by Tim LaHaye
From every century and every corner of the world they came, the throng rising to applaud them as everyone enjoyed the dramas of their heroic highlights. In every case, as their stories unfolded, the crowd exulted and the principals bowed at the feet of Jesus, deflecting all praise and honor to Him. The stories of humble pastors of tiny churches, persevering for decades in spite of seemingly no results, were just as uplifting as the dramatic tales.
Raymie had been fascinated by his mother’s report that she had asked God how long they had been here—in terms they would understand from an earthly standpoint—and found it had been just minutes. He wondered if God would feel he was being trivial if he asked for his own update.
And as soon as the thought crossed his mind, God spoke to his heart. “You are anything but a nuisance, Son. Still only moments have passed since you arrived.”
Raymie hoped this would never end and then realized that it would not.
TWENTY-FOUR
NICOLAE CARPATHIA waited until his people told him that the largest international-media outlets had arrived; then he took his time having his valet dress him in his most elegant, sedate, black suit with black tie and white shirt. Lingering in his dressing closet a few more beats, he finally left the mansion in a slow, seemingly sad gait with his head down, approaching the microphones on his vast back lawn.
Carpathia stepped to the makeshift podium as still cameras clicked and reporters jostled for position. Pressing his lips together in what appeared to be an attempt to control his emotions, he stoically raised his head and cleared his throat.
“Forgive me, but like so many around the world, I am grieving this hour as well. It appears no one has been left untouched by this tragedy. I know that even now, virtually moments after the cataclysm has struck, people all over the globe are already expounding theories. At the risk of adding to the confusion, for now let me say that the idea that makes the most sense to me is briefly as follows:
“The world has been stockpiling nuclear weapons for many years. Since the United States dropped atomic bombs on Japan in 1945 and the Soviet Union first detonated its own devices on September 23, 1949, the world has been at risk of nuclear holocaust. I would not be surprised if scientists discover some atmospheric phenomenon interacting with all these stockpiled weapons that may have caused the vanishing of so many people instantaneously.
“I am not a scientist, but I am well-read in these subjects, and it could very well be that some confluence of electromagnetism in the atmosphere, combined with as-yet-unknown or unexplained atomic ionization from the nuclear power and weaponry throughout the world, could have been ignited or triggered—perhaps by a natural cause like lightning or even by an intelligent life-form that discovered the possibility before we did—and caused this instant action.
“Why the disappearances seem so random, striking some societies and cultures more than others, I am not prepared to speculate upon. It is possible that certain people’s levels of electricity made them more likely to be affected. That would account for all the children and babies and even fetal material that vanished. Perhaps their electromagnetism was not developed to the point that it could resist whatever happened.
“I have already heard postulated that this may have been some cosmic act of God. Let me be careful to say that I do not and will not criticize any sincere person’s belief system. Such tolerance is the basis for true harmony and brotherhood, peace and respect among peoples. I do not accept the so-called Rapture theory already being bandied about, because I know many, many more people who should be gone if the righteous were taken to heaven. If there is a God, I respectfully submit that this is not the capricious way in which He would operate. By the same token, you will not hear me express any disrespect for those who disagree.
“There may come a time when I will be presented the opportunity and privilege of addressing in a more appropriate setting my views of millenarianism, eschatology, the Last Judgment, and the second coming of Christ, but until that time I feel it would be best if I did not attempt to speak on those subjects informally.
“Let me just close by adding my condolences to all who have suffered loss this day and to respectfully decline questions at this time. Thank you.”
As Carpathia strode back toward the house, the press called out, “Mr. President!” “Dr. Carpathia!” “Just one question, sir.”
But he neither turned nor slowed. This had been his show, not theirs.
Raymie had never heard of Cyrus Ingerson Scofield, but he was certainly intrigued by the man’s story. Scofield had been a successful lawyer and politician in the nineteenth century but had resigned from the United States Attorney’s office under charges of political corruption.
By the time he was thirty-six, in 1879, Scofield had suffered spiraling losses in his personal life, having ended his political career in humiliation, lost a son, turned to drink, and undergone a divorce. He was also involved in many controversial court cases.
Raymie thought Scofield appeared repentant, kneeling before the flame as his works were tested in the fire. Despite his history, his judgment resulted in precious gems and gold and silver that shone. Jesus fashioned these into a Crown of Life for Scofield’s persevering in ministry despite opposition to his theological views. Jesus also presented him a Crown of Glory, citing his feeding of several flocks as pastor of various churches. He also received a Crown of Righteousness as one who stood out as loving the very idea of Christ’s appearing. And finally he was given the Crown of Rejoicing for his work having resulted in so many coming to faith in Christ.
“But, Lord,” Scofield said, “I am unworthy. I wasted nearly half my life.”
Jesus embraced him and said, “You of all men should know that the sins and omissions of the old life are not counted against you at this judgment. Your sins were covered and forgotten, and all that remains is what you did for Me after you were regenerated. Well done, good and faithful servant.”
Raymie enjoyed the Scofield life story passing his mind’s eye. A change had certainly been needed in the man’s life. And now the masses were treated in their minds’ eyes to the time in 1879 when Scofield had asked God to forgive his sins and for Jesus to take over his life.
