by Tim LaHaye
Tsion wrote to nearly a billion Web site visitors every day that this was the last period during the end of time when believers would have any semblance of freedom. “Now is the time, my dear brothers and sisters,” he wrote. “With everyone else vulnerable to the attacks of the locust hordes, they must stay inside or venture out only with bulky protective gear. This is our chance to put into place mechanisms that will allow us to survive when the world system requires its own mark one day. We will be allowed to neither buy nor sell without the mark, and it is a mark that once taken seals the fate of the bearer for all time—just as the mark we now bear has sealed us for eternity.
“I beg of you not to look upon God as mean or capricious when we see the intense suffering of the bite victims. This is all part of his master design to turn people to him so he can demonstrate his love. The Scriptures tell us God is ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abundant in kindness. How it must pain him to have to resort to such measures to reach those he loves!
“It hurts us to see that even those who do receive Christ as a result of this ultimate attention-getter still suffer for the entire five months prescribed in biblical prophecy. And yet I believe we are called to see this as a picture of the sad fact that sin and rebellion have their consequences. There are scars. If a victim receives Christ, God has redeemed him, and he stands perfect in heaven’s sight. But the effects of sin linger.
“Oh, dear ones, it thrills my heart to get reports from all over the globe that there are likely more Christ followers now than were raptured. Even nations known for only a minuscule Christian impact in the past are seeing great numbers come to salvation.
“Of course we see that evil is also on the rise. The Scriptures tell us that those who remain rebellious even in light of this awful plague simply love themselves and their sin too much. Much as the world system tries to downplay it, our society has seen catastrophic rises in drug abuse, sexual immorality, murder, theft, demon worship, and idolatry.
“Be of good cheer even in the midst of chaos and plague, loved ones. We know from the Bible that the evil demon king of the abyss is living up to his name—Abaddon in Hebrew and Apollyon in Greek, which means Destroyer—in leading the demon locusts on the rampage. But we as the sealed followers of the Lord God need not fear. For as it is written: ‘He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world. . . . We are of God. He who knows God hears us; he who is not of God does not hear us. By this we know the spirit of truth and the spirit of error.’
“Always test my teaching against the Bible. Read it every day. New believers—and none of us are old, are we?—learn the value of the discipline of daily reading and study. When we see the ugly creatures that have invaded the earth, it becomes obvious that we too must go to war.
“Finally, my brethren, with the apostle Paul I urge you to ‘be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.
“‘Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having girded your waist with truth, having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; above all, taking the shield of faith with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one.
“‘And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God; praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, being watchful to this end with all perseverance and supplication for all the saints—and for me, that utterance may be given to me, that I may open my mouth boldly to make known the mystery of the gospel.’
“Until next we interact through this miracle of technology the Lord has used to build a mighty church against all odds, I remain your servant and his, Tsion Ben-Judah.”
Buck knew that Jacov and Hannelore and Stefan had grown in their faith when they insisted on moving into the Rosenzweig estate and caring for Chaim and Jonas for several months. They brought with them Hannelore’s mother, who had received Christ the day the locusts attacked. Even in her suffering she read and studied and prayed, often pleading with Chaim and Jonas to also come to Christ. Even after Jonas did, Chaim remained resolute.
Unable to find a commercial flight that had a full crew, Buck desperately searched among the saints to find someone who might charter him back to the States for the birth of his child. At wit’s end, he tried calling Mac in New Babylon but was unable to get through. He tried e-mailing him a heavily coded message, and an hour later received a lengthy reply.
I’m still looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Williams. Of course, your father-in-law has told me all about you, but don’t worry, I didn’t believe a word of it.
How do you like the e-mail system David has set me up with here? He’s built into it all the safeguards you could imagine. If someone walked in on me right now, they wouldn’t be able to read what I’ve just written.
I gather you need a charter flight out of there. Try Abdullah Smith in Jordan. The name looks weird, but he has his reasons. And he is a believer. Mention my name and he’ll charge you double (just kidding). If he can handle the job, he’ll take care of you.
I’ll copy this to your people so they’ll know what’s going on here. David Hassid and I had to fake locust stings to keep from revealing ourselves. In the process we discovered several other clandestine believers in the ranks here. Carpathia and Leon are quarantined in a fallout shelter that has served to keep out the locusts too, though almost everyone else, including the ten rulers and even Peter the Second, have been stung and are suffering. When you see Carpathia on the news telling everyone that the stories of poisonous bites are exaggerated while he sits there with a locust on his shoulder as a pet, don’t believe it. It’s a trick of photographic technology. Of course, the real things probably wouldn’t bite Nicolae or Leon out of professional courtesy.
A few of us believers have been able to pretend we are simply recuperating more quickly, so we don’t lie around the infirmary twenty-four hours a day listening to the agony. Carpathia has sent me on some missions of mercy, delivering aid to some of the worst-off rulers. What he doesn’t know is that David has picked up clandestine shipments of literature, copies of Tsion’s studies in different languages, and has jammed the cargo hold of the Condor 216 with them. Believers wherever I go unload and distribute them.
