by Tim LaHaye
“Here is what else I have in mind. As you know, our intelligence sources quickly became convinced that the attack on New York had been planned by American militia under the clandestine leadership of President Fitzhugh. This only confirmed my earlier decision to virtually strip him of executive power. We now know that he was killed in our retaliatory attack on Washington, D.C., which we have been able to effectively lay at the feet of the insurrectionists. Those limited few who remain loyal to him will likely turn against the rebels and see that they were bumbling fools.
“As you know, the second largest pool of oil, second only to the one in Saudi Arabia, was discovered above the Prudhoe Bay in Alaska. During the state of this leadership vacuum in North America, the Global Community will appropriate the vast oil fields in Alaska, including that huge pool. Years ago it was capped off to satisfy environmentalists; however, I have ordered teams of laborers into the region to install a series of sixteen-inch pipelines that would route that oil through Canada and to waterways where it could be barged to international trade centers. We already own the rights to oil in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Iraq, Iran, and the rest of the Middle East. That gives us control of two-thirds of the world’s oil supply.
“We will gradually but steadily raise the price of oil, which will further finance our plans to inject social services into underprivileged countries and make the world playing field equal for everyone. From oil alone, we should be able to profit at a rate of about one trillion dollars per year.
“I will soon be appointing leaders to replace the three ambassadors of the regions that turned against us. That will bring the Global Community administration back to its full complement of ten regions. While you are now known as ambassadors to the Global Community, forthwith I will begin referring to you as sovereign heads of your own kingdoms. You will each continue to report directly to me. I will approve your budgets, receive your taxes, and give you bloc grants. Some will criticize this as making it appear that all nations and regions are dependent upon the Global Community for their income and thus assuring our control over the destiny of your people. You know better. You know that your loyalty will be rewarded, that the world will be a better place in which to live, and that our destiny is a utopian society based on peace and brotherhood.
“I am sure you all agree that the world has had enough of an antagonistic press. Even I, who have no designs on personal gain and certainly only altruistic motives for humbly and unwillingly accepting the heavy mantle of responsibility for world leadership, have been attacked and criticized by editorialists. The Global Community’s ability to purchase all the major media outlets has virtually eliminated that. While we may have been criticized for threatening freedom of speech or freedom of the press, I believe the world can see that those unchecked freedoms led to excesses that stifled the ability and creativity of any leader. While they may once have been necessary to keep evil dictators from taking over, when there is nothing to criticize, such oppositional editorialists are anachronistic.”
Rayford felt a tingle up his spine and nearly turned, convinced someone was standing right outside the cockpit door. Finally the feeling became so foreboding and pervasive that he whipped off his headphones and stood, leaning to peek through the fish-eye peephole. No one was there. Was God trying to tell him something? He was reminded of the same sense of fear that had overcome him when Buck had told his terrifying story of sitting through a meeting where Carpathia had single-handedly hypnotized and brainwashed everyone in the room except Buck.
Rayford sat back in his seat and put the headphones on. When he depressed the intercom button, it was as if he were hearing a new Carpathia. Nicolae spoke very softly, very earnestly, in a monotone. None of the flourishes and inflections that usually characterized his speech were evident. “I want to tell you all something, and I want you to listen very carefully and understand fully. This same control that we now have over all media, we also need over industry and commerce. It is not necessary for us to buy or own all of it. That would be too obvious and too easily opposed. Ownership is not the issue. Control is. Within the next few months we shall all announce unanimous decisions allowing us to control business, education, health care, and even the way your individual kingdoms choose their leaders. The fact is, democracy and voting will be suspended. They are inefficient and not in the best interests of the people. Because of what we will provide people, they will quickly understand that this is correct. Each of you can go back to your subjects and honestly tell them that this was your idea, you raised it, you sought support of your colleagues and me for it, and you prevailed. I will publicly reluctantly accede to your wishes, and we will all win.”
Rayford listened to a long silence, wondering if his bugging device was malfunctioning. He released and depressed it several times, finally deciding that no one was saying anything in the conference area. So this was the mind control Buck had witnessed firsthand. Finally, Leon Fortunato spoke up. “Potentate Carpathia,” he began deferentially, “I know I am merely your aide and not a member of this august body. However, may I make a suggestion?”
“Why, yes, Leon,” Carpathia said, seeming pleasantly surprised. “You are in a significant position of trust and confidence, and we all value your input.”
“I was just thinking, sir,” Fortunato said, “that you and your colleagues here might consider suspending popular voting as inefficient and not in the best interests of the people, at least temporarily.”
“Oh, Mr. Fortunato,” Carpathia said, “I do not know. How do you feel people would respond to such a controversial proposal?”
The others seemed unable to keep from talking over each other. Rayford heard them all agreeing with Fortunato and urging Carpathia to consider this. One repeated Carpathia’s statement about how much healthier the press was now that the Global Community owned it and added that ownership of industry and commerce was not as necessary as ownership of the press, as long as it was Carpathia controlled and Global Community led.
“Thank you very much for your input, gentlemen. It has been most stimulating and inspiring. I will take all these matters to heart and let you know soon of their disposition and implementation.”
