by Tim LaHaye
After they heard Rayford and Leah’s story and thanked God for the provision of the money, Tsion had shared a little of what he would transmit the next day. He seemed especially intrigued that believers could see the horses and horsemen while the victims could not. Even on camera, people were shown recoiling from snakebites, enveloped by clouds of smoke, and consumed, seemingly by spontaneous fire from thin air. “I had envisioned the horsemen as one vast army riding together,” Tsion said, “and perhaps at some point they will. But so far it appears they are assigned to various locations. How long this will continue, I do not know. Frankly, I am disappointed to not have seen them yet myself.”
Eventually Rayford and Chloe were the only ones left in the living room. “Going to bed, Dad?” she said at last.
“In a while. Just need to unwind. Unique day, you know. Never saw anything like that before. Don’t care to again.”
She moved around behind him and massaged his neck and shoulders. “You need rest,” she told him.
“I know.” He patted her hand. “I’ll be all right. You get your sleep so you can take care of that baby.”
As he sat in the darkness, Rayford ran through the events of the last several days. His question had been how much more they could take. This was only the beginning, and he couldn’t imagine enduring the next few years. He would lose more comrades, and at an accelerating pace.
His rage had not abated, but he had been able to somehow tuck it on a high deck behind a pup tent in his brain. Still longing for the privilege of being used in Carpathia’s demise, he had to admit he was grateful for what he had seen that night. He was way past where he could deny God’s forceful presence during this period. But to stand face-to-face with the horsemen of Revelation, to walk right through them to safety . . .
Had the horsemen been blinded to the believers as well? Surely, like the demonic locusts, they were agents of Satan who would rather kill believers than enemies of God.
Rayford still wasn’t sure what he thought about Leah. She was difficult to identify with. Something about her seemed younger and more naive than her years. They had been through a horrifying ordeal together, and yet his image of her as too strident and opinionated had not faded. He had been moved by her salvation account and did not doubt her sincerity. Was it sexist to be repulsed by her straightforwardness? Would he pass the same off as mere spunk in a man? He hoped not.
Rayford inventoried his injuries. He needed another long, hot shower. A toe throbbed and might be broken. His left knee ached as it had before surgery in college. His left elbow was tender. A finger was sprained. He felt a bump on the back of his head. Too bad he was pushing forty-six. Running into someone and tumbling to the ground was part of a typical day for a nine-year-old.
And he was stricken with thoughts of his son. Raymie had been twelve when he disappeared in the Rapture. Though Rayford had largely succeeded in refraining from pining over him, Raymie was always at the edge of his consciousness. He suffered the guilt of time lost, wasted, not carved out for his son. The memories of the times they had spent together brought a lump to his throat.
Rayford slid off the couch and onto his knees, thanking God for Irene and Raymie, grateful they were spared this torturous existence. He also thanked God for Amanda, whom he had enjoyed for such a short time, but who was no less a gift. Chloe, Kenny, Buck, Tsion, Mac, David, Bruce, Ken . . . they all came to mind and brought emotion, regret, gratefulness, worry, hope.
Rayford prayed he would be the kind of leader to the Tribulation Force that God wanted him to be. And he still held out hope that this somehow included his being in the proximity of Nicolae Carpathia three and a half years from the beginning of the Tribulation, just four months hence. And Carpathia had just announced where he would be.
Mac was grateful Abdullah supervised the fumigation and inspection of the aircraft. His head pulsated. He still had to fly, but he would rely on Abdullah more than ever.
Everyone, himself included, seemed jumpy, keeping their eyes open for danger. Mac found himself starting at any movement in his peripheral vision, fully expecting to see the giant horses and riders. Abdullah appeared just as edgy.