From that moment the brilliant but flawed Scofield began to study and live for his newfound Savior. He stopped drinking, was discipled by a prominent pastor and Bible teacher, served many organizations, and was eventually called to be a pastor.
He led people to Christ, began cottage prayer meetings, married a Christian, saw his Dallas, Texas, church send out missionaries, and also saw the work grow and spawn new churches. He designed the Scofield Correspondence Course, which was later licensed to Moody Bible Institute and taken by more than 100,000 students. And he created a reference Bible to aid those just beginning to read the Bible, which became an authoritative guide to millions for more than a century.
Raymie had heard Pastor Billings mention his Scofield Bible, but he had never quite understood what he meant and was fairly certain he had never seen one. Now, as Raymie watched Jesus give Cyrus Scofield his crowns, he thought this was a man he’d like to talk with, and it was nice to know he had an eternity to do it.
Chloe caught a clumsy ride on the back of a motorbike, during which she and the young, terrified Asian rider struggled to keep her suitcase aloft. “You want to try the new Palo Alto airstrip?” he said.
“I can’t imagine anything’s going out of there,” she said. “I was hoping to make it to San Jose.”
“Definitely closed,” he said. “Heard it on the news.”
“Palo Alto then,” she said, which proved providential.
A harried, middle-aged woman behind the counter, her mascara having run from recent tears, told Chloe she was in luck, “in a manner of speaking.” She said she was going to try and see how many rules she could break, learning that Chloe was immediate family of a Pan-Con captain. “Somehow I’ll get you onto Pan-Con by the last leg of your trip, if I find even one plane on its way to
Chicago.”
The woman spent several minutes tapping away at her keyboard, talking to herself and maintaining a running commentary as she went. “Um-hmm. Interesting. Okay. Fine, let’s try this. Nope. Here. Oh, my. Well, worth a try.”
“What?” Chloe said, checking her watch. It had been an hour since she and Amy had discovered Phoebe’s clothes on the ground.
“It’s something—a long shot, not much.”
“I’ll try anything.”
“I figured that. Because San Jose is shut down, we’re getting some rerouting. More than we’re used to and more than we can handle. There’s a little military strip between here and San Jose, and it looks like there’s going to be an Air California jet stopping there to refuel. I can get you on that. Some back roads are clear, so we can bus you to the strip.”
“Air California? They don’t leave the state, do they?”
“You do know your air travel, young lady. AC is an in-state airline, yes, but this one is on its way to Salt Lake City, only major airport open for hundreds of miles. There’s an old piece of Pan-Con equipment there that’s going to Oklahoma.”
“Thought you said the only major—”
“I’m not talking Oklahoma City or even Tulsa here, doll. Enid. Middle of nowhere. Military town.”
“That’s not on Pan-Con’s routes.”
“No, but Dallas is, and Enid’s getting lots of DFW’s slopover.”
“Okay, where do I go from Enid?”
“There’s an Ozark flight to Springfield, Illinois. I suppose you know that Ozark spelled backwards is Krazo.”
Chloe was not in the mood. “Yep, I’ve heard ’em all. What are the chances I can get to O’Hare from Springfield?”
The woman shrugged. “That’s as far as I can guarantee. Maybe you can get a bus from there. Looks like Pan-Con is running some ancient turboprops out of there, but who knows how long Chicago will be open. JFK is already closed, and O’Hare is taking every jumbo jet within five hundred miles. Can’t imagine they won’t run out of room soon. You want this or not? Got to get you on that bus right now if you’re in.”
“I’m in.”
“Isn’t this something, Mom?” Raymie said. “You’re getting these mind pictures, right?”
“I am.”
“These next two guys are from the first and second centuries!”
“I don’t recognize their names,” Irene said.
“I have a feeling we’ll both be experts on them soon. Papias and Polycarp. Weird. And they were friends of John, the one who wrote the Gospel.”
“And the epistles and Revelation.”
“Just wait till it’s his turn, Mom.” But Raymie would find these two men every bit as captivating.
TWENTY-FIVE
HATTIE DURHAM enjoyed the delectable secret that she was not quite as ditzy as she seemed to be. How people reacted to her—particularly men—she had recognized so many years before that she couldn’t remember not using it to her advantage. Women seemed to baby talk to her, as if because she was a beautiful blonde she couldn’t have a brain. And men seemed to talk to her with their eyes, as if their gibberish was meaningless, which it often was.
It was, however, not true that Hattie was other than calculating. She had largely charmed her way to senior-flight-attendant status just after her twenty-seventh birthday—no small feat—but these jobs were not just handed out. She had had to study, to be a quick learner, to gain favor with passengers, fellow crew members, and superiors. They didn’t give such a title to a body, a face, a hairdo, and makeup in uniform.