The meeting lasted another couple of hours and consisted mostly of Carpathia’s so-called kings parroting back to him everything he had assured them that they would find brilliant when they thought about it. Each seemed to raise these as new and fresh ideas. Not only had Carpathia just mentioned them, but often the ambassadors would repeat each other as if not having heard.
“Now, gentlemen,” Carpathia concluded, “in a few hours we will be in New Babylon, and I will soon appoint the three new ambassador rulers. I want you to be aware of the inevitable. We cannot pretend that the world as we know it has not been almost destroyed by this outbreak of global war. It is not over yet. There will be more skirmishes. There will be more surreptitious attacks. We will have to reluctantly access our power base of weaponry, which you all know I am loath to do, and many more thousands of lives will be lost in addition to the hundreds of thousands already taken. In spite of all of our best efforts and the wonderful ideas you have shared with me today, we must face the fact that for a long time we will be fighting an uphill battle.
“Opportunists always come to the fore at a time such as this. Those who would oppose us will take advantage of the impossibility of our peacekeeping forces to be everywhere at once, and this will result in famine, poverty, and disease. In one way, there is a positive side to this. Due to the incredible cost of rebuilding, the fewer people we must feed and whose standard of living we must raise, the more quickly and economically we can do this. As the population level decreases and then stabilizes, it will be important for us to be sure that it does not then explode again too quickly. With proper legislation regarding abortion, assisted suicide, and the reduction of expensive care for the defective and handicapped, we should be able to get a handle on worldwide population control.”
All Rayford could do was pray. Lord, he sa
id silently, I wish I was a more willing servant. Is there no other role for me? Could I not be used in some sort of active opposition or judgment against this evil one? I can only trust in your purpose. Keep my loved ones safe until we see you in all your glory. I know you have long since forgiven me for my years of disbelief and indifference, but still it weighs heavily on me. Thank you for helping me find the truth. Thank you for Bruce Barnes. And thank you for being with us as we fight this ultimate battle.
CHAPTER 7
Buck had always had the ability to sleep well, even when he couldn’t sleep long. He could have used a dozen or more hours the night before, after the day he had had. However, seven-plus hours had been just enough because when he was out, he was out. He knew Chloe had slept fitfully only because she told him in the morning. Her tossing and turning and winces of pain had not affected his slumber.
Now, as Ken Ritz landed the Learjet in Easton, Pennsylvania, “just to top off the tank before headin’ to Tel Aviv,” Buck was alert. He and the lanky, weathered, veteran pilot in his late fifties seemed to have picked up where they left off the last time he had employed this freelance charter service. Ritz was a talker, a raconteur, opinionated, interesting, and interested. He was as eager to know Buck’s latest thoughts on the vanishings and the global war as he was in sharing his own views.
“So, what’s new with the jet-setting young magazine writer since I saw you last, what, almost two years ago?” Ritz had begun.
Buck told him. He recalled that Ritz had been forthright and outspoken when they first met, admitting that he had no more idea than anyone else what might have caused the vanishings but coming down on the side of aliens from outer space. It had hit Buck as a wild idea for a buttoned-down pilot, but Buck hadn’t come to any conclusions at that time either. One theory was as good as the next. Ritz had told him of many strange encounters in the air that made it plausible that an airman might believe in such things.
That gave Buck the confidence to tell his own story without apology. It didn’t seem to faze Ritz, at least negatively. He listened quietly, and when Buck was through, Ritz simply nodded.
“So,” Buck said, “do I seem as weird to you now as you did to me when you were propounding the space aliens theory?”
“Not really,” Ritz said. “You’d be amazed at the number of people just like you that I’ve run into since the last time we talked. I don’t know what it all means, but I’m beginning to believe there are more people who agree with you than agree with me.”
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Buck said, “if I’m right, I’m still in big trouble. We are all gonna go through some real horror. But people who don’t believe are going to be in worse trouble than they could ever imagine.”
“I can’t imagine worse trouble than we’re in right now.”
“I know what you mean,” Buck said. “I used to apologize and try to make sure I wasn’t coming on too strong or being obnoxious, but let me just urge you to investigate what I’ve said. And don’t assume you’ve got a lot of time to do it.”
“That’s all part of the belief system, isn’t it?” Ritz said. “If what you say is true, the end isn’t that far off. Just a few years.”
“Exactly.”
“Then, if a fella was gonna check it out, he better get to it.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Buck said.
After refueling in Easton, Ritz spent the hours over the Atlantic asking “what if” questions. Buck had to keep assuring him he was not a student or a scholar, but he amazed even himself at what he remembered from Bruce’s teaching.
“It must have hurt like everything to lose a friend like that,” Ritz said.
“You can’t imagine.”
Leon Fortunato instructed everyone on the plane when to get off and where to stand for the cameras when they finally reached New Babylon.
“Mr. Fortunato,” Rayford said, careful to follow Leon’s wishes, at least in front of others, “McCullum and I don’t really need to be in the photograph, do we?”