Despite his trauma, Fortunato appeared eager to get going again. Karl was particularly agitated, alternately crying and bustling about to make certain everything was just so. As Mac and Abdullah walked through their preflight routine, Fortunato was ushered into the gleaming Khartoum terminal. He emerged in fresh clothes, apparently having also showered, and looked 100 percent better. Concern still clouded his face. He stopped by the cockpit to be sure Mac and the plane were flightworthy. “At the first unpleasant odor, I want this plane on the ground,” he said.
At one in the afternoon in New Babylon, David Hassid finally got a break from his emergency duty. He had helped transport bodies to the morgue and ferry the ill to hospital rooms. He had not seen what had wrought the catastrophe, but he put two and two together when reports poured in of death from fire, smoke, and sulfur. Nowhere near a tenth of the GC employee population had been affected yet, but still hundreds had died. He knew his stateside comrades, at least Rayford and a new Trib Force member, had seen the horsemen. He felt better knowing he was not the only believer who had not seen them.
David was frantic about Annie. He had not seen her since the first alarm sounded, sending all personnel into preassigned emergency roles. He couldn’t reach her by phone or computer, and no one had seen her. Her duty in an emergency was to punch a series of highly encrypted numbers into a remote-control box that secured the hangar. Once that was accomplished, she was to account for all staff in David’s department. The hangar had been secured, but David had to check on staff himself.
It was grisly work. Of 140 people under his supervision, ten were dead, two were treated for smoke inhalation, and one was missing: Annie. Three of the dead had appeared to spontaneously combust. During the awful task David came to a conclusion. If Annie had somehow survived, he would make public their feelings for each other. He would even take the initiative to get her transferred, per policy, so it wouldn’t appear a reprimand of either of them when it came through channels.
Once his report was filed David ran past dozens of employees who sat in clusters, crying, talking, commiserating. They would have been ripe for praying with, for sharing God with. But he was not yet prepared to sacrifice his potential benefit to the cause.
At his level of security clearance, David was able to obtain a key to Annie’s quarters. She was not there. Despairing, he strode to the expansive hangar and entered the codes necessary to disengage the security locks. The huge side doors slid open to reveal the cavernous innards, which looked even bigger with the flagship aircraft away in service. The choppers and few fixed-wing craft didn’t begin to fill the building.
David opened Annie’s, Mac’s, and Abdullah’s offices and flipped on the lights. Nothing. But that’s when he heard it, the muffled rhythmic pounding. It came from the utility room at the far corner of the structure. He soon recognized the thumps as Morse code. Someone was banging out an SOS. David broke into a sprint.
The utility room was double insulated for noise and steel reinforced for safety. This had been Annie’s first time securing the hangar. Maybe she didn’t know the utility room self-locked from the inside and was the last place a person wanted to be while remotely locking down the whole building. Once that room was locked, communicating from inside was impossible. Phone and even the remote control unit would not transmit past the heavy steel. To get out, someone inside had to first be discovered.
David reached the door. “Who goes there?” he hollered.
“David!” came Annie’s frantic reply. “Get me out of here!”
“Thank God,” he said, unlocking the door. She leapt into his arms, enveloping him so tight he had to fight to breathe.
“Learn something about the utility room today?” he said.
“I thought I’d be in here forever!” she said. “I checked the utilities and started punchin
g in the codes as I was heading out, not realizing the doors would lock from inside. I’ve still got to account for your staff.”
“Done.”
“Good. Thanks for telling me about the utility room.”
“Sorry. I’m just relieved I found you.”
“You’re relieved? I was scared to death. I imagined you could go days without thinking to look in here.”
David could tell Annie was truly angry with him. “It was actually Mac’s place to tell you about—”
She looked askance at him. “Don’t tell me you’re a finger-pointer. This seems like a major thing you could have told me.”
He had no defense.
“So what was the big emergency?” she said. “Another false alarm?”
“You really don’t know?”
“How would I, David?” she said. “I saw people running and heard a few coughing when I saw the alert. I came straight here.”
“Come with me,” he said.
They sat in her office, where he told her the whole story.
