The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books

by Tim LaHaye

  “We?”

  “Our undershepherd and me.”

  “Laslos, I don’t want you two to risk—”

  “Nonsense! Do you have an alias and appropriate papers?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. How fast can you walk?”

  “How’s the terrain?”

  “Not the best, but don’t get near the road until we get there.”

  “I’m starting now.”

  “Mr. Steele, we feel just like the prayer-meeting people from the New Testament, praying for Peter while he knocked on their door.”

  “Yeah,” Rayford said. “Only he was coming from prison.”

  Exhausted, Buck sat behind a concrete wall, built decades before to protect Israel from shrapnel and mortar from nearby enemies. He was several blocks from the main drag, but close enough to hear the ever-present sirens and see the emergency lights bouncing off the low-riding clouds in the wee hours.

  Think, think, think, he told himself. He didn’t want to leave Israel without knowing where Chaim was. Buck knew of no other people Chaim might flee to or with if he had somehow survived. If Chaim had defied the odds, he would be looking for Buck as fervently as Buck was looking for him. They could not meet at the obvious places: Buck’s hostel, Chaim’s house, Jacov’s apartment, Stefan’s place. What would make sense to both of them?

  Buck had never believed in extrasensory perception, but he sure wished there was something to it now. He wished he could sense whether the old man was all right, and if so, that he was trying to somehow communicate with Buck right then. As a believer, Buck was certain that clairvoyance was hogwash. But he had heard credible stories of people, particularly Christians, who somehow knew things supernaturally. Surely it wasn’t beyond God’s ability to perform such miracles, especially now.

  Buck needed a miracle, but his faith was weak. He knew it shouldn’t be. He had seen enough from God in three and a half years that he should never again doubt for an instant. What held him up now was that he was dead sure he didn’t deserve a miracle. Weren’t there bigger, more important things for God to worry about? People were dying, injured, lost. And there was the great supernatural battle between good and evil that Tsion wrote so much about, the conflict of the ages that had spilled out of heaven and now plagued the earth.

  “I’m sorry to even ask,” Buck prayed, “but at least calm me down, give me a clear mind just long enough to figure this. If Chaim is alive, let us run into each other or both think of a meeting place that makes sense.”

  Buck felt foolish, stupid, petty. Finding Chaim was noble, but involving God in such a trivial matter seemed, well, rude. He stood and felt the aches. He clenched his fists and grimaced. Relax! Get hold of yourself! Think!

  But somehow he knew that was no way to open the mind. He had to really relax, and berating himself for being frantic would have the opposite effect. But how could he calm himself at a time like this, when it was all he could do to catch his breath and will his pulse to decelerate?

  Maybe that was an appropriate request of God, a miracle enough in itself.

  Buck sat back down, confident he was hidden and alone. He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, shaking out his hands and stretching his legs. He laid his head back and felt the concrete wall against his hair and scalp. He let his head roll from side to side. His breathing became slower and more even; his pulse began to subside ever so slowly. He tucked his chin to his chest and tried to clear his mind.

  The only way to do that was to pray for his comrades one by one, starting with his own wife and son, his father-in-law, and all the rest of the brothers and sisters who came to mind. He thanked God for friends now in heaven, including those whose bodies he had just discovered.

  And almost before he knew it, he had calmed as much as a man could in that situation. Thank you, Lord. Now what location would make sense? Where have Chaim and I been together that we would both think of?

  He pictured them at Teddy Kolleck Stadium, but that was too public, too open. Neither could risk it.

  And then it came to him.

  CHAPTER 5

  Chloe fell silent at the news. Tsion might have predicted tears, disbelief, railing against someone other than her father. She just sat, shaking her head.

