Left Behind Book 13: Kingdom Come The Final Victory

by Tim LaHaye

  “You? What would you say?”

  Sarsour glanced at Abdullah, who was packing up his stuff. “I’d say that if the number two man in our cell headquarters can get his mind changed about Jesus, anybody can.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Dead serious.”

  “I knew this would happen!” Mudawar pointed at Abdullah. “This is all your fault! Like an idiot, I let you in here, and now this. Well, I suppose you know you’re fired, Sarsour.”

  “I had an inkling I might not still qualify for a job I wouldn’t want.”

  “What will you do? You can’t do anything else.”

  “Maybe I’ll get a job at COT. I’m guessing they’re going to need to replace Qasim.”

  * * *

  Kenny had not felt awkward in front of Ekaterina since the day they had met. Until now. They sat across from each other.

  “It’s only been half a day and I miss you,” she said.

  “I know. Me too.”

  “I’m so sorry, Kenny. If you’ll have me back, I’m here.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Of course. I can’t believe I ever doubted you. Nothing in your life or character jibes with that e-mail. If I’m wrong and you wrote that, well, then I’m a fool. I love you.”

  She rose and approached him, but before he could stand, she sat on his lap and buried her head in his chest. “I just want the truth to come out so everyone will know. You know the others are suffering too.”

  “The others?”

  “Raymie, Bahira, Zaki.”

  “Not Qasim?”

  “Don’t talk to me about Qasim.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you’re innocent, he’s guilty.”

  “I’m glad someone else recognizes the obvious.” Kenny’s implanted phone chirped. “Let me answer this, hon,” he said, shifting.

  She stood.

  “Well, yes, hello, Mr. Ababneh. Good to hear you too. . . .”

  THIRTY-TWO

  “REHEMA, I need you to call my wife and assure her and the others that I am well. And, of course, I need to know the same is true of them.”

  “And why would you think I would do that for you?”

  “Because I would do the same for you. You are a mother. You have family. You may see yourself as an operative of the rebellion, but I know better. I can see in your eyes that you know the truth. I have told you everything I know about God and Christ and faith and prophecy, about the world as it once was and now is, and about my family. You know God is real, and you know He will somehow get me out of here in time to get back to my people and my assignment.”

  Rehema pressed her lips together. “That would persuade me.”

  “Would it?”

  “Of course.”

  “But you’re not otherwise convinced?”

  No answer.

  But she asked for his wife’s number and turned away to call.

  * * *

  Irene Steele was, of course, puzzled by and suspicious of the call from the young woman who identified herself as Rayford’s guard.

  “He’s wondering where we’re hiding?” Irene said slowly, carefully considering whether she should reveal anything. She decided she could do Rayford no harm. “Tell him that he will find us where he left us. We will wait in plain sight.”

  “You are crafty people, Mrs. Steele,” Rehema said.

  “If you wish to think so. But it strikes me that God has blinded your compatriots, as we have not moved since my husband left us. And would you remind him that we must be on the road to Siwa by no later than one in the morning if we wish to fulfill our obligations there?”

  “I’ll tell him, ma’am,” Rehema said, “but if he is with you, I likely will be too.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh yes. My career, my future, my very life depends on keeping him from that appointment. So if he makes it, it will be either with my help or with me under his protection against my former superiors.”

  Irene chuckled. “He has convinced you of the error of your ways, has he?”

  “Very nearly.”

  “We will welcome you warmly into the family of God, dear.”

  “What?”

  Irene could tell Rehema was overcome. “Did you not hear me?”

  “I heard you, Mrs. Steele. It’s . . . it’s . . . it’s just that no one has ever said that to me before.”

  * * *

  “What is it?” Rayford said, noting that Rehema was fighting tears.

  The young woman merely shook her head and held up a hand as if she needed a moment before she could speak. Finally she said, “If I get you out of here, can we stop for my son?”

  “First things first,” Rayford said. “Do you understand what you are saying?”