And now she was enjoying her new role, especially on a 747 streaking toward London. Hattie didn’t want any mistakes, no complaints. There would be issues, sure, but that’s why she and her crew were here. They would deal with everything and everyone quickly and efficiently. Tony Salazar, who had been with the airline since Hattie was in grade school, was already proving most helpful. He was one who could easily have had her promotion, had he merely wanted it. Clearly there was no animosity there. He apparently wanted her to look good and seemed to be doing everything in his power to effect that.
They were several hours into the flight already. Two meals had been served, the movie had ended, and except for just a few wanderers and the rare night owls still hunched over their laptops under their individual reading lamps, the plane had become dark and quiet.
“You want to make points with this staff,” Tony whispered, “urge them to finish breakfast prep now and let them take a load off until sunup.”
“Great idea,” Hattie said.
When they were finished, she swept through the cabins a few times herself, then finally sat, feeling the nervous energy drain from her and wishing she could close her eyes. The last thing she would do, however, was actually sleep on the job. Here and there other attendants were sitting, chatting, and watching and listening for any call buttons.
Hattie glanced idly up the aisle, where a woman was either getting some exercise or on her way to the lavatory. Funny. In the dim light she seemed to be there one second and gone the next.
Something else was on Hattie’s mind. Rayford Steele. She had never seen herself as a home wrecker, though Captain Steele was hardly the first married man who seemed eager to throw away his family for her. She had merely teased previous conquests, knowing full well they were not responsible people and were merely lusting rather than loving her.
But Rayford. He was something different. It had not been lost on her that he had been more than careful. He had a beautiful family. He never bad-mouthed his wife. It was clear he was not happy at home; otherwise, what was he doing with his looks, his body language, his conversation? Yet it was his very discipline that attracted her . . . not to mention his striking appearance.
Okay, he was forty-two. Had forty-two ever looked so good on a man? He kept himself in shape and looked great in and out of uniform. They were headed for something, and Hattie didn’t want to scare him off and mess it up. She knew enough to let Rayford make the next move, and from what she could tell, he was well on his way. She had made clear her own intentions—or at least willingness—but this was a different relationship—for certain a different potential—than she had ever had.
Hattie’s goal was nothing short of claiming Rayford as her own. An affair was not enough; for one thing, given their situation, it would ruin her career. No, she wanted him. He would have to be willing to divorce his wife and pursue her to the altar.
If her instincts were right, London would be a city where memories were made.
Irene Steele took great pleasure in her new ability to—what else could she call it?—multitask. She was able to watch and listen to the exhilarating judgments—which were, in reality, another way to bring honor and glory to Jesus—exult at the rejoicing of the angels every time someone received Christ, “view” as it were the stories of each supplicant in her mind’s eye, and simultaneously feel overwhelmed with joy at being able to take this all in in the presence of her son, now a full-grown man. Irene felt as if she would never be able to lose her eternal smile, nor did she wish to.
She quickly understood why Papias and Polycarp, those of the strange names, seemed to be dealt with together. They had been contemporaries, friends, and their most stark bond was that they had both been acquaintances of the disciple whom Jesus loved: John.
Papias proved to be a Greek Christian leader who had written a five-volume commentary on the sayings of Jesus. Jesus praised him for his efforts in offering one of the earliest records about the writing of the Gospels. While his work was lost to history after several centuries, it had been used in the early church to help give credence to the veracity of Scripture.
“Though some questioned your intellect and scholarship,” Jesus said, presenting him the crowns of Glory, Righteousness, and Rejoicing, “you proved authentic and devoted. You fed your flock, you anticipated My return with gladness, and you became My glory and joy by winning souls.”
Papias’s friend Polycarp
had been a disciple of the apostle John and eventually became the bishop of the early church in Smyrna. Irene soon learned that he was one of the most celebrated characters in ancient Christendom, reminding her again how embryonic and provincial her faith was. The idea of having eternity to learn all this warmed her.
As a pupil of John, Polycarp had talked with many who had been with Jesus Himself. He became a bold pastor, preacher, and witness for Christ in spite of dangerous opposition from Rome, and indeed he was eventually martyred for his faith while serving as the bishop at Smyrna.
Jesus used the precious residue from the flame judgment of his works to make for him all the crowns he had given Papias, adding the Crown of Life, reserved for martyrs or those who had suffered undue trials.
Hattie Durham had enjoyed only a brief respite before feeling that she should get back on her feet and continue to monitor the needs and comfort of her passengers. She was aware that other attendants glanced curiously at her, probably wondering if they too were expected to get back to work. But really, there was little to do.
She missed Rayford, but she had decided the next move was his. And he certainly wasn’t going to do anything during a flight. Hattie moseyed to the back of the plane, idly checking to see how many lavs were occupied. Only one, and that soon became free too. Then she quietly began her stroll up the long aisle. Nearly everyone was asleep, so Hattie was careful to keep her steps light. When she was a passenger she could always tell when someone was coming, and nothing was more irritating than a lumbering staff member, interrupting someone’s rest.
Some passengers had their seats reclined, and they lay back, snoring softly or with their mouths open. Most had heeded the advice to fasten their seat belts outside blankets and sweaters so Hattie and her team would not have to rouse them to be sure they were buckled in. Others had slid down in their seats and slept in various curled-up positions of repose.