  Difficult as it had been to inform her, Tsion was oddly still reeling from what to him had felt almost like an out-of-body experience while praying. He had heard of those and pooh-poohed them as fabrications or drug-induced hallucinations on deathbeds. But this sensation, so real and dramatic that it had temporarily derailed his empathy and intercession on Rayford’s behalf, was something else again. He had long advocated checking experience against Scripture and not the other way around. He would, he realized, have to remind himself of that frequently until the glow—which seemed too positive a word for the disturbing residue of the incident—receded into memory. A verse from the Old Testament teased his consciousness, and his mind wandered from the troubled young woman before him.

  As Chloe had not yet responded, Tsion said, “Excuse me a moment, please,” and brought his whole Bible text up onto his laptop screen. A few seconds later he clicked on Joel 2. He silently read verses 28 through 32, finding that he had been led to a passage that both illuminated his experience and might provide some balm to her as well.

  I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh;

  Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,

  Your old men shall dream dreams,

  Your young men shall see visions.

  And also on My menservants and on My maidservants I will pour out My Spirit in those days.

  And I will show wonders in the heavens and in the earth: blood and fire and pillars of smoke.

  The sun shall be turned into darkness,

  And the moon into blood,

  Before the coming of the great and awesome day of the Lord.

  And it shall come to pass

  That whoever calls on the name of the Lord

  Shall be saved.

  For in Mount Zion and in Jerusalem there shall be deliverance,

  As the Lord has said,

  Among the remnant whom the Lord calls.

  Tsion looked up with a start when Chloe spoke at last. He detected no trauma in her voice, nothing that would have given away that she had just learned that her father was the most wanted fugitive in the world—except for her words themselves. “I should have seen it coming,” she said. “He tried to divert me to Hattie, which wasn’t hard. She never had any qualms about saying she wanted to kill Carpathia.”

  Tsion cleared his throat. “Why would he do it, knowing the death wound is only temporary anyway? Is your father capable of such an act?”

  Chloe stood and peeked into the other room, where she was apparently satisfied with whatever Kenny was doing with his food. “I wouldn’t have thought so until recently,” she said. “He changed so much. Almost as dramatically as the difference in him before and after the Rapture. It was as if he had reverted into something worse than he had been before he became a believer.”

  Tsion cocked his head and sneaked a glance at the television. Nothing new. “I was aware of tension in the house,” he said. “But I missed what you’re talking about.”

  “The rage? You missed the rage?”

  Tsion shrugged. “I share some of that. I still fight it when I think of my family—” His voice caught.

  “I know, Tsion. But you have been a man of the Scriptures your whole life. This is new to Daddy. I can’t imagine him actually standing there and doing it, but I’m sure he wanted to. If he did, it sure answers a lot of questions about where he’s been and what he’s been doing. Oh, Tsion! How will he get away? That they say he’s at large makes me wonder if it’s not just a lie, a smear campaign to make him and you and us look bad? Maybe he’s a scapegoat.”

  “We can only hope.”

  She dropped into a chair. “What if he’s guilty? What if he’s a murderer? There’s no exception to God’s law if the victim is the Antichrist, i
s there?”

  Tsion shook his head. “None that I know of.”

  “Then mustn’t he turn himself in? Suffer the consequences?”

  “Slow down, Chloe. We know too little.”

  “But if he is guilty.”

  “My answer may surprise you.”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Off the top of the head, I believe we are at war. In the heat of battle, killing the enemy has never been considered murder.”

  “But . . .”

  “I told you I might surprise you. I personally would harbor your father from the GC if he shot Carpathia dead, even while urging him to seek God about himself.”

  “You’re right,” Chloe said. “You surprised me.”

  David watched Annie work from the corner of the hangar where Mac and Abdullah met him. “What’s that smell?” he said.

  “Yeah,” Mac said, looking at Abdullah. “What is that?”

  Abdullah shrugged, then held up an index finger. “Oh, I remember now, Captain,” he said. “Your idea.”

  “I’m listening,” Mac said.

  Abdullah pulled a pungent pita sandwich from his pocket. “Hungry, anyone?” he said.