“I could have helped,” she said. “I look like a coward, thanks to you.”
“I just about died worrying about you,” David said. “I thought I knew what you meant to me.”
“You thought?”
“I was wrong. What can I say? I need you. I love you. I want everybody to know.”
She shook her head and looked away. “You loved me enough to let me lock myself in.”
Now David was angry. “Did you read the procedure manual like you were supposed to? It’s clear.”
“I suppose I’ll get reprimanded.”
“Probably. It’s going to be hard to hide that I did your work.”
“It was the least you could do,” she said.
David fought to attribute her sudden unattractiveness to claustrophobia and frustration. “I love you even when you’re ornery,” he said.
“That’s big of you.”
He shrugged and turned his palms up in surrender. “I’d better get back. Until you and I declare ourselves, we can’t be seen together. For one thing, I have to account for your whereabouts.”
“That’s only fair.”
He shook his head and rose.
“Someone should have told me,” she said.
He didn’t look at her. “I got that point.”
“I’m just saying,” she said, “that I’m the one who could get booted out of my job and reassigned. You know what that’ll mean.”
He turned back. “Ten minutes ago I would have loved that. It would have meant we could declare ourselves and I’d get more time with you.”
David could tell he had wounded her. “And now?” she said.
“Like I said, I love you even when you’re—”
“You know the price, David. I want what you want, but what’s best for the Trib Force?”
“I can’t be much good to the Force, frustrated without you.”
“Who has the access to GC brass that you do?”
“I know. So, are we in love again or what?”
She came to him, and they held each other. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Me too.”
CHAPTER 10
Mac had not been to Johannesburg since before the great wrath of the Lamb earthquake. From the air it resembled New Babylon. The rebuilt airport served as a major hub of international travel. Regional Potentate Rehoboth’s palace housed his several wives, children, and grandchildren, along with servants and aides.
The left side of Mac’s head felt twice as big as the right, and pain stabbed each wound with every beat of his heart. Even applying his headphones was a chore, trying to keep the gauze from pressing tighter against his stitches.
Upon landing, Mac and Abdullah were to open the door and lower the steps. They could then leave the plane, retire to their quarters, or remain in the cockpit, as long as they did not interfere with the meeting. Karl and his assistant would remain on board to serve food. Mac told Leon that he and Abdullah would remain also, probably in their quarters. Of course, they stayed in the cockpit, where Mac listened in on Fortunato and his remaining aide.
“Clancy,” Leon said, “I would like you to phone Ngumo at the VIP guesthouse. You can see it there at the end of the airport. Here’s the number. He will not likely answer himself, but put the speakerphone on so I can hear, just in case.”
Mac wished he could take notes, but he couldn’t risk being found with them. He would just have to remember as much as he could—no easy task with the pain. He heard Clancy slowly enter the number. A mature woman answered. “You have reached Mwangati Ngumo’s secretary. May I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you. I am Clancy Tiber, personal assistant to Global Community Supreme Commander Leon Fortunato. I am pleased to tell you that the supreme commander is prepared to receive Mr. Ngumo and two aides aboard Global Community One.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tiber. You may expect them in five minutes. Mr. Ngumo is very much looking forward to his meeting with Potentate Carpathia.”
Clancy hung up and said, “This is too delicious. Is it supposed to be this much fun?”
“There’s more where this came from, son.”
The flag-bedecked Botswanian limo stopped fifty feet from the plane, and Mac idly watched three dignitaries alight. Abdullah unstrapped himself and pressed his nose against the windshield. “Does that look like Ngumo to you, Mac?”
“Hm?”
“That’s not Ngumo.”
“I’ve never met him.”
“Neither have I, but unless he’s lost fifty pounds since I saw him on TV, that’s not him. And since when does the big man carry a bag too?”
Mac removed his headset and leaned forward, but the men were already past where he could see them. He jumped as Fortunato blasted so hard against the locked cockpit door that it sprang open and banged against the wall. “Go! Go!” Leon said. “Take off now!”