  “Of course. I have more reason to believe in your God than you ever did. There is more evidence, more proof, more of everything than you ever had. I know who I am and what I am.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A sinner in need of God.”

  “Then you also know what you need to do. Do you understand the consequences?”

  Rehema nodded solemnly. “TOL does not lightly hold their own.”

  “And you also realize that I could not allow you to release me and go to find your son while other believers remain here.”

  “What are you saying?” Rehema said.

  “What kind of a zealot would I be to escape and leave others to whatever fate awaits? If we do this, we take everyone.”

  “That would require an act of God. There are more than thirty others, each with his or her own personal guard.”

  Rayford smiled. “You have heard every story I can remember. Where would you think such a miracle might rank on my list of supernatural events?”

  Rehema looked about. “I feel as if every eye is on me, every camera, every hidden microphone.”

  “I hope they are. I hope Ishmael and whomever else he wishes to enlist as a henchman has heard every word. The Scripture is clear that ‘You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.’ ”

  As if on cue, the bureaucrats and other guards looked up as a cadre of armed guards rushed from every direction, joining in the middle of the compound and then heading, led by Ishmael, toward Rayford’s cell, weapons at the ready.

  “Surrender your rifle and sidearm, Rehema,” Ishmael said.

  As Rehema allowed them to be unstrapped and taken, she glanced in panic at Rayford.

  “You have one chance and one chance only to renounce all you have heard and said here,” Ishmael told her. “Proclaim your loyalty to TOL and be reassigned, or join the prisoners to whom you seem so sympathetic.”

  “You’re asking me to choose sides?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I choose the true and living God and His Son, Jesus.”

  Stripped of her weapons and ammunition belt as well as her boots, Rehema was shoved into Rayford’s cell and shackled both to him and to a steel ring embedded in the wall. She was shuddering, but he drew her close and whispered, “The better for us to be able to pray.”

  And with the withdrawal of TOL troops, they did pray, and Rehema became a child of God.

  “My son is in a TOL day care center six miles from here,” she said.

  “God knows,” Rayford said.

  * * *

  Tsion Ben-Judah made the decision to keep the news of Rayford’s incarceration from the brothers and sisters in Israel. “They have enough to occupy themselves for now,” he said. “And besides, we know this is only a temporary setback. Have you looked out the window?”

  The others crowded around as Tsion raised the blinds. Marching resolutely down the road was a robust figure.

  Bruce Barnes whispered, “I don’t believe it.”

  “Of course you do,” Tsion said. “And you should not even be surprised.”

  “Anis?” Chaim said.

  “My man,” Tsion said.

  “He’s more than a man,” Bruc
e said. “And you, above all, know it.”

  * * *

  Rehema knelt awkwardly with Rayford, their cuffs not only tethering them together but also pinning them to the wall, as he led her in prayer again. When they finished he asked her what time it was.

  Through tears she reported, “It’s 2200 hours.”

  “Two hours before midnight. We must soon be on our way. Does your son usually spend the night at day care?”

  She shook her head. “I pick him up on the way home.”

  “How many will your car hold?”

  “Four.”

  “We’ll need more vehicles and drivers.”

  “Assuming we can get the keys. How is this supposed to happen, sir?”

  “I have quit asking or even wondering. The Lord works—”

  “In mysterious ways. Don’t look so surprised. Even unbelievers have heard all the clichés.”

  The old man and the young girl turned carefully and sat next to each other, backs against the wall, manacled arms raised. “This is the best part of being on the right side,” Rayford said. “Waiting and watching to see what God will do when there seems no possible solution.”

  Rehema sighed. “And you never wonder, never worry.”

  “Not anymore. Don’t wonder; don’t worry. Just wait and watch. And obey.”

  “Obey whom?”

  “Whomever He sends. Whatever He does. Just be prepared to act in faith.”

  Rayford found his head bobbing as he fought drowsiness when midnight approached. He was aware that Rehema remained tense and alert. That was understandable. All of this had to be foreign to her.