  “Here’s hoping I’ll never be that hungry,” David said, pointing to a trash barrel twenty feet away. Abdullah hit it with a hook shot, and somehow the thing didn’t fly apart in the air.

  Mac shook his head. “Next you’re going to tell me you were an Olympic basketball player.”

  “Missed the trials,” Abdullah said. “Active duty.”

  David caught Mac’s what’d-I-tell-ya look.

  “So, Ab,” Mac said, “are you ‘pout’ because you never finished your dinner?”

  Abdullah looked away, as if knowing he was being teased but not catching the whole drift. “If I am pout,” he said, “it is because I am exhausted and want to go to bed. Is anyone sleeping around here? It seems everyone is about.”

  “Go,” David said. “Don’t make it obvious, but go to bed. I’m going to be good for nothing if I don’t crash sometime soon too.”

  Abdullah slipped away. “You look whipped too, Mac,” David said.

  Mac nodded for David to follow him to his office, across the hall from Annie’s. “They’re making a big deal about finding Rayford’s fingerprints on a Saber,” Mac said as he settled into the chair behind his desk. “But who knows if he was even there?”

  “I’ll find out by listening in.”

  “I think I already did. The print trace, at least what they said about it on the plane, sounded legit. Israeli-based Peacekeepers found the weapon, bagged it, and immediately lifted prints and started comparing it against the global database. The only reason it took as long as it did was because they tested it against criminals first and against the former GC employee list last. But the funny thing is that nobody’s talking about Rayford as the perpetrator.”

  David flinched. “When they’ve got him dead to rights?”

  Mac showed both palms. “They must know something we don’t know.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, Neon Leon has a bee in his bonnet for the three disloyal regional potentates. He keeps talking about a conspiracy. I mean, everybody hears a gunshot and heads for the hills. People jump off the stage. Carpathia is down and dying. The suspected weapon is found with a disgruntled former employee’s prints all over it, and all Leon can talk about is a conspiracy. What does that tell you?”

  David frowned and furrowed his brow. “That the shooter missed?”

  Mac expelled a resigned breath through his nose. “That’s my theory. If it was so cut-and-dried, why don’t they just call Rayford the shooter?”

  “In public they do.”

  “But in private they’re still looking. David, something stinks here.”

  David heard Annie’s office door and looked out through the blinds. She was doing the same, and he invited her over with a wave. She held up a finger and motioned that she had to make a call first. When she finally joined them, they brought her up to date.

  “You still planning on listening in to the autopsy?” she said.

  David nodded.

  “Maybe you ought to patch in to the evidence room too.”

  “Didn’t know we had one.”

  “We do now. They’ve cordoned off a section under the amphitheater. Lots of room, lots of light.”

  “Are you sure? That’s next to where they’ve got Guy Blod fashioning a twenty-four-foot Carpathia statue.”

  “That’s where I delivered the evidence. Two plastic bags, one wood crate. Hickman’s got a crew of forensic experts scheduled for ten this morning.”

  David looked at his watch. “It is tomorrow already, isn’t it? Well, looks like everything happens then, autopsy and all. Guess both sides need sleep first.”

  “I heard they’re trying to start the viewing at dawn Sunday,” Annie said. “That’s tomorrow!”

  “Bedtime, kids,” David said.

  Rayford felt grimy and groggy. Despite his fear and the knowledge that his life as a fugitive had escalated a thousand times over, he was buoyed by his eagerness to pray and to get back into the Bible. Maybe it was naive to think he could elude the GC for long. His recklessness had probably cost him his hope for surviving until the Glorious Appearing. Even forgiven sin, he had learned, has its consequences. He just hoped he hadn’t jeopardized the entire Tribulation Force, or worse, saints worldwide.

  As he sat praying in the dust fifty yards off the road, the night air dried the sweat on his head and neck and chilled him. In his fatigue and misery he still felt closer to God than he had for months.