“We’re shut down, Leon.”
“Start it up! Now! Those men have weapons!”
“The door’s open, Leon! There’s no time!”
“Do something!”
“Engage three and four,” Mac said, and Abdullah flipped several switches. “Full power, now!”
The two engines on the right side of the plane burst to life with a roar, and Mac maneuvered the controls so the plane swung to the left. Mac saw the three would-be assassins blowing down the runway in the hot jet exhaust.
“You’re a genius!” Leon said. “Now get us out of here!”
The men struggled to their feet, retrieved their high-powered rifles, and ran toward their limo. With the steps and open door of the Condor now facing away from them, Abdullah ran to pull up the stairs and shut the door.
“Now go!” Leon shouted. “Go!”
“We’re low on fuel. We’d have to come back here to land.”
“They’re driving this way! Go!”
Mac started the sequence, knowing the plane was not prepped for takeoff again so quickly. The left side engines screamed to life, but until other crucial gauges caught up, the onboard computer would abort takeoff. If Mac overrode the fail-safe mechanism, he risked crashing.
He turned the jet rear side toward his pursuers, but they roared around front, showing their weapons. “Leave them in the dust!” Leon said. “Let’s go!”
But the gunmen circled back out of sight of Mac and opened fire. The blowing of the tires was nearly as loud as the explosions from the weapons. The Condor was wounded. With more than half its tires shredded, the bird rested unevenly on the runway. Mac would never get it to roll, let alone achieve takeoff speed.
Strangely, not another plane was in sight. All the crazy activity, which had to have been witnessed by both air traffic and ground control personnel, had drawn no emergency attention. Mac realized they had been set up and would likely all die. He and Abdullah had been stranded before this band of killers. Whoever they were, they clearly had the cooperation of the Rehoboth regime.
Bullets rip
ped through the fuselage. Mac and Abdullah leaped from their seats and followed the screaming Leon through the galley, the lounge, and into the main cabin. “Lie on the floor and stay in the center!” Mac shouted.
The killers had apparently decided to make sure no one survived. Bullets tore through windows and walls up and down the plane. Mac noticed only five men on the floor. Abdullah, Leon, Clancy, Karl’s helper, and he were curled beneath seats, their heads buried in their hands. “Where’s Karl?” Mac shouted, but no one stirred.
Mac felt the pressure of footsteps near him and peeked up to see the cook staggering down the aisle, drenched in blood. “Karl! Get down!” As the man fell, wide-eyed, a gaping hole in his forehead evidenced a fatal wound.
“Do we have a weapon?” Leon shouted.
“Prohibited by your boss, Leon!” Mac said.
“Surely you sometimes break the rules! I’ll pardon you if you produce one! We have no hope, Mac!”
There were two pistols in the cargo hold, and yes, Mac thought, sometimes I break the rules. But there was no getting to the guns, and what would he do with them anyway, outnumbered and facing heavy artillery?
“Do something!” Leon pleaded. “Do you have a phone?”
Mac dug his from his belt and flung it to Leon. The commander frantically poked in a special code, shuddering with every round that pierced the plane. “GC Mega-Alert, this is LF 999, secure line! Inform His Excellency GC One under heavy fire, Johannesburg International. Patch me through to Potentate Rehoboth directly, now!”
Mac heard the phone in the lounge. Dare he crawl out and see who it was? If there was a chance it was the shooters with a demand, it might be worth it. He crawled over Karl and into the lounge, where he grabbed the receiver as the base of the phone bounced on the floor. “Talk!” he barked.
It was the woman he had heard over the intercom, now hysterical. “Mr. Ngumo is not behind this attack! He was overtaken by—oh, no! Oh—” A deafening fusillade made Mac pull the phone from his ear. When he listened again, the woman screamed, “They’ve killed him! No! Please!” More shots, and her phone had fallen.