Word has gotten back to Leon that all this Christian literature is flooding the globe, and he’s furious about it. So is Peter the Second. I hope someday they both find out how it was transported. But not yet. Pray for us. We’re your eyes and ears in New Babylon, and light as I try to make it all sound, we’re in very precarious positions. Subversives are punished by death here. Two close members of Peter Mathews’s staff were executed for mentioning to Global Community personnel something Peter thought was private. Carpathia heard about the executions and sent him a note of congratulations. Of course, Peter is on Nicolae’s hit list, or at least for sure on Leon’s. Leon believes there’s no need for any religion because we have His Excellency the potentate to worship.
I say that with irony, but Leon is dead serious. David was in the room when Leon suggested passing a law that people have to bow in Nicolae’s presence. That may be the end of me.
The believers here cannot meet for fear of suspicion and detection, but we encourage each other in subtle ways. Fortunately, David has been elevated to a position that puts him on a level close to the senior pilot (yours truly), so we are expected to interact a lot. We love the late Ken Ritz’s idea for the believers’ commodity co-op, for lack of a better handle, and we think your wife will make an absolutely smashing CEO. You know who her direct competition will be, of course. Carpathia himself is personall
y (really) taking charge of global commerce, effective immediately. You heard it here first. He wants those ten kings in his hip pocket, doesn’t he?
You know, Mr. Williams, I heard something on the Condor a few days before the locusts attacked that proved one of Dr. Ben-Judah’s points. Remember when he wrote that this period is not just a grand war between good and evil, but also a war between evil and evil? I think his point was that we were to love each other and make sure the crises don’t turn us on each other and spur fights between good and good. But anyway, Mathews and Saint Nick and the ever-present Leon-my-whole-Fortunato-is-tied-to-you-Excellency are aboard the Condor 216. (I finally figured out the significance of Carpathia’s obsession with that number, by the way. Well, actually David told me. He thought everybody knew. Your quiz for the week.)
So on the plane ol’ Mathews is really putting the screws to Carpathia. He’s demanding this and urging that and begging for more share of the taxes for all the wonderful stuff Enigma Babylon is going to do for the Global Community. Nicolae is yessing him and uh-huhing him to beat the band. Mathews takes a bathroom break and Nicolae tells Fortunato, “If you don’t have him hit, I’ll do the job myself.”
Of course Leon tells him, “He’s outlived his usefulness, and I’m working on it.”
Well, didn’t mean to ramble, but with all the afflicted here, I’ve got more alone time than I’ll probably ever have again. All the best with the little one. We’ll pray you get home in time and that Mama is up and around in time to get back to work and make a parent out of you. Greet everyone for me.
In the name of Christ, Mac M.
Still grieving the loss of Ken Ritz, missing his interaction with Mac McCullum, and reeling from the attempted infiltration of the bumbling Ernie, Rayford took his time getting to know T. M. Delanty. While Ernie and the irrepressible Bo were ensconced at Arthur Young Memorial Hospital in Palatine, Rayford made several trips to the Palwaukee Airport to sift through Ken’s things. As often as not, he’d see T.
They shared life stories over a couple of lunches, and Rayford knew they had taken a step toward potential friendship when he mustered the courage to ask, “What does T. M. stand for?”
T gave him a you-had-to-ask-didn’t-you? look. “If I wanted people to know that, I wouldn’t have resorted to initials.”
“Sorry. Just wondered why you go by T, that’s all.”
“I’ve got a crummy first name, what can I tell you? My mother was African-American and my father Scotch-Irish. Heavy on the Scotch, sad to say. She named me after an old schoolteacher of hers. Tyrola made a good last name, but if you were hung with that moniker, what would you go by?”
“I’d go buy a ticket out of town, T. Sorry I asked. Middle name wasn’t an option?”
“Mark.”
Rayford shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, except do I look like a Mark? Admit it, I look like a T.”
Tyrola Mark Delanty was the only member of his small church to be left behind at the Rapture. “I was suicidal,” he said. “And I can’t say I’ve had much fun, even since I finally got right with God. Lost a wife of fourteen years and six kids, my whole extended family, friends, church people, everybody.”
Rayford asked whom he met with now.
“There are about thirty believers in my neighborhood. More all the time. Neighborhood is overstating it, of course. We’re all living in our original homes, but they’re worthless. Just happened to not fall over, so there are living spaces.”
After a few meetings, Rayford and T finally got around to the subject of Ken and Palwaukee and Bo and Ernie. It turned out that T was the major owner of the airport, having bought it from the county a couple of years before the Rapture. “Never made much money at it. Low margin, but it was turning. Ken and several other regulars flew out of here. Ken lived here, as you know, until the earthquake when he moved in with you guys.”