  His phone chirped, and Rayford hoped against hope it would be someone from the Trib Force, ideally Chloe or Buck. It was Laslos. “Are you in place?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “And you are . . . ?”

  “Marvin Berry,” Rayford said.

  “Check,” Laslos said. “We were at a spot about two kilometers back where we could see the entire stretch of road before us. There appears to be no other traffic. You should hear us inside thirty seconds and see our lights soon. Start moving toward the road as soon as you hear us. We will open the back door as we stop, and as soon as you are in and it is shut, we will turn around quickly and head north again.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Repeat?”

  “Um, OK!”

  Eager to be in the presence of a friend and fellow believer, Rayford was almost giddy under the circumstances. He slapped his phone shut, then opened it again to try one more time to reach anyone long distance. When it was obvious he still could not, he rang off and realized he heard a vehicle. He began jogging toward the road, but something was wrong. Unless he was turned around, it sounded as if the car was coming from the south. Should he dial Laslos back and see if he had misunderstood? But how could he have? Ptolemaïs was north. The church had to be north. Surely Laslos had said he would be heading south.

  The engine sounded much bigger than a small car’s. Rayford skidded to a stop in the loose dirt, realizing he had nowhere to hide if a vehicle came upon him from the south. And it was becoming obvious that one was. It was loud and it was big and it was coming fast, but he saw lights only on the northern horizon. That had to be Laslos.

  The bigger vehicle from the south would reach him first. Regardless who it was, they would likely stop to check out a walking stranger. Rayford spun, frantically looking for somewhere to hide. His shirt was light colored and might be detectable in the darkness. As the sound rushed toward him, Rayford dove face first to the ground, pulling his dark bag atop his back as he lay there. With his free hand he popped open his phone to warn Laslos to abort and keep going, but when he hit Redial, he got the long distance attempt again and realized he didn’t even have Laslos’s cell number.

  He prayed Laslos would see the oncoming vehicle in time to keep from slowing and pulling off the road.

  Rayford’s phone rang.

  “Yeah!”

  “What is coming
from the south with no lights?”

  “I don’t know, Laslos! I’m on the ground! Keep going, just in case!”

  The vehicle flew past, and Rayford felt the rush of wind. He tried to get a look at the car but could determine only that it was Jeep-like. “That could have been GC!” he said into the phone.

  “It was,” Laslos said. “Stay right where you are! It doesn’t appear they saw you. They will be able to see us behind them for miles, so don’t move. We will come back when we feel it is safe.”

  “I’d feel safer back in the foliage,” Rayford said.

  “Better wait. They might be able to see movement. We will see if other GC vehicles are coming.”

  “Why are they speeding around without lights?”

  “We have no idea,” Laslos said.

  Buck couldn’t remember the name of the place, but it was one spot he and Chaim had been to together where no one would expect to see either of them. It took an hour to find an empty cab, and he was informed that any ride, regardless of distance, would cost one hundred Nicks.

  Buck described the place to the driver and told him the general area. The man nodded slowly, as if it was coming to him. “I think I know place, or some like it. All work same when you want get, how do the Westerners say, medicated.”

  “That’s what I want,” Buck said. “But I have to find the right place.”

  “We try,” the driver said. “Many closed, but some still open.”

  They rolled over curbs, around crumbled buildings, through dark traffic lights, and past accident scenes. The cabbie stopped at two bars that seemed to be doing land office business, considering, but Buck recognized neither. “It’s about the same size as this one, big neon sign in the window, narrow door. That’s all I remember.”

  “I know place,” the man said. “Closed. Want these, or other place?”

  “I want the other one. Take me there.”

  “I know is closed. Closed weeks.” He held up both hands as if Buck didn’t understand. “Nobody there. Dark. Bye-bye.”

  “That’s where I want to go,” Buck said.

  “Why you want to go where is closed?”