  “I’m scared,” she said. “Mostly for my son. What will become of him?”

  “Jesus is a lover of children,” Rayford said. “Trust Him. Obey Him. May I teach you a song?”

  “Are you serious?”

  Rayford began humming, then singing “Trust and Obey.”

  “When we walk with the Lord in the light of His word,

  What a glory He sheds on our way.

  While we do His good will, He abides with us still,

  And with all who will trust and obey. . . .”

  Rehema looked at him with what appeared amazement, but she listened until he trailed off and finally dozed.

  At the stroke of midnight, Rayford was awakened when Rehema struggled to her feet, yanking painfully on his arm.

  “Who’s that?” Rehema said, pointing with her free hand. “And how did he get in here?”

  There stood Anis in the midst of the chaotic compound, calm, serene, confident, authoritative. He raised both arms, as if directing a church choir, and Rayford noticed that all the prisoners seemed to know it was their cue to stand. Ishmael approached, brandishing his weapon and calling for aides to apprehend the intruder. But as others joined him, forming a half circle around Anis and demanding that he identify himself and surrender, the man of God did not even acknowledge their presence.

  Suddenly the screens on the walls and the computer monitors flickered and went dark, and a low rumbling began. It soon grew into a shaking and rattling, and the armed guards grabbed frantically for anything to stay upright. As the lights went out and emergency lamps came on, the foundations of the place rumbled and rattled, and as one the cell doors broke from their latches and swung open, chains and handcuffs falling from all the prisoners.

  Ishmael screeched that guards would shoot to kill any who even dreamed of leaving their cells, but Rayford noticed that all eyes were on the stoic Anis, who began directing the prisoners out one by one.

  “Shoot! Shoot!” Ishmael raged. “Fire!” But no one responded, and not even the man himself seemed able to raise his weapon.

  Soon the prisoners were following Anis past guards who appeared paralyzed with fear. They moved into the parking area where the rolling stock stood, and Anis divided the freed men and women and young people into threes and fours, handing them keys and pointing them to various cars. Some guards tossed away their weapons and tore off their hats and shirts, joining the throng leaving the complex.

  Anis directed Rehema to her own car and assigned an older woman to join them, telling Rehema where to drop her.

  The caravan of cars slowly fell into line and snaked its way to the surface, where armed guards calmly opened the gates and allowed them out. They sped off in all directions, Rehema quickly reaching top speed and asking Rayford to sing his song once again.

  And as he sang, “Trust and obey, for there’s no other way to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey . . . ,” Rehema delivered the woman to her joyous, weeping family, then headed directly to the care center, where her son stood in the doorway, backpack full, eyes heavy-lidded. He politely met Rayford, climbed into his car seat, and fell asleep.

  Rehema drove directly to the camper, where Rayford introduced her and quickly recited the story. As the others welcomed her to the fold, it was decided she would accompany them to Siwa. Within another hour, they were on their way.

  The following evening, she became one of many formerly imprisoned believers who testified of the miraculous midnight prison break. Siwa enjoyed a revival unmatched by any other city in Ozase.

  Rayford and his team mobilized the local teams and finally set out for Israel and their long-awaited break.

  * * *

  Qasim Marid was, of course, fired from the Children of the Tribulation ministry, and he died at one hundred.

  He was replaced by Abdullah Ababneh’s friend Sarsour, who endeared himself to the staff and Cameron Williams’s extended family over the next nine centuries.

  Ignace and Lothair also died at one hundred—as did Mudawar—and became the Other Light martyrs, still revered by billions of adherents more than nine hundred years later.

  Kenny and Ekaterina Williams’s wedding was performed by Bruce Barnes, and the couple produced eight sons, six daughters, and more than eighty grandchildren over the next two hundred years. The couple expanded the work of COT to Greece, as had been Ekaterina’s dream, until they grew too feeble to carry on.

