivered only in person?”
“A death in the family.”
“I’m sorry.”
Leah pursed her lips, aware of her artificially protruding teeth. I’ll bet, she thought.
Croix stood and riffled through pages on his clipboard. “Buffer is a maximum security facility without standard visiting privileges. Ms. Durham has been separated from the prison population. I would have to get clearance for you to see her. I could give her the message myself.”
“All I want is five minutes,” Leah said.
“You can imagine how short staffed we are.”
Leah didn’t respond. Millions had disappeared in the Rapture. Half the remaining population had died since. Everybody was short staffed. Merely existing anymore was a full-time job. Croix asked her to wait in a holding area, but he did not tell her she would see no personnel, no inmates, or even any other visitors for more than two hours. A glass cubicle, where it appeared a clerical person had once sat, was empty. No one was there whom Leah could ask how long this might take, and when she rose to look for someone else, she found she was locked in. Were they onto her? Was she now a prisoner too?
Just before Leah resorted to banging on the door and screaming for help, Croix returned. Without apology, and—she noticed—avoiding eye contact, he said, “My superiors are considering your request and will call your hotel tomorrow.”
Leah fought a smile. As if I want you to know where I’m staying.
“How about I call you?” Leah said.
“Suit yourself,” Croix said with a shrug. “Merci.” Then, as if catching himself: “Thank you.”
Relieved to be outside, Leah drove around to be sure she wasn’t being followed. With puzzling instructions from Rayford not to call him until Friday, she phoned Buck and brought him up to date. “I don’t know whether to bolt or play it out,” she said.
That night in her hotel room, Leah felt a loneliness only slightly less acute than when she had first been left behind. She thanked God for the Tribulation Force and how they had welcomed her. All but Rayford, of course. She couldn’t figure him. Here was a brilliant, accomplished man with clear leadership skills, someone she had admired until the day she moved into the safe house. They hadn’t clicked, but everyone else seemed frustrated with him too.
In the morning Leah showered and dressed and found something to eat, planning to see Hattie as soon as she had permission. She was going to call Buffer from her untraceable cell phone, but she got caught up watching on television as Carpathia taunted Moishe and Eli before the eyes of the world.
She sat, mouth agape, as Carpathia murdered the two witnesses with a powerful handgun. Leah remembered when TV cameras would have been averted in the face of such violence. Then came the earthquake that left a tenth of Jerusalem in rubble.
The GC global network showed quake scenes interspersed with footage of the silent witnesses badgered by the smirking Carpathia before their ignominious ends. The slow-motion pictures were broadcast over and over, and repulsed as she was, Leah could not turn away.
She had known this was coming; they all had—any students of Tsion Ben-Judah. But to see it played out shocked and saddened her, and Leah’s eyes swam. She knew how it was to turn out, too, that they would be resurrected and that Carpathia would get his. Leah prayed for her new friends, some of whom were in Jerusalem. But she didn’t want to sit there blubbering when she had work to do too. Things would get a lot worse than this, and Leah needed the training of performing under pressure to prepare herself and to convince herself she was up to it.
The phone at Buffer rang and rang, and Leah was at least warmed to know that the world government suffered just like the rank and file with the loss of half the population. Finally a woman picked up, but Leah couldn’t get her even to acknowledge an employee named Croix.
“A French guard?” Leah tried.
“Ah, I know who you mean. Hold on.”
Finally a man picked up. “Who are you holding for, please?” he said, in a hurry.
“Guard Croix,” she said, “about six feet—”
“Croix!” the man hollered. “Phone!”
But he ne
ver came to the phone. Leah finally hung up and drove to the prison, leaving her phone in the car for safety.
At long last Croix ushered her into yet another private room. This one had a large window that Leah thought might be a two-way mirror. Again she feared her cover might have already been blown.
“I thought you were going to call,” the guard said, pointing to a chair, ubiquitous clipboard in hand.
“I tried,” she said. “This place is poorly run.”
“Understaffed,” he said.
“Can we get on with it?” Leah said. “I need to see my niece.”
“No.”
“No?”
Croix stared at her, apparently unwilling to repeat himself.
“I’m listening,” she said.
“I’m not at liberty to—”
“Don’t give me that,” Leah said. “If I can’t see her, I can’t see her, but I have the right to know she’s healthy, that she’s alive.”
“She is both.”
“Then why can’t I see her?”
Croix pressed his lips together. “She’s been transferred, ma’am.”
“Since yesterday?”
“I’m not at liberty to—”
“How long has she been gone? Where is she?”
He shook his head. “I’m telling you what I was told. If you’d like to get a message to—”
“I want to see her. I want to know she’s all right.”
“To the best of my knowledge, she’s fi—”
“The best of your knowledge! Have you an inkling how limited your knowledge is?”
“Insulting me will not—”
“I don’t mean to insult you, sir! I’m merely asking to see my niece and—”
“That’s enough, Officer Croix,” came a female voice from behind the glass. “You may go.”
Croix left without a word or a look. Leah detected an Asian accent in the woman. She stood and stepped to the mirror. “So, what’s next, ma’am? Am I to leave too, or will I get some word about my niece?”
Silence.
“Have I now become a prisoner too? Guilt by relation?”