“Not unless you’d like to go against the wishes of the potentate himself,” Fortunato said. “Please just do what you’re told.”
The plane was on the ground and secure in New Babylon for several minutes before the doors were opened and the Carpathia-controlled press was assembled. Rayford sat in the cockpit, still listening over the two-way intercom. “Remember,” Carpathia said, “no smiles. This is a grave, sad day. Appropriate expressions, please.”
Rayford wondered why anyone would have to be reminded not to smile on a day like this.
Next came Fortunato’s voice: “Potentate, apparently there’s a surprise waiting for you.”
“You know I do not like surprises,” Carpathia said.
“It seems your fiancée is waiting with the crowd.”
“That is totally inappropriate.”
“Would you like me to have her removed?”
“No, I am not sure how she might react. We certainly would not like a scene. I just hope she knows how to act. This is not her strength, as you know.”
Rayford thought Fortunato was diplomatic to not respond to that.
There was a rap at the cockpit door. “Pilot and copilot first,” Fortunato called out. “Let’s go!”
Rayford buttoned his dress uniform jacket and put his hat on as he stepped out of the cockpit. He and McCullum trotted down the steps and began the right side of a V of people who would flank the potentate, the last to disembark.
Next came the flight service crew, who seemed awkward and nervous. They knew enough not to giggle, but simply looked down and walked directly to their spots. Fortunato and two other Carpathia aides led the seven ambassadors down the steps. Rayford turned to watch Carpathia appear in the opening at the top of the stairs.
The potentate always seemed taller than he really was in these situations, Rayford thought. He appeared to have just shaved and washed his hair, though Rayford had not been aware he had the time for that. His suit, shirt, and tie were exquisite, and he was understatedly elegant in his accessories. He waited ever so briefly, one hand in his right suit pocket, the other carrying a thin, glove-leather portfolio. Always looking as if he’s busily at the task at hand, Rayford thought.
Rayford was amazed at Carpathia’s ability to strike just the right pose and expression. He appeared concerned, grave, and yet somehow purposeful and confident. As lights flashed all around him and cameras whirred, he resolutely descended the steps and approached a bank of microphones. Every network insignia on each microphone had been redesigned to include the letters “GCN,” the Global Community Network.
The only person he couldn’t fully control chose that moment to burst Carpathia’s bubble of propriety. Hattie Durham broke from the crowd and ran directly for him. Security guards who stepped in her way quickly realized who she was and let her through. She did everything, Rayford thought, except squeal in delight. Carpathia looked embarrassed and awkward for the first time in Rayford’s memory. It was as if he had to decide which would be worse: to brush her off or to welcome her to his side.
He chose the latter, but it was clear he was holding her at bay. She leaned in to kiss him and he bent to brush her cheek with his lips. When she turned to plant an open-mouthed kiss on his lips, he pulled her ear to his mouth and whispered sternly. Hattie looked stricken. Near tears, she began to pull away from him, but he grabbed her wrist and kept her standing next to him there at the microphones.
“It is so good to be back where I belong,” he said. “It is wonderful to reunite with loved ones. My fiancée is overcome with grief, as I am, at the horrible events that began so relatively few hours ago. This is a difficult time in which we live, and yet our horizons have never been wider, our challenges so great, our future so potentially bright.
“That may seem an incongruous statement in light of the tragedy and devastation we have all suffered, but we are all destined for prosperity if we commit to standing together. We will stand against any enemy
of peace and embrace any friend of the Global Community.”
The crowd, including the press, applauded with just the right solemnity. Rayford was sick to his stomach, eager to get to his own apartment, and desperate to phone his wife as soon as he was sure it was daytime in the States.
“Don’t worry about me, buddy boy,” Ken Ritz told Buck as he helped him off the Learjet. “I’ll hangar this baby and find a place to crash for a few days. I’ve always wanted to tour this country, and it’s nice to be in a place that hasn’t been blown to bits. You know how to reach me. When you’re ready to head back, just leave a message. I’ll be checking messages frequently.”
Buck thanked him and grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He headed toward the terminal. There, beyond the plate-glass window, he saw the enthusiastic wave of the wispy little old man with the flyaway hair, Chaim Rosenzweig. How he wanted this man to become a believer! Buck had come to love Chaim. That was not an expression he would have used about the other man back when he first met the scientist. It had been only a few years, but it seemed so long ago. Buck had been the youngest senior writer in the history of Global Weekly—in fact, in the history of international journalism. He had unabashedly campaigned for the job of profiling Dr. Rosenzweig as the Weekly’s “Person of the Year.”
Buck had first met the man a little more than a year before that assignment, after Rosenzweig had won a huge international prize for his invention (Chaim himself always called it more of a discovery) of a botanic formula. Rosenzweig’s concoction, some said without much exaggeration, allowed flora to grow anywhere—even on concrete.
The latter had never been proven; however, the desert sands of Israel soon began to blossom like a greenhouse. Flowers, corn, beans, you name it, every spare inch of the tiny nation was quickly cleared for agriculture. Overnight, Israel had become the richest nation in the world.