  By the end, the ministry was maintained by the glorifieds, as the naturals finally saw the ravages of time catch up with their bodies. When the naturals reached ages higher than about seven hundred, they began to slow and notice the diminution of their senses, particularly hearing and sight.

  On his eight hundredth birthday, Mac McCullum was honored when it seemed that all his former friends and loved ones and associates were invited to celebrate with him at COT in Israel—and most showed up. He asked for the microphone and announced “what I believe is a brilliant idea. It probably came from the Lord, but until we know for sure, I’ll take credit for it. Let’s make a pact, all of us, that we find a way to move right back here to witness the end of the Millennium. If everybody can work that out over the next two hundred years, at my thousandth we’ll have us a mighty reunion, and all you glorifieds can help feed us naturals. How ’bout that?”

  The idea was met with laughter and high spirits and then forgotten for several years until Rayford raised it with Chloe and Cameron. “You’ve expanded,” he said. “And the earth’s population has exploded as we all knew it would. Let’s free up a building here where you young ones can keep an eye on us oldsters and keep us from having to be warehoused somewhere else. Kenny and Kat can’t walk without canes anymore. Mac and Chaim are in wheelchairs and I soon will be. Abdullah’s the only one who still has a little spring in his step, but we know that won’t last. What do you say?”

  Cameron apparently liked the idea, for when virtually the same crowd returned for Mac’s millennial bash, The “six oldsters,” as they had come to be known, were lined up in their wheelchairs, facing the horizon.

  “This here’s like a funeral where the dead guy won’t go,” Mac said, as dear ones from the past began a long procession past Rayford, Kenny, Ekaterina, Chaim, Mac, and Abdullah.

  Rayford had to have the visitors remind him of their names and their connection. His heart was full as he was greeted by L
oretta, Bruce Barnes’s secretary; Floyd Charles; David Hassid; T Delanty; Mr. and Mrs. Miklos from Greece; Ken Ritz; Hattie Durham; Annie Christopher; Steve Plank; his own parents—looking centuries younger than he; Amanda and her first husband; Albie; Hannah Palemoon; Zeke senior and junior; the Sebastian family—George, Priscilla, and Beth Ann; Razor; Enoch Dumas; Leah Rose; Eleazar Tiberias; his daughter, Naomi; Chang Wong; Otto Weser; Lionel Whalum; Ming Toy and Ree Woo; and so many others.

  “You know what I want?” Rayford said.

  “Tell me, Dad,” Chloe said.

  “I want a picture of the original Tribulation Force.”

  Chloe rounded up Bruce and Cameron, and the three glorifieds posed behind Rayford’s chair.

  The instantly produced photograph stunned even Rayford. It depicted three robust young people frozen in the prime of their lives and a long, bony man with drooping jowls, liquid eyes, and no hair, weighing barely over a hundred pounds, veins prominent on the backs of his hands, bundled in a sweater despite the desert heat.

  THIRTY-THREE

  The Last Day of the Millennium

  THE EARTH teemed with billions of people, and the end of the Millennium was vastly different from the beginning. That was no surprise to Rayford, who kept up with the news, often sitting before the television with Chaim Rosenzweig. “We don’t have one trained soldier,” he said. “And we don’t need one. Not a hair on the head of a believer will be harmed by the biggest fighting force the world has ever seen.”

  Daily for the past three years, the news had abounded with stories of millions of adherents to the Other Light, growing bolder by the minute. Their printing presses and electronically transmitted messages blanketed the globe, recruiting new members, amassing a weapons stockpile and training a fighting force a thousand times bigger than had been aggregated for the Battle of Armageddon a millennium before.

  Rayford was amazed that God allowed such a brazen, wanton act of defiance on the parts of so many as they symbolically thumbed their noses at Jesus and the earthly rulers He had chosen from the ages. Even in Israel, tanks rumbled through the streets, uniformed soldiers marched, and missiles and rockets were paraded before the faithful.