Bo was the only son of a wealthy investor who owned 5 percent of the business but who had died in a car wreck when the Rapture took drivers from cars in front and in back of his. “In the ensuing chaos, Bo shows up as the sole heir, trying to act like a board member and a boss. I humored him until he brought Ernie on. I fought it at first. He was a nineteen-year-old who had dropped out of school when he was fourteen but reputed to be a natural mechanic. Well, it turned out he was, and he helped a lot around here. I only put it together the day of the locust attack that Ernie and Bo had a scheme going.”
“Why would they have wanted Ernie to infiltrate our group?”
“Rumor was that Ken had a lot of money. Ernie was trying, I think, to get in good with him. He and Bo would have run some scam on him and tried to cash in. When Ken was killed, they went into high gear. You saw the sad result of that comical effort.”
Rayford studied T, trying to decide whether to ask what he thought of the rumors about Ken’s wealth. He decided not to pursue it yet, but T made the question moot. “The rumors were true, you know.”
“As a matter of fact, I do know,” Rayford said. “How did you know?”
“Ken really wanted to buy the airport, and I really wanted to sell it. That was my hope all along, but now I had a different motive. Rebuilding it after the earthquake really strapped me, and I needed to cash out. I wanted to pour a little money into our tiny congregation and see if we couldn’t accomplish something for God in the few years we have left. I asked Ken if he could afford market value for the airport, and he assured me he could.”
“Did he happen to say where he banked?”
T smiled. “We’re still feeling each other out, aren’t we? Still playing cat and mouse.”
“I was just wondering,” Rayford said.
“Yes, I think we’re both up to speed.”
“What do you think should be done with Ken’s assets, T?”
“Used for God. Every last dime. That’s what he would have wanted.”
“I agree. Does that money belong to anyone else? Legally, I mean?”
“Nope.”
“And you have access to it?”
“You want to dig with me, Rayford?”
“I don’t know. What’re you paying?”
“Unless Ken told you you could have it, I believe rightfully it’s mine. It was left on my property. I’m not sure where, and I’m not sure how much. But I’d sure like to get at it before Bo and Ernie recuperate.”
Rayford nodded. “Your little church can make use of all that?”
“Like I said, we want to see if we can do something significant. We wouldn’t build a church or fix up our homes.”
“Any inkling how much you’re talking about?” Rayford said.
“Maybe over a million.”
“Would it surprise you to know it’s probably five times that?”
“Are we negotiating, Rayford? You want some of this, think you’re entitled to it, what?”
Rayford shook his head. “I’d like to be able to buy his planes. I have no claim on his money or anything else.”
“I’ll tell you what,” T said. “If there’s half as much money as you think there is, I’ll give you his planes.”
“How much for the Gulfstream?”
“If there’s as much as you say there is, you can have that one too.”
“And can I fly out of here?”
“You can house ’em, keep ’em up, and live here with ’em if you want.”
“And may a Jordanian fly my son-in-law in here within twenty-four hours, no questions asked?”
“You got it, brother.”
Rayford broached the subject of a world commodity co-op among believers, coordinated out of the Tribulation Force safe house. “Any interest in getting behind that, delivering, running charters, that type of thing?”
“Now that I could get excited about,” T said. “My little band of believers too, I’ll bet.”
Buck met Abdullah Smith in an outdoor café run by a young woman on the tail end of her recuperative season. Abdullah was as secre
tive and quiet as just about anyone Buck had ever met. But he had a clear mark on his forehead and was healthy. He embraced Buck with vigor despite being a laconic conversationalist.
“The name McCullum is all I need to hear, sir. We are brothers, the three of us. I fly. You pay. Nothing more need be said.”
And it wasn’t. At least by Abdullah. Buck told him he was making one last social call and would meet him at the airport in Amman at six that evening. “I would appreciate a stop in northern Greece, and then straight to the Chicago area.”
Abdullah nodded.
The streets of Jerusalem were largely deserted. Buck had never grown used to the sobbing and howling he heard on every corner. It seemed many suffered in every household. He heard that thousands in Jerusalem had slit their wrists, tried to hang themselves, drunk poison, stuck their heads in gas ovens, put plastic bags over their heads, sat in garages with cars running, even jumped in front of trains and leaped off buildings. They were severely injured, of course, and some were left looking like slabs of butchered meat. But no one died. They just lived in torment.
Buck found Rosenzweig’s home a little quieter, but even Chaim begged to be put out of his misery. Jacov reported that Chaim had taken no nourishment—none—for more than a week. He was trying to starve himself to death or develop a fatal case of dehydration. He looked terrible, emaciated and wan.
Jonas and Jacov’s mother-in-law were more stoic. Though clearly suffering, they did what they could to help themselves. They slept, they ate, they got up and around. They tried medication, though it seemed to make no difference. The point was in trying. They looked forward to the day they would be free from the effects of the sting. Jonas, in particular, was childlike in his excitement over reading the Bible with Jacov and having Tsion Ben-Judah’s daily cyberspace message read to him.
Chaim merely wanted to die. Buck sat on his bed until the old man cried out in agony. “Everything hurts, Cameron. If you cared a whit about me, you would free me from this misery. Have compassion. Do the right thing. God will forgive you.”
